TWENTY TWO.
tumbling amber dunes!
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Before the words are fully out of Din's mouth, the two are pivoting on their heels in seemingly rehearsed unison, sprinting for the ramp, boots thundering loudly as they go. Zoya's chest squeezes as her heart pounds in her ears, beating frantically, the cage of her ribs becoming the only thing keeping it in check.
"Where the hell is he?" she hisses.
"Fuck," Din says lowly, voice equally tight, "I don't know." When they reach the bottom of the ramp, he yells at the top of his lungs, so angry and deep that it raises the hairs on the back of Zoya's neck. "Hey!"
The mechanic, slumped in a small room equipped with dirty windows, jumps awake with a gasp loud enough to reach Zoya's ears. "I'm awake!" she yelps. "I'm awake!"
One of her droids, unfortunately standing in the way of the Mandalorian's anger, starts to pass in front of them. "Where is he?" Din snarls, and the little machine squeals and drops to the ground, using its own head as cover.
"Quiet!" she scolds, coming out of the room, shushing the child, who is swaddled in her arms. Zoya relaxes at the sight, though her fingers twitch, wanting to pull the little baby from her to ensure its safety. "It's okay. You woke it up! Do you have any idea how long it took me to get it to sleep?" She walks closer, bouncing the child up and down.
"Give him to me," Din says flatly.
"Not so fast!"
Zoya jerks forward instinctively, hand falling to grip the handle of her blaster. "He's ours," she tells the woman sharply, hazel irises deepening to an opulent brown as the already prominent line of her jaw hardens significantly. Din's eyes flick to her at the words, and his chest warms despite the situation. "Give him back. Now."
"You can't just leave a child all alone like that," the woman reprimands them, refusing to be intimidated. "You know, both of you have an awful lot to learn about raising a young one." The child coos, looking up at the mechanic. His fingers stretch upward, flexing and relaxing as he stares at her fluffy, dark curls.
Unclenching her jaw, Zoya tries to make herself relax. "Sorry. You're right, um . . ." She trails off, hoping the woman will fill in the blank.
"Peli Motto," the woman says.
"Zoya Vitaan. Thank you for, um, watching him for us. We shouldn't have left him in the ship. It wasn't a good move."
"You're right, Zoya. You and your husband have a great deal to learn about being parents. Also—what's his name?" Peli looks to Din, who doesn't say anything, taken aback by the woman so blatantly calling him Zoya's husband, despite the fact that Zoya had told him all about her assumption before they'd even gotten to the cantina. "Well?"
"Call him Mando," Zoya supplies, knowing that he won't tell her his name. The woman looks at him for another beat, curiosity narrowing her eyes. "I'll take him back, now." She reaches out for the child. Peli eyes her for a second, then passes him over. Pulling him closer, Zoya murmurs, "Hey, bud. Have a good nap?" He gurgles in response.
"Anyway," Peli drags out, "I started the repair on the fuel leak." She turns to a set of controls, fingers flying over the buttons. Din strides back up the ramp to grab a bag, listening to Peli continuing to speak behind him. "There you go. I had a couple setbacks I wanted to talk to you about. You know, I didn't use any droids, as requested, so it took me a lot longer than I expected." She pauses as he starts to return down the ramp, glancing at the child in Zoya's arms. "But, I figured you were good for the money since you have an extra mouth to feed."
"Thank you," Zoya says. "That's very kind."
When she nudges him with her elbow, Din echoes, "Thank you." He glances down at Zoya, then gestures with his helmet towards the door, so subtle that she almost doesn't catch the movement. He starts to walk forward without another word, and Zoya follows, refusing to let him out of her sight.
"Oh, I guess I was right!" Peli exclaims, tailing them. "You got a job, didn't you?"
It's clear that Din isn't interested in talking. "Yes, he did," Zoya says for him, rolling her eyes at his back. Would it kill you to be a little more polite?
The back door slides open before them, and a swath of dusty golden light spills across the floor. "Well, that's good," Peli says. "You know, it's costing me a lot of money to keep these droids even powered up."
Zoya's lips twist as her eyes fall upon Toro, waiting for them with two speeders. "Hey, Mando, what do you think? Not too shabby, huh?" After he speaks, his gaze falls upon the child in Zoya's arms. She tenses, pulling him closer to her chest, wanting to hide him from Toro's prying eyes.
