THIRTY FOUR.
the beginning of the end!
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Arvala-7 glitters like a gold gem hung within the onyx folds of the endless galaxy. As they enter its atmosphere, the piles of sandy dunes reflect dying sunlight as the sky, pale at one horizon, turns a dusky azure. The glow reflects upon Zoya's face as she leans down, pressing a hand gently to the green curve of the child's forehead, reminiscing on what had happened the last time they'd been on the planet, the memories pulled through her head by the familiar, glittering, endless expanse of Arvala-7's surface.
Din had left her cuffed to the ship—at the time, she'd known him only as the Mandalorian—to go find the child. Those fucking Jawas had raided the Razor Crest and taken her with them. Din, returning for her after what had seemed like hours of waiting, slathered with thick, oozing, gritty mud, and yet, the only thing Zoya had been able to think of was how much she wanted to wrap her arms around him.
Her eyelids flutter closed as Din maneuvers the ship down to rest upon the planet, settling a short distance from the Ugnaught's dwelling. Releasing the controls, he glances back at Zoya, Cara, and the child.
"Ready?" he says.
Zoya's eyes hook onto his visor for a second that feels more like a minute. His visor is unreadable, but it's almost as if she can see his eyes underneath, holding hers with unspoken care. "Course," she replies, and the group moves to the ramp to descend.
Kuiil is waiting for them outside his home, hands folded before him as they approach. His eyes go from Din, scanning the unreadable planes of his Beskar, to Zoya, where his hard expression slightly softens, to the child hovering alongside them in its basket, and then to Cara, bringing up the back of the group. And without a word, he nods and turns to go inside, expecting them to follow. The three duck slightly to get underneath the rounded entrance.
The hut is filled with a soft, glowing light, emanating from small lanterns placed strategically about the space. A furnace sits close to the wall, its pipe protruding from the top to thread through the ceiling. They settle in a loose circle before it; Cara and Zoya relax against the floor shoulder to shoulder as Din and Kuiil remain standing.
"It hasn't grown much," the Ugnaught remarks.
Din watches as Kuiil scrutinizes the child. "I think it might be a Strand-Cast."
"I don't think it was engineered—I worked in the gene farms. This one looks evolved. Too ugly. This one on the other hand," he says, gesturing to Cara, "looks like she was farmed in the Cytocaves of Nora."
"This is Cara Dune," Din introduces. "She was a shock trooper."
Kuiil looks back to her, his interest palpable. "You were a Dropper?"
Cara's eyes narrow slightly as she tilts her head to one side, looking at him curiously. "Did you serve?"
"On the other side, I'm afraid." Zoya's eyes flick up in shock, and though she tries to keep it from showing on her face, the Ugnaught catches her expression and the line of his mouth thins regretfully. "But, I'm proud to say that I paid out my clan's debt, and now I serve no one but myself," Kuiil finishes.
"I'm sorry," Zoya says softly.
Before Kuiil has a chance to respond, something that sounds like gears whirring sounds at the entrance as an unfamiliar droid enters, and a triumvirate of blasters are up and armed within a split second. Zoya, Din, and Cara are on their feet, arms tensed and eyes drilling into the tall droid as it straightens.
"Would anyone care for some tea?" it asks.
Kuiil turns to them quickly. "Please, lower your blasters. He will not harm you."
"That thing is programmed to kill the baby," Din replies sharply, shoulder brushing softly against Zoya's in a way that almost feels like he's checking on her as her finger tenses carefully on the trigger.
"Not anymore," the Ugnaught says, and the droid sets down the platter its carrying in front of them. It's piled with four steaming mugs and a pitcher of tea. "It was left behind in the wake of your destruction, Mandalorian."
"Destruction?" Zoya cuts in. "What destruction?"
"There were dozens of guards around the place where the child was kept," Din says, keeping himself focused on the droid. "I took them out. The droid helped me, but when he tried to shoot the baby afterwards . . ." Though he doesn't complete the story, it's all too clear what Din's meaning is, and Zoya looks back at the droid with a new type of anger burning in her chest.
Kuiil sighs and continues, "I found it laying where it fell. Devoid of all life. I recovered the flotsam and staked it as my own in accordance with the Charter of the New Republic. Little remained of its neural harness. Reconstruction was quite difficult, but not impossible. It had to learn everything from scratch. This is something that cannot be taught with the twist of a spanner. It requires patience and repetition. I spent day after day reinforcing its development with patience and affirmation. It developed a personality as its experiences grew."
"Is it still a hunter?" Din asks warily.
"No, but it will protect."
Stonily, Din commences with the droid in what looks like a staring contest, silence pulling a taut cord between them. Zoya and Cara exchange a look as they shove their blasters into their respective holsters in unison.
"Tea?" the droid asks finally, holding out a cup.
Cara reaches forward and takes it, raising it to her lips without comment. Din sighs, turning away with his arms folded across his chest. For a moment, no one else moves, but Cara swallows loudly, giving Zoya a pointed glance.
Picking up on the cue, Zoya leans forward, trying to break the tension heating the small space, curling through the air and radiating from one clear source, who sets his eyes upon her as soon as she moves slightly closer to the droid. "May I have a cup?" she asks politely.
"Of course," it says, voice metallic.
A few minutes later, Kuiil excuses himself to check on the Blurrg lumbering outside, leaving the three alone with the child and the droid. Din, for obvious reasons, doesn't take a cup of tea for himself, leaving Cara and Zoya to drink most of it. The taste is surprisingly pleasant, light and flowery, the aftertaste lingering tartly on Zoya's tongue.
