The Deal (The Mandalorian Oneshot)

Summary: You work as a mechanic and part time mercenary (when required) for Ran and his crew. Ran forces you on one more mission with an old Mandalorian “friend” alongside Mayfeld, Burg, Xi’an and Zero.

Pairing: The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Reader

Word Count: 3,220

Warnings/Disclaimers: Some violence, mentions of past injury

A/N: Takes place during The Prisoner. There will probably be a follow up piece at some point. I need to decide which direction to go in first.

Masterlist

You had just set down your soldering iron, having almost finished with an incapacitated droid’s wiring, when a pre-Empire ship landed in the the docking bay. Was this the “old friend” Ran had mentioned with a suspiciously sly grin? Part of you hoped so. This guy was supposed to be your ticket out of here. At least... If everything goes according to plan.

Pulling off your gloves, you swiped away the sweaty hairs sticking to your forehead before moving to the nearby lockers for your armor. Now that the esteemed guest was here, you might as well get ready. You didn’t have much armor-wise but it was enough to protect your chest and back. Being the newest member of the crew, they had not afforded you much to work with.

Now suited up, you attached your blaster to your hip and hid a vibroblade in your boot. When you turned back to face the ship, the ramp was down and Ran was walking vaguely in your direction with a Mandalorian at his side. Wait... A Mandalorian?! Ran had failed to mention that part.

They stopped by Mayfeld first for introductions with you being called over shortly after Mayfeld made his typically dumb comments. You offered a handshake to the Mandalorian while giving your name.

He hesitated momentarily before taking your hand in a solid grip. “Call me ‘Mando’.”

You nodded resolutely. Man of few words. You could work with that. It was certainly better than Mayfeld never shutting up.

Then, Burg found his way to your group, making mention of how he expected Mandalorians to be bigger. And finally there was Xi’an. She started in her typical psychotic fashion with one of her knives to Mando’s clothed throat. He didn’t even flinch having obviously already met, something else you had to learn on your own. Apparently, this Mando had run with Ran’s crew years ago. Just from this meeting, you wondered what changed. The current Mando just didn’t seem the type.

During the whole exchange, you kept quiet off to the side, trying not to roll your eyes or shake your head. Your “teammates” were being assholes again, and you wanted no part of it. Though Mando’s helmet faced the others, you could feel his gaze on you. Being a part of all of this... Yeah, he had no reason to trust you.

As the group meandered to the ship you now knew as the Razor Crest, you fell to the back and made yourself as small as possible so as not to attract their attention. Mando was the only one to notice, fading away from the crew to fall in line with you.

“What’s someone like you doing with them, Mesh’la?” he asked in a hushed tone.

Mesh’la? What does that word mean? You just shrugged, keeping your gaze straight ahead. Burg may have said he was small, but to you he was tall and imposing, especially when he was so close to your side. “I don’t have much choice. I owe them.”

His helmet tilted to the side, silently asking you to continue. Why does he care? Shaking your head, you sped up your gait and climbed the ramp.

Once your little rag-tag group plus the droid Zero settled aboard the ship, you took a moment to lean back on the wall and close your eyes. It was one of the ways you calmed your nerves. With Zero plugged into the system, Mando climbed down the cockpit, joining the rest of you in the hull. Then, the “fun” began.

“Let’s see your face, Mandalorian,” Burg started in along with Mayfeld.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, sighing quietly but still with plenty of exasperation. This was Mando’s ship, and they had the nerve to harass him about his helmet. “Are we really doing this right now?” you muttered under your breath.

Xi’an called your name in a poisonously sweet tone, “Dear, keep your mouth shut.”

Guess she managed to hear you over all the noise. Maker, you really did not like her. She was always on your case about something, trying to make your life harder than necessary.

The boys continued egging Mando on, Burg going so far as to get physical to force the helmet off. In the scuffle, they managed to hit a button for a compartment in the far wall, causing it to swish open and reveal both the cutest and strangest little creature you had ever seen.

Mayfeld picked it up and held it out where you were able to get a better look. Its bright brown eyes enraptured you immediately, and stars, you wanted to pet those big ol’ ears. Its oversized robe that it was swaddled in tied together the whole aesthetic. It hadn’t even been five minutes, and you would give your life for this child.

