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bitchin-beskar · 1 year

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The Roommate Agreement - Chapter 1

Rating: Mature

Pairing: College!Athlete!Roommate!Paz Vizsla x Fem!Reader (Bunny)

Warnings: Ok, so this chapter has no smut, as we're setting up the story here. However, this is the first chapter in a multi chapter story in which the MAIN THEME is free use, so there will be a LOT of smut. If you're not 18+, dnr/dni. REMINDER: IF YOU DO NOT KNOW WHAT FREE USE MEANS, YOU'RE TOO YOUNG TO BE READING THIS FIC. LEAVE AT ONCE. I will say, for this chapter, we do have a male character (not paz) physically abusing the reader, although it is very brief, it could potentially be triggering. Please be aware of this when reading. Other than that, this chapter is relatively tame, but it will ramp up soon.

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: Oof, ok so I've been meaning to get this posted for awhile, but I've decided to share it tonight especially because I feel like we all deserve a treat after the latest Mandalorian episode drop. So this is for @maybege, @catsnkooks, @tailorvizsla, and anyone else who was personally victimized by the choices made by Filoni and Favreau in the latest episode of the Mandalorian. Have some lovely hurt/comfort and fluff babes, I hope this helps ❤️

You stare down at your phone, more than a little frustrated. Parjai had said he didn’t have any plans other than gaming with some friends online, so there should be no reason for not picking up the phone. But after over ten increasingly urgent text messages and numerous unanswered phone calls and voicemails over the last hour, you have to conceed that he just isn’t going to answer. You look around the party despondently.

Honestly, you hadn’t even really wanted to come, but Mir’a had drug you out, saying that you needed a night out to loosen up a bit. Then she’d gone off and gotten massively drunk, and ended up going home with her on-again-off-again partner, so you were now stuck at a party you didn’t want to be at, where you knew no one, you had no ride home, and your boyfriend wasn’t answering the phone.

Just as you were starting to debate the likelyhood of being able to catch a taxi or Uber this late at night, your phone buzz. You glanced at it, half expecting to see a sheepish text from Parjai, but instead lighting up your phone was a notification from Paz. A little unconscious smile crossed your lips, and you leaned back against the wall, bringing your phone up to see it better as you swiped at the screen to open up your text thread with him.

Instead of a message, he’d sent you a selfie, and you could tell from the photo that he was in his truck, likely just having left a late night practice with the Mudhorns–the hockey team he was the goalie for. His hair looked wet, like he’d just hopped out of the shower, and you could see an old Mythosaurs logo on his teeshirt, the team he’d grown up idolizing. He had an adorably crooked grin on his face, and it was easy to see how he managed to charm damn near everyone he met.

While you were looking at the selfie, a message from him popped up on your screen.

Hey, still awake?

You bit your lip, suddenly thoughtful. If you were remembering right, the hockey rink wasn’t too far from here. Maybe…

Before you could second guess yourself, you tapped on his profile picture and then his phone number, putting your phone up to your ear as you began to move through the throng of bodies towards the outside. The butterflies barely had time to take flight in your belly when Paz’s deep voice was coming through your phone’s speaker and directly into your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

“What’s this, a proof of life call?”

“Ha ha, very funny,” you said loudly, almost shouting to be heard over the music. “I actually was wondering if you could do me a huuuuuge favor?”

“Is that favor rescuing you from the angry mob you sound like you’ve accidentally joined?”

Your voice was drier than the deserts of Tatooine. “Truly Paz, you’ve missed your calling as a comedian by joining the hockey team. You should be doing stand-up.”

His loud, deep laugh sounded on the other end, and you couldn’t help but smile again. Gods, you’d missed his laugh. You’d missed him.

“I belong on that rink and we both know it.” You snorted at the cocky tone of his voice. “Nah, you know I’d do anything for you. What’cha need rabbit?”

You groaned. “Please, not that stupid nickname again. I had like… one stuffed animal as a kid and suddenly everyone calls me that.”

“You brought the damn thing in the bath with you, what did you think was gonna happen?”

You narrowed your eyes, wishing that somehow Paz could feel your glare through the phone. “Anyways,” you growled, ignoring his chuckles. “I was at a party except my ride left with someone else and now I’m stuck. Is there any way you could give me a ride back to my apartment?”

“Of course,” Paz responded with zero hesitation. “Gimme the address.” As you rattled off the address of the house party, Paz sighed through the phone. “I recognize it. Some of the di’kute freshmen on the team have gotten wasted at parties there and I’ve had to come get them. I’ll be there in five.”

“Thanks, Paz.”

You could almost hear his smile on the other end. “Of course.”

You finished weaving your way through the crowds of drunk, high, and horny college students to step out on the front porch, breathing in a wave of fresh air. The night was clear, and it was only the early days of fall, so it wasn’t too cold yet. You looked up at the stars for a few moments, before you heard the familiar roar of an engine.

Looking down the street, you saw the headlights of Paz’s truck illuminating the otherwise quiet road, and you began making your way down the drive. He pulled to a stop in front of the house, waiting for you to cross in front of the truck and climb in the passenger side. You pulled yourself up and into his truck, buckling in before turning to see him grinning goofily at you.

“What?” You asked, feeling somewhat self-conscious but your cheeks still warming pleasantly under his gaze. “Do I have something on my face?”

