iv. something that destroys.

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Some people love like a field of blossoming wildflowers, painted rose and amethyst and apricot beneath a setting sun carved into amber skies, a warm breeze carrying the scent of pines wreathing through the aftermath of a gentle rainfall. A soft, pearly glow, set inside hearts made of porcelain and crushed glass, gold lining and gentle whispers of I adore you fading into a charcoal twilight.

          How does she love? Like a blade, like a storm of fire descending upon a forest of once-charred wood, like a blush of ruby blood pooling between ribs, like a whisper of poison, a deadly drought that murmurs, beauty conceals the venom of a viper, like the abrupt rush of water before a tsunami wave: like something that destroys.

          Perhaps she loves in this way because it hurts, because she likes the bite of the flames when they turn her skin into nothing but ashes, because it reminds her to feel when everything else goes numb.

          This is why, then, it feels like a white-hot knife is burrowing deep into Zoya's abdomen from the moment the doors to her ship slide closed. She offers herself no explanation other than the fact that perhaps she strained something during their sparring, or that maybe she's still a little sore from her combat with the crime lord's henchmen. (Weak excuses, but it eases the beat of her heart slightly, calming the rush of blood streaming to her cheeks and the apex of her thighs.) Her conscience does not take this for an answer and festers, angrily slashing off bits of her heart and hacking at the insides of her ribs, hissing that this will end in flames.

          The cockpit is empty and hollow; Zoya finds herself missing the clamor of the child, the soft whirrs of the rusty Razor Crest, the pile of junk that it is, the starlight reflecting off the beskar of Din's helmet into her eyes with a sharp sort of pain that feels like burning sunlight and icy ocean waves, the glittering of the universe spread wide and welcoming before them, whispering I am yours for the taking.

          The second the doors close behind her, Zoya collapses against them, a fluttering dove for a heart and secrets held on parted rosy lips. She runs a hand through her hair, feeling a cool brush of air skate along her arms and the slope of her back and the skin exposed between her breasts. "Fuck," she whispers. "Fuck."

          The interior of her ship contains much less warmth than the flames licking at the hollowed-out cage of her body. Barely personalized, barely used, hardly lived in at all, it remains an empty, unfeeling shell.

          She moves through it like a ghost, an apparition, and sits before the controls. Against her will, Zoya's eyes dart through the window, finding the lingering hulk of the Razor Crest bold against the soot-stained horizon, a soft glow pulsing within the cockpit. She hadn't meant to go with him. She'd meant to say, You can go to hell and back for all I care! or something similarly damning, but her mouth had betrayed her, taken over by the longing scarlet atriums of her heart, accursed and horribly honest.

          Zoya charts the course, and once she's free of the planet's atmosphere, the Razor Crest laughably close at her tail, she sets the ship to autopilot. If she really thinks hard about it, there is some reasoning to be found in accompanying Din and the child to Tatooine: their searches coincide.

          Right?

          Right, it's pure fact: he searches for the Jedi for the child, and so does she. It's logical, if she squints a bit and tilts her head to the side.

          Zoya stands, exiting the cockpit while stripping off the crimson dress with its undercurrents of writhing bronze and gold. It pools on the floor around her feet, and she mentally reminds herself to fold it (though she likely never will remember, despite the expensive caress of the silk against her criminally soft skin). The clothes she wore the night she murdered the crime lord are sinful as they flatten against her curves. Phantoms of blood stains coalesce within the fabric, grinning evilly as she tries to remind herself that she'd washed them three times over after the near-massacre.

          She straps holsters to her thighs and hips but leaves them empty, carefully discarding her weapons, alongside the slick onyx mask, for now. The black ensemble hugs her like a shadow, and as Zoya looks down at herself, she wonders if she could fade completely, become nothing but a diaphanous shifting ghost, if she tried, but she has no such luck. She remains utterly corporeal, utterly human, left fragilely mortal to face the memories she'd attempted to drown.

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Tatooine looms closer, vast and the color of golden sand spilled across dark, hungry mountains. With the Razor Crest nipping at her heels, Zoya pilots her ship into the atmosphere, starling when her comms unit crackles to life.

          "Zoya?"

          Her fingers tremble as she presses the comms button to respond. "Din?"

          "I—" His voice is either cutting out or he's stuttering. Zoya frowns at her unit, jabs at it with a finger.

          "Din?" she says again.

