Armored Passion | The Mandalorian

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Well, it's only been a few hours since we've left the execrable planet of Trask, but holy hell, that short amount of time has felt like it's been stretched out into a languishing, near-silent eternity. 

The silence that had fallen over the Razor Crest was completely and utterly uncomfortable, leaving absolutely no room for any other secondary emotions that might've wanted the chance to shine in the spotlight. In an attempt to fill the eerie silence as well as to keep my hands and mind busy, I had decided to work on the ship's interior systematic mechanics. And while I was starting to do all of that, Din had decided to retreat to his room to do who knows what. 

Actually, I do happen to know what he's been doing for the past few hours, thanks to the fact that he thinks so kriffing loud. He had been unconsciously projecting his thoughts and emotions into the force, his mind screaming a never-ending line of thoughts about what the "true" way of the Mandalore was. I could practically feel his conflictions radiating throughout the thick metal walls of the Razor Crest. And I have to say, it's definitely been fucking with my head for the past few hours. 

And as much as I wanted to help him, I knew that I wouldn't be able to do anything to ease his mind. Or maybe I should say that I wouldn't be able to do anything to ease his mind yet. Plus, knowing the way Din usually copes and processes things in his head, he really just needed some time to himself to cool off and think everything out before talking to somebody about everything that had happened.

When it came down to drastic personal problems such as this, I usually had to let him ride it out and then let him come to me when he felt like he was ready to talk. If I didn't let the situation work through that particular process, the chances of him ever acknowledging the problem was little to none. I'm pretty sure that's all thanks to the years of emotional repression he went through throughout his years of life.

To keep my own mind at bay, I decided that continuing on with fixing up the ship would be a phenomenal idea. I've been messing around with a plethora of damaged wires, my hands trying to fix all the systems and mechanisms that those fucking kryknas had crawled into when we crash-landed on the stupid ice ball of a planet. 

So far, there's been an endless amount of sparks flying in my face, as well as a bunch of minor low voltage currents shocking the tips of my fingers as I worked. Usually, those kinds of things wouldn't be happening to me, but saying that I couldn't seem to focus (thanks to the storm of thoughts coming from a particular Mandalorian's head), I had been a little more than what you would typically call distracted. 

Regardless of the distractedness that had constantly been circling me, I continued to work on the intricate systems, doing my best to avoid the vast amount of live wires that were looming dangerously close to my hands. I wanted to complain about the state I was working in, but I stopped myself from even saying anything. 

I mean, this is the kind of work that I live for, right? All I really wanted to do at this point in my life was to settle down on Yavin 4, become a small-town mechanic, and live out the rest of my days with Din and the kid. 

Well, that's if he's even willing to live out the rest of his days with me. 

I shake the domestic thought from my head and immediately go back to staring at the open panel in front of me. I could think about that kind of thing later on when I'm not handling live wires that have the capability of burning the shit out of my skin or making my fucking bone marrow rot. 

I shiver at the thought of that ever happening to me, my hands starting to tingle with a feeling of pure discomfort. As my hands clenched and relaxed over and over again, I couldn't help but think back to a particular memory I had made at a New Republic base that happened to make me cringe and tense up every time it popped into my head.