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chasingkerouacFandom: The Mandalorian
Words: 11k
Characters: Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth, Jo, Fennec Shand
Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Religious Guilt, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Din Djarin Needs a Hug, Hopeful Ending
Summary: “Well… shit, Mando,” Cobb breathed, resetting the safety on his blaster and holstering it. “This isn’t exactly what I meant when I said I hoped our paths crossed again.”
Din gave a humorless chuckle and let his head fall back against the wall. “This isn’t how I saw it going either.”
Cobb takes in a grieving Mandalorian, who isn't quite ready to accept he's grieving yet.
how it feels when we fall, when we fold
Cobb Vanth still wasn’t quite sure how this Mandalorian made it to Mos Pelgo.
No ship, no speeder. No bantha, not even a saddle on one of those Tusken massifs. And the man didn’t look particularly beaten down by sun or sand like he’d expect for someone wandering the desert escaping from any number of things a Mandalorian was likely to get tied up in. This Mandalorian just… walked into town like he’d gone out to check the vaporators and wanted to make it back inside before the suns got too high.
To make matters worse, he was pretty certain it wasn’t just any Mandalorian, but Mos Pelgo’s Mandalorian - which is what they’d started referring to the Mando as soon as he’d killed the krayt dragon. It’s small town living - you kill a giant creature threatening the livelihood of the whole town and that town was likely to adopt you as their own. He wore the same impossibly shiny beskar armor, had the same horned symbol on his shoulder, and, according to the townsfolk who first spotted him, made his way through the town and to the cantina without hesitation. He knew the layout of the town. It had to be Mos Pelgo’s Mandalorian.
The first rusty wicket in that assumption was the absence of the little green kid everyone was so fond of last time. Mando had seemed quite attached to the little fella, so it didn’t seem likely he’d just come on a vacation without it.
The second was the state Cobb currently found him in.
“I didn’t dare move him, Marshal,” the bartender mused. “He’s not the first to pass out on the bar, but…”
“But the last thing you wanted to test was how good a drunk Mandalorian’s reflexes are.”
“Yeah.”
They both stared at the spotchka drunk man in the shiny beskar armor with his head on the bar and his helmet sticking out of the bag slung haphazardly around him. Could he have stolen the armor? From his own run in with their Mando, he knew how seriously they took removing their helmet and how it ran contrary to their creed for someone other than the proper owner to wear the armor. Mando was ready to kill him for the insult. So this was either an imposter who had some explaining to do before he met the warm end of Cobb’s blaster for doing something to their Mando, or…
With one hand hovering over his blaster just in case, Cobb reached his other hand out to nudge the guy’s shoulder. The poke was met with a soft groan, a shift in his seat, and his drinking arm sliding off the bar into his lap. The guy was well and truly drunk.
There really was only one choice of action here.
Cobb shook his head. “Alright. Help me get him up off the stool.”
“I can put him at the back table.”
“Nah. I’ll let him sober up at my place. Keep an eye on him until he comes to his senses. Then we’re gonna have a little chat.”
“You thinking he’s not…”
“No, I still think he is,” Cobb said as the bartender helped stand the guy up and get his arm fixed across Cobb’s shoulders. “I’m pretty sure. Seems unlikely there’d be too many different Mandalorians all of a sudden wandering around this sand trap. So I’m gonna let him sober up and then we’re gonna see what he’s doing here.”
“And if he’s not… our Mandalorian?”
Cobb’s expression darkened. “Then I’m gonna find out how he got this armor and how he plans to settle the debt he owes for stealing from our Mando.”
The Mandalorian spent the afternoon passed out and snoring softly on Cobb’s couch.
He probably should’ve set the fella up in the single jail cell slash drunk tank tucked into the back of one of the old silos. Didn’t have to use it often, but every now and then there was someone who got a little too rowdy in the cantina and whoever they lived with wanted them to cool off and sober up somewhere other than home. Probably should’ve used it this time. But Cobb was still pretty sure this was their Mando and whatever drove him to… whatever this was… well, Cobb figured it would be kinder to let him explain in private.
In private, with Cobb sitting between the couch and the table where he’d set the blaster and the hilt of some sort of energy weapon he’d lifted from the Mandalorian’s belt.
Cobb was understanding, but he wasn’t stupid. It’s like he said in the cantina - no one wants to test just how quick even a drunk Mandalorian is on the draw.
So Cobb set himself up with a book, his own blaster at his hip but still with the safety locked, and waited for the guy to come back to his senses.
Word of the Mandalorian who was probably the Mos Pelgo Mandalorian spread quickly through town, as any good small town gossip does, and Cobb marked each passing hour by how many neighbors popped his front door open ‘just to check and see how things were going’.
The first two were the ones who saw the Mandalorian come into town and wanted to make sure he was okay.
Third somehow heard there was a bar fight - Cobb quickly disabused her of that notion.
Four and five brought dinner cause they heard he was on drunk watch and wanted to make sure he ate.
Six, seven, and eight were just nosy.
By the time nine and ten were shuffled out before they could stare too long, the suns had set and Cobb was wondering if the guy was going to sleep through the night. Last thing he wanted was to sleep in a kitchen chair but he didn’t dare just leave the guy to his own devices. Waking up in an unfamiliar location was disorienting enough. A trained killer waking up in an unfamiliar location was… worse.
“Mando,” Cobb said, keeping his voice as neutral as he could to see if he roused.
The Mandalorian snuffed but didn’t wake. He shifted on his stomach, arm falling off the couch to brush the floor, and buried his face in the pillow.
Okay, so the guy was moving a bit. That was a good sign.
“Mando,” Cobb repeated, a little louder. “I know you can hear me. You don’t have your head in a bucket currently so you can’t use that as an excuse.”
“Mnot,” came the muffled reply.
“You’ve had enough time to sober up. And I’m not sleeping in a chair just to keep an eye on you.”
“Mnob.”
“Dank ferrik,” Cobb muttered. Time for a new plan.
He stood up, settled his blaster hand on his holster, and poked the guy hard in the shoulder.
He was right - even a drunk Mandalorian lost very little speed when he was properly threatened.
The Mandalorian’s eyes were glassy but wide open and his hand that moments ago was tucked under his head was now vice-gripped on Cobb’s wrist. Cobb’s blaster was raised and pointed at the guy’s temple. He hadn’t felt the need to take off the safety but wanted to make the point anyway.
“Mornin’ sunshine,” Cobb said softly. “You're gonna let go of my hand, and we’re gonna have a little chat. Sound alright with you?”
