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

Pride

16th March 2020

The door creaked open. Pedro peered in, just barely poking his head through.

"...Pershing?" he called. The doctor appeared suddenly from behind the cupboard door, wearing no jacket and his glasses resting on the top of his head.

"Pascal," he breathed, "Um, sorry. I was just..." He stepped out from the cupboard, and Pedro saw that he was carrying a collection of notebooks, all stacked on top of each other. "Organising. Yes? Did you need something...?"

Pedro bit his lip. He knew what he wanted to say, it was just a matter of saying it. Pershing was staring at him expectantly, and seemingly only started to grow agitated when the silence dragged on.

"Um," Pedro croaked. "Just checking up on you."

Pershing's head ducked. "I see."

He disappeared back behind the cupboard door. There was the sound of the notebooks being dropped into a tub, then a sigh. He reappeared with the glasses situated back over his eyes.

"I'm fine."

Pedro glanced down at the floor, then moved his gaze to the bed. He gestured to it. "Can I sit?"

The doctor shrugged. "Go ahead."

He approached the bed slowly, then sat down at the very edge, crossing one leg over the other. He stared at the floor for a moment, before turning to the doctor.

"Did you wanna leave the house? For a bit?"

Pershing immediately stopped all that he was doing. His gaze snapped toward Pedro, eyes wide and eyebrows furrowed. He opened his mouth, about to say something, then snapped shut again.

"Just," Pedro continued, "Because, I- you seem really stressed, and-" he trailed off, then sighed. He wasn't about to get anywhere by stammering over everything he said. "I know you've been feeling like shit, even if you're trying to hide it. So... so I want to help. Even just a little."

Pershing stared. He stared for so long that his eyes began to water, but even so he still didn't blink.

After a minute of this, Pedro raised a hand and waved it in front of him.

Finally, the doctor blinked. He exhaled sharply, and Pedro realised he'd been holding his breath.

"Um," the doctor croaked. "I don't understand."

Pedro ducked his head. He drummed his fingers on his knee, biting the inside of his mouth as he thought about what to say.

"Well," he said after a moment, looking up again, "You've been working really hard. I know you're stressed. You deserve a break. I can take you anywhere you want, just for a day. We can go to the park, or get ice cream. Anything."

Pershing made a sound in his throat. Almost like a wince, or like something had stolen his words. He swallowed and bit his lip. Drew a shaky inhale.

"I'm-" Pershing began, but then immediately cut himself off, his mouth sitting open and his breathing becoming ragged. "I can't-"

"...We don't have to. It was just a suggestion.

The doctor's gaze fell to the floor. He crossed his arms over his chest, almost protectively, hunched over as though he were trying to make himself appear small. Every few seconds his weight would shift from one foot to the other.

Finally, after a long and tense moment, he cleared his throat.

"I would like that," he said simply. His voice was hoarse. Raspy. "I really- I really would, but- but I- but I don't understand why... why not Djarin? He's-"