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

Convergence

"Repeat it again."

"We've been through it ten times."

"I'm just so confused. I don't understand."

"Well, neither do we!"

Pedro leaned further against the couch cushions. He shook his leg up and down, arms crossed over his torso and struggling to keep his eyes open.

After Omid (of all people!) ran into them at the damn store, an explanation was... inevitable. Really- if Pedro had thought to try and play it off as a doppelganger situation, then, maybe, they wouldn't have needed to call over Christopher, and Ivana, and Sam. They wouldn't have needed to force Din out from his room. They wouldn't have needed to calm Pershing - Peri? God knows - down from a panic attack. And they certainly wouldn't have needed to sit Omid down at the dining table and explain everything they knew.

But, there they were. Explaining for the eleventh time in a row.

"This has to be some sort of-"

There was a loud bang. Christopher slammed his hand against the table. Pedro flinched, scrunching his eyes and hand automatically flying to his shoulder.

"This is not a fucking joke," Christopher hissed. "Every damn day I wish it was, but it isn't. Do you need me to explain it again? Abtahi?"

Pedro cracked his eyes open just in time to see Pershing bury his head in his hands.

Omid himself was staring, completely dumbfounded, his mouth hanging open. Ivana stood idly by, refusing to make eye contact with anyone in the room. Sam was sitting barely a seat away from Omid, appearing just as timid as she had on the previous visit. Din... well. He wasn't even sure Din was paying attention.

Omid frowned. "I'm sorry, but-"

"No. No. This shit is getting old. You-"

"Christopher," Pedro hissed. "Keep your fucking voice down. I've got a migraine."

"We've all got migraines," Din grumbled from his spot on the floor. So he had been listening, then. Pershing nodded subtly from his seat.

Omid knows.

Pedro stared at his text until his eyes went cross-eyed. Jon had seen it but hadn't responded, and it had been ten minutes, at least.

"Look, I-" Omid's eyes darted to a clock on the wall, "I have to go, really soon- so, so if someone can please-"

"Omid," Pedro mumbled.

"-just, let me go, and-"

"Omid."

"-and I can just-"

"Omid!"

He jumped. His gaze snapped to where Pedro sat on the couch and he swallowed.

During their time on the set, they never interacted much. They didn't have much of a reason to. Omid only had three scenes, and one of them was filmed with Brendan. But still, Pedro had met him, he'd seen how he talked and behaved, so that look in his eye, fear mixed with confusion, as well as desperation; it was disconcerting, and he hated it. Christopher's overwhelming presence wasn't helping either, nor the fact that the bastard had been yelling for the past five minutes.

"I need to go home," Omid spoke, slowly.

"I know," said Pedro. "And I'm sorry. But I can't let you go until you understand."

The doorbell rang. All attention turned to the door. Christopher was watching with a wary eye. The atmosphere felt suddenly tense. There was no one missing, no other damn travellers, so who? Who? But then Pedro's phone buzzed, and he understood.