Din places his pack on the back of the speeder, stepping towards the front end to examine the vehicle. He prods at it for a beat, and the metal clicks together, proving that the speeders might not be as stable as they look.
"What'd you expect?" Toro says, watching the inspection. "This ain't Corellia." He glances to Peli, who steps up behind Zoya. "Ma'am."
"Watch him, please," Zoya says, giving the child carefully over to Peli. "We won't be gone for too long. Just . . . make sure he's safe."
Peli nods. "Of course I will. Make sure you come back for him, though."
"We would never leave him behind," Zoya says.
As Toro climbs onto his speeder, she walks over to Din, who's about to mount his own. Beneath the helmet, he opens his mouth to speak, but Zoya steps right past him, slinging her leg over the seat of the speeder. He stares at her for a moment, unsure of what she's thinking. She glances at him, raising her eyebrows expectedly.
"What are you doing?" he asks.
Zoya looks pointedly at the speeder. "Um. I'm sitting here?"
"You're not—"
She holds up a hand. "Don't even try. Peli's watching him." Toro starts his speeder's engine, revving it loudly. "You gonna get on?"
Din swallows, a muscle clicking in his jaw as he steps forward. "Y-Yeah. Of course."
Without further ado, he swings his leg over the speeder's seat in front of her, careful not to knock her with his boot. She leans away to give him room, but when he's settled in front of the handlebars, she relaxes, and his back presses against her chest. He starts their speeders engine, which releases a loud roar, and, with a look at Toro, they jet off towards the empty desert. Wind immediately lashes Zoya's cheeks, burning as it dries out her eyes.
As they fly over the sand, Din's back moves against her chest, hips shifting back as he adjusts himself on the seat. As his body moves against hers, Zoya feels something tighten in her stomach, sending a wave of heat rippling down her thighs, clenched around the seat of the speeder. After a beat of hesitation, she slides her arms forward, wrapping them tightly around his torso to feel more stable, trying to ignore the way her knees press against the outside of his strong legs, braced forward into the hammering winds.
Underneath the armor, Din's body tenses at her touch, and a soft breath shudders across his flower petal lips, inaudible over the scream of the engines and the sound of the speeders barreling across the dunes. When her head presses against the space between his shoulder blades, knees framing his thighs, Din stiffens his fingers on the handles, unintentionally increasing their speed with a harsh jump forward.
She squeaks, tightening her grip around his waist as she nearly lurches back with the sudden amplified momentum. "Jesus, Din," she calls, loud enough towards his helmet that he catches the comment. "Don't give me any warning."
"Sorry," Din replies, easing back on the speed, the word catching in his throat at the sound of his name sliding once again upon her tongue. Warmth brushes burning fingers across his cheeks beneath the helmet, and he scolds himself for being so affected by her touch and her words.
Toro's speeder catches up to them, flying over the sand as larger dunes erupt over the plateau on either side of the group, rounded hills that sparkle underneath the sunlight. Zoya narrows her eyes against the blowing wind as she lets her gaze travel over the empty space, wishing she had goggles like Toro to defend herself against the sharp gusts of air. The only thing that keeps sand from flying into her eyes is the expanse of Din's back, and she presses her forehead to him, fitting her body as close to his as she can.
Their trail across the desert is marked by two lines of flying sand, kicked up by the speeders as they whir by. The hovering grains slowly drift back to rest, but whilst still in the air, they proclaim the path taken by the Mandalorian, the convict, and the wannabe hunter.
Before long, Din lifts a gloved hand from one of the handlebars, lifting it in the air, fingers curled into a fist as he slows his speeder. Toro eases to a stop beside them, and Zoya reluctantly lifts her head off Din's back to look around.
"What's going on?" Toro asks as the engines power down.
Din gestures forward. "Look. Up ahead."
Zoya loosens her arms around his torso so she can peer up and over his shoulder, towards the mountainous ridges in the distance. A small group of figures is visible up ahead, but Zoya can't quite make out what they are.
Toro jumps off his speeder and grabs a pair of binocs from the pack attached to the back of the seat. As he walks forward past Din and Zoya, she straightens her spine as much as she can so she's able to rest her chin on his shoulder. "I have a bad feeling about him," she says, quietly enough that Toro won't be able to hear.
