TWENTY SEVEN.
chaotic wills!
｡･:*:･ﾟ✧ ｡･:*:･ﾟ

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Ran leads Din and Zoya deeper into the station. Crackling sparks and the sound of sharpening metal fill the air, and the scent of smoke lies in a thick haze. As they walk, Zoya pulls her hair up into a ponytail to keep it off her neck, the grown-out strands of her bangs falling free to frame her face. She messes with them in annoyance, and Din glances at her questioningly.

"I need to get these cut again or just shave them off," she says in reply. "They won't stop getting in my face."

"I have scissors in the ship," he tells her.

Zoya raises a brow. "Is that you offering to cut my hair for me?"

Din shrugs, feeling self-conscious. "If you want me to."

Her lips tug up into a half smile, and she looks down at her boots as they continue to follow Ran, trying to quell the nonsensical happiness that swells in her chest.

Get a grip, Vitaan.

"I'm not sure if I'd let you around my face with a pair of scissors," she says, trying to recapture her wit, frustrated that it keeps slipping out of her hands.

Beneath the helmet, Din rolls his eyes. Before he can shoot off a tactful reply, Ran calls out to a man standing with his back to them. He's silhouetted by showers of sparks, light gleaming off his bare head. "Hey, Mayfeld."

"Yeah?" he replies immediately, turning to face them.

Ran gestures to Din as the man approaches. "This is Mando, the guy I was telling you about. We used to do jobs, way back when."

Zoya's eyes scan over the harness strapped across the man's chest. It's outfitted with two blaster holsters, both of which are filled. His eyes are pulled into calculating slits as he examines Din from head to toe, and there's a ginger scruff on his lower face, nearly the same color as his skin. As he steps forward, his brows pull together.

"This is the guy?" he asks.

"Yeah," Ran says. "We were all young, trying to make a name for ourselves. Yeah, but running with a Mandalorian, that was . . . that brought us some reputation." He laughs as he reminisces, but it's clear Din doesn't look upon their memories together with the same sentiment, as he remains silent.

"Oh yeah?" Mayfeld says. "What did he get out of it?"

They're talking about him like he's not here. Zoya scowls, folding her arms across her chest as she steps up beside Din, feeling a hot, irrational surge of annoyance rise uncomfortably underneath her ribs.

"I asked him that one time. You remember what you said, Mando?" Din doesn't say a word. "Target practice," Ran fills in, before he bursts out laughing. "Target practice! We did some crazy stuff, didn't we?"

"That was a long time ago," Din says flatly.

Ran nods. "It was." His eyes flick to Zoya then, and by some miracle, he doesn't recognize the barely concealed anger simmering beneath her skin. "Where are my manners? Sorry—Mayfeld, this is Zoya. She's with Mando."

Mayfeld's eyes skim across her. When he looks back up at her face, she meets his gaze coldly. "What for?"

"None of your kriffing business," she retorts.

His brows raise. "Don't get your panties in a twist."

Zoya's lip curls, but Din steps forward. "Don't talk to her." His voice is a lake frozen over, and it draws the heat from the room in an instant. "Ran. When do we leave?"

"Well," Ran draws out, hooking his thumbs in his pockets, "I don't go out anymore. You understand? So, uh, Mayfeld here, he's gonna run point on this job. If he says it, it's like it's coming from me. You two good with that?"

Din's head tilts slightly as his eyes burn on Mayfeld's face. "You tell me," he says lowly.

Ran chortles, his white beard shaking. "You haven't changed one bit."

Mayfeld doesn't seem to be quite as amused. He leans forward, eyes glinting like fragments of black glass. "Yeah, well, things have changed around here."

As he strides away, Ran says, "Yeah, well, Mayfeld, he's one of the best triggermen I've ever seen. Former Imperial sharpshooter."

"That's not saying much," Din says, unimpressed.

"I wasn't a Stormtrooper, wiseass," Mayfeld snaps, pivoting on his heel. He keeps his eyes locked onto Din's helmet for a moment, until it's clear that he's not going to get a response. He storms away, acting like a child.

"Doesn't take long, does it?" Ran asks, grinning.

"For what? Little bitch boy over there to get offended?" Zoya replies with a scowl, more irritated than she should be.

Ran gives her a careful glance, as if he fears she'll cut his throat if he looks at her the wrong way. "Sure," he says, when he's really not sure at all. His eyes go to the Mandalorian, but he doesn't find any comfort there. When the silence becomes too heavy, and all that Ran can feel is the weight of both the ex-convict and the Mandalorian's stares boring into him, he laughs nervously, stepping back towards where they'd landed the Razor Crest. "'Bout time," he tells them. "You'd better get moving, soon."

When Zoya moves to follow him, Din stops her with a gentle hand on her upper arm. "Keep steady, yeah?"

She nods, lips tight. "Yeah."

"Don't let them bother you."

Zoya exhales, relaxing underneath his careful touch. "I won't," she says, trying to sound honest, fully aware that her fragile temper will be the first thing to explode if one more person says something stupid.

"Good," Din says. "I don't want to have to gag you."

