THIRTY SEVEN.
fear is a deadly weapon!
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A shriek rips the planet's atmosphere in half as the creature claws back into the obsidian sky, disappearing into the smoke the fire colors orange and the blanket of the galaxy, stars invisible through the fog. Glowing crimson bolts spiral through the air after the creature, but Zoya thinks they all miss. It's hard to tell as she rolls away from Din, drawing her own blaster from its holster in the same movement that brings her to her feet, braid falling forward over her shoulder.

            The rapid fire of Cara's heavy weapon sets a quick rhythm that automatically increases the speed of Zoya's heartbeat, the constant sound punctuated by the blasts of the others' weapons and the soft noise of the child's whimpers.

            "What the hell is that thing?" Zoya shouts over the noise, throwing a glance towards Din as he jumps towards the baby's cradle.

            He seals the pram, protecting the child, glancing right back up at the sky. "I don't know," he calls back.

            Gradually, the blaster fire dies out, and the group, tensed and at the ready, stares upwards, prepared for another onslaught. It's silent for too long; Zoya shifts on her feet, unconsciously moving closer to Din, hand catching at the frayed cloak that hangs from his shoulders. The material is soft and worn underneath her fingertips, and he looks down at her, feeling the pull on the fabric. Her eyes are hard, unflinching, but beneath the scarlet façade of bravado and courage lies the violet tinge of fear.

            Din's hand finds hers.

            "It's okay," he reassures her.

            As the others keep an eye on the sky above, she allows her true emotions to peer through her mask. "I don't know why I'm so scared," she whispers, and her exhale shudders as it leaves her mouth, trembling at her lower lip. Zoya's eyes search his visor as her brows knit, eyes blossoming with unshed tears. "I don't want to die." Memories of Ayaan, her brother, filter through her mind. Too young, too soon.

            The syllables shatter as they fall off her tongue, and gods, all Din wants to do is pull her into his arms, hide her away from the living nightmare that wreathes itself into the sky above them, but another shriek splinters against the night as the beast returns, low enough that their bolts smash against its belly.

            It continues to wheel and swoop overhead, cries drilling into Zoya's ears as she ducks instinctively, firing her blaster off as quickly as she can in the direction of the creature, which soon turns into multiple screaming demons, passing low over the camp. One drops low enough to sink its claws into the Trandoshen's shoulders, one of Greef's men, yanking him straight up into the air, his cries tumbling down around them.

            Zoya fires up at its feet, hoping to force it to drop the Trandoshen, but it vanishes into the smoke too quickly. A fraction of a second later, one of the winged demons drops onto the back of a Blurrg, the beast wailing in pain.

            "Drop her!" Kuiil yells.

            Cara's blaster fire rockets into the screeching creature's chest, and it plummets to the ground on top of the Blurrg with scorching holes in its sternum, both dead.

            "Nice one," Zoya says breathily, clapping a hand onto Cara's shoulder.

            "Thanks," she huffs. "Didn't save the damned Blurrg, though—"

            Din's choked yell sounds from behind them, and the two women whirl. One of the demons slams him to the ground, shoving him through the dirt. Zoya jumps towards him immediately, a cry ripping from her lungs that doesn't sound like it could have come from her mouth, her words from mere seconds ago echoing through her mind.

            I don't want to die.

            I don't want to die.

            I don't want Din to die.

            Zoya and Cara explode forward in unison, leveling their weapons at the creature as it scrapes Din against the ground. And though panic bubbles in Zoya's chest, crowding her throat, leaving no room for oxygen, she should have known that the Mandalorian could take care of himself—it's what he's always done.

            Din's on his feet in an instant, fire spilling from the flamethrower on his right wrist, bathing the creature in sweltering, red-orange light. Wailing, it flaps its enormous wings, body on fire as it ascends into the smoke, its brethren not far behind. Bolts continue to puncture the darkness until they're completely gone.

            Warily, they crowd around the child's cradle, watching the sky for another strike. But none comes. Zoya finds that all she wants to do is sink to the dust, body weak and trembling, but she turns to Din, chest rising and falling faster than it should, fear still snatching the breath from her lungs before she can exhale.

            The sight of Din on the ground, pinned by the screeching beast, inches from death, had rattled her more than it should. She swallows, turning away from the group to press her fingers to her chest, trying to get in a deep breath that might help dry her eyes.

            A hand lands on her shoulder, gloved and steady and warm, and a tear spills over, cutting through the dust that clings to her cheek. Din applies gentle pressure to her shoulder, pulling her around to face him. Zoya doesn't erase the tear from her face, though it leaves her feeling vulnerable as she looks up at him, lips trembling. His hand cups her cheek.

            "What's wrong?" His voice is tense. "Are you hurt?"

            She shakes her head.

            "Then what—"

            Zoya pushes forward into his chest, wrapping her arms as tightly around him as she can, squeezing her eyes shut. Taken aback, it takes Din a moment to reciprocate the gesture, but when he does, she feels as if she can almost hear his heartbeat through the Beskar, like a beacon calling her home.