His grin softened, and he reached out, almost subconsciously, and brushed the pads of his fingers over your cheek. “Nah,” he said, eyes still boring into yours. “Jus’ missed you, that’s all. It’s been awhile.”

You smiled back, soft too but a little self-deprecating. The both of you were well aware of just why it had been so long since you’d seen each other in person. Parjai was almost impossible to deal with whenever he simply heard Paz’s name, let alone if he knew you’d seen him or tried to hang out with him. It had seemed simpler at the time to distance yourself from Paz, something your parents and Parjai had encouraged, but now it just made you sad. At least he didn’t seem to hold it against you.

Paz sat back in his seat and re-started the engine, pulling away from the curb and beginning to drive down the darkened roads. You were a good few miles from your place with Parjai, and you couldn’t deny that you were excited to simply get to spend this little bit of time with him. The two of you sat in a comfortable silence for a few moments, before you opened your mouth, wanting to make the most of seeing him and actually talk to him.

“How’s the team doing?”

He lit up, his grin huge and unrestrained. It triggered a grin of your own, always so happy to see Paz get excited about the sport he loved.

“They’re good! Din’s finally getting situated in left defence. He’s been working really hard at it, he’s a damn good defender, he just had some trouble believing it. Tua and Kua are a good pair too, they both made starter positions this year.”

You thought for a second. “The Skirata twins, right?”

“Yeah, that’s them. They’re assholes, but good players.”

You racked your brain trying to think of the other players you knew about on the team. With it being a new school year, there were some faces you didn’t quite know yet. “What about the other goalie position? Is Kye’ma still the secondary?”

Paz guwaffed loudly. “No! He got himself removed from the team ‘cause his grades were slipping too much.”

You breathed a sigh of relief. Kye’ma Reau had been a vicious player, and while he was good at the sport, he was a little too bloodthirsty. He’d always been sore that Paz was the starting goalie and not him, and you were honestly starting to get a little worried about the possibility of him staging an “accident” for Paz, so you were glad he was no longer in the picture.

“Who replaced him?”

“Some freshman kid, Uliik Gedyc. Wouldn’t know it just by looking at him though. Kid’s built like a fucking tank.”

You snickered at the mental image. You remembered what Paz looked like as a freshman in college, and you wouldn’t exactly describe his physique at the time as ‘tank-like.’ Although, that wasn’t to say he hadn’t been fit. Paz had been fit since he’d discovered gyms around the same time as puberty, and the muscle mass only grew with every year.

Not that you’d noticed.

All too soon, you realized that you were turning onto your street. You slumped slightly in your seat, sad that your time with Paz was coming to an end. You resolved to try and fix that, and to attempt to spend more time with him. Granted it was senior year, and both of you were set to graduate, and he had the hockey team to think about too, but you were tired of shunning your best friend to keep your boyfriend happy.

As Paz pulled into the driveway of the place you shared with Parjai, you were surprised to see Parjai storming out the front door, his face twisted in fury. You quickly unbuckled and practically threw yourself out of the truck, not hearing Paz call after you, as you were worried something was wrong.

Before you could get any words out, Parjai reached you and gripped your arm tightly, causing you to cry out in shock and a little bit of pain.

“What the fuck are you doing with him?”

You blinked at the furious words being thrown in your face. “Him-you mean Paz? He gave me a ride home because you didn’t-”

“Don’t fucking blame me for you being a slut.” He growled, shaking you hard. “How many times do I have to fucking tell you? You’re not allowed to see him, not only is he a goddamn exile, but you’re mine, you hear me? I won’t be made a fool of by my girlfriend just whoring herself out to whoever fucking asks!”

You jerked away, ripping your arm from his grasp. You could smell the alcohol on his breath, and it turned your stomach, although not as much as the hateful words he spewed.

“I’m not fucking Paz, Parjai,” you said, not yelling but the anger still clear in your voice. “I’ve told you before, he’s just a friend. I’ve known him for years, there’s nothing wrong with me wanting to spend a little time with him! Besides, you weren’t answering! What was I supposed to do?”

“You fucking slut!”

Suddenly, blooming pain spread across your cheek, and you fell back in shock, your body colliding with the door of Paz’s truck and your head cracking against the glass from the force of what had been Parjai’s hand clocking you across the face.

You slowly raised a hand to your cheek, fingers shaking as they brushed the skin even as you winced from the pain. Tears filled your eyes and you turned your head back to look at your still-furious boyfriend. He was glaring hatefully at you, even though he was swaying on his feet, likely from the intoxication.

He opened his mouth, probably to spew more vitriol, when abruptly, faster than your brain was able to register, a fist shot out and punched Parjai square in the jaw, sending him sprawling to the ground.

You blinked dumbly at your boyfriend-no, ex-boyfriend now, like hell were you gonna stay with that asshole-lying prone on the lawn, groaning in pain. Your brain felt like it was swimming through molasses, unable to process events in real time. As you were trying to put together what exactly just happened, suddenly Paz was standing in front of you, cupping your face in his hands as frantic eyes roved over you.

You just stood there, watching as his mouth moved, but unable to hear anything over the rushing of blood in your ears. He let one hand fall to your shoulder while the other came up to gently prod at the swelling on your face of what was likely to be a nasty black eye. He shook your shoulder, his face growing more concerned when suddenly there was a popping noise and you could hear clearly again.

