Fragments of the Dark

Chapter Four

Despite his helmet, the sudden change in light caused Din to squint.

He and Celene stepped out of the building and into the quiet alleyway. Celene made it two steps before stopping and pressing her back against the side of stone-colored wall. "Fuck." She tilted her head up to the sky, bronzed skin of her neck and chest flashing in the sun.

For a split second Din's eyes hovered on that expanse of skin, the way her head arched to the sun above them. He asked, "What was that in there?"

Her chest rose and fell with uneven breaths but Din kept his eyes fastened firmly on her face though she couldn't see where his gaze went anyways. "Did you know him?"

"No," her voice was strained. She shook her head. "No," she repeated. "I don't know him."

He couldn't keep the disdain from his tone. "Really? Because he seemed to know you."

Celene pushed off the wall. "I didn't know him. He must have mistaken me for someone else."

Din folded his arms, Beskar clanking. "Don't lie to me."

She spun to face him, her face suddenly dark. "Drop it." She drew back. "Just drop it, okay? I need some air."

"There are Imperials here. We shouldn't separate." He clenched his hands to resist the urge to reach out and grab her wrist.

Her jaw tightened. "Fine. Let's get some food." She stalked off through the crowd before he could answer.

Din followed close behind, marking her black hair as they threaded through the throngs of people. He held in his remark as she chose one off the seedier cantinas to stop at. The door hissed open revealing a large space reeking of piss and booze. Celene didn't seem to care.

She slouched down at a table, dark eyes wandering. The silver rings in her hair were dimmed in the dark room. Her gaze seemed haunted and guarded. What the Imp had said to her was bothering her more than she let on. Before he could question her further, a wheeled droid appeared at their table side to take their order.

Din ordered nothing per usual, scanning the room while Celene placed hers. The leather of her jacket crackled as she settled back in the chair. Appearing relaxed but far from it.

"What did the Imperial give you?" he asked, breaking the silence between them. "In the vial?"

She yanked her gaze away from the door, fastening it on him. His heart stuttered. Celene just gave him a shrug, dismissing the topic. "Nothing important."

Din opened his mouth to object, to say it obviously was important but the wheeled droid reappeared, tray balanced in a robotic arm. It set two cups down in front of Celene and then buzzed away.

Celene tipped back her head, drinking the liquor in one sip. The first cup had barely touched the table before she'd grabbed the second one and taken that down too. She closed her eyes briefly, letting the liquor burn through her throat and let out a sigh.

Din again held back his remark of her habits. But he hadn't seen her drink in a while, so he thought maybe this was just a rare occasion. He went back to letting his gaze scan the room, but kept her in his peripheral vision.

From the pocket of her jacket she dug out a small, rectangular box and withdrew a slender grey stick. She dragged it along the edge of the metal box and the stick sparked and then lit with a small blaze of light. Celene slipped it between her lips and drew in a deep breath, breathing out cerulean colored smoke. "I can feel you watching me."

Din blinked and realized he was staring, though she couldn't tell through the helmet. He shook his head but didn't say anything.

"Save your reprimands for later," she inhaled another deep breath and when she spoke plumes of lilac and onyx furled from her mouth. "We technically aren't on a job. Won't be until we leave the planet."

"Is that why you think I would oppose to your habits? Because it would ruin the job?" His voice was low in the buzz of the cantina.

She raised a brow. "Why else?"

Din ground his jaw, preparing himself to answer her but a man approached the table, heavily intoxicated. His leg bumped into Celene's chair, drink sloshing over the edge of his cup and onto her pants and the sticky floor. His face was pudgy and red, eyes a watery grey. "Pardon me- Mandalorian- sir-" the man hiccupped and his buddies behind him cackled in obnoxious laughter.

"Pardon me-" the man started again, greasy fingers gripping the edge of the table. "But we were wondering how much it is for an hour with her." The man's blood shot eyes were glazed but they still traveled over Celene in a way that made Din growl. It took him a moment to understand what the man meant.

"I'm not his whore," Celene said flatly before Din could respond.

The drunken men behind them howled with laughter at this and the man took another step forward, drink spilling everywhere. Din saw the muscles in Celene's body tense. He turned to the man. "You're drunk. Leave here while you still can."

Celene turned her head then to fully face the man and the bone white of her scar flashed in the light, splitting her face in a ghostly image. The man drew back a step, stuttering. He spat on the ground near Celene's feet. "Cursed whore. Should dump you in a black hole."

Several things happened so quickly after that, Din had trouble following.

He registered the flicker of rage across Celene's face, the characteristic tilt of her head, usually right before she started killing people. One second she was seated, the next she was standing, her hand like a vice on the man's greasy neck. Two blows in quick succession to his jaw had him stumbling on his feet. She slammed his head into the metal table so hard it dented.

Celene picked up one of the glass cups in her other hand and said, "Maybe this will teach you not to walk around calling women whores." The glass shattered everywhere as she brought it down across his mouth. The man screamed, glass slicing his lips and tongue. He slithered to the ground in a heap.

Din rose to his feet as the three men behind Celene moved toward her unarmed back. She spun around, the knives flying from her sleeve too fast for the human eye to follow. The first embedded itself in the man's forehead, the second clear through the other's neck. The third man swung a clumsy blow which she blocked with ease and then left a blade buried in his chest.

Din never moved an inch and the entire ordeal took less than a minute. Celene didn't bother to look at him as she tossed a few credits on the table and stalked out the door. He caught up with her as they neared the edge of the town. This time he did reach for her wrist, which she kept beyond his grasp.

"What the fuck was that back there?"

"What was what?" They reached the landing pad, the Falcon sitting a few yards away.

"For fuck's sake, Celene."

She slammed her fist into the side of her ship, the ramp hissing as it lowered to the ground. Din clenched his jaw so tightly he was sure the tendons would snap. They both climbed into the interior, the ramp closing behind them.

Out of the sun and away from anyone watching, Din faced his partner fully. "You know exactly what the fuck I'm talking about. Picking a fight like that- drinking on the job."

"I didn't pick the fucking fight," she said, heading for the cockpit. "He called me a whore. A cursed whore." She paused in the doorway. "I don't know what's worse- being called a whore or being mistaken as your whore."

The words hit Din like a weight. He didn't follow as she disappeared through the doorway and he stood motionless in the hallway, the words roaring in his head. It was all he could do to not slam his fist through the metal plating of the wall.

Instead, he turned and walked away, footsteps echoing in the silence.