Din felt some small piece of hope in him wither when Bucky shook his head, no sign of recognition of Mando’a on his face. He had never been to part of the galaxy where there wasn’t at least one common language spoken or understood, or anything the least bit familiar. At least with the frog lady she could understand him, even if it wasn’t mutual.
The only thing remotely familiar was more foreign to him than anything else— his husband. Nothing made sense and his head was pounding.
Bucky’s hand on his arm should have been comforting, reassuring— it felt like the sort of gesture that was meant to be— but all it did was settle something firmly in Din’s mind. Whatever was going on, whatever was happening, the only thing that mattered was getting off world with his riduur in one piece. He couldn’t do that with his ship in a crumpled heap. Karking hell, what chance was he going to have of fixing his ship on some planet where no one even spoke any languages he recognized?
Unconsciously, he leaned into the touch on his arm just slightly. Din looked at Bucky for a long moment, searching for any sign of recognition, any last spark of hope— only to find nothing.
No one was trying to kill him yet, so he had to take it as a good sign that he wasn’t about to be gunned down where he stood. At least for now. If he couldn’t communicate to them verbally, he’d have to made do with a gesture to let them know he wasn’t a threat. Anything to bring him one step closer to understanding what the kriff was going on.
Slowly, keeping his visor directed at Bucky and eyeing from the corner of his eye the fighters near the ship, Din carefully reached for his blaster at his side. He carefully pulled it from the holster with his hand over the top of the weapon, clearly away from the trigger, with the barrel pointed down and away from anyone. Without trying to speak any more, he held the weapon out to Bucky handle first. The strangers seemed to trust Bucky.
At least that was one thing they seemed to have in common. They’d have to take what they could get and move forward from there.
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The only thing remotely familiar was more foreign to him than anything else— his husband. Nothing made sense and his head was pounding.
Bucky’s hand on his arm should have been comforting, reassuring— it felt like the sort of gesture that was meant to be— but all it did was settle something firmly in Din’s mind. Whatever was going on, whatever was happening, the only thing that mattered was getting off world with his riduur in one piece. He couldn’t do that with his ship in a crumpled heap. Karking hell, what chance was he going to have of fixing his ship on some planet where no one even spoke any languages he recognized?
Unconsciously, he leaned into the touch on his arm just slightly. Din looked at Bucky for a long moment, searching for any sign of recognition, any last spark of hope— only to find nothing.
No one was trying to kill him yet, so he had to take it as a good sign that he wasn’t about to be gunned down where he stood. At least for now. If he couldn’t communicate to them verbally, he’d have to made do with a gesture to let them know he wasn’t a threat. Anything to bring him one step closer to understanding what the kriff was going on.
Slowly, keeping his visor directed at Bucky and eyeing from the corner of his eye the fighters near the ship, Din carefully reached for his blaster at his side. He carefully pulled it from the holster with his hand over the top of the weapon, clearly away from the trigger, with the barrel pointed down and away from anyone. Without trying to speak any more, he held the weapon out to Bucky handle first. The strangers seemed to trust Bucky.
At least that was one thing they seemed to have in common. They’d have to take what they could get and move forward from there.