The abrupt silence startled you and you jumped slightly. Paz raised his hands quickly off your body, taking a half step back so he wasn’t right in your space, but your panicking mind decided that was the absolute worst possible outcome, so you lunged forward and wrapped your arms around his torso, burying your face in his chest. The tentative grasp of control that you’d had simply shattered, and you began to sob brokenly into the fabric of his sweatshirt.

Paz’s arms came up around you, one banding around your back while the other came up to cradle your head against his chest. You twisted your fingers in his sweatshirt, anchoring yourself to him as you only cried harder.

His chest rumbled underneath you, and you faintly registered that he was whispering soft words of endearment, trying his best to soothe you. You sniffled and burrowed deeper, almost like if you tried hard enough, you could climb inside his chest where it was safe and never leave.

You could feel his lips pressing against the top of your head, leaving gentle kisses in the breaks between his words. He held you like something precious, like something to be treasured, and you found yourself never wanting to leave his embrace.

Unfortunately, Paz seemed to have different plans. He slowly pulled you away from where you’d been buried in his sweatshirt, although he kept his arms secure around you. He tilted your head up with a crooked finger under your chin, his gaze suddenly very serious.

“You’re not staying here, sweetheart. Get in the truck. I’m gonna run in and grab you a few things, and then we’re leaving.”

You blinked up at him, lashes clumped together with tears. You were sure you likely looked a mess, but all you could focus on was Paz’s arm around you and his fingers brushing your jaw. He sighed softly, seemingly realizing that you were not in a good frame of mind to be doing any critical thinking. He opened up the passenger door and bodily lifted you up, ignoring your quiet squeak of surprise as he set you in the passenger seat.

“Get buckled, I’m just gonna grab some of your things. I’ll be right back, I promise.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, before letting his own forehead gently touch yours in the sweetest mirshmure’cya you’d ever recieved, bringing new tears to your eyes. He stepped back and shut the door, before quickly stepping over Parjai and walking into the house. You buckled in a daze, still reeling from how quickly things had changed. One second you’d been happily chatting with Paz about his hockey team, the next your boyfriend was punching you in the face.

You pulled down the visor on the passenger side and flipped open the mirror, wincing at your reflection. Already there was the starting of some swelling around your eye, and you could tell it was going to bruise. It was throbbing and aching, and you poked at the skin cautiously, nose scrunching up at the uncomfortable sensation. You were going to end up with a black eye for sure.

You see Paz coming back out of the front door, a duffle bag you recognize from your closet in hand, stuffed full of whatever Paz had deemed important enough for him to grab. He deftly stepped over Parjai, who was still lying on the ground, rolling around in pain as he clutched at his jaw. Paz didn’t even spare him a glance, instead quickly making his way to the driver’s side of the truck. He jerked open the door and climbed in, reaching back to set the duffle down on the floor behind his seat.

He buckled, and looked over at you, his hands tightening on the steering wheel as he took in the darkening bruise over your eye and the dried tear tracks on your face. He looked like he wanted to reach out to touch you, but restrained himself.

“Are you buckled, sweetheart?” You simply nodded, the lump in your throat too large to speak around. “Good. Let’s go home.”

You didn’t say anything, but you could tell Paz wasn’t really looking for a response either. He backed out of the driveway, probably a little faster than he should’ve, but it was late at night and it wasn’t like it was likely for anyone to be out for him to run into.

As he drove down the dark streets, navigating towards his apartment by memory, you looked out the window, eyes not really focusing on any one thing as the scenery flew by. You felt almost like you were having an out of body experience, like your limbs were too heavy for you to move on your own. Truly, you were about one step away from a complete breakdown. You didn’t realize you were twisting your hands in your lap until one of Paz’s hands settled on top of both of yours, stilling the anxious movement. You looked over, to see him still focused on the road, but a worried frown decorating his face. Turning one of your hands over, you pressed your palm against Paz’s, linking your fingers together and letting his touch ground you.

It wasn’t a long drive to Paz’s place, and soon enough, he was pulling up in front of his building. He didn’t waste time, shutting off his truck and sliding his hand out of yours so he could hop out. You began to undo your buckle, but before you could open the door, Paz was already there, ready to help you out of the truck. The concerned look on his face broke something inside you, and you felt tears begin to fill your eyes again.

Paz didn’t hesitate to pull you out of the truck and into his arms, your duffel already slung over his shoulder so both of his arms were free to hold you. You clung to him clumsily, throwing your arms around his neck and wrapping your legs around his waist as one of his arms wrapped around your torso to hold you tightly against him. Burying your face in his neck, you let the tears fall, trusting Paz to get you inside safely.

He didn’t say anything as he carried you into his apartment, and you didn’t look up from the safety of his neck until he was setting you down on a soft mattress. You looked around, slightly dazed as you realized you were in his bedroom. You’d seen glimpses of the space through pictures he’d sent you, but you’d never actually been in his bedroom.

A careful hand on your jaw caught your attention, and Paz gently lifted your head, turning it from side to side as he studied the swelling and darkening skin around your eye. His thumb brushed your cheek as his eyes found yours. “Lemme go grab something for you to ice that shiner with, ok?” You nodded, watching as he left the bedroom, moving down to where you were pretty sure his kitchen was.

