the curious happenstance of pedro pascal and din djarin [The Mandalorian]

The Doctor

18th Feb 2020

The dogsitter left.

Pedro was left alone with the doctor.

They stared at each other, neither of them being brave enough to move a muscle. By the time either of them spoke, Pedro was sure it had been at least ten minutes, and the sky outside was just a little bit brighter.

"I'm... I'm looking for Din Djarin," Pershing muttered. His gaze was focused very intently on the side of the doorframe.

Pedro physically resisted the urge to punch him. Instead, he bit his lip, reminding himself that punching anything in his current state wouldn't end well.

"Come in." Pedro stepped aside, allowing the doctor to enter in through the doorway. He really was wearing multiple jackets.

When Pershing was inside, Pedro shut the door with a click. He found himself immediately missing the cold morning air.

Despite the light-headedness, he trodded towards the kitchen counter, sighing as he went. "You want anything to drink?"

"No, that's okay... thank you."

Omid- no, Doctor Pershing looked very out-of-place in Pedro's house. Especially with the layers of dark jackets making him look larger than he actually was.

"You should probably take those off before you overheat," Pedro muttered. "It's cold, but not that cold."

"Right. Yes... sorry."

So the doctor was exactly how he was portrayed in the show. Good to know. At least that gave Pedro something to work with.

He made some coffee for himself. Sure, he was fighting a fever, and sure, caffeine made him hyper, but he was fucking tired, and stressed, and he did what he damn well pleased, thank you very much.

By the time he turned back around, the doctor had already hung up his jackets on the coat hanger just by the door. He stood in the middle of the room, and Pedro could see just how skinny he was.

Omid was skinny, sure, but not like that. Pershing was bordering on unhealthy.

"You look dead," Pedro remarked. At this point, he didn't care nor think about what he was saying.

"I feel dead," Pershing sighed softly.

His eyes were sullen. They bore the darkest bags Pedro had ever seen, and he'd been living with an insomniac for two months.

Pedro sunk down into the couch, gesturing for Pershing to do the same. He did so but sat so far forward that Pedro worried for a moment he would fall off.

"How'd you end up here, then?" Pedro took a sip of his coffee. It burned his tongue, and he knew it did nothing for his fever, but, fuck it.

"Do you think I know the answer to that question?"

Pershing was timid. But he was intelligent, too.

"You're a scientist."

"One of biological engineering, yes. Not dimensional travel. It's supposed to be a farce."

Pedro leaned back into the couch cushions, staring intently at Pershing, who was, in turn, staring right back.

"Omid would flip his shit if he saw you."

The doctor furrowed his eyebrows. "He is... he's my actor, yes? Omid Abtahi? What do you mean by-?"

" 'Flip his shit'? I mean he would freak the fuck out. Possibly have a mental breakdown. I think he would sit on the floor having an existential crisis. He would never recover." Pedro hummed. "That's what happened to me, anyway."