Then, the former Empire lackey had to start screwing around. Mando visibly tensed underneath all that armor like he was ready to rip Mayfeld apart if anything happened to the kid. It was when he pretended he was going to drop the little one that you broke. Pushing yourself off the wall, you gently snatched the kid away into your arms, one hand holding his head protectively.

“Kriff, what is wrong with you?!” You tenderly stroked the child’s head. He happily cooed at you, reaching for your face. “You may be a merc, but there are lines that should not be crossed!”

The entirety of the hull was stunned into silence at your outburst, including yourself. You usually kept to yourself, only speaking when spoken to, but you were fuming now.

As you faced Mando to return the kid, Zero announced an immediate drop from hyperspace. Tousled and sent to the floor, you somehow swiveled yourself just enough to keep from squishing the child, landing hard on your shoulder blade. The Razor Crest violently docked on the prisoner ship, preventing you from sitting up to check on the kid. The instant the vibrations ceased, you found yourself being pulled up to your feet.

“Thanks, Mando.” Cute baby babbling attracted your attention. “You good, Little Green?”

He squeaked, pleased with his new nickname. His clawed fingers clutched your chest armor. Had you not been wearing your armor, he probably would have left little holes in your shirt with how tightly his claws clung to you. You gingerly pried him off, and passed him to Mando, earning you one solid nod. He placed the kid back in the sleeping compartment, safely shutting him inside when he was comfortable.

After making sure the hatch was correctly attached to the prisoner ship, Mando returned to your side. His stance made it clear he was not going first. That was Mayfeld’s job anyways. You usually were somewhere in the middle when it came to scoping out a new environment, so you stood by waiting for your turn. Once Burg was down, you started towards the hatch, but you were harshly shoved to the side and knocked into Mando.

“Oh, sorry, Sweetie. Didn’t see you there.” Xi’an’s lips curled into a predatory grin.

You gave her no reaction, not wanting to add fuel to the fire. You waited for her to disappear down the hatch before shaking your head with a sigh.

“Hasn’t changed a bit,” Mando muttered.

You shrugged with a light laugh. “People like her probably don’t want to.”

With that, you slid down the ladder.

Of course there had to be a shootout. Your group had run into a set of security droids, their fire pinning you down in the hall. Firing a couple of shots, you turned to Mando but only caught a glimpse of his cloak swishing around the corner. Kriff! Where’s he running off to?

It was only when he was completely out of sight that the others noticed, Mayfeld griping about him abandoning them. You continued shooting at the droids, not doing a very good job of aiming from your position. Cautiously poking your head out to get a better idea of where they were, you saw Mando standing proudly behind the droids. As though for dramatic effect, he paused before extending the blade to the knife he was holding. The way he did it with such confidence... Okay, kinda hot.

Stuck in a trance, you could only crouch there and watch as Mando radiated grace and power, slicing through the droids like a whirlwind. And you had to admit the unexpected flamethrower was a nice touch at the end. What other weapons did he have at his disposal?

With the droids out of the picture permanently, you gathered yourselves and made for the control room where a rather sad, unimpressive New Republic officer sat quivering. Mayfeld immediately teased and threatened the poor guy, though you were pretty sure he was more terrified of Mando’s presence than Mayfeld’s word vomiting. The officer held up a remote that could call in the authorities who would destroy the ship. Having had enough, Mando stepped in to calm the situation. However, your soft breath of relief was short lived. Mayfeld brandished his blasters, aiming them at the officer. Mando set his firearm’s sight on the ex-Imp who returned the favor.

“We don’t have time for this,” you scowled and raised your blaster at Mayfeld. “Let’s just get what we need and go!”

“You know, I liked you better when you didn’t speak,” he spat. “And what, you’re on his side now?”

Mando almost imperceptibly inched his way to place himself more in between you and Mayfeld.

“And I liked you since never. So there’s that,” you snarked, keeping your firearm trained on him. “Mando’s right. No one needs to die.”

You caught a glimpse of hope in the officer’s eyes that was immediately snuffed out with one of Xi’an’s throwing knives. No one appreciated that move, especially since it caused the remote had been accidentally activated. Finding the cell number, you all ran from the room and down the alarm-ridden halls, Burg using his raw strength to pummel and throw a couple of large, black droids housing heavy artillery along the way. Reaching the target’s cell was easy after that.

