𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐘 - DIN DJARIN

Chapter 12: The Job

chapter 12: the job •••

You and Din have lost track of how much time has passed since the job on Tatooine. You've managed to stay afloat in space, not once stopping for a stretch of your legs or a morsel of food. You both agreed that you had enough to get by with, and it wasn't worth the risk for the child or for either one of you—because, if there was one thing you learned from your trip to Tatooine, it's that Din's just as wanted by the hunters as you are. It's been a sacrifice, allowing yourselves to nearly go insane by seeing nothing but the stars for a countless amount of time, but everything's easier with each other. Din's been more than okay with doing nothing but watching you play with the child and then holding you close until you drift off into peaceful sleep in his arms—a place where he knows you're safe and can continue making sure of that. It's been hard, but it's been okay.

That is, until Din finds out that you haven't been eating.

The rations have been depleting slowly but surely, and Din always makes sure he leaves much more for you and the child than he does for himself. He's adjusted his appetite over the years to be mild, since he can't find many moments in the day to easily eat. So, he splits up the servings between the three of you and takes the smallest one, wanting you and the child to be well-nourished. He's thought it's been working, but he soon finds out that he's gravely mistaken, and he should've known it all along.

It happened when you fell asleep from your utter fatigue in the co-pilot's chair. Din had been talking to you, so when you stopped responding, he wasted no time turning around quickly to see if you were okay. He almost panicked at the sight of your limp form in the chair, but he couldn't help smiling underneath his helmet when he saw your steady breathing, the familiar rise and fall of your chest that he so often observed before. His heart hurt a bit at the thought of you being so tired that you'd practically passed out in the chair—something that's had yet to happen.

Carefully, he'd stood up from his chair, walking over to you and scooping his arms gingerly under your body to carry you down to the cot. He paused, however, once he'd lifted you and realized that you felt much lighter than usual. Trying not to wake you but also making sure he wasn't going crazy, he bounced you a few times in his arms, testing the weight again. Each time, it felt different—unhealthily different. His concern grew, and he found himself rushing to get you back down to the cot so he could investigate further.

Once you were laying on top of the cot, Din tried to find a sign of illness or injury on you that could be causing your dramatic decrease in weight. He wouldn't be surprised if you'd somehow gotten hurt and not told him, thus causing such fatigue, but he wasn't sure if that was the answer. When he saw nothing on your exposed skin, he dared to reach for the hem of the shirt you wore underneath your vest, his gloved hands holding the fabric delicately as he pulled it up just enough to see your stomach—and that was all he needed. His heart shattered in his chest when he noticed that each one of your ribs was visible, as if your skin had started shrinking around them. He placed a delicate hand over your stomach and felt it rumble viciously beneath him, which became the final telltale sign of what was happening.

Din didn't know why you hadn't been eating, but he needed to, and so after he grabbed one of the last ration packs from the depleting supplies, he dared to start waking you up. He knew, however, that you were more honest about what was on your mind when you were drowsy, so he began talking to you as soon as he got you stirring.

"Morning," Din joked, running his hand over your head as your lazy eyes blinked up at him. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired," you'd answered with a yawn, making Din chuckle a bit—despite the darkness he felt underneath it all.

"What'd you dream about?" Din continued, making sure his modulated voice remained soft and hid any traces of concern. "The nice, warm meal we'll have once we land somewhere again?"