"Fuck off," she says, but she can't stop the grin that lifts both her lips and her spirits. "You'd miss the sound of my voice."

"Oh undoubtedly."

When they've begun to move towards the ship, Mayfeld raises an eyebrow, looking up at it dubiously. "Razor Crest?" he says. "I can't believe that thing can fly. Looks like a Canto Bight slot machine." As their path takes them closer to the ship, Mayfeld gestures to a figure on their left. "All right, the good-looking fellow there with the horns, that's Burg. This may surprise you, but he's our muscle."

Zoya looks up at the tall, crimson-skinned Devaronian as he drops a large crate to the ground. "Huh. I'm shocked; I thought I was gonna be the muscle."

Though Mayfeld smirks at her comment, Burg ignores her. He walks towards her and Din with thundering footsteps, grunting like a bull. He stops right in front of Din for a moment, looking down at him, then circles around, pointed ears sticking away from his head. "So, this is a Mandalorian," he rumbles. "I thought they'd be bigger."

Mayfeld continues without missing a beat. "Droid's name is Zero."

The droid approaches, bug-like eyes glinting underneath the lights. Like Mayfeld, it has a harness strapped across its body, equipped with weaponry.

"I thought you said you had four," Din says.

A voice purrs from behind them, "He does."

Slowly, Din turns, Zoya with him. Her eyes fall upon a lavender hued Twi'lek twirling a blade, the whites of her eyes showing.

"Hello, Mando," she says.

"Xi'an," he replies flatly.

"Tell me why I shouldn't cut you down where you stand," she says, then leaps forward, putting her blade to his throat. One of Zoya's newly accumulated daggers is in her hand before she has a moment to think about it.

Din merely says, "Nice to see you, too."

"Back. Up," Zoya snarls underneath her breath, moving forward. The Twi'lek looks towards her, but the anger on Xi'an's features is nothing compared to the flames starting to burn within Zoya's chest.

"And who do you think you are?"

"Someone who's going to put my dagger into your throat if you don't pull your blade away from his," Zoya replies, and the tones of her voice have a silken, menacing undertone that doesn't go unnoticed.

She bares her teeth in a laugh. "Got yourself a lapdog while you've been gone." Tapping her blade on his Beskar, she says, "This is shiny. You wear it well."

"What the fuck is going on?" Zoya clenches her fingers around the handle of her blade, feeling the engravings carve themselves into her skin. She stares blatantly as the Twi'lek stands as close as possible to Din, eyes inches from his visor.

"Do we need to leave the room or something?" Mayfeld says blankly.

Ran glances around, releasing a breath. "Well, Xi'an's been a little heartbroken since Mando left our group."

"Aw," Mayfeld pouts mockingly, "you gonna be okay, sweetheart?"

"Oh, I'm all business now," Xi'an replies, pointing her knife directly into Din's face. "Learned from the best."

"All right, lovebirds," Ran says.

Zoya blinks, bewildered, so startled that her grip loosens on the knife. "Lovebirds?" Din glances towards her, but he keeps quiet, unwilling to get into the details in front of the group, even when she shoots him a look.

Ran starts walking towards the Razor Crest. "Break it up until you get on the ship. Right now we don't have much time."

The group starts to walk away, and Xi'an looks over her shoulder, winking. Zoya's fingers curl into fists, and a snarl tugs at her mouth as daggers fling themselves from her stare, wanting nothing more than to hurl her knife into the Twi'lek's back. She doesn't notice that her hand has raised instinctively until Din's fingers curl gently around her wrist, bringing the blade back down to her side.

"Zoya," he says. "Remember what I said?"

"About the Twi'lek?" Zoya snaps back, angrier than she wants to be. "No, I don't recall you mentioning her. At all."

"Why would I have needed to?"

The words stop her cold, and Zoya fumbles, pulling away. "You—I didn't—you didn't need to."

"I didn't even know she was going to be here," Din tells her. "And you know that's not what I was talking about."

"Yeah. Keep steady." Her jaw clicks. "Right."

With that, Zoya spins on her heel, stalking towards where the rest of the group stand, everything colored over with a filter of envious green. She wrenches the knife back into its holster, muttering something unintelligible. Din watches her go as Burg lumbers towards him, mouth pulled into an upside down 'u'.

"Tiny," he grunts, laughing as he moves away.

Din's eyes float up to Zero, sitting in the cockpit. Swearing underneath his breath, he makes his way over to the group. Though he tries not to let it bother him, he can't help but focus on the way Zoya avoids looking his way. Something about the refusal, the way her eyes remain locked onto Mayfeld, stings.

"So, the package is being moved on a fortified transport ship." Mayfeld presses a button, and a glowing blue hologram emerges above the table. "Now, we've got a limited window to board, find our friend, and get him out of there before they make their jump."

Din's eyes lock onto the hologram. "That's a New Republic prison ship. Your man wasn't taken by a rival syndicate. He was arrested."

Mayfeld leans forward. "So what?"

"A job is a job," Ran says.