While he was gone, you took a moment to take in his bedroom, the one place that was purely, personally, Paz. There weren’t a whole lot of decorations, but you weren’t expecting there to be. Paz had always been rather minimalistic by nature. He had some trophies and framed awards from various hockey leagues and games he’d won, some assorted sports paraphernalia in the corner by his closet, a soft grey rug underneath the king-sized bed which was adorned with soft white sheets and a light grey duvet, two nightstands with matching lamps, and on the far wall was a collage of pictures. As you looked at them, you realized most of them were pictures of the two of you. Some were clearly from when you were kids, but some were obviously more recent, although you realized with a pang that none of the photos were more recent than four years ago, around when you’d started to distance yourself because of Parjai.

It hit you then just how much of an idiot you’d been. You’d wasted so much time with someone who clearly didn’t trust or love you in the same way you’d loved him, especially considering how he’d acted tonight. You hadn’t realized Parjai’s insecurities ran quite that deep, but looking back it was painfully clear just how much he’d hated Paz Vizsla.

You were pulled from your self-deprecating thoughts by Paz returning, an ice pack wrapped in a kitchen towel clutched tightly in one hand. His eyes met yours, and some of the tension he’d been carrying in his shoulders seemed to melt away as he reassured himself seeing that you were safe. He came forward to kneel at the side of the bed where you were perched. With gentle hands, he pressed the ice pack over the swelling on your face, his free hand coming up to cup your jaw as you tried to shy away from the sudden shock of cold.

“Gotta let the ice do it’s job, rabbit,” he murmured. “We’ve gotta get that swelling down.”

You winced, but nonetheless held still, letting Paz do his thing. Maker only knows how many, many bumps, bruises, broken bones and black eyes he’d suffered over the years, not just from hockey but his uncanny ability to always get into fights. You’d even helped him with some of the more painful injuries.

A comfortable silence settled over the two of you. Your eyes had fluttered shut, just basking in the soft attention and careful ministrations Paz was bestowing upon you. Paz kept one hand on the ice pack pressed gently over your eye, the other still cupping the side of your face, his thumb softly stroking your cheekbone. After awhile, Paz slowly took the ice pack away, and you opened your eyes to see him critically looking over your face. He seemed to be satisfied with the state of your face where Parjai had smacked you, and he sat back slightly on his heels.

“How does that feel, hmm?”

“Better.”

Silence descended again, but this time there was a tension floating in the air. It felt like Paz was just waiting for something to happen, but you didn’t know what he’d be waiting for. You were fine, absolutely fine. Sure, your partner of over three years had just assaulted you out of the blue, but honestly, you were-

“Rabbit?”

The sound of Paz’s voice, thick with worry and concern and love is what broke the dam. Your eyes filled with tears, and your breath hitched as you fought to not burst into sobs. You met Paz’s gaze, and you saw nothing but love and understanding.

“Oh, c’mere love,” he murmured, his hands gently tugging you off the bed and into his lap. That was the last straw, and you began to sob, deep and heartbroken sounds wrenching their way out of your throat as you clawed at his back, as though you could somehow pull him even closer to you. “That’s it, let it all out.”

“W-W-Why, Paz?” you cried, voice trembling as you tried to force the words out. “I-I loved him… w-why wou-would he–?” You couldn’t finish your sentence, your voice breaking as you sobbed harder. Paz’s arms were tight around you, holding you securely against his chest. His lips were pressed to your head, and the rumbling in his chest told you he was attempting to make soothing noises although you were unable to actually hear them over the sounds of your cries.

As your sobs began to slow you clutched tighter to Paz, suddenly afraid that he’d let you go now that you weren’t crying your eyes out. But to your great relief, he didn’t, merely sliding his arms more securely around you and pressing you closer against his chest.

“What am I gonna do?” You said, voice barely more than a whisper pressed against the fabric of his shirt. Even as you said the words, you didn’t really fully realize what they meant until they’d left your mouth. You pulled your head back to look at Paz with wide, teary eyes. “T-That’s my home, Paz, but he’s not gonna leave, I know he isn’t, and it’s not like my parents are gonna be any help cause they love him and are just gonna say I’m making this up for attention and-”

“Breathe.”

The order startled you out of the sprial you’d begun to descend into, and you locked eyes with Paz, mouth snapping shut at the commanding tone of his voice.

“I’ll tell you what you’re gonna do, rabbit. You’re gonna stay right here, with me. There’ll be a blizzard on Tatooine before I let you go back to that hut’uun di’kut. He doesn’t deserve you, and I refuse to let you delude yourself into thinking that any of the actions he took tonight are in any way acceptable.”

His stare was piercing, and you found yourself unable to look away, even as you listened to what he was saying. You opened your mouth, about to insist that you couldn’t just intrude on Paz and his home like that, but a finger pressed to your lips stopped you.

“Uh uh, I’m not finished.” Paz waited for you to acknowledge his words before he continued. “I’ve got more than enough space, and I don’t want him or your family trying to manipulate you into going back to him. You deserve better, so much better, than that.”

Tears began to fill your eyes, but for far different reasons this time. Paz wasn’t the kind of person to say things like this openly, not the type to blatantly lay his feelings out for all to see, but he was doing it for you.