It took the man a moment to orient himself, but he met Cobb’s stare, let go of his hand, and groaned the deep, regretful groan of a man who’d made a terrible, terrible choice with his liquor. “Where am I?”
“Considered letting you sober up in the drunk tank,” Cobb said. He took a step back and settled down into his chair, the blaster still aimed. “But then I thought, if you are who I’m hoping you are, that would be unneighborly considering our previous engagement. So I thought… why not let you come to your senses somewhere more comfortable.”
“This is your home?”
“Be it ever so humble.”
The man sighed. “I meant to come find you first. I didn’t mean to…” He shrugged, jerking his head to the side before apparently realizing he could just move his eyes.
Well shit, he really wasn’t used to having that helmet off, was he?
“Here’s the thing,” Cobb continued. “I’m assuming you feel like real shit right now. So we’re gonna cut to the chase. I recognize that shiny armor, but I don’t recognize you, partner. So either you’ve taken off that helmet which if I remember correctly you weren’t too keen to do, or you’ve stolen that armor from a friend of this town and we don’t take too kindly to that sort of disrespect around here. Which is it?”
The man was silent a moment too long for Cobb’s liking.
Cobb clicked the safety off the blaster. “Which is it? I’m not gonna ask a third time.”
The man’s face fell and he struggled with some emotion Cobb couldn’t place. “I told you to take care of the child,” he said softly.
“And then?”
“And then I set off your jetpack and proceeded to get swallowed by the krayt dragon.”
“Well… shit, Mando,” Cobb breathed, resetting the safety on his blaster and holstering it. “This isn’t exactly what I meant when I said I hoped our paths crossed again.”
Mando gave a humorless chuckle and let his head fall back against the wall. “This isn’t how I saw it going either.”
“Where’s the kid?”
“Safe.”
“What are you doing in town?”
“I need a place to lay low for a little while. This was… on the way for my ride.”
“You in trouble?”
“Not currently.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Do you feel like you’ve been run over by a speeder?”
“Kriff, yes.”
“Good.” Cobb stood up and maneuvered back into his kitchen. “I don’t know what possessed you to down an entire bottle of spotchka, and I ain’t gonna press it right now, but hopefully that hangover you’re feeling will make sure all the stupid is out of your system. So what you’re gonna do is have a bowl of soup.” He set the bowl on the table next to the blaster and weapon hilt and motioned for Mando to join him. “Have some soup, sleep off the rest of your bad decision, and we’ll… see what tomorrow brings.”
“Where are my…”
“These are the only two things I took off your person,” Cobb said, motioning to the weapons. “And your bag’s at the foot of the couch. I didn’t touch your helmet if that’s what you’re asking.” When Mando didn’t respond, Cobb figured he might as well fill the silence. “Although if I thought I could’ve swung it without you trying to kill me, I’d have taken off that jetpack and that spear from your back. Do you know how awkward it was trying to get you face down on the couch without stabbing myself through with that thing? Or accidentally setting off the jetpack in here?” He knocked twice on the table. “Mando, soup. C’mon. You need something in your system that isn’t spotchka.”
Mando groaned again, but stood up from the couch and all but trudged to the table. He sat down as instructed. Lifted the spoon. And…
...just sat there. Staring at the bowl, that same pained emotion flickering across his face.
“Ain’t nothing gonna jump out of the soup at you.”
Cobb was trying to lighten the mood, but apparently that was the exact wrong thing to say. Mando’s eyes went glassy and his breath caught softly in his throat.
“You know, it wouldn’t be the first time a Mandalorian jetpack has gone off in my living room,” Cobb mused. He leaned back in his chair and turned his head, ostensibly to look around the room as he told his story, but mostly to see if maybe Mando could focus through whatever was tormenting the guy - either the spotchka hangover or whatever really brought him to town - if no one was looking at him. “First time I got my armor… well, the armor I got from the Jawas… I was cleaning it right there on the couch. Bunch of rusted up corners, couple of buttons that jammed. Trying to get everything in real top order, and dammit if I didn’t press the wrong thing and ignite the sucker right against the wall.”
That did get a small laugh out of Mando, and a spoon of soup up to his mouth. Alright, if a story was gonna get him to eat, Cobb could handle that.
“Tried to white wash the scorch mark out, but it singed the wall real good. Had to shift the couch to cover up half of it. Remind me to show you later. I know, I know… a real Mandalorian would never make that sort of mistake,” Cobb chuckled. “Never did try to press any buttons inside the house again. Never did any cleaning inside the house either. Any time I worked on it, I did it up on the roof. Wide flat area, great view of town. No chance of me setting all my worldly possessions on fire. Actually, not a bad place to sleep when the night is clear and you don’t mind being chilly. I’d offer you the roof to sleep, but the wind’s supposed to kick up tonight and I’m afraid you’d wake up covered in sand and that’s something I try to avoid with houseguests. Wouldn’t want you to assume you’re unwelcome.”
He chanced another sideways glance at the soup bowl. Halfway gone. Good.
“And you are welcome here, Mando. For as long as you need. Everyone in Mos Pelgo is happy to have you back.” His grin grew wide. “They won’t let you forget passing out in the cantina for a while, but that’s just because they like you.”
Mando scraped the bottom of the bowl. “Are you going to let me forget?”
“Absolutely not. It’s my new favorite story. And fair warning, it’ll get better and more colorful with each retelling.” Cobb leaned forward, propped his elbow on his knee and fixed Mando with a grin. “I am glad our paths crossed again.”
Mando smiled softly at that. “Thank you. For… letting me stay. It should only be a day or two.”
“Room and board ain’t free, though.” He watched as Mando’s shoulders dipped and his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “Nothing so dire as last time. I’ve just got a number of repairs around the house I could use a hand with, seeing as how I’ve been spending most of my time keeping the peace between a couple of hot heads here and our Tusken neighbors. Teenagers don’t think with their head half the time and keep trying to out stupid their friends. Speeder needs some brake work, generator’s on the fritz, minor plumbing issue… all those things that’ll add up and it’s too easy to put off.” He shrugged, reaching to take the empty soup bowl and move it behind him to the counter. “I figure you gotta be pretty handy if it’s just you and your kid moving from place to place.”
There was that twitch of his cheek and the flicker of emotion again. That’s the pain point.
“Unless you’d rather take over cooking duties,” Cobb added brightly, again attempting to shift the conversation to give Mando some breathing room until he sobered up completely. “Who knows, I could be in the presence of a gourmet chef here. Crafter of the finest delicacies the Dune Sea has to offer.”