When the cell door opened, you did not expect to see a male Twi’lek. Then again, you didn’t know what you were expecting to begin with. Qin, as you quickly learned, was Xi’an’s brother and Mando’s former ally from when he worked for Ran. Before you had time to comprehend everything, Burg was shoving Mando into the cell. You reached out for his arm to pull him back out before it was too late, but wound up on the floor next to him.

Xi’an’s lips turned upwards into a sneer and peered at you through the opening in the door, making it clear she was the one you threw you in.

“Guess this is goodbye, Sweetie. Just so you know, I always hated you being around,” she hissed with a grin.

“Tch. At least the feeling is mutual,” you growled back and sat up. How did anyone put up with her?

Before running off, they shot a blaster into the cell. Mando pulled you underneath him, wrapping around you so his beskar could shield you both from the laser blast loudly bouncing off the walls. When the sound ceased, Mando lifted his head tentatively just to be sure the blast had dissipated. He lifted his weight off of you, and helped you to your feet.

“You alright, Mesh’la?” There was that word, again.

His hand lingered on your shoulder just a moment longer than it should.

You nodded with a frown. “Other than being pissed at those guys for locking us in here, I’m fine.”

A light squeeze to your shoulder and he released you, checking out the opening at the top of the door. He let out a frustrated sigh. There wasn’t much time to get back to the Razor Crest, and if you did manage to get out, you’d have to make it back before the others did. Things were not looking very good.

You leaned against the wall, closing your eyes to think. “This was supposed to be an unmanned vessel, right?”

Mando rotated on his heel to look at you. “Yes.”

“So then the droids are the ones who can open the doors.”

“Yes...”

His head snapped back to the door, hearing a droid marching down the hall. It was like he read your mind. You were about to ask him if he had anything that could trap a droid when a grappling wire shot out from his vambrace, wrapping around a security droid and dragging it to the door. He proceeded to drop the droid while keeping its dismembered arm which he used to open the door.

“Damn, you’re good.” You had to keep your jaw from dropping.

With a cocky head tilt, he ushered you out of the cell and back to the control room where Mando hit the right switches to close specific doors, splitting up the four mercenaries. Rats in a maze.

Burg was the first combatant. He had gotten to the control room where you and Mando ambushed him. While the win did go to you two, damn it hurt being slammed into the ground like that. After that, Mando had you head straight for the ship to take care of Zero while he focused on the others. Unfortunately for you, you ran into Qin just as you were about to climb the ladder.

“Aww, how cute. You abandoned your little Mandalorian to get out of here alive,” Qin cooed menacingly.

You whipped around with your blaster in hand, clicking the safety off. “If that’s what you want to think, fine.” Your lips pressed together in a fine line.

“Now, now, Sweetheart.” He kept coming towards you slowly as though trying to make himself seem docile. “How about this? You and me leave together. We live and you get whatever reward Ran has for you.”

“If you’re anything like your sister,” you scoffed, “then I’d be better off leaving you for dead here. Now stand down.”

He chuckled, “How can I stand down when I’m unarmed, Sweetheart?”

Hearing that pet name from his mouth made your skin crawl. You wanted to get away from him as fast as possible, but you’d never make it up the ladder in time nor would you be able to run past him. You could just shoot and he would never bother you again, but you really did not want to kill anyone. You had gone the past few years as a temp merc without having to commit such an act. Sure, you hurt people but you could never bring yourself to cross that line. It still made you sick just leaving a bruise on someone.

Qin could feel your reluctance and kept slinking closer. You needed to do something. If he made it within arms reach, he would attack and you could possibly lose your gun, your advantage, in the scuffle. While you were scrappy, your physical strength could be easily overpowered. Thankfully, you didn’t have to worry too much about that.

Mando rounded the corner silently (how in all that armor you will never know) and now had his blaster pressed against the back of Qin’s head.

“Unarmed but still a threat,” Mando snarled through his modulator.

Qin froze on the spot. “Mando... Good to see you, again...” He nervously laughed.

Mando did not say a word. He grabbed Qin by the arm, forcing him to turn around so his back was to you while being cuffed.

“You killed them, didn’t you?” Qin asked quietly.

“They got what they deserved.”

