FORTY THREE.
i can't leave you!
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The trooper, scarlet painted across his ivory armor, raises the flamethrower once more, death waiting at his fingertips as he prepares to pull the trigger. Zoya forces herself to lift her head off Din's chest, to look fate in the eye, to watch as it ends, because to go out any differently would make this all be for nothing. She sets her jaw, staring at the Imperial, and waits for her soul to be freed.

Almost as if in slow motion, the trooper raises the weapon of death, aiming it at them while Zoya's pulse thunders in her head. She thinks to reach for her blaster, but it's long gone, laying somewhere in the dirt feet from Ayaan's corpse. As time slows, she pictures her brother as he once was: beaming from ear to ear, the suns reflecting in his russet irises as he looked back over his shoulder, sprinting across the empty plains. Happy. Zoya pictures Din, touching her as if she's made of glass, pressing his lips to hers like he'll never breathe again. Cara, wrapping her arms around her shoulders and grinning, the sister she'd never had. Even Greef, pulling her away from the awful thing she'd done, his arms strong and reassuring as he carried her. The child, eyes brown and wide, looking up at the cerulean sky.

Maybe it wasn't a long life I had, she thinks, watching as the trooper takes his final step towards them, ash hanging in the air and spiraling towards the stagnant flames, but at least I really lived.

Swells of flame glisten as they uncurl from the end of the weapon, billowing through the cantina and shredding through the air. Zoya flinches despite herself, turning her head down once more, but the unbearable heat never reaches her.

Fingers trembling, she dares a glance upwards. The fire is held at bay, simmering in the air, roiling in an endless wave, just far enough away that it isn't scorching. Zoya whips around, spotting the child with his hands raised. The creature squeezes his eyes shut, and then with a flick of his wrist, he sends the ball of molten fire spinning back towards the trooper, who is flung back out of the cantina and into the street.

No one speaks for what seems like an hour, staring at the spot where the trooper had been catapulted out of sight. Zoya glances back at the child, who lays on the ground, exhausted. Without thinking, she tries to stand to go to him, but her leg, torn through and still draining blood from the seared, mangled flesh, spasms and gives out. She lands hard, unable to bite back a cry of pain that rips through her teeth, the crackling of the flames muffling the sound, but not enough to prevent Din from hearing.

He reaches for her shakily, but a loud clang makes him pause.

"Come on!" Greef yells. "It's open, let's go!"

IG-11 has uncovered the entrance to the sewer. It lies there tauntingly, black mouth wide and gaping, a tantalizing hope for their survival. Her eyes are drawn to it automatically, as if it contains a magnetic pull.

"Go," Din says, voice raspy and broken. "Go."

"We have to move! Now!" Greef calls.

IG-11 plucks the child from the floor, delivering him into Cara's arms as she stands. Greef steps over towards Zoya, examining the charred flesh of her thigh, the crimson spilled in drying mosaics across her torn pant leg.

The droid looks to Cara, holding the creature. "Escape, and protect this child. I will stay with the Mandalorian."

Cara collects her heavy blaster and turns back to the droid. "Promise me"—she looks at Zoya—"Promise us that you'll bring him."

"You have my word," IG-11 says, as determinedly as a droid can speak.

Greef leans down, sliding an arm beneath Zoya's back. "Come on, Zoya," he says, when she twists away, grimacing as agony sears through her leg, the pain of a thousand sharp knives burrowing into her skin. "You have to work with me, here."

She yanks back again. "No."

"We don't have time for this—"

"Zoya," Din says with effort. "Please, go."

"I'm staying," she snarls. "You can't make me leave." She knows that it isn't true. With her injury and the burnt out adrenaline skittering to a grinding stop within her veins, she'll have a hard time resisting.

Greef sighs. "Please. Don't fight me."

"I want to stay," Zoya snaps, around the lump that grows in her throat. She reaches for Din's hand, but it's too far away, and her fingertips barely brush his before she collapses back onto her elbows, digging her teeth into her lower lip at the pain that tears through her body.

"I know you do," Greef says. "I know."

But Zoya's weakened from both her injury and trauma, and without the use of her left leg, she can't do much other than push at Greef's chest as he makes one final effort, tucking his arms so tightly around her that she can't push him away, rising to his feet without much issue.

"Put me down!" Zoya demands, but he's holding her too close. Her voice builds into a shriek, one that the Guild leader tries his best to ignore, especially with how the emotion building in her heart shatters the word. "Please!"

"Goodbye, Mando," he says quietly.

The layers of underlying respect don't go unnoticed by the Mandalorian, even lying prone on the floor, barely able to move. He can't even raise a hand. "Goodbye, Greef," Din replies. Beneath the helmet, his eyes drift to Zoya. Already, the world is swimming in hues of gold. Whether it's from the fire flickering across the walls or delirium filling him from the calamitous wound to his skull, he doesn't know, but by the way it sends a shimmering halo to encircle Zoya's head, he can't find it within himself to care. His voice is a whisper in the destruction, barely a feather floating through the chaos, so easily torn apart by the roaring of the flames. "Goodbye, Zoya."

Tears wrench themselves from her eyes as Greef starts to carry her away, and she kicks weakly, straining over Greef's shoulder, trying to reach for him, straining until her fingernails rip the air to shreds. "No!" The shriek tears itself from her mouth, claws digging into her throat. "Please! I can't leave him I can't leave him I can't leave him, no, no, no—!" Even they've disappeared down into the sewers, her screams echo, her voice ripped apart and shattered into pieces, the sound of her anguish shattering the sky.