Din slouches a fraction, noticing that she's straining to reach his shoulder. She leans forward more comfortably, eyes fixed on Toro. "You're paranoid," he says.
She snorts. "Yeah. For good reason."
"Tusken Raiders," Toro calls back. "I heard the locals talking about this filth."
Zoya rolls her eyes. "That's polite."
"Tuskens think they're the locals," Din says. "Everyone else is just trespassing."
Toro keeps his eyes pressed to the binocs, studying the figures in the distance, unaware that a pair of Raiders approaches from their left. "Whatever they call themselves, they best keep their distance."
Zoya releases an exasperated sigh, shifting her chin where it rests on Din's shoulder, linked hands still draped across his torso, though she knows there's no reason for her to still be holding on to him. "What are you gonna do, talk them to death?"
Din lets out a laugh so quiet that Zoya barely catches it. "Yeah?" he says to Toro. "Why don't you tell them yourself?"
Toro turns in confusion, lowering the binocs, and nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees the two Tusken Raiders standing behind him, desert-colored clothes blending with their surroundings, weapons held upwards. Zoya muffles a cackle at the sight, watching gleefully as Toro steps back, fear scrawled plainly across his face.
Din dismounts their speeder, holding up a hand to the younger man. "Relax."
Zoya remains on the seat, hooking both her legs over one side to keep her eyes on Din. He stops beside Toro and begins to communicate with the Raiders through a series of diverse hand motions. Once, he gestures back to her, causing the Tuskens to stare her way for a brief moment. When he's finished, Toro stares at him.
"What are you doing?" His question floats back over the sand.
"Negotiating," Din says.
One of the Raiders responds with different signals, and Zoya squints, trying to understand the proceedings as Din gives them a similar response. Unfortunately, she's never bothered to learn more than a couple languages, and whatever type of motions Din and the Raiders are doing, she can't decipher them.
"What's going on?" Toro asks.
"We need passage across their land." Din watches the Tuskens for another beat, then extends a hand to Toro. "Let me see the binocs."
"Why?"
The Mandalorian merely turns his head slowly to look at him, and Toro gives up the binocs easily. Din immediately tosses them to the Tusken Raiders, receiving an offended look from Toro in response.
"Hey!" He whirls as Din starts to cross back to Zoya. "Those were brand new!"
Zoya lifts her leg back over the seat as Din slides in front of her. "Yeah. They were." A grin lifts Zoya's mouth.
"Nice one."
"You probably would've done better," Din says, and he shrugs it off, but her amusement is palpable. It ignites a burst of satisfaction within him, tilting his helmet to the side in a way that gives him an aura of easy confidence. Din revs the engine of the speeder, and Zoya reaches forward, linking her arms around him once again.
"I probably would've offered up Toro for the trade instead of just the binocs," she says, setting her chin on his shoulder.
Din's answering laugh rumbles through his back where it presses against her chest as their speeder pulls forward, leaving Toro behind with the Tusken Raiders. "I can see you doing something like that."
She grins. "So next time, just let me handle the negotiations."
"No, that's exactly why you shouldn't. We can't just give people to the Raiders, Zoya," Din tells her.
"Why not?"
Even sitting close behind him, Zoya can tell that he shakes his head. "Because," he says over the roar of the engine, "we just can't."
"That doesn't sound like a real reason."
Zoya's knees shift where they press against his upper thighs, and Din tenses at the contact, trying to keep his mind on the task at hand, when it really wants to wander to other places, places of burning red and flames blossoming against tanned skin and lips as soft as unfurling roses with petals as crimson as blood.
Toro catches up to them before Din can drag his wandering, traitorous thoughts back to reality. His speeder propels a flurry of golden sand up into the air as he settles in alongside them, throwing a dirty look their way, the heat of it barely concealed beneath his goggles and the cloth covering his mouth. Din pretends not to see it, which isn't hard, as the distraction of Zoya's arms tight around his waist, her torso pressed against his back, and her legs flush against his provides much else for him to focus on.
Soon, the dunes rise so high on either side of the triumvirate that they seem to scrape the cloudless, cobalt sky. At the sight of the desert stretching endlessly into the distance, Zoya realizes just how large the planet is and just how unlikely it is that they'll make it back to the child and the Razor Crest if something goes wrong.
Unease spills down the curve of her spine. At least I have Din.
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excuse me while i cry