THIRTY TWO.
she's an angel!
｡･:*:･ﾟ✧ ｡･:*:･ﾟ

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Zoya discards her ruined, bloody pants to the floor, yanking a fresh pair out of the bag Omera had sewn her back on Sorgan. Birds with feathers sketched out of flame still brush across her throat and lips, lingering reminders of Din's touch. The line his mouth drew across her neck stains her skin with mottled magenta and crimson, stitched and hewn into the shapes of all the constellations and celestial beings littering the galaxy.

            A supernova dyes the hollow of her throat with blistering cerulean and violet and electric threads of gold as it combusts. Asteroids sweep in smoky arcs through her hair, marking the path his fingers had drawn. A quasar engulfs her chest, pulling her heart through its hazy orange atmosphere into the pit of devouring onyx at its center.

            Memories mist before Zoya's eyes until she blinks rapidly to clear them away, pulling on a fresh pair of fitted black pants and another shirt, one that cuts off slightly below her elbows, exposing the prison tattoo on her forearm.

            Her throat bobs as she traces her fingers across the six digits, remembering the day they had been marked permanently into her skin. The reminder burns as it passes through her mind. Zoya shakes it off, raking her hair away from her face as she slips out the doorway and into the passageway outside, bangs tumbling back onto her forehead.

            Zoya hesitates, glancing towards the cockpit for a beat, almost shifting to go the opposite way, to hide somewhere within the Razor Crest and avoid Din, avoid having to talk with him after what they've done. Unbidden, the memory of their kiss surges, warming her cheeks and unfurling strokes of scarlet across her face, and Zoya feels as if there's a star burning in her chest, on the brink of exploding and shooting gold-tinted ivory light flooding throughout her body.

            Taking a breath and pulling steel into her weakening confidence and composure, Zoya turns for the cockpit, forcing herself to put one foot in front of the other until she's reached the doorway, the soft white lights of the galaxy shimmering across the chamber.

            The child looks over at her as soon as she enters, eyes brightening and a soft gurgle coming from his mouth. Though the creature's greeting could've alerted Din to her presence, he'd already heard her approach, hands stiffening where they grip the yoke of the Razor Crest. His skin burns beneath his armor, and he can no longer focus on anything but the tempting memory of how she'd felt in his arms, against his mouth.

            "Hi," she says, like an idiot. She steps towards the child's seat, reaching out so he can clutch onto her fingers.

            Din presses a few buttons on the control panel. "Hey," he replies, but it feels inadequate for everything that burns on the tip of his tongue.

            "So, um," she clears her throat, "what was all that shaking?"

            "Child got out of his seat, started messing with shit," Din says.

            Zoya sighs. "Again?"

            "Again."

            For a moment, it almost feels normal between them, as if nothing happened. But then, looking at Din, Zoya can't think of anything but how warm and heated his skin is beneath the cold Beskar, and a simmering ache pulls at the pit of her stomach.

            "Din—" Zoya starts, just as he says, "Zoya—"

            They both stop at the same time as Din turns in his seat, and gods is it awkward. His eyes travel across her face, along the rosy curve of her lower lip, to the mark he'd left on her neck, and his gloved fingers dig into his knees.

            "You first," Din says.

            Zoya's brow furrows. "Why me?"

            "Courtesy."

            "I don't give a Gungan's ass about c—"

            Before she can finish, a glowing blue hologram rises from the control panel, displaying someone that should be dead.

            "My friend, if you are receiving this transmission," the hologram of Greef Karga says, "that means you are alive. You might be surprised to hear this, but I am alive too—"

            "Son of a bitch," Zoya mutters.

            "—I guess we can call it even. A lot has happened since we last saw each other. The man who hired you is still here, and his ranks of ex-Imperial guards have grown. They have imposed despotic rule over my city, which has impeded the livelihood of the Guild. We consider him an enemy, but we cannot get close enough to take him out. If you would consider one last commission, I will very much make it worth your while."