          He clears his throat, the comms unit applying a grainy filter to his voice. "Sorry. I-I um, I'm going to Peli Motto's bay. I thought I would tell you if you wanted to land there too, to um, to just meet up before, you know—"

          "I'll see you there," Zoya interrupts quietly.

          "Okay," he says, voice soft and tentative. "See you there."

          Something tugs at the corner of her mouth as she flips off the transmitter, dipping low towards Mos Eisley's docking bays. Her mind goes on autopilot as she maneuvers her ship into the familiar area of Peli's bay, ensuring that she leaves enough room for Din to land the Razor Crest.

          Tatooine's arid, warm climate washes across her skin, a foreign blanket of comfort. She closes her eyes and lingers at the top of the ramp, allowing the light from its twin suns to spread heated fingers across her face. It burns, but only slightly, and just enough to lift some weight off her chest. Drinking in the heat, Zoya is already halfway down the ramp before she realizes it, opening her eyes only when Peli Motto herself emerges, squinting against the light, surrounded by a swarm of chittering droids.

          "Zoya?" she calls out. "Is that you?"

          A bright grin spreads across her face. "Hey, Peli!"

          The older woman crosses to meet Zoya, peering behind her into the dark, yawning mouth of her ship and letting out a low whistle. Zoya wonders what has her so impressed: though sleek and glittering like a diamond beneath the sunlight, she ship is cold and unfeeling, seamless stretches of silver with no warmth of individuality.

          "Nice ship, missy, but are you alone? Where's—" As if on cue, Din's ship drops low beside them, and the landing gear engages. Peli gives Zoya a long, appraising look. "Making enough money now to travel separately, I see?"

           A rose-petal blush unfurls on Zoya's cheeks. "No—we—I—that's—"

          The Razor Crest's ramp lowers, and Din steps out, a knight in shining armor, gallantly sweeping Zoya out of reach of Peli's insinuating question. Though it shouldn't be hard to answer, something about the words we aren't with each other anymore sticks stubbornly to her tongue, refusing to part with the hesitance of her grinding teeth and meet the unforgiving air—because there, it will become harshly real.

          The droids immediately rush towards the ship, chattering amongst themselves. "Hey, hey, hey!" Peli yells, forgetting Zoya for a moment in her irritation. "Sorry, gang, come on. You know he doesn't like droids!"

          "May as well let them have at it," Din says, striding towards them. He doesn't glance towards Zoya, seeming nothing like the stammering mess he'd been over the comm link mere minutes before. "The Crest needs a good once-over."

          "Oh. So he likes droids now. Men are so wishy-washy." This she directs at Zoya. "Well, you heard him. Give it a once-over." The droids gather their tools and trot towards the Razor Crest, skirting carefully around Din as he approaches. "I guess more than a few things have changed since you were last in Mos Eisley," she adds, with a meaningful glance towards Zoya, who shifts in place awkwardly, trying and failing to keep herself from watching Din as he nears them. The sunlight gleams off his beskar armor and the insignia on his right shoulder.

          "I guess," she mutters.

          "But—oh! Thank the Force! This little thing has had me worried sick! Come here you little womp rat," Peli says, and scoops the child up from where he nestles in the sling strung around Din's torso. "Looks like it remembers me! How much do you want for it? Just kidding. But not really. You know, if this thing ever divides or buds, I will gladly pay for the offspring."

          The words tumble out in such an unrestrained waterfall of syllables without pause for breath that Zoya is unable to restrain a little laugh. Din and Peli look at her—albeit for differing reasons.

          "I am completely serious," Peli tells her, brows lifted high and animated.

          "Oh, I believe you," Zoya says, trying to hide her smile. (She is—rather obviously—quite unsuccessful.) She locks her eyes on the ground and bites at her lip, finally giving in and allowing herself to giggle once more. It feels good, to laugh, especially as she hasn't done it in what feels like forever. And when she glances back up, on top of it all, Din's watching her, quiet and pensive, head tilted, his helmet glinting in the sunlight. For a moment, Zoya lets herself look back at him, and something in her soul aches.

          It can't be more than a second or two that they watch each other, wreathed in a silence so taut that it drowns out Peli's continued chattering, but she nearly jumps out of her skin when the droids accidentally free an air tube from the Razor Crest, leaving it to thrash about and emit a loud hissing noise.

          "Hey!" Peli yells. "Oh, jeez. Watch what you're doing up there. He barely trusts your kind. You want to give all droids a bad name?" The air tube suctions to the head of one of the droids, cutting off the loud noise. "Thank you!"