Mando looked like he was trying to swallow his laugh but failed. “I think I’ll take the speeder. I’m not known for my cooking.”
“Figured I’d offer.”
“Thank you. I’m happy to help.”
“Well then,” Cobb said, rising from the table and motioning back towards the couch. “You’re welcome to the couch. Fresher’s round the corner. Blanket’s in the basket under the side table. And I don’t know what Mandalorians do about sleeping in your armor, but if you need something-”
“I’m fine. Thank you.”
“I’ll try not to take that as a commentary on my fashion sense. But you slept fine on the couch earlier so I guess it’s not too much trouble,” he added with a grin. “Feeling any better after the soup?”
“Not particularly.”
“Don’t worry Mando, you’ll wake up tomorrow feeling better. Probably. It’s just nature’s reminder that you can’t find the answer to a problem at the bottom of a liquor bottle you stole from a bar.”
“I didn’t steal it.”
Cobb gave Mando a pat on the shoulder and a very satisfied grin as he passed. “I told you - better and more colorful. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Three days come and go, and the Mandalorian is still in Mos Pelgo. Still has his armor on. Still has his helmet off. Cobb wonders if Mando knows just how expressive his face is without the anonymity of the helmet tricking everyone into thinking he’s just got a blank stare. The man’s obviously still nursing a pain point, but at least he’s starting to process whatever happened to cause him to end up in the ass-end of Tatooine, bareheaded and childless. He’s watched Mando tinker with the speeder, eyes getting wider and breath coming quicker, before letting whatever memory haunts him leave with a shudder. He’s watched Mando cradle his helmet in his hands and stare unblinkingly at the dark visor when he thinks it’s too early for anyone to be up.
Maybe he wishes something was staring back.
Maybe he wishes something wasn’t.
The two obvious questions hung like a saber above each conversation between them. Cobb’s almost asked a dozen times - over meals, when he saw the bag that used to carry the kid but now carries the helmet, when Mando started swearing in at least three languages Cobb recognized and one he didn’t when an exposed generator wire gave him a shock. Each time the words are in his mouth, and each time he swallows them. I’ll give him one more day, Cobb promised himself. One more day before asking. Tomorrow he won’t hurt as much.
But that’s not how pain works. Cobb knows that better than most.
Today Cobb set Mando to work on some wires in the rooftop vaporator. It should be an easy switch out for anyone who knows how the damned things have been jimmied to work in this town, but he’s counting on the unfamiliarity with the machine to give Mando at least a little bit of a challenge. He seemed a little looser, if still a completely closed book, the past few evenings after banging away at a project. If he was still here next week, Cobb could use the extra hands when the Tuskens came by on their regular trade route. His signing was getting better, but still nowhere near as smooth as Mando’s.
The Tuskens had kept their word, and Cobb did his best to make sure that everyone in Mos Pelgo did the same.
He settled into a chair on his front porch and listened for the tell tale clangs of his tool box on the roof. Rounds were done for the morning. No one seemed to be having any trouble with anyone else. He figured he’d sit down for a little while before heading up to the roof and casually seeing how things were going with the vaporator. Then they should probably think about lunch, and if the afternoon looked free...
“Mornin’, Marshal.”
Cobb looked up at the greeting. “Mornin’, Jo.”
“How’s our Mando doing today?”
Cobb shrugged as the banging on the roof got more insistent. “Better than yesterday, which was better than the day before. Got him working on the vaporator on account of the wires getting tore up by the last sandstorm.” There was another bang and a very nasty swear in Huttese from the roof. “It’s a real mess.”
“The same sort of mess your speeder was in yesterday?”
“Yup.”
“And your generator the day before?”
“What are you getting at?”
Jo leaned against the door and motioned with her head up towards the roof. “I know your generator’s good. You know how I know it’s good?”
“No, but I’m certain you’re gonna enlighten me.”
“Because I installed it,” she pointed out. “About three months ago if I remember correctly.”
“Three months is a long time.”
“You’re gonna run out of things for him to fix.”
“It’s Tatooine, there’s always something that needs fixing.”
Jo sighed. “You’re trying to keep him busy.”
Cobb considered pushing back, but what was the point? “He’s working through his shit. I’m just trying to give him the space to do it. With all he did for us, least we can do is give him the space. I mean, look, it’s the one thing we got in abundance here.”
“So has he told you yet?”
“Told me what?”
Jo rolled her eyes. “Has he told you where the kid is yet?”
Cobb leaned back and fixed her with a stare. That was the question going around town ever since he showed up. Where was the kid? Cobb figured the helmet question could be traced back to the kid as well, but he seemed to be the only one concerned with that. Once he’d determined that the man in the armor was indeed their Mando in his own armor, any details about why he was drunk and barefaced in the cantina went out the window in favor of the curiosity of the missing child.
A second loud bang and an electrical crackle led to another sharp exclamation from the roof, this time in a language Cobb couldn’t place.
Cobb and Jo both jumped out from under the shade of the porch to check on Mando. They could see him pushing his hair back with his gloved hands and taking a few gasping breaths, but otherwise he looked fine.
“If you’re gonna swear, at least do it in a language I can understand!” Cobb called out, and grinned when Mando turned and quickly shot off the Tusken sign for what Cobb could do to the backend of a bantha. “Thank you!” he added.
“Do you need a hand, Mando?” Jo asked loud enough to get his attention.
“I just need someone to hold these wire casings for a second.”
“I’ll be up in a minute,” Cobb said before Jo pushed past him with a grin.
“Don’t you worry your pretty little head, Marshal,” she beamed. “I’ll give him a hand. I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to be checking in at the posts outside of town right about now.”
“Jo-”
“I’m not going to say anything,” she promised, hands raised in what Cobb assumed was her best appearance of innocence. “He needs a second set of hands and you know how good I am as a second set of hands.” She reached over and straightened his scarf, her expression going serious for a moment. “He’s our Mando too,” she pointed out.
“I know.”
“He’s going to be okay.”
“I hope so.”
She had a point - there were plenty of things Cobb was supposed to be doing in addition to watching over Mando. By the time he got back to the house it was long after mid-day.
Jo was gone, and Mando was off the roof.
He selfishly hoped Mando was still around, and hadn’t gone off with Jo or anyone else in town for, what? A chat? It would probably do the guy some good. New faces, new projects, curious questions that might come off as more innocent than they would coming from him. ‘Hey, Mando, where’s your kid?’ ‘Hey, Mando, how come your helmet isn’t on your head?’ ‘Hey, Mando, aren’t you supposed to be out in the galaxy killin’ something instead of fiddling with the Marshal’s vaporator?’