"That's a max security transport, and I'm not looking for that kind of heat." This time, Zoya looks at Din. Her eyes tell him what her voice won't. She doesn't want to do this, either. He can read it in the set of her mouth, the angle of her jaw, the darkened hazel of her irises. This is a bad idea.

Ran lifts a brow. "Well, neither are we. So just don't mess up."

"The good news for you is the ship is manned by droids," Xi'an says. She moves closer and slides a finger down his shoulder. "Still hate the machines, Mando?"

Zoya digs her nails into her palms and wills herself to stay calm. As she forces herself to keep her eyes off Din and the Twi'lek clinging to his side, the droid returns, stepping back down the ramp of the Razor Crest.

"Despite recent modifications, the ship is still quite a mess," it says, voice metallic and tinny. "The power lines are leaking, the navigation is intermittent, and the hyperdrive is only operating at 67.3% efficiency. We have much better ships. Why are we using this one?"

"Cause the Razor Crest is off the old Imperial and the New Republic grid." Ran looks around at the group. "It's a ghost."

"Yeah, and we need a ship that can get close enough to jam New Republic code," Mayfeld adds. "So, when we drop out of hyperspace here, if we immediately bank into this kind of attitude, we should be right in their blind spot, which will give us just enough time for your ship to scramble our signal."

Din's eyes go to Zoya. "It's not possible. Even for the Crest."

"That's why he's flying," Ran says, tilting his head towards Zero. "Mando, I know you're a pretty good pilot"—Mayfeld laughs in the background—"but we need you on the trigger. Not on the wheel."

"Don't worry, Mandalorian," Zero drones. "My response time is quicker than organics. And I'm smarter, too."

Zoya picks up a small, discarded coin from the table and flicks it at the droid's head. It rebounds off the metal with a clang, tumbling to the ground. "Yeah," she observes. "Great response time."

"All right, I—yeah. That's good," Ran says, stumbling over his words. "Forgive the programming. He's a little rough around the edges. But he is the best."

Din watches the droid as it moves away. "How can you trust it?"

"You know me, Mando," Ran says. "I don't trust anybody."

Zoya moves away from the table, boots soft on the filthy floor. As she heads up the ramp without a word to Din, he follows at her heels, mind spinning through their conversation once more in his mind.

"Just like the good old days, Mando. Huh?" Ran calls, when they reach the top. Din's only response is to shut the ramp in his face.

He turns immediately once the ramp is rising, spotting Zoya as she moves away into the darkened passageway. Before she can move into the belly of the ship, where the rest of the crew must have gone, he calls out her name. The syllables fall from his lips like a musical chord, the notes rebounding across the panels of the floor to reach her ears. She stops, but doesn't turn, not even when he reaches her.

"I wasn't going to take off your helmet," Zoya says suddenly, quietly, before he can say anything about Xi'an or their past or anything she wants him to apologize for. Din's so taken aback that he can't do anything but stand there dumbly. A breath shudders out from her lips, the gentle, delicate threads of a spiderweb stretching between two trees, glistening from droplets of morning dew. "I trust you. I want you to trust me." She presses herself back up against the wall, brushing strands of her dark hair out of her face.

"I do," he starts to say, but she's not finished.

"I just wanted to feel you." The phrase tumbles into the air between them almost like an accident, and the look on Zoya's face is so blatantly open and exposed that Din nearly takes a step back, nearly walks away.

But he remembers running away from her before they'd arrived on Ran's station, leaving when he wanted her most.

And he stays.

"Zoya, I . . ." Din hesitates, the words he wants to say balancing on the tip of his tongue. Just one push, just one breath, and they'll be in the open.

I want you I want you I want you –

"Just say it," Zoya whispers, heart pounding against its cage, against the barrier of her ribs. Din's helmet tips down. "Just say it. I don't want to wait anymore."

His throat closes, and she's looking up at him, and it's not stars in her eyes but hope and longing and everything he feels burning in his chest.

"Okay," he murmurs, barely a breath. "Okay."

And Din pulls off his gloves, lets them fall to the floor, shedding a layer of his armor. He lifts his hands to her face, thumbs brushing across the swells of her cheeks, because it feels right, to touch her while he says this. It steadies him, because there's something twisting and flipping in his stomach that swells his tongue and makes every word a mountain that needs to be climbed.

It's the first time his skin has touched hers, and the contact flutters her eyelids closed. He hears her sharp intake of breath as the pads of his fingers touch her face. Almost as if she expects him to push her away, Zoya curls her fingers over his hands, sending a shiver skating down his spine on icy feet.

He's ready. The words are begging, pleading, ready to be heard. He takes a breath, looking down into Zoya's eyes.

"I—"

"Mando!" Mayfeld's voice echoes through the Razor Crest like a thunderclap.

"Fuck," he mutters. He wants to keep going, but it's like Zoya's been startled out of a reverie. She pulls back, and his hands fall back to his sides, still bare.

"We should go," she mumbles, and her voice cracks on the last word, and then Zoya's slipping away before Din has a chance to reply.

I was so close.

｡･:*:･ﾟ✧ ｡･:*:･ﾟ

you guys @ me after reading this part: