mandalore martyr | mando x poe

22

Din Djarin was coolheaded, more often than not. He wasn't riled easily, either. In fact, he had practically Luke-Skywalker-level of nonchalance when it came to most situations.

This—was not that type of situation.

A gloved fist made it's violent journey into the table surrounded by Poe's so called friends.

"Kriff," Finn cursed immediately while Rey flinched back, eyes glaring. Luke's gaze lifted from the portion of schematics displayed on the table, eyes exuding the calm that was increasingly beginning to piss Din off.

"This is going no where." The Mand'alor bit out slowly. He forced himself to lay his fist out flat against the table top, stretching the tense muscles of his hand reluctantly.

"The blueprints are a good start." Luke began in his monotone voice, hand gesturing to the table.

"This?" The mandalorian moved his hand to jab a pointer finger into the top of the table. "This is nothing, Skywalker."

"Our moles within the First Order are doing as much as they can." Finn reminded easily, ever the optimist.

"I don't doubt that." Din sat forward in his seat, visor moving languidly to meet the faces around the table. "But we're not."

"Hey," Rey interjected, brows furrowing. "We're doing what we can."
The mandalorian's visor didn't deign to look at her, instead, glaring into the tabletop between them.

"He's our friend. We'll get him out of there." Finn said simply, setting a reassuring hand at Rey's shoulder. The mandalorian breathed through his noise, his frustration ebbing through his helmet.

"Out with it, mando." Rey sighed, annoyance evident. "You've had a problem with the way we've done things from the start."

"Forgive me for not appreciating you illegally landing on my planet." Din had said, voice gruff, but quiet.

"The planet you carted off our unwilling friend to?" Rey narrowed her eyes, tilting her head.

"Rey—" Luke began. It seemed the Jedi in-training wasn't much like her mentor in the department of self-control.

The mandalorian's helmet tilted slightly. He moved to stand, stepping around the table. With the beskar steel strewn across his form, and the dark saber holstered at his side, his figure made Finn shrink and Rey stare defiantly. Chewbacca, who up until then, stood silently behind the trio of humans, grumbled out in warning of either parties.

"You have no idea what you're talking about. You're the reason he's in this mess." Din spoke, voice oddly even. He moved to cross his arms in an attempt to satiate the wookie's continued protests.

"I know more than you." Rey murmured, though her eyes still rang symbolic of daggers. "Poe will do what he can to survive. He's done it so far." She sniffed.

Din's head reeled back from where he stood, form stilling at the statement. He dusted it off, making up for it by rolling his shoulders slightly in a feigned relaxed state.

"What are you implying?"

"He's good at mind games," She shrugged. "Gives the enemy a false sense of security. I'm sure you've seen it before—"
"This isn't going anywhere," Finn sighed, his shoulders rigid, eyes tired and pleading in his friend's direction.

"Let her finish." Din murmured, visor unwavering in the line of sight that led him to Rey's protective demeanor.

"If you haven't seen it before, you've probably experienced it." She said cryptically, eyes boring into the black of his helmet.

"Rey," Luke chastised. "Enough, we need to focus on the problem at hand. Fighting won't help Poe."

The mandalorian's eyes screwed shut for a moment, unbeknownst to the rest of the group. With a breath caught in his throat, he managed to sit back down, visor steadily held at the schematics.

"Let's finish this."

-

"The "poster boy" of the resistance, reduced to little else in a matter of weeks." Kylo greeted easily. He moved to stand in front of the other man, hands held behind his back.

Poe's beaten body struggled minutely, hanging by shackles from the ceiling. The troopers were generous enough allow his toes to reach the floor, holding up his weight.

"Now that you've realized the—severity of your situation," The man began, deep voice reverberating through Poe's form, rattling uncomfortably within his chest. "Why don't we begin cooperating."

"What—" Poe began, breathy. He inhaled slowly, lungs burning at the effort. "What do you want?"

Kylo sighed in frustration, hand moving to grip angrily at the air in front of his prisoner. Poe's eyed the fist a mere inch from his nose, gaze darting up to stare at the man's emotionless mask.

"Where—what?" Poe's brows furrowed, screwing his eyes shut in pained confusion.

Ren moved to grip the pilot's chin, pulling Poe's face closer to the light. He eyed the man's pupils, keeping his hand held firmly as Poe attempted to pull away.

"They concussed you." He assessed, mask unmoving. Poe grew nervous under the scrutiny, stomach dropping.

Poe blinked slowly, fists tightening in his shackles. "He doesn't—he doesn't tell me anything."

"We've already had this conversation, Dameron." The taller man reminded slowly. He watched Poe's expression of confusion grow worse, before allowing the hand at the pilot's chin to glide down. His fingertips found way to Poe's throat, shoving him backward before turning to stalk a few steps away. The pilot choked out a cough, his wrists aching at the swing of his shackles, feet scrambling to find purchase on the cold floor below him.

General Hux inched into Poe's line of sight, turning to eye Kylo Ren.
"I'll have him scheduled for execution." He said simply, watching the pilot's ever worsening state.

"He's of little use alive, but I have one idea in mind." Kylo stated, turning to the other.

"And what is that?" Hux questioned, seemingly irritated. By what, Poe's tired mind was unsure.

"Bait."

"Bait?" Hux bit out, incredulous. His head reeling forward slightly in confusion.

"The son General Organa wished Ben Solo to be." The other man stated simply, nodding toward the pilot before heading toward the doors, leaving a scrambling Hux to follow.

"Don't injure him, this time." Kylo directed to the guard near the door, turning to give the captive one final glance. "Let him starve for a few days."