Back on the Razor Crest, you sat in the copilot seat to Mando’s left while Qin, who was not allowed out of anyone’s site, sat to the right. Just before Mando jumped into hyperspace, the child appeared next to you, tugging on your pants. He practically clambered up your leg to settle himself in your lap, much to Mando’s chagrin.

“Hey, Little Green,” you whispered, bouncing the cutie on your leg.

With hyperspace, came a comfortable silence. You were lucky Qin decided to keep his mouth shut. He was technically still a prisoner.

“I used to be a mechanic on Coruscant,” you started.

The pilot seat swiveled just enough for you to know Mando was listening, his helmet titled curiously.

“You wanted to know how I ended up on Ran’s crew, right?”

He nodded for you to continue. In the corner of your eye, you saw Qin pretending not to pay attention.

“Because Ran and his crew started up a shootout with a rival merc group, I was shot and bleeding out. He did help me but apparently saving my life after being the cause in the first place wasn’t a fair trade to him. I wasn’t in my right mind to argue...”

Qin just smirked knowingly. After getting to know Ran, it wasn’t uncommon for him to pull stunts like that. He always got what he wanted.

Mando turned to fully face you as you looked away to rub the little one’s ear who contentedly babbled and played with the fingers of your free hand.

“Is there any way out of the deal?”

You shrugged. “This was it. If I helped retrieve the target,” you paused to glare at Qin, “then Ran would consider the deal fulfilled.”

“Then, you’re done.”

You sighed heavily. “I hope so. Pretty sure he won’t be too happy about losing three members while only gaining one.”

A chuckle snuck through his modulator. “You let me worry about that, Mesh’la.”

Qin sauntered down the ramp first, happily greeting Ran. Mando followed shortly after, placing himself in front of you.

“Where are the others?” Ran frowned.

Mando straightened his stance more, if that were even possible. “No questions, right?”

“Right...” Ran’s gaze focused on you as he said your name. “Got some more droids that need fixing.”

Taking a deep breath, you attempted to not grind your teeth. “That wasn’t the deal.”

“Yeah, well you lost crew members.”

Mando shifted to block Ran’s view. “The target has been retrieved and delivered. The deal is complete.”

He definitively turned his back on Ran, his cloak flourishing behind him. It had a very “I have spoken” vibe. Mando nodded for you to return to the ship. You registered Ran folding his arms like he was angrily pouting before walking off with Qin.

Back in the cockpit, the kid crawled his way back into your lap during take off.

Mando tilted his helmet in your direction. “Was there anything of importance to you on the station?”

“No... All I have are the clothes on my back.”

“Good.”

That was when the X-Wings dropped in and fired at the merc station, explosions lighting up the area.

“You brought that remote with you...”

Mando hummed in response.

“Nice.”

The Razor Crest jumped into hyperspace and fell into another contemplative silence. Now you could appreciate the way the blue and white lights whizzing past reflected off Mando’s beskar. It was almost ethereal. As if on queue, he spun the pilot’s seat around.

“So. Need a job?”

You smirked lopsidedly as the child took one of your fingers in his tiny hands. “Why? You got any openings?”

Fiddleford appreciation month Day 3

This ones based on some head canons by @danvssomethingorother such as junior being a dog of hell hound species and that in the parallel dimension after a long while Stan and Ford have settled things out. Also trans Fidd because why not>> implied trans male pregnancy.

The night was calm and peaceful, moonlight was streaming in through the blinds of their bedroom. Stanford and Fiddleford were sleeping side by side but not as serenely as one would think. Fiddleford's face had contorted into a frown and he began to jostle in his sleep. He made small whimpers of distress as his eyes began to water. Ford awoke to the strange sounds and sat over Fidd's body. "Fiddleford..." he whispered quietly and gently shook his shoulder.

Fiddleford burst to life, sitting bolt upright. Flinging the covers off of him and making ford jump back in surprise. "TATE!" He screamed and clawed out in front of him before noticing were he was. "Fidd.." Ford's quiet whisper came from behind him, making him turn to see Stanford's face. Tears still rolling down his face, his breathing started to speed up once again. His hiccuped breaths warned Stanford he was about to have panic attack. Ford instantly pulled him in for a hug. The frail man latched onto him and tried hard to control his breathing. Ford stroked his head and quietly held him, wearily glancing up at the toddlers cot across the room. Luckily Tate was still alseep. Stanford cradled him in his arms as he regained his breathing and his shaking ceased. Fiddleford gripped onto Ford's shoulder, letting the tears flow freely down his cheeks. He hiccuped and snivelled as he calmed down. Stanford sat beside him and held him closely to his chest.