“Y-You’ll really do that, Paz?” You asked, trying and mostly succeeding to prevent your voice from shaking. “You’ll let me stay?” Some emotion you didn’t recognize passed over his face, but it was quickly gone before you had a chance to analyze it.

“Course I will,” he said softly, voice quiet but no less steady. “You’ve always had a place with me, and you always will.”

Another tear trailed down your cheek. The words that escaped your mouth weren’t something you’d been intending to say, but that didn’t make them any less true.

“Love you, Paz.”

Paz’s eyelashes fluttered, his face going slack for a moment before he was able to focus on you again. “Oh, bunny,” he muttered, drawing you close again even as a shiver ran down your spine at the unexpected variation on his nickname foe you. He was tucking your face back into his neck as his hand stroked soothingly up and down his back. “My sweet bunny rabbit, I love you too. You’ll always have a place with me, no matter what.”

In that moment, in Paz’s arms on the floor of his guest bedroom, you knew things were gonna be alright.

#paz vizsla x reader #paz vizsla #college!athlete!roommate!paz #car!paz au #car!paz #reader #fem reader #reader's nickname is bunny #paz is a hockey player #chapter 1 #the roommate agreement #no smut yet #but there will be a lot #so 18+#the mandalorian #modern au #paz vizsla fucks

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brown-eyes-and-beskar · 1 year

Text

Discovery: Chapter 1

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader

Description: When the Mandalorian breaks into the Imperial safehouse to take back the Child he hunted down, he finds an unexpected ally in you, an Imperial bioengineer who has been protecting the Child and waiting for a chance to escape.

Rating: T

Word Count: 4k

Author’s Note: This fic parallels with “Chapter 3: The Sin” and is mostly canon-consistent. This is chapter 1 of what I plan to turn into an extended series, so stay tuned if you enjoy this chapter and let me know what you think :)

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The moment you hear the first crash in the hallway, you know you’re in trouble.

Someone is here to take the baby.

You fly into action instantly – flipping switches, casting aside holoscreens, shoving blankets into a floating pram stamped with an Imperial insignia. The outer medical room door snaps shut, and the second inner door follows it as your hand slams down on the switch. You spare a glance over your shoulder when you hear yet another crash, this one just outside the door, and your movements become even more harried.

A series of loud noises and flashes emit from the tightly-sealed door, but you ignore them as you rush forward to scoop the baby into the pram. He’s still sleeping soundly, you notice gratefully.

If I can just get him into the pram and out the escape hatch, maybe he’ll have a chance—

The next impact on the door shakes the entire room, and you crouch behind the child’s exam table, hands over your ears. Everything in your brain is screaming to grab the baby and run, but run where? Where is safe? Who is attacking? What—

Your question is answered moments later, as the two insta-seal doors fly open, sparks flurrying in the pitch black doorway.

The man standing in the doorway is the most terrifying sight you’ve ever seen. And you’re no stranger to terror.

All you can see is his silhouette, tiny fiery flashes cascading around him. His blaster is held aloft in his right hand, his left jutting forward in a fist, as if he were scanning the room with a beam. He tarries in the doorway just long enough to check the room for danger, and seeing none, he steps inside.

From your position crouched on the floor, you fight the urge to suck in a loud breath as he steps far enough into the dim light for you to get a good look at him. A Mandalorian. The Mandalorian, you’re sure. The bounty hunter who brought the child here. The one who sold the child to buy the priceless armor now glinting on his chest and arms. The one they call ruthless, a cold-blooded killer, the best in his profession.

He takes one cautious step forward, his helmet turning in every direction to scope out any danger. The sight of him, totally covered in armor, his face concealed, weapon at the ready, unnerves you. A chill runs down your spine as he takes another step forward, closer to the child. And to you.

You weigh your options in a split second. He’s armed, and twice your size. You have no weapons and no way to escape. He’s bound to spot you if he takes another step forward, and you’d rather have the element of surprise when you make your last stand.

You spare a glance up at the child, still sleeping peacefully under a canopy of digital holoscreens, blinking red and blue data of his vital signs. Your life doesn’t matter anymore, you remind yourself, only the child’s. That’s a vow you made a long time ago.

Before you can rethink your decision, you leap to your feet, grabbing the nearest clipboard within reach and hurling it with all your might at the Mandalorian. He barely has time to react before the heavy board smashes into his helmet, knocking him back a step. You seize the opportunity and throw yourself forward, in front of the child’s exam table, between the child and danger.

The Mandalorian takes a mere fraction of a second to recover from the blow of the clipboard, clearing the distance between you in two rapid steps. His gaze takes in your pristine medical uniform, the Imperial insignia on your left shoulder. A grappling hook ending in a thin cord shoots out from one of his vambraces, wrapping around your body and pinning your arms to your sides. You’re too shocked to cry out, too stunned to move.

He takes one step closer to you, and you feel a small surge of pride at the dark mark the clipboard has left on his helmet, on the forehead and between the eyes. Your pride is quickly eclipsed by fear when you look deep into the black space where his eyes should be. You see nothing but a helmet, a killing machine, a faceless murderer who is about to make you his next victim. You steel yourself to keep your eyes trained on him.

“What have you done to him?” the Mandalorian demands. His voice is deep, almost a growl.

You take only a moment to find your voice. “Please don’t hurt him,” you say softly, trying to convey some emotion to him. “He’s just a child. Please, just leave him alone.”

