FOUR.
haunting memories!
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Zoya's prison cell is filthy. The walls are streaked with darkened red stripes and other muddier colors that she doesn't want to place. The floors are thinly padded with a layer of browned, old hay that was probably taken from the pen of a pig or other greasy, soiled animal. When she receives food, if she receives food, it's thrown through the bars onto this dirty hay, leaving her to choose whether or not she wants to eat the scraps of food. At first, she'd chosen not to, pride still intact, but as time went on, and her stomach grew more desperate, she'd started to eat.
Now, Zoya twists her fingers together, trying to ignore the migraine drilling into her temples as someone approaches, dressed in an unkempt, wrinkled uniform.
The prison guard leers at her, leaning against the bars of her cell. She meets his gaze defiantly, daring him to try something, though she knows deep down that she wouldn't be able to stop him if he did, for her body is weak from weeks of sitting in an enclosed space, muscles atrophying from disuse.
"You've still got some fire in you," he says tauntingly, face obscured by shadow. His fingers trail across the metal separating them. She uses her silence as a weapon, refusing to answer, merely staring him directly in the eyes until he begins to feel unnerved by her muteness. "Stop kriffing staring."
She disobeys.
"Andhi, come over here," the guard calls down the passageway. An unintelligible voice answers, and the guard in front of Zoya rolls his eyes in annoyance, demonstrating his short temper. "Just get your ass over here."
Shortly, someone else emerges, taller and broader than the first guard. "What is it?" Andhi asks flatly. He doesn't even look her way, which sends a fragment of short-lived relief trickling down her spine.
"I think this one needs to be taught a lesson," he says, gesturing towards Zoya. Her jaw clenches, but she doesn't give him the satisfaction of reacting, remaining still where she slumps against the wall.
"Yeah?" Andhi turns a critical gaze upon her. "What are you gonna do?"
The first steps forward, and a shaft of light emblazons itself across his harsh features. His lips twist into a sickening grin, and one of his hands hooks onto his belt loops. "Let's find out if she fights back."
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Zoya jerks awake in a cold sweat, tremors running along her body. She shudders, revulsion and humiliation coalescing into an ugly, burning cocktail that fizzes in her stomach. Her head cracks back against the metal of the wall as she leans back too quickly, and pain explodes. She winces, swearing underneath her breath.
"Fuck," she mutters, feeling the nightmare cling to her skin, slimy and unrelenting, replaying in her mind over and over again as the back of her head begins to throb.
The ship is deadly silent, so quiet that every harried breath she takes sounds ten times louder than it actually is. Since she's been asleep, she doesn't know how long it's been since the Mandalorian bounty hunter disappeared, or how long it will be until he returns with whatever mark he's after, which leaves her feeling unsettled. She tries to focus on something else to forget the dream, which had truly been just a hazy memory, one she's tried desperately to erase, one that her subconscious clings to, reminding her of at every opportune moment.
Her eyes focus on the discarded scarf by her feet, and she wishes it were wrapped around her wrists so she wouldn't have to feel the icy metal pressing against her bones, seeping mercilessly through her skin.
Anxiety washes over her, and now it's clear why the shores have been clear for so long, why she's felt okay—this is a tidal wave. Sweat beads on her forehead, and her lungs seem to spasm, cutting off her air.
"Zoya."
A breath of air, caught between the swirling, salty water that washes down her throat, unforgiving. Her eyes go to him, and a wash of cool tranquility envelops her, peace that seems to part the waters above her head.
She doesn't know why the sound of his voice helps her, why it brings her back from the brink of a panic attack, but it does nonetheless. Zoya focuses on him, though she cannot see his eyes, just the chiseled metal of his helmet, expressionless and void.
There's a feeling in her chest that's the whisper of a breeze over long grasses, a cat stretching after a long nap, stars poking silvery, glittering holes in the black canvas of the night sky.
Peace.
Zoya opens her eyes, pulling that same peace back into her body, the peace she'd felt when he'd said her name aloud for the first time. And once again, the Mandalorian brings her back into herself, even though he's nowhere in sight, perhaps even dozens of miles away, hunting for someone or something across the open expanse of desert and mountains.
A crash sounds from outside. Zoya freezes in the midst of shaking her hands above her head, trying to recirculate blood into her fingertips. Her heart pounds. What the hell?
Immediately, she knows it's not the Mandalorian. He's not careless enough to make that much racket, even with a captured mark underneath his control; he'd rather knock out the target or cut their throats than allow them to make so much noise. Forewarning slides over her skin. Chained to the wall, Zoya cannot do anything but wait, heart beating in her throat.
Before long, something skitters into the cockpit, stumbling to a quick stop as soon as it sees her. It's a Jawa. It chatters something in a language she doesn't understand, and soon a few more appear, surrounding her.
"Don't you kriffing touch me," she mutters, unsure whether or not they can understand what she says.
They snicker at her, and a particularly daring individual inches closer, reaching out to prod at the cuffs. When it's near enough, Zoya whips up the toe of one of her leather boots, slamming it as hard as she can into the Jawa. It squeals and falls onto its back, scooting away from her as quickly as it can. The others eye her warily, jabbering something that sounds aggressive.