Cobb, if asked, would swear up and down he was refraining from asking these questions to be polite. The guy was obviously going through something and it would do no good to push him. A man’s story is his own. It’s what he told Jo just a few hours ago. It’s what he told himself when he realized who it (probably) was draped over drunk in the cantina.
It’s what he told himself every morning he saw Mando in his kitchen with his caf, and every evening he said goodnight to Mando on his couch.
It was true in the beginning.
Now… Cobb wasn’t entirely sure when that respect had turned into fear. Fear that if he asked the wrong question, pressed on the wrong wound, Mando would grab his things and walk out of Mos Pelgo as easily as he walked in.
He’d gotten too used to the Mandalorian hanging around.
He liked it too much, seeing Mando in his kitchen every morning with his caf and saying goodnight to Mando on his couch every night.
Before, he’d swallowed the questions to keep the answers from hurting a man in obvious crisis. Now he swallowed them to keep the answers from hurting himself.
It was bullshit, and Cobb knew it. He’d been called many names in his life, but coward was never one of them. And that Mandalorian was never gonna stay on that couch forever. Tiptoeing around the questions did neither of them any good. Better to rip the bandage off and force the wound to breathe.
A little air might do them both some good.
“Anyone home?” Cobb called out as he opened his front door.
“In here,” Mando replied, pieces of his armor set in a tidy circle on the kitchen table. The protection for his arms, his legs, his shoulders, all laid out so carefully. It felt wrong, again, to see him… unprotected. But then again, he still had his chest piece on, so maybe he was still protecting everything he needed to. “I took some of the polish you used for speeder parts. I should’ve asked.”
“Are you kidding?” Cobb said, sinking down into the free chair across from Mando. “You’re welcome to all the polish you want. Sorry it’s nothing fancy - I’m sure you’re used to something gentler than what I was able to pick up at half price in an alley in Mos Eisley.”
Mando laughed - actually laughed - at that. He was staring intently at a spot only he could see on one of his thigh guards as he dipped the rag into the polish and started buffing. “Beskar is tough,” he explained. “It can take a beating. It doesn’t need to be coddled with fancy cleaners. It deserves the time and attention more than it needs it.”
“It’s meditative, huh?” Cobb mused, turning his head again to look at the wall and watch Mando from the corner of his eye. It still felt too intimate to stare at his face for too long. Sure, Mando never discouraged him. Never told him to look away or that it was rude. But it felt…
Mando cleared his throat and caught Cobb’s attention. “Vanth?”
“Hmm?” Cobb murmured, hoping he still looked like he was paying attention to the conversation at hand.
“I asked if you wanted to give me a hand.”
“Thought you were meditating.”
That got another chuckle out of Mando. Damn, that was a sweet sound. “You said I was meditative. I know if the table doesn’t get cleaned off, we’re eating on the couch. And I have to sleep there.”
“A valid point,” Cobb agreed, rising up to grab another rag from a cabinet. “So you want to make sure you get dinner at the proper time, I see how it is.”
“I figure the feared Marshal of Mos Pelgo knows his way around a cleaning rag.”
“You’d figure right. What do you want me to start with?”
“What’s in front of you?”
Cobb lifted up the shoulder piece with the horned symbol and gave it a once over. “You know, I never asked you what this little creature is. Nothing like one I’ve ever seen.”
Mando’s gaze shot up, his eyes going wide and his breath going shallow. He swallowed and reached a hand out. “I’ll take care of that one. If you’ll start on the other pauldron.”
“The what?”
“Shoulder piece.”
Cobb nodded, handing it over to Mando, who set it gently down in front of the guard he was currently working on. He could press about the symbol - Mando’s reaction made it pretty clear it meant something. That could be an easy, casual entry into other burning questions like ‘where’s the kid’ or ‘was that crying I heard in the fresher this morning or were you just unhappy to see me’.
“So… feared Marshal of Mos Pelgo, huh?” he mused, taking a rag to the other shoulder piece.
Way to chicken out, he scolded himself.
“Sure,” Mando replied. “How else do you think I describe how you single-handedly killed a krayt dragon and saved an entire town?”
Cobb looked up and watched Mando grin as he really got the rag into one of the corners. “You’re pulling my leg.”
Mando glanced up and met Cobb’s stare. “When you retell a story, you should make it better and more colorful.”
“Really?” Cobb laughed. “Really, you’re gonna turn that back around on me? Using my words against me? I am shocked, Mando. Absolutely shocked.”
“I thought they were wise words about how to craft a story,” Mando mused.
“You don’t really tell the story like that.”
“And what if I did?”
Cobb started to answer, but just shook his head. “You deserve the largest share of the credit and you know it. We wouldn’t have been able to take it down without you. Surely you don’t just go around telling folks you were a bystander to killin’ something that big.”
“Why not?”
“Pretty sure you have a reputation yourself to maintain, if what I hear about Mandalorians is correct,” Cobb pointed out. “Admittedly, you’re the only one I’ve met face to face, but we all know the stories.”
“How do you know those stories aren’t better and more colorful?”
“Because I saw you in action, partner. I know how good you are.” He set the shoulder guard down and moved on to the next piece. “If anything, the stories don’t do y’all justice. They say you’re good at killing, but…”
“But what?”
Cobb considered, and sighed. “All the stories I’ve heard about Mandalorians say that you’re good at killing. Which you obviously are. You jumped into the maw of a krayt dragon and came out a little damp, but otherwise no worse for wear. But what the stories didn’t say was how good you were at not killing.” He leaned forward, knowing he should probably look away from Mando’s face but unable to give up watching the play of emotions. This was a man obviously not used to compliments. “You’re the reason for the truce with the Tuskens. We woulda tore through each other just as we’d been trying to if not for the distraction of the krayt. They didn’t want us here, and we didn’t want them here. You’re the reason we haven’t had any issues since.”
“I just helped you talk to each other.”
“Yeah, exactly,” Cobb pointed out. “Now, what story of brutal bounty hunting Mandalorians includes an interlude where they help broker a truce between two short tempered groups of folks? Not one that I’ve heard.”
“You’re the ones who’ve kept up the peace,” Mando said softly. “That’s the important part. That wasn’t me.”
