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

The Conference.

11th March 2020

He saw them before they saw him.

In the window. The actor was pacing, running his hands through his hair. The doctor sat at a table, tapping his pen on the surface, a nervous tick. The Mandalorian wasn't within view, but he knew he was there because every now and then the actor would stop to talk to someone that was just off to the side. Hidden by the walls.

Christopher, Ivana, and Samantha decided to walk. They didn't want to risk their car being tracked. True, not having their car would make escaping a lot more difficult if things were to go awry, but he knew that the doctor wouldn't allow the actor and his Mandalorian to try anything.

Eventually, after five minutes of just watching, the actor noticed they were there. And he stared. Christopher could see the colour draining from his face. His stance shifted, he became stiff. He subconsciously scratched at his shoulder.

I did this.

And then, the doctor was at the window, too. Staring, with wide eyes, hidden by those ridiculous glasses he insisted on.

"You going to keep staring?" Ivana said from beside him. "I'm not sure being creepy will help our case."

He continued to stare for another good ten seconds.

"Well," he finally spoke, with a sigh. "We should go say hi."

Still, they stood there. Staring, at the house. At some point the doctor abandoned the window, leaving only the actor to stare down at them with his jaw clenched. White as a sheet.

"Probably, yes."

Christopher reached out to grab Ivana's hand. He felt the simple band around her finger. Cool, pleasant. A reminder. He turned to Samantha. She didn't look up at him. White hair covered her eyes, her head ducked. He'd never seen her so silent before. So afraid. Cautious.

"Here goes nothing," he mumbled, then marched stiffly up to the front door.

He hesitated before knocking. Clenched fist hovered over the wood. Then decided to press the doorbell instead. He heard it ring from inside.

He felt the tension from inside the house, like radiation. Everyone thinking to themselves, what's going to happen next?

And the door opened. The doctor stood on the other side, staring up at him. The same as he'd ever been; tired and depressed.

"I hope we're not too late," Ivana spoke softly. "We decided to walk."

"Why?"

Christopher peered past the doctor. There, sitting against a wall, his knees tucked into his chest, was the Mandalorian. No armour, nothing even hiding his face, like the sunglasses or the scarf. Casual.

"Why?" the Mandalorian asked again when Christopher didn't respond. He was glaring. Eyes boring into his skull. A piercing gaze, and, even in his bunched-up position, he was threatening.

Threatening, and looking utterly exhausted, too. Shaking. A locked jaw. Skinny, sweaty. Dishevelled.

Christopher pointedly decided not to respond. Instead, he gazed around the corner, where he saw the actor standing with his arms crossed over his chest, staring. Glaring.

I did this.

The doctor stepped aside. Christopher stared at the empty space in front of him for a moment before moving into the warm interior of the house. Heating was on. Had been for a while. How long had the actor been pacing in the living room? What hour did he get up? How much anxiety did he feel?