After a while of just calming down Ford loosened his hold on Fiddleford and let him sit up by himself. Fidd wiped his tear stained cheeks and smiled at Ford. "What was it about this time, dear?" Stanford asked, patting him on the shoulder. Fidd shivered as his mind remembered his awful nightmare. "Bill, he-he he had Tate. An-and I tried to-to stop it b-but...I...I-I" "Okay, I understand, it's all fine. I'm here, Tate is in his cot. You are safe, he's safe, were all safe, okay?" Stanford informed before pecking him on the cheek. Fidd smiled weakly, peering over to Tate's cot. He saw his little chest rise and fall in his slumber. It's amazing how he didn't wake up after Fidd's panic attack. He felt Ford's large six-fingered hand stroke his back for reassurance. The southerner let out a small sigh of content before relaxing and laying back onto the mattress. "Feel better?" Stanford asked and brushed some hair out of Fidd's face. "Yes, thank ya honey" he smiled and kissed Ford on the lips. "Goodnight" "Goodnight"

Stanford watched silently as his partner settled back into a peaceful slumber. He watched his chest rise and fall, listened to his content breathing and smiled at how happy he looked but something nagged at Stanford. Fidd was getting much better at remembering and dealing with his anxiety, especially during the pregnancy but maybe their was some other way to help Fidd feel more at ease. The thought swirled in his mind for a while before he came up with an idea. Apparently dogs were great at helping deal with mental disorders. Would Fidd want a dog? Maybe a small one so it wouldn't be too much of a hassle. Where would he get a dog from? Stanley would probably know someone, yeah. Happy with his plan he settled down and slept next to his husband.

The morning appeared almost to quickly and before he knew it Stanford was cooking breakfast for his partner and Fidd was bottle feeding their small child at the dinning table. Stanford went over the plans he made last night in his mind before realising he was burning the eggs. The oil sizzled and popped until some splashed on his fingers. He jumped back in surprise, making Fidd look up at him. "Son of a -" "Stanford!"

Ford glanced over at his husband who was giving him a look that could kill. Fidd glared at him before flicking his eyes down at the child in his arms and back up to Stanford. Ford gave a small, apologetic look toward his husband before caring for the still burning eggs. Fidd rolled his eyes and focused on the small bundle in his arms.

Tate was reaching out for the bottle that was taken from him. Fidd smiled down at him and gently eased the nipple of the bottle back into his mouth. Watching with joy as he grasped hold of the bottle with both of his little hands. He was such a clever little one. Fiddleford fussed and cooed at him in a soft voice. "There you go, Fidd" Ford stated as he placed the slightly burnt breakfast on the table before him. Fiddleford looked up to see Ford standing over him, admiring their son. "You best get going to the institute or you'll be late" Fiddleford stated as he got up and held Tate on his shoulder. Stanford looked up at the clock to see it was half eight. Usually he'd go in earlier but since Tate arrived he's been staying a little later in the mornings. "Oh yes...I will see you this evening, I think Stanley may be coming up tonight as well" he stated whilst putting on his coat. "Okay and please don't get caught on fire again" he chuckled as he patted Tate on the back, waiting for him to burp. "I'll try not to" Ford smiled as he closed the gap between them and pecked him in the cheek. "Bye" "Bye darlin',"

It was nearing half six in the evening, the sun was was just beginning to set behind the horizon. Fiddleford sat at the dinning room table, wiring some circuits together for his new invention. Even though he stayed home to care for Tate it didn't mean he couldn't work still. Speaking of Tate, the small child was sleeping contently in his cot. Fidd was happily soldering away, the baby monitor always within ear shot of his work, until he heard a knock at the front door. It sounded like big fists trying to be as careful as possible to knock on the oak door, must be Stanley. Fiddleford turned off the soldering iron and got up from his desk to answer the door.

As he approached the front door he swore he heard impatient shuffling and Stan telling someone to 'shut up' or 'stop!'. Who on earth could he be talking too? Fiddleford shrugged it off as nothing and twisted the doorknob.

