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

It's a little bit Strange...

29th April, 2020

"How are you feeling?"

Truthfully?

He didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Celebrate or mourn. Put up his feet for the day, relax, have a bath, or busy himself with notes and analysis and the missed calls spoiling his phone.

It didn't matter. His feelings didn't matter. People were safe now and would be safe for as long as the mantle wasn't picked up again.

It didn't matter.

But Elliot was asking. And he didn't know how to respond.

In his mind, he said to himself: tell him. He'll understand. He'll support you. Talking is healthy.

But every time he opened his mouth to speak, the words got stuck in his throat and made him gag from the very force of them. So he shut his mouth, and Elliot sat next to him.

"You got out your old uniform," he said. "Why?"

Robert looked down at his lap. The blue fabric strewn across his legs brought about some deep recess of a memory he didn't know he had. It had been locked away in his expensive suitcase, and after so long he'd lost the key. But it sat there, when he opened the cupboard to change into new clothes, unbloodied, mocking him. So he'd brought about the memory in his mind and picked the lock with two pins, just like how he used to, just like how he'd been taught, when alohomora hadn't been an option.

And there his uniform sat, folded, pretty and blue and stained with old blood he could never wash out.

He picked it up again, now, and stood to put it back from where he took it. Elliot didn't say anything, didn't make a noise, and didn't follow, but he could feel his eyes on the back of his head, pierced with worry and concern.

Din bad left hours ago, now. With comforting words and a soft-spoken growl in his voice. Asking if he was alright, if he needed a distraction; the answers, respectively, were no, and yes.

But he couldn't say that.

He couldn't tell him that.

So he'd smiled, like he'd always done, and sent Din on his way. Told him to enjoy his freedom, his newfound freedom. 'Why don't you go for a walk with Omera?' And Din had nodded, and smiled a smile that didn't fade when he turned away, because it was genuine and true, because he was relieved beyond belief.

And Robert understood.

He understood the relief.

For something like fifty years, people suffered and died. Were murdered in their homes or in alleyways, in remote farmlands away from shelter, or in the dead of night outside a closed shop.

Elliot took hold of his hand, and in his trance, he almost flinched away. But he remembered, grounded himself, took his mind back to reality, to the present, and held Elliot's hand tight.

"I'm going to visit him again later today," Robert murmured. "While I still can. It isn't long now before the police find him."

"They can't take him away while he is still in a fatal condition."

"I guess not." But it still scratched at him. An incessant itch that he could never reach, like a healing wound under thick bandages. Something to deal with, suffer with, hit until it went away, only to return again mere minutes later.

"He is a bad man." Elliot took his other hand. Tugged on them lightly. "He brought this on himself."

"Yes, but—"