Cobb sighed and pointed straight across the table. “What I’m trying to say is based on the stories I’ve heard and what I’ve seen you do and how I’ve seen you act, not to mention how you got both us and the sand people to act, is that you’re the best of them, Mando.” Mando opened his mouth to rebut but Cobb cut him off. “Nope. You will sit there, and take the damn compliment. Out of all the stories of all the Mandalorians I’ve heard over the years, you’re the best of them. Cause you’re not just good at killing, you’re good at finding ways not to have to kill. Are you gonna argue with me?”
That got a small smile from Mando. “I have the feeling if I argue, it’ll just make you talk more.”
“See, you’re getting it,” Cobb replied. “Hey, you want a drink? If we’re gonna sit here and shoot the shit about how you’re the best, we need a drink.”
Mando set the piece he was working down and moved to start the shoulder piece with the symbol on it. “Water, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“I meant a drink drink,” Cobb said, rising from the table to rummage for glasses. “Spotchka? Whisky?”
“Dank ferrik, no,” Mando groaned.
Cobb burst into laughter. “Still remember the hangover, huh?”
“I never want to repeat that again,” Mando mumbled. “How do you drink that? It tasted like electrified salt water.”
“Wait, are you saying that’s the first time you had spotchka?” Mando shrugged. “Was it the first time you… wait, was that the first time you had anything to drink?”
“I’ve been chasing bounties for my covert ever since I came of age,” Mando pointed out. “And usually alone. I had to keep my wits because people kept trying to shoot me. I’ve always had armor, but it hasn’t always been as good as these pieces. When the choice is to get drunk or live…”
“No, I get it,” Cobb agreed. “Makes sense. Not trying to dull anything, no need to drink your pay away.”
“Anything extra was for the foundlings,” Mando explained. He murmured his thanks when Cobb set a glass of water in front of him. “Still think I’m the best of them after that dull and colorless story from my past?”
“You think making sure you were able to take care of your people by being responsible makes me think less of you?” Cobb asked as he settled back in his chair and took a sip of his whisky. “Not a chance. Makes me think even more of you.”
“Damn,” Mando said, but his smile belied the seriousness of his tone. “Thought that would convince you I’m not deserving of these stories.”
“You’ll have to do a better job to turn me off of that,” Cobb pointed out. He took another sip and considered the opening before him. “So… foundlings, huh? Y’all must take in a lot of kids if you make sure to set aside part of your bounties for them?”
Mando nodded. His gloved thumb was tracing the symbol on that shoulder piece. Back and forth, back and forth. “I wouldn’t say a lot. Especially once we were forced into hiding, but… there were always children who for whatever reason couldn’t go back home. Or had no home to go back to.”
“And you’d take them in?”
“It’s one of the central tenets of my… of Mandalorian culture,” Mando explained. “If they have nowhere else to go, Mandalorians will take them in and raise them. And then they can decide once they get older if they want to swear the Creed or not. But until then, they are as our own flesh and blood. No difference between them and anyone born to it.”
“That’s… that’s a big responsibility,” Cobb mused. “I can see why it would be important to make sure they had the credits.”
“I was a foundling,” Mando continued softly. “They took me in after my parents died. I owe them everything.”
Cobb exhaled. “And look at you now. The best of the Mandalorians, not even one by birth.”
Mando’s expression fell slightly. “I’m not… if you knew…”
“So the little green guy,” Cobb cut him off. If he didn’t ask now, he never would. “Is he a foundling? I just ask cause… you know, we all got attached to him the last time. Cute thing with his ears and everything. And seeing your face now, I feel pretty confident guessing that he’s… you know, although he could be,” he added gesturing with his glass. “I don’t know your history. Which isn’t to say…” Cobb forced himself to pause, and took another drink. This wasn’t coming out right. Stop dancing around it. “We were just wondering where he was. And I figure he could be with whoever has your ship. But if you’re gonna stay here for a while, you have to know he’s welcome to stay too. That blanket basket at the foot of the couch would be a great bed.”
Mando set his armor down and sat quietly for what seemed like an eternity. Cobb was sure he’d finally put his foot in it. He should never have listened to Jo, should never have tried to sate his own curiosity. It was obvious this was a pain point, and here Cobb was poking at it like the worst possible friend. If he could even consider them friends at this point. It would be a kindness to pretend he hadn’t asked the question, shift the conversation back to something safer…
“He… was a foundling,” Mando finally said carefully. “I was quested to return him to his kind, and I did that. He’s safe now, where he belongs. He’s with his people now.”
“Well… that’s good,” Cobb tried. It sounded like a victory, but Mando looked anything but victorious. “Apologies, I guess I just assumed from the way you two were last time that you were his people.”
“I’m not,” Mando said quickly. “I…” He reached over, grabbed Cobb’s half full glass and drank the remaining whisky down before Cobb could say anything. “Dank… ferrik…” he coughed. “That’s not much better than the spotchka.”
“Well, not when you drink it like that, ” Cobb pointed out. Mando may not have had much previous experience with drinking to avoid his problems, but he sure caught on quick between closing down the cantina and tonight.
“Why do all of these things burn?”
Cobb shrugged. “Probably balances out helping you not care about what’s bothering you by reminding you by taste that it’s probably a stupid choice you’re about to make.”
Mando quickly drained his water and shook his head again. “Probably.” He set the glass down and looked over at Cobb. “We should probably clear the table off for dinner. I can finish tending the armor later.”
Cobb knew a desperate change of subject when he heard one. “Yeah, dinner. I’m getting peckish myself. Put it off too long and I’ll just waste away into nothing. But, you can keep working while I get the meal sorted. Figure you want to get all of this back on.”
“No,” Mando said softly. “I think… I think I’ll leave it off for a while.”
“Suit yourself,” Cobb replied before breaking into a wide grin. “Or not, as the case may be.” That got an eye roll from Mando and Cobb knew they’d returned to more stable footing. “You get it? Suit of armor?”
“I got it.”
“Just wanted to make sure.”
After Mando’s explanation about the kid, the air in the house was different. Sure, he was still holding back a monumental amount of whatever was going on, but the valve had started to release. Cobb could feel the pressure easing little by little from Mando’s shoulders as he smiled more during dinner, laughed more during dinner, and contributed more to the conversation during dinner than he had ever since he arrived.
It was… comfortable.
“Can I get you anything else?”
Mando shook his head. “No, thank you. It’s much better than the ration packs I eat far too often.”
“I wish I could take credit, but this was one of Jo’s creations,” Cobb explained. “I’m not sure if folks are convinced I’d starve without help, but I get brought meals most of the time. Jo’s one of the better cooks in town.”