            "I thought you were—" Zoya chokes on the words, unable to complete her sentence, anguish rising again within her just at the thought. The Beskar becomes slick beneath her cheek.

            "I'm right here." Din's hand smooths over the back of her head, and beneath the helmet he grits his teeth together. He'd never expected to see her cry again, not since that night on Tatooine, where he'd held her underneath the galaxy and felt as if the stars were draped around them, sparkling like crystals in the air. "I'm okay."

            Her arms tighten around his torso, and her heart aches to feel him instead of the Beskar, to hold him close, to touch soft skin instead of metal, but she knows it can't happen again with the rest of their companions littering the camp, with the threat of the hellish, winged beasts hanging over their heads.

            But still, she longs for it anyway.

            A pained groan comes from Greef, and they separate. Zoya still holds onto his arm as they turn, eyes falling upon the man collapsed on the ground, face pulled into a mask of agony. Kuiil steps to his side immediately, crouching low to examine the arm that the Guild leader holds close to his body.

            "He's hurt badly," Kuiil says.

            Zoya's fingers slide down to clutch at Din's. That could have been him.

            "I'm fine," Greef grits out as Cara approaches him, repeating the mantra over and over as if he says it enough times, it will become true.

            Din and Zoya pick their way around the fire towards Greef, Cara, and Kuiil as Greef's men walk forward from the other side of the camp, and she finds that she cannot (or will not) release Din's hand. The injured man's moans paint burning scarlet through the air, and Zoya stares at the gaping gashes on his arm and the blood spilling onto his clothes.

            "Hold still," Cara barks. "They got you good."

            Moving quickly, she injects Greef with something from her medpac—some kind of medicine or anti-toxin, Zoya assumes—while he groans in pain, thick crimson oozing from the wound sluggishly. The ex-shock trooper's features are closed off, business-like, and she works fluidly, never hesitating.

            "How bad?" Din asks.

            "Bad." She glances up at them, eyes snagging momentarily on their entwined fingers. "The poison's spreading fast," Cara says.

            "So this, this is how it happens," Greef chokes out, eyes shut, brows knit.

            Cara examines his face. "Don't be so dramatic. I need another medpac! Got any other medpacs?" Greef's remaining men shake their heads. "Anyone?" Her eyes jump to Zoya, who presses her lips together mutely, knowing that they don't have any.

            "I'm guessing that's a no," Greef says, clenching his jaw.

            Cara shines a red light on his arm, following the path of the wound and the skin above and below it. "It's still spreading. This isn't working." The child suddenly brushes past Zoya's leg, moving on tiny feet to come to a stop beside Greef, his wide, inquisitive eyes staring at the slashes ripping through the man's skin. "Get this thing out of here," Cara orders.

            "Wait," Kuiil says.

            The child lifts his tiny hand, gently pressing it down onto the wound.

            "It's trying to eat me!" Greef cries.

            No one responds, eyes glued to the creature as it begins to tremble, eyes half-shut as he keeps his fingers pressed against Greef's arm. Zoya's mouth falls open as the cuts begin to close, the edges of the gashes pulling towards each other, ripped skin knitting itself together. Finally, the child slumps back.

            The wound has vanished.

            No one moves, no one speaks. Every single stare is caught on the unmarked skin on Greef's forearm, skin that was shredded and bleeding seconds before. Mouth still agape, fingers tight around Din's, Zoya is the first to break the silence.

            "Holy shit."

            Cara echoes her sentiment.

            "Holy shit is right," Din mutters, gently unlacing his fingers from Zoya's so that he can lower himself into a crouch beside the child and Greef, who stares at the Mandalorian as if he's never seen him before.

            "Did you know the kid could do that?" he says, shell-shocked, every trace of pain erased from his face.

            "No," Din admits, sitting back. "I didn't."

            "Did you?"

            It takes Zoya a second to realize Greef is talking to her. "No," she says flatly. "Of course not. This is news to everyone, I'm sure."

            "Surprised it can heal too, with what it did to me," Cara grumbles as she shifts back onto her heels to stand, folding her muscular arms across her chest.

            Zoya finds a grin pulling across her face. "Still bitter?"

            "Something like that," Cara replies. Gathering her medpac, she strides back to where the rest of their supplies lay scattered, thrown about from the attack.

            "It's just . . . gone?" Zoya asks.

            Greef turns his arm over so the light can catch every angle. "Completely." His eyes land upon the child, blinking blearily, worn out from healing Greef. Something softens in the Guild leader's eyes, but almost immediately, he clambers to his feet, stepping away with his companions and muttering a quiet thank you over his shoulder.

            Din calls the pram with a touch to his forearm. When it arrives, Zoya kneels to pick up the exhausted child, tucking him into the cradle carefully. He coos sleepily, reaching for her face, but his hand drops to his stomach as he falls asleep almost immediately. Din closes the cradle to keep the light from the fire from awakening him and looks to Zoya as the others begin to relax. Across the camp, Greef sends one of his men to keep a lookout.