The Mandalorian doesn’t answer, just leans to the side to peer over your shoulder at the sleeping child. His helmet tilts to the side, a gesture that reminds you he’s human. “He’s still alive.”

“Of course,” you reply, feeling panic rise into your lungs. An idea glimmers in your mind, a slim chance for you and the child. You add quickly, “I’ve been keeping him alive. If it weren’t for me, he would already be dead.”

The Mandalorian’s gaze doesn’t turn from the child, but he suddenly seems less murderous, more intent on looking at the child. A brief curiosity enters your mind, a question of why, but you can’t dwell on it.

“Please don’t hurt him,” you beg again. You don’t even care if your voice sounds pathetic – it’s the child whose life you’re begging for. “He’s only a child. You have your reward. What could you possibly want with him?”

This time, the Mandalorian’s gaze pulls away from the child, locks on your face. You struggle to keep your chin high, trying not to tremble as this powerful man looks deep into your soul with eyes that you cannot see.

He doesn’t answer your question. “I’m taking him,” he says simply.

“No!” you cry out, emotion bubbling to the surface again. “Please, don’t!”

He ignores you, leaning forward to sweep a blanket out of the pile that you created in the floating pram. He can only use one arm, the other holding you in place with his grappling hook. His motions are oddly gentle as he drapes the blanket over the sleeping child and lifts him with one hand, cradling him in the crook of his arm.

You fix your eyes on the child, still fast asleep amid the chaos. His tiny hands twitch, his ears shift gently, and his enormous closed eyes flutter. Your heart clenches in your chest. One thought blazes in your mind, a desperate and wild thought, a thought that you shouldn’t even entertain. A thought that suddenly seems wholly irresistible.

The Mandalorian is retracting the grappling hook, letting it fly back into the compartment of his vambrace, when you burst out, “Then take me with you.”

The strange man stops, one arm cradling the child and the other brandishing his blaster between you. You notice his quick intake of breath, and you know you have his attention. With your arms now free, you lift your hands placatingly toward the Mandalorian.

“Take me with you,” you repeat, more ardently this time. “Someone will need to look after the child, and you can sell me for just as high a price as you can sell him. I’m an Imperial bioengineer; I’ll be highly valuable to you. Just don’t separate me from him. Whatever you do with him, just let me stay with him.”

You have no way to read the Mandalorian’s facial expression, but you can feel the surprise radiating off him. “I’m not going to sell him,” he says tightly.

“What are you going to do with him, then?” you demand, proud to hear boldness in your voice.

“I’m taking him somewhere safe. Go back to your experiments and don’t worry about him.”

Another shock. Somewhere safe? Surely he’s not serious.

You play along with his lie. “If you want to save him, then you must care about him. The child has been drugged very heavily. If he doesn’t get proper medical attention, he could die. Take me with you, and I’ll care for him.”

“Liar,” the Mandalorian spits. The insult doesn’t hurt you.

“I will,” you vow. “I’d give my life for the child. You must be willing to do the same if you’ve come this far.”

You don’t know if that’s true, but your statement is enough to make the Mandalorian hesitate, halfway to the door with the child tucked into his side. You can feel the indecision wavering between you, pulling on him like strings. So there’s something more to him, you observe absently.

A crash echoes somewhere down the long corridor, and he suddenly shakes his head. Your heart plummets. “No,” he says simply, walking backwards to the door and planning a quick exit.

For the rest of your life, you will wonder why you did what you did at that moment, but your body reacts before your mind can catch up. You leap forward, surprising the Mandalorian so that he swivels in your direction, pointing his blaster straight at your heart. He doesn’t fire.

All you know in that moment is that you would rather die at this moment than be left behind when this man escapes with the child.

You hold your hands up, stopping an arm’s length away from where the Mandalorian wavers in the doorway, blaster still trained on you. “Please,” you whisper, desperation tinging your voice. “Don’t leave me here.”

Something in your eyes makes him hesitate. The Mandalorian pauses, his chest rising and falling steadily. The child stirs in his arms. Time seems to stand still as the Mandalorian’s invisible gaze bores into yours with an intensity that would melt the sun.

Several sets of footsteps pound down the hallway toward you, and the Mandalorian’s choice is made in a split second.

“Come on,” he whispers harshly, grabbing your forearm and pulling you with him.

You wrench your arm out of his grasp for a moment and dash back into the room, just long enough to grab a black leather bag from the counter top. The Mandalorian shouts something at you, but it’s drowned out by the sound of blaster shots from the hallway.

The Mandalorian makes quick work of whichever Stormtroopers had been tromping down the hall – probably Hound and Jett, you think – and motions for you to follow him as he steps into the hallway, moving his blaster in each direction before continuing. You trail him closely, staying at his heels.

Your heart is flying as you follow the Mandalorian – and the child – through the twisting maze of the compound. I’m going to be free, you realize. If I can make it out of this alive, I’m going to be free for the first time in 15 years.

You bite back a grin at that thought, remembering that you’re still in dire straits. The Mandalorian starts to dash down a side door marked in red letters, but you reach out and grab his cape to hold him back.

“That way leads to the Stormtrooper bunks,” you explain in a hushed voice. The Mandalorian hesitates, clearly not sure if he can trust you, but you don’t give him time to argue. You tug on his cape and start jogging down an opposite corridor. He pulls his cape out of your grasp, but you’re glad when you realize he’s following you. Trusting you.

You’ve made it down three hallways – just two more and you’re free – when you hear a door slam and footsteps pounding toward you. You whirl around to warn the Mandalorian, but he’s already in motion, clearly a step ahead of you somehow.

He shoves you behind him and thrusts the child into your arms. You stagger back, trying to arrange the child so he won’t fall out of your grasp but will be shielded from any stray blaster bolts. The Mandalorian is in full combat mode now, remaining in front of you as a shield and firing shot after shot at the hapless Stormtroopers who step into the line of fire.

You don’t realize you’ve buried your head over the child’s tiny form until you feel a sharp tug on your arm. “Let’s go,” he says sharply, all but dragging you behind him toward the final hallway. You can see the dim evening light through the slats around the door, and your heart pounds in anticipation.

“Hold it right there!” Another voice cuts into your hopeful thoughts. Voices behind you, ahead, on both sides. You’re surrounded.

You instinctively clutch the child closer to your chest, burrowing him deeper into the blanket. You’re glad he’s drugged into a deep sleep in that moment – no matter what happens, he’ll be spared having to witness a massacre.

The Mandalorian lowers his blaster slowly, clearly aware that he’s outnumbered and outgunned. You’re glad he doesn’t put up a fight and endanger the child’s life. Maybe he was sincere about the kid’s safety after all.

“Hold your fire,” the Mandalorian commands, his modulated voice filling the dank hallway. “What we’re holding is very precious. Step aside and let us pass, and I’ll let you live.”

You swallow a cringe at his words. Lousy shots or not, five Stormtroopers aren’t going to be annihilated by one man with a blaster. All you can hope is that the troopers will have enough sense to leave the child unharmed.

As the Mandalorian crouches on the ground, still lowering his blaster but not letting it go, another voice, this one to your left, calls out. “Doc?”

One of the Stormtroopers is speaking to you. His helmet is cocked to the side, his blaster tilted at the ground as he studies you in disbelief.

Lightning fast, your mind breaks your situation down. If you tell the Stormtroopers that the Mandalorian kidnapped you and the child, they will believe it in a heartbeat. You’re one of the top bioengineers in the compound – of course they’ll believe you. One word, and you’ll be away from gunpoint and back where you started.

Before that thought is even fully formed, you know you’re not going to lie about being kidnapped. You’ve already made your choice, and that choice has led you to abandon the Empire and follow this mysterious Mandalorian, wherever that may lead you.

You look the Stormtrooper dead in the face, holding your chin high in defiance, when the screeching sound of metal on metal fills your ears.

The flashes of light whiz through the dark air of the hallway like fireflies. Each flash twirls in a little loop before slamming full-force against the Stormtroopers – one, two, three, four, five knocked out cold on the floor.

You still have no idea what’s just happened when the Mandalorian pushes himself off the floor, grabs your wrist, and drags you along behind him into the final hallway. Your hands are trembling when he lets go of you, and you clutch the child tightly to shield him from any possible danger.

The Mandalorian tests the hallway blaster-first, then eases his way into the open space, motioning for you to follow. By the time you reach the door – or what used to be the door – the Mandalorian has gained some speed and is sprinting through the gaping hole in the front wall. His handiwork, no doubt.

You adjust the leather bag you’ve slung over your shoulder and pause just outside the doorway. Thick, smoky air fills your lungs, but you’re suddenly more grateful to be in the open air than you’ve ever been in your life. This is your first breath of a new life.

“Where are you going?” you whisper loud enough for the Mandalorian to hear. He’s halfway up the stone staircase leading to the market square, but he turns around at your question.

“My ship,” he says, motioning with his blaster toward the darkened square. “It’s just up ahead.”

You shake your head. “The square will be crawling with Imps and Guild members in minutes. Believe me.”

The Mandalorian looks up at the square, as if he will suddenly see what you’re talking about. His gaze falls back to you, and you see the frustrated tightening in his shoulders. “There’s no other way out of here.”

“I know a back road that’ll lead us straight to your ship,” you insist. You’ve been there a thousand times walking back to your apartment at night. “I assume it’s in the docking area?”

He nods hastily but still hesitates. “This is the only way. We’ll just have to fight our way through.”

“No!” you insist again. Why won’t he just listen to you? “It’s too dangerous. The child might be hurt!”

Another hesitation. You’re already beginning to recognize the Mandalorian’s body language for indecision. He tosses one last glance up at the square, then trains his glare back on you. “Fine. Lead the way. I’ll cover you from behind.”

“Fair enough,” you agree, and he falls into line behind you.

“Wait.” He stops you with his free hand around your elbow. “Give me the kid.”

You hope your facial expression conveys your revulsion at the idea. “No. No way.”

“Insurance,” he says simply. “That way I know you’re leading us the right way.”

You understand his logic, you really do. It’s the exact same reasoning you have. It’s the exact reason you don’t want to let go of the child, not into the hands of this trained mercenary who you’ve just witnessed kill at least seven people.

He killed those seven people for the child, says a voice in your head. And for you.

“Fine,” you snap, knowing it’s the only way you’ll get out in time. More guards and hunters will be pouring into the courtyard at any second. You carefully transfer the sleeping child into the Mandalorian’s free arm, fixing the hunter with a warning stare before nodding in the direction of the path.

You make quick work of the shortcut, cutting behind several darkened buildings and one very bright cantina before ducking into a damp tunnel. You check behind you to make sure the Mandalorian is still behind you, and you’re surprised at how closely he’s trailing you, no more than an arm’s length away every time you look. He looks down at the baby every few steps, truly seeming concerned.

You don’t let your thoughts dwell on this strange man or your strange circumstances. All you can think about is getting to freedom and away from the Empire. You’ve been waiting for this chance for years – you’ll sort out the rest later.

The tunnel opens up a few hundred yards later, and you step into the moonlight that dances over thick sand and rugged cliffsides. The Mandalorian is a step behind you, and you can sense his confusion before he speaks.

“It’s just up ahead,” you inform him. “The docking area is built into the side of this cliff. If we just walk around it, your ship should be dead ahead.”

The Mandalorian gives no sign of belief or disbelief, just adjusts the blanket around the child’s shoulders and nods for you to lead the way.

You make it around the cliffside without incident, and when you round the corner, a large silver ship immediately comes into view. A Razor Crest, you realize, and a pretty decent one. You swallow the surge of relief at making the escape safely, reminding yourself that you’re not out of Nevarro yet.

The Mandalorian presses a few buttons on his vambrace, and the ship lights up immediately. You scurry forward, glancing every direction to make sure you’re not being followed.

You’re almost to the boarding ramp of the ship when you hear the first shot fired. It comes from the direction of the town, and you cast a terrified glance at the Mandalorian as you realize that you’ve been discovered. He doesn’t seem concerned, if you’re reading him correctly.

He hands the child over to you again, quickly and without hesitation this time. “Get onboard,” he tells you. “Start the ship’s power and prepare it for takeoff. There’s a lever on the control panel.”

More shots from the town, including one that shatters a piece of cliffside near your head.

You duck down, wrapping your arms tight around the child. “Why aren’t you coming?” you demand. The thought of trying to get out of Nevarro without the Mandalorian is terrifying.

“I’ll be covering you.” He fires a shot into the haze of the town, positioning himself in front of you. “Just go! I’ll get onboard as you take off.”

Everything in your brain is screaming that this is a bad idea, but you know there’s no other option. You nod to show your understanding, then start running as fast as you can toward the ship’s boarding ramp. A blaster bolt narrowly misses your right foot, but you grit your teeth and keep running, running, running, until you’re onboard.

You’ve never been on a Razor Crest, but the layout is simple enough. You dash into the cockpit at top speed, laying the child down into the passenger seat as gently as possible, then throw yourself into the pilot’s chair to search for the ignition. You flick a silver toggle switch that looks like the ignition, and your guess is answered by a flaring of the engines and an explosion of bright lights throughout the walls of the cockpit. Lucky guess.

You crane your neck to see out the front window of the ship, and you can barely catch a glimpse of the Mandalorian, still firing shots into the murky crowd that is rushing from the city. Bounty hunters, you realize. His own kind. You bite back a sneer.

“Hurry up,” you mutter under your breath, more to yourself than the Mandalorian. Your hands flutter over the controls, searching for the takeoff lever. You select the largest one, and you know at once that it’s the correct one as the ship starts whirring, the landing gear retracting, and the flight panels extending. Another lucky guess.

You chance another look out the window at the action below, and you clamp one hand over your mouth as an especially strong blaster bolt catches the Mandalorian square in the chest. He falls backward, not unconscious but clearly dazed. Assured that you’ve prepped the ship for flight, you strap the child into his seat hastily and dash back to the landing ramp.

The Mandalorian is desperately trying to claw his way up the ramp when you appear at the top, and you don’t have to see his face to know that he’s panicked. He waves his hand furiously at you – get out of the line of fire! – but you stay where you are, holding the ramp button down so he can get aboard the ship safely.

He’s just managed to get to the top of the ramp, so close to you that his armor scrapes against your calf, when a man steps forward from the crowd. The group of bounty hunters is still firing random shots at the Crest as it takes off, and you’ve already pressed the button to close the ramp. However, the older man who stands apart from the rest, dressed in a leather vest and gunbelt, raises a pointed finger at the rapidly closing ramp.

“You can’t hide, Mando,” the man shouts over the ruckus, his deep voice booming over the racket. “There’s nowhere in this galaxy that you’ll be safe.”

The boarding ramp slides into place with a loud clamp and seal, and the Mandalorian, still on the ground next to you, forces himself off the ground with a grunt. He makes one last dash into the cockpit, taking in your work as he grabs the controls for the ship.

“Hold on,” he tells you, and you anchor yourself into the passenger seat beside the child just as the Razor Crest shoots into the sky. Blaster bolts pelt the sides and back of the ship, making you cringe, but the Mandalorian stays focused, piloting the ship deftly over the tops of the buildings of Nevarro and into the night sky. It’s only once he’s reached the high altitudes, safely away from any blaster shots or incoming ships, that he allows himself to relax, falling back against his chair with an exhausted sigh.

You release a long breath that you didn’t realize you’d been holding, then tear your gaze from the Mandalorian to the window beside your head. As the Crest careens into outer space, you cast one last look down at Nevarro, at the planet that has been your home – your prison – for the last two years. Then you fix your eyes ahead into the endless starry sky.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Link to Chapter 2

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