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Zoya sags limply against Greef's chest as he carries her down the passageway, and the dark, decrepit halls are the stuff of legends and nightmares. He shifts her higher, readjusting his grip, and Zoya takes the opportunity to wrench herself out of his grasp, tumbling onto the floor with a thud. She's unable to stop herself from grunting at the impact, feeling her left leg seize as it shrieks in pain.

Cara, ahead of them with the child, spins at the noise. "Zoya—" she starts to call.

Greef drops to his knees immediately, brows knitting in concern. "Gods, are you okay? I didn't mean to—"

"Get away," she snaps, voice hoarse from yelling, from screaming out Din's name like it's only word she's ever known, "don't touch me!"

Twisting away from his careful hands, Zoya uses her good leg to push herself back down the way they'd came. Greef tosses a look back at Cara, who presses her lips together, shaking her head mutely. They both know that there's no time for this, that Zoya's attempts to return to Din will be fruitless, especially with her ruined leg.

Sedative? Greef mouths, even though he already knows what Cara's answer will be, his heart sinking down to the soles of his boots.

She shakes her head mutely. No.

Liquor? he says silently.

The ex-shock trooper gives him a look. No.

Zoya's fingers curl into the ground, dragging her body forward another few inches. The rough stone shreds the calloused skin of her fingertips, and crimson seeps out in glittering trails, marking the path of her hands. After one last bone-shattering inch forward, every muscle screaming, the feeling in her left leg diminishing until it seems as if the limb itself has been removed, vacant as the pain is, Zoya lets her forehead press to the ground, eyes burning.

"You had no gods-damned right," she chokes out. "No right."

Greef rolls Zoya over carefully, mindful of her injury as he eases her onto her back. "He wanted you out of there," he reminds her. "Did you want to stay and condemn yourself?"

Zoya doesn't respond.

Then, even though he knows that it might be a lie, that they might never see the Mandalorian alive again, he adds, "He's going to be okay."

"Okay," she whispers.

Eyes flickering back down to her wounded leg, Greef shrugs out of his jacket and rips the sleeve off at its hem, tearing it down the middle. As she lays there silently, tears leaking from her eyes and the raw, burnt through skin of her thigh bared to the cold air, he wraps the fabric carefully around her leg, noting her wince as the material presses down against the gaping wound. But, to his surprise, Zoya doesn't try to push his hands away, letting him wrap her leg instead, tying the ends of the fabric tight enough that it—hopefully—won't slip.

When it's done, Greef slowly slides an arm beneath Zoya's knees and around her back, lifting her to his chest as he pushes himself back to his feet. Her head falls limply against his shoulder, and her face crumples as she turns into the fabric of his shirt, giving up.

Cara watches her quietly, tucking the bundle of the child closer. Her eyes sadden, but they all know there's no time, so she doesn't spare a moment to say anything before they continue down the passageway, the only sounds the slide of their boots against the ground and Zoya's quiet sniffles as she tries to conceal her tears.

She can't think of anything but Din, lying on the ground, the life bleeding from his veins in silvery strands. Din, dying after she'd screamed at him, dying after he'd revealed that he'd been lying to her, dying when it seemed like hell was reaching up to swallow the earth whole, dying when she'd realized that maybe I can't trust him anymore.

Even so, the memories run rampant, reminding her of everything they'd shared, everything they'd done side by side, and she can't stop her heart from aching, just as she could not keep it from beating.

Zoya bites her tongue, trying to muffle the cry that builds in the back of her throat. Cara's flashlight unfurls blue-tinted light that pools on the path ahead, illuminating the dirt caked into the crevices where the walls meet the ground, the iron frames of the dim, yellowish lights that don't provide much clarity to the darkness ahead, and the seemingly endless path disappearing into the wealth of shadows.

A distorted crash sounds from behind them, further down the passageway. Greef and Cara turn, Zoya and the child in their arms. All four are deadly silent as the footsteps echo, wondering if it's the Imperials headed towards them, weapons raised and ready to fire, or even a monster that lurks within the darkness, ready to saw their heads off with its sharp teeth.

In the end, it's none of the above.

Staggering, using IG-11 for support, headlamp attached to his helmet glowing with all the luminescence of a star, is Din, alive and breathing right in front of them.

Zoya releases a cry as Greef carries her closer, Cara following behind them with a grin splitting her face in two. She reaches out to him as soon as she's near enough, cupping the sides of his helmet with trembling fingers, feeling his eyes sketch across her face. Twisting awkwardly in Greef's arms, thigh screaming, Zoya manages to wrap her arms tightly around his neck. Sliding his own arm between her and Greef, Din presses her close, feeling his heart ease.

"I'm okay," he whispers.

Zoya chokes out a strained laugh that sounds more like a sob. "Don't ever do that again, you asshole."

Din smiles tiredly despite the ache in the back of his head and pulls away, letting Cara support him as she hands the child to the droid. "I got you," she says, lifting his arm to tug it around her shoulders.

"See?" Greef says to Zoya, looking down at her fondly. "I told you he'd be all right."

The corners of her lips curve up, and she raises a hand to wipe at the glittering mess of tears on her face. "Yeah," she admits quietly, "you did."

"Maybe I should be a psychic instead of a Guild leader," he tells her as they move on, keeping his voice low, trying to get her to smile. "It might be my calling."

He succeeds. Zoya's face brightens as she stops trying to repress a grin, shaking her head. "If you were a psychic, you would've been able to foresee all of this shit and prevent us from getting in over our heads—and that there were more than four fucking Stormtroopers."

Greef lets out a low chuckle. "You're never going to let me forget that, are you?"

Zoya's eyes find the back of Din's helmet as he shuffles along in front of them with Cara's help, trying to ignore the aching in her chest. "As long as I live."

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a father daughter duo? 👀 it's what we deserve 😌