            "Zoya?"

            Her eyes, softened by the tears she'd shed against his chest, find his helmet, find his eyes, even through the visor. "Yeah?"

            His question is quiet, uncertain. "Do you want to lay with me?"

            All Zoya can do is nod.

            Tucked against each other, hidden in the shadows as the fire slowly dies, they find that the hard ground isn't as uncomfortable as they'd originally thought. With Din's arms around her, Zoya realizes, perhaps she could be content anywhere.

            Her eyes find the stars, the constellations Ayaan had pointed out to her the night before he'd left to fight (and die) on Endor. As she watches the galaxy, infinite and glittering and alive, Din angles himself so that he can look at her, mesmerized by the way the stars reflect in her eyes, the way just the contours of her face hold all the breathtaking beauty of a supernova.

            "You're so beautiful," he whispers aloud, without really thinking about it.

            A smile unwinds itself carefully across Zoya's lips as she flicks her eyes away from the radiant constellations to look at him. "Thank you," she says softly, eyes glowing brighter. Her fingers rise up to trace across the grooves of his helmet. "I'm sure you're quite beautiful yourself, under all that Beskar."

             Din makes a dismissive noise. "I'm no prince."

            Zoya wrinkles her brow. "Why do you say that?" Her fingertips stall on the plane of the helmet that might be above the curve of his cheek.

            "Not much to look at," he says, and she quirks a brow.

            "You're lying."

            He shakes his head marginally, eyes still glued to the way her pupils seem to collect all the stars in the sky without effort.

            "Can you . . . can you describe yourself?" Zoya asks timidly.

            Din startles himself by replying. "If you want me to."

            "I do."

            "Where should I start?"

            Zoya pretends to think, and the way her nose scrunches makes Din pull her a little closer. "Eyes."

            "Brown."

            She can nearly picture them, russet and honeyed underneath a beam of sunlight. "Kind of like mine."

            "Yours aren't just brown," he disagrees. "They've got hints of green and all these little gold flecks."

            "Gold flecks?"

            "Yeah," Din says, as if it's obvious. "Around your pupils."

            "I didn't know that," Zoya murmurs.

            "What else?" he prompts.

            "Hair."

            "Also brown," he says, and the soft laugh that tumbles from his lips tingles as it rolls across her, gentle and deep and almost melodious.

            "Hmm." Zoya drums her fingers against her face. "Chin."

            "Seriously?"

            "Yeah." She makes her face as serious as she can. "The chin is the most important part of the face."

            "Well," Din says, "I think mine is kind of normal."

            "Interesting."

            "What else?"

            "I would say lips, but I already have a pretty good idea of what they look like," Zoya says boldly, feeling braver in the darkness.

            Din nearly chokes. "Oh?"

            "Just based on how they felt." Zoya keeps her eyes on his visor, as if thinking she'll be able to see through it if she stares hard enough. "And how they tasted when—"

            "Mando?" Greef says, inching his way through the darkness, eyes still adjusting to the lack of firelight.

            "Greef." Din doesn't make any effort to move, or to draw away from Zoya, so she stays put, nestled into his side.

            He stops short in front of them, able to just barely make out the scene before him. The man can't help but look at how they're laying together, his eyes wide and full of surprise. Din merely stares back—icy and intimidating, even though the visor and the darkness conceal his features—as if daring him to say something.

            "My men are taking the watches," is all he tells them, sounding uncomfortable. "You don't have to worry about it."

            "Thanks," Din replies shortly, getting the message across.

            Greef nods awkwardly. "Uh, goodnight."

            "Goodnight," Zoya pipes up, smiling brightly.

            Head bobbing, the Guild leader makes a swift exit, leaving them alone once again as he travels around to the other side of the camp.

            Zoya barely muffles her snort. "He got so uncomfortable."

            "Yeah," Din says, but in his head, he's still mulling over her words and the memories they draw back into his mind.

            She watches him for a moment, unable to hold back the smile that pulls across her lips. "What are you thinking about?" she asks, knowing full-well what the answer will be.

            "That day," he says, voice rough.

            "There's a lot of days," Zoya says. "Which one in particular?"

            He doesn't miss a beat. "The day I kissed you." And then: "And the day that I'll do it again."

            Zoya swallows as he hooks himself deeper into her heart, tugging her even closer. "When will that be?"

            His eyes trace her face, memorizing every detail. "The very moment that I get another chance."

            Zoya pictures the brown eyes he'd told her he had, dark and warm and soft beneath tousled chocolate hair, and curls her fingers against his chest. "Din Djarin, that moment better be as soon as possible."

            He grins beneath the helmet, and when he speaks, she can hear the smile in his voice. "It will be, Zoya Vitaan. Be ready for it."

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ok since u guys kinda ᶠʳᵉᵃᵏᵉᵈ when i suggested that it was din who braided zoya's hair, ill probably release it in my one shot book as a deleted scene. i was going to include it in the actual chapter originally but it didn't fit in that well! i see now that it was mistake to keep it from y'all shsjjs