[SEASON ONE, COMPLETE]
❛There's a word for us in Mando'a... 𝕹𝖆𝖗𝖚𝖉𝖆𝖗. Temporary ally. That's what we've been since the beginning... right?❜
• A bounty hunter encounters an enemy she's stumbled upon one too many times, though this particularly...
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Chapter Twenty: 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖆𝖌𝖗𝖊𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙. word count; 8.1k
note: things sorta get intense after this chapter heheh. enjoy 🤎
You're desperately trying to occupy yourself with anything other than having to face a certain Mandalorian.
On your trip back to Nevarro, you'd done whatever you could get your hands on — fed the blurrgs aboard the Crest, cleaned plenty of weapons, devoured the meal IG-11 whipped up for you guys (you had to admit, the droid proved to be quite an amazing cook), and finished working on your chestplate. Your armor was now completely spotless and not even a spec of dirt, carbon scoring, or grime was visible. You'd even decided to polish it, which had never crossed your mind ever before. Din had all the tools and materials necessary to perfect the steel. Of course, that was why his beskar was constantly so shiny and impeccable. And now, as you wore the armor over your chest, it was precisely as shiny and impeccable as Din's. Temporarily. That definitely wasn't going to last too long.
But after all that constant work, you found yourself with nothing to focus on, nothing to entertain yourself with. Nobody to speak with, either. Kuiil was much to preoccupied to indulge in conversation whilst he fabricated a brand-new pram for the Child. The little whomp rat wanted nothing to do with you, since the entirety of his attention was trained on watching the ugnaught work. Traitor. And IG-11 was too busy cooking another meal. You sure as hell weren't going to offer any help, only to mess up that delicious broth he was boiling.
Then, there was Cara. She didn't exactly have anything to do, either...
But she knew.
She could tell since the very beginning that you were avoiding Din for a reason unknown to her. In fact, that led to her completely ignoring you so you could take some time for yourself, muster up the courage to head up the cockpit, and sort your issues out with Din.
Which, as much as you despised the idea of it, left you with no other choice than to do precisely that. You were admittedly sick of awkwardly wandering around the ship with absolutely nothing to do. Besides, maybe this would be a good thing. It'll relieve the thick tension that lingered obnoxiously around the Razor Crest, and you two could return to normal, right? You hoped so.
So, you finally climbed up the ladder, taking as much time as you wanted, because you really didn't want to confront Din right now. You also attempted to disregard the fact that Cara was smirking at you now that her plan had been a success. She was too damn smart.
As soon as you entered, your gaze fell on the familiar armored figure settled on the pilot's seat. The stars decorating the dark void of space ahead reflected wonderfully off the Mandalorian's unpainted beskar. From where you stood, you only managed to detect the backside of his helmet as well as the pauldrons on his broad shoulders. He didn't move. You sucked in a sharp, silent breath. Slow, hesitant steps were taken forward, footsteps thudding quietly against the cockpit's flooring. Din was completely silent, but he undoubtedly knew you were behind him.
