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

Cane

Dearest Heidi,

I request, with utmost respect, that you do not test my patience. Enclosed within this letter I have provided medicines.

Heidi, you know full well that it is not quite yet as simple as leaving. I know you understand this. You are my Right Hand, just as much as Gabriel is my Left. You two are irreplaceable! It would, I'm sure, be a shame to, shall we say, pass you on?

Kindly, Eleis J.

-

The night was silent, a silence that not even crickets or traffic cut through. The bedsheets were cold. The room was pitch black. With one trembling hand he fumbled for the bedside lamp's switch. It didn't turn on. He tried it again. It didn't work. He snatched his phone from the table, and from under the pillow, he took the pocket knife.

He swept the phone's torchlight across the entire room, right to left. From the entrance to the far wall. He lingered the light on the bathroom door. Open. Only a crack. They forgot to close it.

The floor creaked and moaned under his feet, even as he stood on the very tips of his toes. The dark abyss between the door and the wall appeared larger and larger with each step. His pale, bony hand reached forward and kept reaching until it met the doorknob.

He stared into the darkness. His torchlight did not penetrate it. The greedy abyss swallowed it, and crept from beyond the doorway for more.

Then there was a great tug. Like someone was on the other side, they heaved the door away from him, from his grasp, and he let out a great yell, his hand clenched around the doorknob and he slammed it shut. The knob twisted and churned in his grasp, he grappled with it, strangled it until his hands bled black and blue, and with one last cry he found himself back in bed in a room illuminated by soft moonlight.

Midnight, the clock read. He switched on the table lamp. The warm yellow light lit up the darkness. Cars passed, and crickets sounded. Pascal snored in his sleep. But Djarin sat up straight with a book in his hand and a tiny handheld torch in the other. Once he caught Chris' gaze, he tilted his head to the side, in that way that he does it.

"Bad dream?"

Chris released his breath. "Something like that."

He gazed again over at the bathroom door. Still closed. Just a bad dream. He stared down at his hands. Ever so slightly fatter than before. The ring sat better on his finger.

Chris stood from the bed on two shaky legs, taking his phone from the bedside table. He didn't stumble or falter on his short trip to the bathroom, but hesitated before the door.

He swallowed the fear, took ahold of the handle, turned it, shoved open the door, and flicked on the light.

It was bright, blindingly so, but a comfort. He stepped in and closed the door behind him. Avoided his reflection in the mirror, and sat himself on the floor, against the wall.

With a shaky hand he dialled Peri's number.

It rang. Once, twice, three times. Then there was a click.

"Hey... Peri?"

"Wha'sup?"

"Did I wake you?"

"Yeah, but I'm 'wake now, wha'sup?"

Christopher opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. His jaw hung open, then it snapped closed again. He swallowed.