            "That's—" Zoya begins, but Din glances at her over his shoulder, and though she can't see his face, it's a clear request for her to be quiet until the transmission is finished playing. She complies, folding her arms grumpily.

            "You have been successful so far in staving off their hunters, but they will not stop until they have their prize," Greef continues. "So, here is my proposition. Return to Nevarro. Bring the child as bait. I will arrange an exchange and provide loyal Guild members as protection. Once we get near the client, you kill him, and we both get what we want. If you succeed, you keep the child and the convict you've been hiding, and I will have your name cleared with the Guild, for a man of honor should not be forced to live in exile. I await your arrival with optimism."

            Zoya glares at the hologram of the Guild leader until he disappears, digging her nails into the soft area above her elbows. "Can I speak now?" she says, voice clipped.

            Din nods distractedly, swiveling his seat slightly to look back at where the child has curled up in his seat, eyes fluttering closed. Soft snores begin to rumble in the creature's chest, and it pulls up the corner of Din's mouth despite the circumstances.

            "Are you going to—"

            "Yes," Din says, without waiting for her to finish. "It's a shot at our freedom. No more looking over our shoulders wherever we go, waiting for someone to take a shot at the child. Or you. Or me. It'll be over, and we can settle . . . we can be safe."

            Zoya glances to the stars, as if there's answers written within their patterns. "It seems that way," she says, but something hesitant in her voice makes Din falter as he reaches towards the controls.

            "What is it?"

            She shakes her head. "I don't know. Why would he pardon me? I'm—technically—a criminal."

            "Not technically. You are."

            "What—" Zoya starts, offended.

            "You stole that family's pod," Din says, ticking her wrongdoings off on his fingers, "shot their droid and their guard, and set their house on fire. There's nothing technical about it."

            Zoya folds her arms again. "They were kind of assholes."

            "That's not the point." He sighs. "Look, we're going to do this. There's really no other choice we can make. We have to trust that he'll keep his word, and that we'll be able to get ourselves out if he doesn't."

            "You're right," Zoya says reluctantly. "I just don't trust that man."

            "Not surprising," Din replies, then pauses. "Wait. Say that again."

            "I don't trust Greef?"

            "No, the first part."

            Zoya rolls her eyes. "No."

            Containing a smile, Din presses a few buttons on the console while Zoya settles herself into her seat, tucking one of her legs up beneath her. As soon as she's seated and ready, the Razor Crest jumps forward as if flung from a massive blaster, the electric blue light of hyperspace travel filling the cabin.

            "Are we going straight there?" Zoya asks.

            Din flicks another switch. "Not quite."

｡･:*:･ﾟ✧ ｡･:*:･ﾟ

Sorgan's lush, emerald, beautiful surface flies by beneath the Razor Crest as Din searches for somewhere to land. Zoya can't prevent a bright grin from rising to her face as she peers over his shoulder, eyes catching on the dozens of pines unfurling towards the haze of gray clouds painted sparsely over the ocean-blue sky.

            Din feels her staring and lands the ship slowly, letting her take in as much as the landscape as possible. Her eyes fix upon the window even as the landing gear engages, catching the Razor Crest as it lands. Steam unfurls in opaque, curling puffs around the ship, splitting into fractured rainbows from the rays of sunlight.

            "Ready?" he says.

            "Yeah," she replies. "Are you sure we can't go see Omera and Winta? I really miss her, and it's possible Cara's at the village, so we could go check there first."

            Din shakes his head. During the trip through hyperspace, Zoya had asked to go see the village again, but ultimately, he'd decided that it would waste too much time. Greef was expecting them, and picking up Cara (and soon, the Ugnaught) was already taking them on a detour that the Guild wouldn't be expecting.

            "We went over this," he reminds her.

            Zoya huffs. "Yeah, yeah, I remember. Just thought I'd give it another shot."