“Could just be their way of paying you,” Mando pointed out. “You being their Marshal afterall.”
Cobb nodded. “Yeah, that’s probably so. I’ll make sure to tell Jo you approve of her cooking.”
“She’s an interesting lady.”
“What did she say?”
Mando laughed at that. “Nothing that bears repeating. She’s got a soft spot for you, though.”
Cobb shook his head, fondly. “She’s a good kid. Wants to be my second, and I can’t find any reason to tell her no. She’d shoot down a whole kriffing ship if she thought it was threatening something of hers.”
“Sounds like Mos Pelgo is in good hands all around.” Mando stood up from the table and moved towards the front door. “Is the wind supposed to pick up tonight?”
Cobb shook his head. “No, it should be pretty calm. You got somewhere you wanna go?”
“I was thinking about taking the jetpack up to the roof to clean it,” he said. “So there’s no chance of adding a second scorch mark to the wall you’d have to rearrange your furniture to hide.”
“Funny guy,” Cobb chuckled. “No, it should be still. And the sky is clear so you should have plenty of light. You need help taking anything up?”
Mando shook his head. “I’ve got it. Besides, I’m sure you’d appreciate having me out of your hair for a few minutes.”
“Mando, I think you underestimate how much I enjoy spending time with you,” Cobb beamed. “You go work on that - I’ll clean up the kitchen. Maybe I’ll come up and join you in a little bit?”
Mando ducked his head slightly before smiling and nodding. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
“Then I’ll see you in a bit.”
“I’ll see you in a bit,” Mando agreed.
Cobb cleaned the kitchen leisurely to give Mando some time to himself. Then gave the fresher a wipe down. Switched out his sheets, and the blanket Mando was using on the couch. Surely that was enough time for Mando to do the serious cleaning, and Cobb could be a useful second hand for anything else that needed doing.
There were no sounds of tinkering or movement on the roof by the time Cobb made his way up. The jetpack and Mando’s chest piece were polished and stacked neatly in the corner, with his gloves resting on top. He found Mando stretched out on a thin roll of padding he kept up here for just this purpose. Without the helmet, or the armor, or even his gloves, Mando looked far more vulnerable than Cobb ever assumed a Mandalorian would let himself be.
“Am I interrupting?”
Mando shook his head as he shifted to one side of the padding. “It didn’t take as long to clean as I thought it would.” He flexed his bare fingers absently. “I thought…” He took a deep breath. “You were right. The cool air feels good up here.”
Cobb stretched out next to him and let his eyes relax to take in the map of stars above. “Of course I was right. You can’t beat the view, either. When it’s breezy but not kicking up the sand it’s just about perfect. Sometimes I lay up here and imagine it’s just me and the universe.”
“I can leave you alone up here if you’d prefer.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” Cobb murmured. “It’s nice having company up here.” He reached his hand over and placed it on Mando’s arm. There was still the flight suit between them, but without the arm plate Cobb could feel a real human arm beneath the fabric. He felt the muscle tense and immediately release as soon as he touched it. How long had it been since Mando had someone this close to him? “It’s nice having you up here with me.”
“Din,” Mando breathed. He refused to look over at Cobb, but he didn’t move his arm away from his touch. “Din Djarin.”
“If you’re gonna swear at me, you could at least pick a language I know.”
Mando gave a soft laugh. Cobb would never get tired of that sound, hearing it straight from the guy’s mouth. His helmet didn’t change Mando’s voice as much as Cobb previously assumed, but there was something about hearing it with no interference. He’d been commanding before. Aloof. Direct. Mando still wasn’t a chatter, but without the wall of beskar between them his voice was softer. Warmer. More like it was something to share.
...oh.
The realization hit Cobb harder than he thought it would. Of course Mando would have a real, proper name. Everyone does. But for some reason he’d never pictured Mando with a name. Then again, he’d never pictured Mando with a face either, and here they were. Before he knew what he was doing, Cobb slid his hand down the arm of the flight suit and settled their palms together.
“It’s nice to meet you, Din.”
Din gave Cobb’s hand a squeeze.
“Why tell me?”
“I thought you might like to know.”
“Is that all?”
Din turned his gaze from the stars above and finally looked at Cobb. “I wanted you to know,” he murmured. “You didn’t have to put me up when I came back.”
“You think I was just gonna leave you to the dunes? You were draped drunk across the bar - I was gonna have to drag you somewhere, might as well have been home.”
“And I know you’ve been giving me busy work to keep me occupied.”
“Whatever gave you that idea?”
“Jo said your generator was new.”
Cobb rolled his eyes. “Son of a... I swear no one can keep their mouth shut around here.” He shifted a bit closer. “Look… Din, I’m sorry about that. I just thought maybe you needed to work on whatever was bothering you and not have everyone asking if you were alright every hour on the hour.”
“No. Thank you. I… it was kind of you. I’m used to working on my ship when I need a distraction. Since I can’t do that any longer…”
“Does that have something to do with why the kid isn’t here with you?”
“I told you -”
“I have been trying my damnedest not to ask more questions,” Cobb continued. “And I know it’s none of my business. And I know you said that you returned him to his own people, but it’s obvious to anyone who has eyes that you were his people. And you looked like you got stabbed right through the heart when you told me, so I know it’s not the whole story. And maybe I shouldn’t ask. A man’s story is his own. But you move through the day like a man whose child died and it’s gotta feel better to let that story out than to keep it in while it festers. So I’m offering. If you want to tell me, I want to listen.”
And with that, Cobb stopped talking. He let the cold, and the dark, and the silence of this small nowhere town in the middle of a nowhere desert planet settle between them. Din swallowed, his eyes once again betraying his pain, but he said nothing. He turned his head to focus on the stars above and Cobb did the same.
If Cobb was honest, he expected it to go this way after how quickly Din changed the subject this afternoon. Din didn’t seem the type to open up on the best of days - who could blame him, really? Who was the man gonna open up to if he was travelling around, just himself and that little green kid? When he came to Mos Pelgo the first time, he said he was searching for another Mandarlorian, so he probably wasn’t in touch with his people if he was searching for one out here. So the guy spent his life behind a helmet, with no contact with any of his people, trying not to be killed every which way, with only the kid as company. And now the kid is gone.
Cobb decided if he was in Din’s boots, he may have just walked out to the middle of the desert and let fate decide on next steps.
But Din didn’t. He walked into Mos Pelgo, drank til he was stupid as a heat stroke, and settled into Cobb’s hospitality. If he’d wanted to leave, he could’ve at any time.
The man wanted someone to share his pain, he just didn’t know how yet. That much Cobb was sure of. So he’d sit here, and wait. Hand in hand. Resisting the urge to fill up the silence.
He wasn’t sure how much time passed up on the roof - the moons had moved across two dunes so at the very least an hour. He considered launching into another story, to let Din know he really didn’t expect him to share if he wasn’t ready. Could do something embarrassing. First time he’d tried the jetpack? Landed flat on his face twenty minutes outside of town. That one would get a laugh.
“Grogu called a Jedi to him,” Din said softly.
“Hmm?” Cobb murmured.
Din gripped Cobb’s hand, and Cobb gave him a squeeze back. “That was his name. Is his name. Grogu. We… found a Jedi who could talk to him, but refused to train him. She told me his name. And told us how to find another Jedi who could train him.”
Cobb let his thumb absently trace soft lines along Din’s wrist. He didn’t dare turn to look, not if Din was going to open up. “Then what happened? With Grogu.”
So Din told him. He told him about Ahsoka and Corvus. And how they’d been sent there by Bo-Katan and her crew who had their own plans to retake Mandalore. He told him about Boba and Fennec and Cara, about how he lost his ship but more importantly how he lost his son.
The punch of that statement wasn’t lost on Cobb. He’d heard Din multiple times refer to him as a kid, the child, now by his given name, but this was the first time he’d heard ‘son’.
He really was moving through the day as a man whose child had died.
“When you took responsibility for Grogu, you became his father,” Cobb murmured.
The noise Din made was quiet, and painful. “Yes.”
“Din…”
“I know it’s for the best,” Din continued, with obviously false conviction. “He’s powerful. I can’t train him. It was always supposed to be a temporary arrangement. My life is no life for a kid. And I always knew I’d have to pay for my sins, but I didn’t think it would hurt like this.”
Cobb turned and stared wide-eyed at Din, who refused to look away from the dark sky. “What sins?” he all but sputtered. “You can’t possibly think you’ve done something to deserve to feel like this?” He watched a tear roll down the side of Din’s face. “Unless there’s something I’m missing, you did exactly what you were supposed to do.”
“The armor,” Din murmured. “My armor was forged from my payment for turning him in to an Imperial.”
“But that was before -”
“I took a bounty on a child, and that beskar sits on me every day reminding me of it. Because it was my job. Bounty hunting has no room for moral judgement when there are mouths to feed and people to take care of.”
“You obviously went back for him.”
“The beskar belonged to us regardless,” Din continued. “So I took Grogu back and kept it on. It was the best way to protect him. It was my honor as a Mandalorian, but I… I don’t even have that any more.”
“Your honor?”
“Part of…” Din swallowed hard. “When I swore the Creed, I swore I’d never remove my helmet. No living thing would ever see my face. Once removed it can never be replaced. This is the way.”
Cobb gave his hand a gentle squeeze, and Din responded by gripping their hands hard. Did he realize how tight he was holding on? Did he realize Cobb would never let him go?
“Why did you take it off?” Cobb asked softly. Din’s jaw set and he continued to stare stubbornly up into the night’s sky. “Din,” he murmured. “Why did you take it off?”
“To say goodbye.” The tears were falling faster now, streaking a path down Din’s cheek that he refused to wipe away or acknowledge. “Gideon was defeated, Grogu was safe. And the Jedi… the Jedi was ready to take him away. And he said that Grogu… Grogu wanted my permission to go. He was scared and wanted to see me and wanted to know that everything was going to be okay.” He turned his head to finally look at Cobb and barely managed to choke back a sob. “I wanted him to see me,” he admitted. “I wanted him to know without a doubt that his father loved him.”
Cobb rolled to his side, pulling their clasped hands to his heart and reaching over to brush Din’s tears away with his free thumb. “Din…” he murmured.
“I’d do it again,” Din added. “I’d do it a hundred times over. But I broke the Creed - my promise. I forfeit my honor, and for a selfish reason. I’m not the best of Mandalorians, Cobb. I don’t even know if I’m still a Mandalorian.”
“Din,” Cobb repeated. He cupped Din’s cheek, and tried to hide his surprise when Din leaned into his hand. “You kept the promise worth keeping.”
Din closed his eyes but didn’t move away. “I broke my creed.”
“You said earlier that Grogu was your foundling. And that caring for the foundlings was the most important thing y’all could do,” Cobb said. “You kept that promise to him, to be his father. And his father would move the heavens to keep him safe and make sure he knew he was loved. Seems to me if you gotta pick one, it's more important to keep a promise to a person than a law.”
Din nodded, but Cobb assumed it was more a lack of desire to fight him than any real belief in what Cobb said.
“You made the right choice,” Cobb murmured. “You made the right choice.”
It was either the exact right or exact wrong thing to say, because Din sobbed again and rolled to tuck his head against Cobb’s neck.
Cobb was an early riser by nature and the light filtering through his bedroom window told him he was getting up later than usual, but the only movement he made was lifting his hand to slowly run his fingers through Din’s hair.
They’d stayed on the roof wrapped up in each other until Din had nothing left in him and the tearful shaking had turned into shivers from the cold. They could’ve stayed - it wouldn’t have been the first time Cobb fell asleep on the roof - but Din was exhausted and Cobb wanted him to sleep as long as he could. The suns would be up before they knew it.
He didn’t explicitly offer his bed, and Din didn’t explicitly ask, but when they were back inside and his hand found Din’s again neither one of them let go until they’d retreated into Cobb’s room.
Din’s hair was soft, so soft. Cobb marveled at it, unable to resist playing with the waves as Din breathed softly against Cobb’s chest. With Din’s arm wrapped around Cobb’s waist, his head buried against Cobb’s chest, and their legs intertwined, Cobb’s hand in Din’s hair was the only part of his body he could move without risking waking him up. And Din desperately needed the sleep.
“Cobb?” came a murmured voice against his skin.
“Hmm?”
“That felt good, why did you stop?”
Cobb shifted to press a kiss to the top of Din’s head and went back to playing with his hair. “Sorry, didn’t realize I’d stopped. I didn’t want to wake you. You needed sleep.”
“Best sleep I’ve had in a while. And… about last night.”
“Hmm?”
Din moved to sit up, but stopped. “Thank you. For listening.”
“You just needed someone to remind you.”
That got Din to sit up. He propped his arm next to Cobb and looked down on him. “Remind me of what?”
Cobb reached up and cupped Din’s cheek. “Din Djarin, best of Mandalorians.”
Din lowered his eyes but once again didn’t move away. “I can’t put it back on.”
“Sure you can,” Cobb murmured. “You just gotta realize you kept the promises worth keeping.”
“I made one more promise. To Grogu.”
“Which was?”
Din swallowed hard. “I promised him I’d see him again.”
“Are you going to keep that promise?”
“Yes,” he said, without hesitation.
“Best of Mandalorians,” Cobb repeated.
They finally found their way out of the bedroom, in no small part because Cobb had long since discovered caf was Din’s only necessary vice. He prepped it and poured him a mug while Din found his pants, although not his shirt, and then Cobb retreated back to the bedroom to dress for the day. “I feel like a terrible host. I never asked how you took your caf until this morning,” Cobb said when he emerged, tying his scarf loosely around his neck.
Din shook his head. “I always got up before you, so I’d already made mine. No reason you’d have to ask.”
“Yeah, but still,” Cobb chuckled. He placed a kiss on top of Din’s head as he passed behind him. “Makes me a terrible host.”
“Absolutely terrible,” Din mused. “I don’t see running a hotel in your future.”
“Shame, too. I was thinking of hanging a shingle that said ‘Cobb’s Place’ and seeing just how many stragglers -”
He was cut off by a shrill, sharp whistle and commotion outside. “Shit.”
“What was that?” Din asked.
“Jo. She whistles as a warning,” Cobb explained. “I’ll be back.”
Cobb exited his house with his blaster in hand. Slipping on his belt and holster would’ve taken too much time, and Jo only whistled like that when there was an immediate threat.
He found Jo and six others in the street, rifles up and a woman before them casually leaning against a speeder with her hands up by her shoulders. “What seems to be the problem out here?” he asked lightly. He’d leave the safety on for the time being - he could flip it just as quickly as he could pull from fully holstered.
“You must be the Marshal,” the woman called out. She wore light armor, but the only weapon he could see was a rifle secured to the back of the speeder. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Only interesting things, I’d hope. What brings you to Mos Pelgo?”
“Apparently not the hospitality,” she replied with a smile.
“She was asking questions about the Mandalorian,” Jo explained. “Too many questions.”
“You’re looking for a Mandalorian?” Cobb asked.
She nodded. “A particular one. I know he’s here and I have a message for him.”
“How do you know we’ve got a particular Mandalorian here?”
She grinned. “I dropped him off.”
“Fennec?”
Cobb turned to find Din, still shirtless, with his mug of caf in one hand and the hilt of an energy weapon in the other. “Friend of yours?” Din nodded as he hooked the hilt to his belt and took another sip from his mug. Cobb motioned for Jo and the others to lower their weapons - Din wasn’t bothered by this visitor, so Cobb wouldn’t be either.
“Hey, Mando,” Fennec said. “You turned your commlink off.”
“Did I?” He took another sip of the caf. “My finger must’ve slipped.”
“You’re looking better,” she added.
Din shrugged. “I found what I needed. And a good night’s sleep helped. So what brings you out here?”
Fennec pushed off from the speeder and motioned to the weapon at Din’s hip. “We have a visitor.”
“Bo-Katan?”
Fennec nodded. “She’s in my home, Mando. I’ve entertained her as long as either Boba or I care to, so you need to come and deal with her. I want her out of my home.”
Din sighed. “You could’ve told her where I was.”
“And miss all the fun?” she chuckled. “Never. I can give you a lift, if you want,” she added, motioning back to the speeder.
“Yeah… that would be good. Let me gather up my things. I’ll be out in a bit.”
Din turned and retreated back to Cobb’s house, and Cobb tried not to look hurt that he was leaving so easily, and so suddenly. He turned back to Fennec and motioned to the cantina. “We have a bar,” he suggested.
“Perfect,” Fennec beamed. She walked past Jo and gave the woman a pat on her shoulder. “You had a quick draw there. These are usually too heavy for that sort of rapid movement.”
“Thanks, yeah, I refitted this one myself,” Jo explained as the pair of them slipped into the cantina like old friends.
By the time Cobb got back into his house, Din had his armor back on his arms and legs and was adjusting the chest piece. “Need a hand there?” Cobb asked softly, leaning against the door frame.
Din looked up and nodded. “If you don’t mind. It only takes one person, but I’ll be out of your hair quicker with two.”
Cobb let the front door slide closed behind him and crossed the room. “You’re not in my hair,” he murmured. He reached up to adjust the fasteners on Din’s shoulders, letting his fingers brush against his neck in the process. “You don’t have to leave,” he added, hoping he sounded casual but knowing otherwise. “You’re welcome here as long as you want.”
“I know.” Din reached up and stilled Cobb’s hand. “I have to take care of this, and sooner rather than later. I don’t want Bo-Katan coming here looking for me and doing something to you or the town out of… frustration.”
“She’s the one trying to reclaim Mandalore, right?”
“Yes,” Din said. “And this,” he continued, bringing Cobb’s hand down to rest on the hilt hanging from his hip, “is what she thinks she needs.”
“What is it?”
Din looked like he was going to explain, but instead just smiled. “How about I save that story for next time? I can… make sure it’s better, and more colorful. The type of story you like to hear.”
Cobb’s fingers slid up and rested splayed across Din’s waist. “Are you telling me you hope our paths cross yet again?”
“I’m promising you.” Din reached up, cupped Cobb’s cheek, and kissed him gently. “You know I keep my promises. I’ll be back soon.”
Cobb retrieved Fennec from the cantina as Din strapped what little he had with him to her speeder. The look on her face and the giggle from Jo when he entered begged at least a dozen questions - questions that he decided was in his best interest not to ask.
The only piece of kit Din had left to put on was his helmet, and it rested on the back of the bike. “Well, it’s been good seeing you again, partner,” Cobb said lightly. “Not quite as much killin’ this time.”
“There’s always next time,” Din replied. “Who knows what next time will bring.”
“Who knows,” Cobb agreed. He took Din’s helmet from the bike and offered it to him. “Din Djarin,” he murmured, his voice low enough not to carry past the two of them. “Best of Mandalorians.”
“Thank you,” Din mouthed and, for the first time since coming back to Mos Pelgo, slipped his helmet on.
“Alright,” Cobb said loudly, giving Din a slap on the shoulder and stepping back. “Best get going if you’re gonna get anywhere before the heat makes travel miserable. And don’t forget what I expect you to come back with.”
“Better and more colorful,” Din replied, his voice modulated by his helmet once more.
“I expect you to keep that promise.”
“I always do."