          Din glances away from Zoya just as she turns from the ship back to him. A frosted stone drops into the pit of her stomach, blossoming with the sensation of standing with your feet upon the edge of a cliff, looking into churning azure waves, unknowing whether you will choose to fall or step away from the precipice. To Peli, he says, "We're here on business, and we could use your help."

          "Oh, then business you shall have." Peli gently bounces the child in her arms. "Care for me to watch this wrinkled critter while you seek out adventure?"

          "I've been quested to bring this one back to its kind." Din pauses, and bequeaths Zoya with another long, lingering look. "And Zoya—she—"

          "I'm helping," she offers, though it's not completely true.

          "Oh, wow," Peli says, interest sparking at the ends of her frizzy mane of curls. "I can't help you there. I've never seen any like it. And trust me, I've seen all shapes and sizes in this town." She raises her brows in emphasis.

          Zoya's mouth twitches. "I don't think I want to know what that means."

          Peli widens her eyes meaningfully.

          "Oh, gods—"

          Before they can further derail the conversation, Din cuts in, "A Mandalorian Armorer has set me on my path. If I can locate another of my kind, I can chart a path through the network of coverts."

          "You've been the only Mando here for years from what I can tell," Peli says. "Though I'm sure not all of them take the time to come to my bay."

          "Where is Mos Pelgo?" Din asks. "I'm told there's one there."

          Zoya's head lists to the side. The town sounds familiar. She scrolls through her memories, trying to figure out—oh. Maybe one or two months ago, when she'd revisited Tatooine, she'd gone exactly there to find a bounty. Was there a Mandalorian there? Though she scours her brain, nothing arises to snatch her attention. Maybe not.

          "Boy, I haven't heard that name in a while," Peli muses, tongue in her cheek.

          "It's not on any of the maps," Din says.

          Peli nods. "Because it was wiped out—"

          "By bandits," Zoya finishes. Both Din and Peli's eyes move to her, surprised. She merely shrugs. "I went there a couple months back to locate a bounty. The residents aren't too welcoming, but they do tend to soften up a little after a couple strong drinks." Din watches her, pensive. Zoya returns his gaze, and is unnerved to find that he's completely unreadable.

          "You're right about the bandits," Peli confirms, and one of her hands absently shields the child's face, as if trying to subconsciously protect him from her own memories. "Once the Empire fell, it was a free-for-all. I didn't dare leave the city walls then, and I still don't." Her eyes flick to Zoya. "I'm surprised you made it out there alone without anything going terribly wrong."

          "I'm not," Din murmurs. Before Zoya can fully register his words, he adds, "Do you remember where it is?"

          Zoya squints at the sky, eyelashes feathering against the bright, nearly luminescent blue. "Not sure. I would say that I do, but I don't want to end up not remembering and then get us lost and stranded in the middle of the desert, so—"

          Din's already turning away, knowing her well enough to understand that there's no way in seven hells that she'll remember the correct route to get to Mos Pelgo. "Peli," he says instead, "can you—"

          "Got it. R-five! Bring the map of Tatooine!" she yells, so loud that it nearly rings off the metal walls of their ships. The droid begins to wheel itself over, creaking as it inches towards them. "No, take your time. Seriously. You just can't get good help anymore—I don't even know who to complain to."

          "You could write a letter to the New Republic," Zoya says, keeping her face dead-serious.

          Peli tilts her head (and doesn't seem to hear Din's muffled snort). "Could I?"

          "Definitely."

          "Hm. I'll think on that. But—ah, here we go. This is a map of Tatooine before the war. You got Mos Eisley, Mos Espa, and up around this region, Mos Pelgo."

          "I don't see anything," Din says.

          "Well, it's there. Or at least, it used to be." Peli shrugs. "I'm sure Zoya remembers, but it's not much to speak of, anyway. It's just an old mining settlement. They're gonna see those big hunks of metal long before you land."

          Din considers the map in silence. "You still have those speeder bikes?"

          "Sure do." Peli clicks her tongue and moves for the hangar's exist, but then hesitates. "Actually, one of 'em has a busted engine, but the other still works. It's a little rusty, but it should get you there."

          One.

          Zoya keeps her gaze fixed firmly on Peli, but in her peripheral, she sees Din glance her way. "O-kay," he says, slowly, dragging out the vowel. His uncertainty grates against Zoya's skin, and internally, she bristles, blood from the minor wound streaming from her fingertips. "Thank you."