"Zoya," Din says, hand gently curving around her shoulder. She pulls the cup away from her lips and looks up at him expectantly. "I'm going to go talk with the Ugnaught. You and Cara watch the child; try to keep that damn droid as far away from him as you can, yeah?"
Cara nods as Zoya says, "Of course. He will help, won't he?"
Almost as if he isn't thinking about it, Din slides his hand up the slope of her neck to cup the corner of her jaw. The movement is natural and easy, and so is the way her hand comes up to cover his. "Yes." Her eyes search his visor. "I hope so," he amends. "If not, we'll figure it out. We'll find a way."
"We'll find a way," Zoya echoes quietly.
One, two, three heartbeats. One, two flutters of Zoya's lashes. One clench of Din's jaw beneath the helmet, and he lets his hand fall from her face.
"I'll be back," he says, hyperaware of the way his voice quakes. Clearing his throat, Din turns quickly and moves towards the entrance to find Kuiil.
Cara sighs. "You two are cute."
"What?" Zoya blinks.
"You know how you said you thought he might think whatever happened between you two—not that you have to tell me—was a mistake?" She rolls her eyes, taking a deep drink of her tea, eyes flicking to Zoya. "Gods. He touches you like that, and you think he regrets whatever happened? Open your eyes."
Zoya flushes. "That's not—I—"
Cara levels an unimpressed look her way.
"Maybe I was wrong," Zoya mutters after a short length of silence, folding her fingers once again around the warm cup of tea, watching as the droid moves further into the Ugnaught's home. "I just—I didn't want what I'm feeling to be . . . unrequited."
"Everyone feels that way sometimes," Cara says. "Just be honest with him, yeah? He's probably done with Kuiil now; you can go out there, right now, and talk with him. Get it over with so you don't have to worry about it anymore." She shrugs casually, pouring herself more tea. "It's what I would do."
"Well, you might be braver than me, then," Zoya replies.
"Don't kriffing do that," Cara says, laughing. "Just go. You can do it." She sets down her cup, clapping a hand onto Zoya's shoulder. "You've got this." Zoya stares at her for a moment, trying to figure out where this Cara came from. "I can't deal with the tension for any longer, honestly. Please, just do something about it."
"Fuck." Zoya glances at the child. "Fuck it. Okay." She stands abruptly, starting towards the door. Just before she ducks outside, she hesitates, looking back. "Will you keep an eye on him?"
Cara nods, shooing her. "Yeah, yeah. Just go."
A swarm of butterflies rises in Zoya's stomach as she steps out into twilight's soft glow. The slate gray hue of the cobalt expanse of the sky overhead wraps itself gently around her shoulders, and a soft breeze curls cooled fingers through her hair, brushing down along the line of her jaw. Zoya wraps her arms tightly around her torso, boots crunching golden grains of sand to dust beneath their soles. Her eyes fall upon Din, who still stands with Kuiil, and for a moment, Zoya considers going back inside, forgetting everything.
But she forces herself to stay, to wait for him to be finished.
When Kuiil looks back to his Blurrg, Din turns to the Ugnaught's dwelling, surprised by the sight of Zoya waiting for him. Curiosity piqued, he walks her way, pressing his lips together beneath his helmet.
Zoya's breath trembles in her chest as he approaches, and her hands twist in front of her. Din's eyes catch on the movement, on the tension lining the planes of her face, and he tilts his head, looking down at her.
"What's wrong?" he asks.
"Is Kuiil going to help?" Zoya says, trying to ignore the way her voice trembles, a goblet made of glass hovering on the edge of a table.
Din nods. "He's going to bring his Blurrgs, too."
"Huh." Zoya mimics his nod as if that makes sense, eyes glazing as she stares over his shoulder.
"That's not what you were going to ask," Din says. "I can tell."
Zoya's eyes search his visor, and the words tremble at the tip of her tongue as the memories of their kiss swell, burnt rose petals brushing against soft skin and new flames rising within a swirling snowstorm. "Do you regret what we did?" she whispers.
Something flips in his stomach. "I don't," he tells her.
"You don't?" Hope's spark flicks alight in her eyes.
"Not in the slightest." His voice cracks.
Before Zoya can stop herself, she lurches forward, wrapping her arms around his neck, the closest to him she can be, with the barrier of his Beskar unyielding against her chest. Din tugs her closer, narrowing the distance between them until she's pressed as near to him as possible.
"I wish you could touch me again," Din murmurs.
The confession scorches her face, and Zoya tightens her hold on him, turning her face into his neck, imagining that she can almost feel the warm skin that lies beneath. Unbidden, a dark thought curls into her mind, one that wreathes a rope of pessimism and disappointment around her, trying to pull her back. I'll never see his face. I'll never get to see his face, no matter how much I love him, no matter how much he cares for me.
"Me too," she says softly.
"But as long as I have you by my side," Din mumbles, and though it's through the modulator, Zoya imagines that it sounds as it did the day he'd taken off the helmet, deep and smooth and intimate against her skin, "it will be enough."
And then, the sun sinks behind the horizon, sending a spray of stars flickering across the sky, telling the tales of legends long gone and turned into ash, and spelling out the stories of those yet to come.
END OF ACT TWO.
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see u in act 3 pals!!!!