            "Can't blame you," Din says, standing. The child reaches up, and he complies, lifting the creature carefully out of its seat and onto the ground. "Before we left, you two seemed like you were getting . . . close."

            "Yeah," Zoya says quietly. "We were."

            Din's started down the passage towards the ramp, but her tone makes his feet falter, and he glances back over his shoulder. "Do you wish you would have stayed?"

            "No," she replies, and her words are confident, sure, as she follows in his footsteps. "All I need is right here."

            The ramp hisses as it falls, and bright, natural light pours into the dimly lit ship as Din processes her words. Zoya doesn't seem to notice how he's struggling, as she steps past him and the child, moving down the ramp so fast that she nearly falls at the bottom. Her eyes lift to the sky, to the stark outline of the trees against it, and a broad smile illuminates her face as she spins, taking in the scenery once again and inhaling the fresh, clean scent of the trees and the sky and the clouds, brumous and gray, lingering overhead. A laugh, filled with pure joy, bubbles from Zoya's lips as she turns back to face him.

            "Do you see all the—"

            "Yes, I see all the trees," he says, stepping down the ramp towards her, the child toddling along at his ankles.

            In this light, she's breathtaking. Her hair floats around her head like a halo, the brown turned into strands of liquid gold by the sun's caress, freshly cut bangs falling evenly across her forehead. Her dark eyes become pools of honey, a sunrise, and a collection of beaming stars, filled with an unrestrainable happiness that radiates around her in a glowing aura.

            Din can't help but think that Zoya looks like an angel descended from the heavens, aurous and stitched together with threads of starlight, radiant in the mist's opalescence.

            He must stare a beat too long, as the child tugs on the end of his cloak, releasing a little coo of confusion. "Sorry bud," he mutters down to the miniscule creature, stepping forward once again, towards where Zoya still stands, transfixed by the grandeur of the forest.

            "Been in space too long?" Din says.

            "If I could live in a tree forever, I would," Zoya replies.

            "In a tree?"

            Zoya nods vigorously. "They smell so good."

            "Right." Din watches her stare at the trees, a smile curving his mouth. He doesn't know of anything else that makes her act this way, like layers of pain and trepidation have been shed, tossed aside like they're nothing, revealing this joy. Inexplicably, the sight plants a longing within him, and he imagines kissing her beneath the trees, wrapped within the aura of her happiness and the cloak of the emerald branches.

            "What is it?" Zoya's voice slides through the figments of his imagination, and Din blinks, finding that he's been staring at her. Though she can't know that for sure, he's angled towards her and frozen still, which may give her a slight clue.

            "Just thinking," he says.

            "About?"

            The words leave him in a breath. "Kissing you. Here."

            Her lips fumble as they try to form a response, and her eyes flick across his visor, knowing how it feels to be close to him without the armor, to hear his voice without the modulator, to feel his mouth hot on hers, stoking a swath of flames within her stomach. "Why don't you?" Zoya already knows the answer, so when he doesn't respond, just looks at her for a long moment, she's not surprised.

            "Let's find Cara," he says finally. The child looks between them with a blank stare, clutching at the fraying edges of Din's cloak once again.

            "Okay," Zoya replies softly, as if his proclamation isn't effecting her. She wants it, too. She wants to feel his skin underneath the foliage, beneath the viridescent canopy, held tight by the warmth of the sunlight pouring down around them.

            But she knows it's not realistic to dream of such things, so when Din starts to walk towards the path they'd taken the last time they'd landed on Sorgan, Zoya follows him quietly. She doesn't desire to be the first one to cut through the weighted silence, which lays upon their shoulders like a heavy steel blade.

｡･:*:･ﾟ✧ ｡･:*:･ﾟ

me 🤝 zoya
loving forests,
din djarin,
& the child

this is kind of a filler chapter i'm sorry! i've been having a little trouble getting out pieces of writing that i like as my family had to put down my childhood dog, and it's still affecting me a lil bit.