          "Mm. Looks like your manners have slightly improved," she says, giving Zoya an approving look that only serves to heighten her irritation, as if she's completely responsible for everything Din does. "It's out back." Peli jerks her chin and shifts the child to her other hip in the same moment. "Same as last time."

          Zoya follows the other woman in muted silence, skin prickling. Din walks at her side, and after a moment, he brushes her arm with a hand—or at least she thinks he does, as he's likely picked up on her brooding silence, hooded with lowered brows and tightened lips. Stiffening, she puts more distance between them, keeping herself out of reach. Somehow, Zoya finds a numbed place within herself that is void of feeling, a barren landscape of undisturbed ivory snowfall, so when she notices the dejected droop of his shoulders, she is nothing but a canvas blank of emotion. If she concentrates, she can sense them building beneath the roughed wall of stone, calling out like lost souls, begging to be freed with eyes reflecting the pits of hell.

          But she can remember the bite of betrayal too well to allow pity to seep through the cracks; it isn't in her nature to forgive and forget—or forget at all. Things like this leave wounds, wounds that sometimes refuse to heal.

          "Here we are," Peli says.

          The two speeder bikes sit before them, coated with a few layers of sand from recent storms. One is obviously out of use; its engine is pulled apart and barely halfway down the road to being repaired, its handlebars twisted and unusable. The seat is ripped down the middle, exposing the metal workings of the vehicle beneath.

          "Great. Thank you for this, Peli," Zoya says, and strides directly to the bike that seems to be in working order without further delay.

          Din softly echoes her sentiment, schooled into a tentative, uncertain state, and adds, "I think I will take the child with us, actually."

          "If you're sure," Peli replies, and carefully hands him over. Her eyes flick between them, as if sensing tension, but Zoya refuses to acknowledge it, though she knows the other woman possesses only good intentions. "I hope you two find what you're looking for."

          Zoya settles onto the bike, testing the feel of the handlebars beneath her fingers. Her mouth tightens. "One can only hope." The words spill out like knives, slicing the edges of her mouth as they gouge at the air. Din rolls his shoulders back, feigning a confidence she can tell he does not feel, and she nips her bottom lip, tasting the bloody aftermath of her words.

          Peli shifts uncomfortably for one more second, then says a final goodbye, retreating back into the docking bay, leaving the two of them alone with the cold sting of silence and the crimson bubbling on Zoya's tongue.

          Din approaches, slow and considering, moving towards her with enough care that he may be nearing a cruel, unforgiving snake—scales of iridescent color wreathed within its tight coils, beautiful enough to hide the fatal venom lingering at the razor-sharp edge of every fang. Zoya smiles, and it's all viper, nothing kind stains her mouth.

          Her eyes find his visor, a hard challenge glinting within them. "Are you going to get on, then?"

          He's hesitant, thrown off, and seems nearly off balance. "Do you want to move back, or—"

          "No," she says. "I'll drive this time." Still, Zoya refuses to look away from his helmet, irises similar to discs of frosted steel; she revs the engine, a dull roar that crackles in the ice-slicked silence. "Get on behind me."

          "Okay," Din replies, nearly choked.

          His lack of confidence is obvious from the way he moves across the sand, as if he doesn't quite know where to place his boots. It's amusing in an offhand, detached way. Zoya watches him approach with cool disdain, feigning indifference, but as he slides onto the speeder behind her, exhales coming short and furiously anxious, she can't control the little breath that catches on her lower lip.

          Din's hands barely brush her torso before he jerks back. "Can I—is it okay if I hold on to you?"

          "Yeah," Zoya replies tightly, the word more strained than it needs to be.

          Then, as delicately as he would cradle a figurine of glass, Din sets his hands carefully around her waist, setting his knees tightly against her outer thighs. "Okay," he whispers, voice quiet against her ears, "I'm ready."

          Zoya moves the throttle to full power without further ado, and the speeder jets away from the docking bay.

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a/n: top!zoya coming for ur throat

thank u sm for 11k & sorry for the wait once again ! i've been sick and feeling like shit for like a week now 😀 but anyways i hope u enjoyed, lmk ur thoughts / predictions 👁 and chapter 14 (the episode)??? i am going FERALLLL !!!! pls make sure not to comment blatant spoilers for people who haven't seen it, but i'll post a comment u guys can reply to and discuss ur thots there so it's not in full view of everyone ✨