"Get back," Zoya warns, bridled anticipation playing apprehensive chords along her body as her muscles tense.
The little gremlins either disregard her warning or don't understand it (most likely the former), and one draws something from its brown robe that has metal prongs and buzzes quietly. A split second before it happens, she jerks back, but she's too late. The Jawa jabs her with the rod and sends an electric shock through her body so strong that everything goes black.
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Mando reaches the start of the low hill around the clearing where his ship is anchored, a cradle hovering in the air behind him. The child wasn't what he'd expected to find after the implied gravity of the assignment. He looks back at the green-skinned creature, and it stares back with wide, expressive dark eyes, making a gurgling sound.
A smile comes automatically to his mouth, and he quells it immediately, even though the child has no way of seeing it. Reminding himself that he has a job to do, he returns his gaze forward and begins to hike up the hill.
Though it goes against everything he knows, Mando cannot help but feel a sense of protectiveness over the child already, despite the fact that he has to turn it in. Perhaps it started right when the little thing had reached up with one of its hands to grab his finger, big brown eyes wide and doe-like, coaxing him in.
He reaches the top of the hill and drops immediately into a crouch, yanking his Amban rifle off his back and disconnecting the sight. A swarm of Jawas have engulfed the Razor Crest, pillaging and plundering like a pack of tiny pirates. Their own enormous transport sits close by, and it's clear that they've scavenged dozens of parts from his ship.
Zoya, he remembers suddenly. Shit.
Lowering the rifle, he aims at one of the Jawas carrying around a part from his ship. He fires, and the creature explodes into dust, setting off a chain reaction in the rest of the pack. They dart around, panicked, babbling to each other and disappearing up the ramp into their transport. The child makes a little noise from beside him, but Mando pays it no attention, loading another shot into the chamber. He fires again, and another Jawa disintegrates. His next shot obliterates one with its own gun, trying to spot him on the crests of the tall hill.
The ramp lifts as the sandcrawler lurches forward, trundling slowly away. As they make their escape, Mando sprints towards the Razor Crest, eyes widening beneath his helmet as he takes in the view of his ship—now just a skeleton of what it was when he'd left. Heartrate increasing, he remembers the woman he left chained to the wall, and he steps forward warily, the child falling into place behind him.
"Zoya?" he calls, voice level and calm. A few beats later, silence still reigns. "Zoya!" Uncertainty infiltrates his tone. "Zoya!" No reply. "Fuck!"
He turns and sprints after the sandcrawler as quickly as he can, feet churning up dust that engulfs the child's pod, whirring across the desert after him. When he's closer, Mando drops to a knee and fires at the engine of the transport, igniting a flurry of sparks that barely slows the vehicle down. An explicit mantra of curses and exclamations pounds through his head as he resumes chasing the sandcrawler, anger thrumming through his working muscles at the infuriating Jawas for taking what belongs to him.
Coming up alongside the enormous sandcrawler, Mando leaps, catching hold of one of the large gears on the vehicle's side. From there, he launches himself upwards, grabbing onto the ladder's edge, the rungs built into the metal's side for the Jawas' access. His feet dangle over open air as he hauls himself upward, boots fumbling for a grip.
The sandcrawler veers towards an outcropping of rock, meaning to scrape him off like a tick clinging to the side of a beast. Just as the stone scrapes roughly against the side of the vehicle, Mando drags himself onto the ledge above the ladder, pebbles and sand spraying the front of his helmet and his plates of armor.
His relief is short lived.
Jawas poke their heads out of small windows above him, realizing that he's managed to hold on. They begin to chuck parts out the window, hard objects that strike his body, banging off his helmet and shoulders. Using chinks in the metal of the sandcrawler as purchase, he makes his way up the side, gritting his teeth as the parts plummet past him, nicking him every so often. One strikes his hand, and Mando nearly falls, body swinging out to the side as he dangles from one arm, cursing the creatures to hell.
With his free hand, he shoots a grappling wire up to the top of the sandcrawler. As he climbs, objects strike his face and torso.
"Ow!" he grits out repeatedly, flinching every time something hits him.
A panel slides open as he ascends, and one of the Jawas sticks him with an electric rod. His armor blocks most of the shock, but it still bites as he punches out at the creature, which disappears back into the darkness. The next time another reaches out, Mando swings from his line and kicks it in the chest, sending it reeling back. As one above him leers, saying something unintelligible, he snatches its loose robe and yanks it out of the sandcrawler, sending it plummeting towards the desert below.
As Mando nears the top, the Jawas beat at the pipe of metal he's hanging from until it twists, base weakening. He makes it up one more foot before it comes free entirely, tipping over the edge of the sandcrawler and hurtling towards the ground. Luckily, he only falls a foot before he re-anchors himself to the side of the vehicle.
When the next Jawa shows its face, he heaves it over the edge, pulling himself up onto the top of the sandcrawler. Mando draws his blaster, but he's too late: the Jawas hold up their own weapons, firing a dozen electric pulses into his chest. Frozen in place, Mando teeters for a brief moment before pitching backwards, falling back first over the side of the sandcrawler. His back slams into the ground first, and his vision cuts out, blue snakes of electricity still crawling over the plates of his armor.
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double update for turkey day!
happy thanksgiving if you celebrate it ♡