He was knocked over by the shear force of the door opening as something large pushed into the house. Some giant creature was sitting on top of him. It was massive, hairy and very heavy. Fiddleford struggled to keep the mystery creature from licking his face, giving small groans as he shielded himself. "Ahh! Fidd! Sorry! Sorry!" Stanley's apologetic cries came from above him before prising the massive creature off of his thin body. As the weight was lifted from his chest Fidd finally got a clear look on the creature that had just landed on him. It was a dog. A massive dog. It looked like a black Alsatian but it had red marks under its eyes and along its fur. It's massive tongue was lolling out of its mouth whilst panting by Stan's feet. "Umm...surprise!" Stan cheered as he helped Fidd to his feet, extending a hand out for him. "What?.." Fidd asked as he got to his feet and dusted himself off, eyes focused on the dog. "Didn't Ford say-" "Fidd! I'm home! I brought some more solder for- holy Moses! What is that!?" Stanford interrupted as he entered the house, exclaiming in surprise of the giant canine in his house. Stan looked at him in confusion. "What? you said get a dog!" Stanley argued as he turned toward his twin. Fiddleford looked up at his husband quizzically. Wait Ford wanted to get him a dog? "Yes a dog! Like a little chihuahua or something not a fucking bear!" Stanford exclaimed, pointing down at the dog, which was now lying comfortably on the floor. Fiddleford smiled at him. He was kinda cute, one ear flopped whilst the other stayed poised, that was sweet and he is really fluffy. Before Fiddleford knew it he was kneeling beside the dog and gently stroking his slightly knotted fur. It was so soft and really warm. The more he stroked the more he sensed to relax and tune out of the conflict happening above him.

Stanford and Stanley were still bickering in the doorway about the dog well after Fidd had sunk down to the floor. "Go take it back and get something smaller! What were you thinking getting something of this size! What about Tate!" Stanford shrieked at his twin. Stan made a slightly guilty frown and looked away from his brother. "Well the thing is...I can't really return it" he mumbled, not daring to look at his brothers gaze but he could still feel it burning into the back of his neck. "What do you- you bought it from a guy in a van didn't you!" Ford crossed his arms in disapproval and watched Stan squirm under his guilt. "Well I wouldn't call it a van...more like a truck" he grinned slightly at his brother. Ford's glare didn't falter, he is definitely going to perfect the disappointed dad glare by the time Tate is old enough to cause trouble. "Well... go take it to the pound or something" Ford suggested in an angry tone, throwing his arms into the air. Fiddleford finally caught wind of what was happening above him and stood up to protest. "That's a bit harsh don't you think?" Fidd asked in a soft tone, somehow deflating the anger in the conversation.

Stanford looked at the pleading expression in his face, he knew what that meant. In the few minutes of him just befriending the animal he has gotten attached. Ford knew he was now fighting a loosing battle. "Well Fidd, that thing is massive! Think of what it could do to Tate if it got out of control!" Ford questioned. The thought ran across Fiddleford's mind, Ford was right. They've got a baby to care for and even though Tate is a rather easy child this dog could be a bit of a handful. Then again it would be nice company whilst working at home. The dog whined and whimpered below them, pulling Fidd from his thoughts. The creature was pulling against the lead with great force and suddenly he was free from Stan's grip. They all suddenly went into a state of panic as it disappeared down the hall. Together they rushed after the giant animal as it moved deeper into the house.

The dog seemed to know where it was going, weaving through the corridors, ears locked on a faint noise. The three men chased after it, Stan trying to call after it, Ford was desperately trying to reach it before it finds Tate's room and Fiddleford just silently followed the group, watching as the dog as it turned toward their bedroom. The dog pushed its way past the door and into the room. Suddenly Tate gave a high pitched squeal. The trio panicked and clambered over each other in a hurry to get to Tate.

Fiddleford was first in the room, pausing in the door way as he saw the surprisingly placid scene before him. Stanford barged in next, fists balled ready to fight but also stopped dead in his tracks when he saw what Fiddleford was also witnessing. Stanley appeared behind from the door behind them, also looking ready for a fight. He was a very protective uncle after all. "Why've we stopped-" "Shhh!" Ford and Fidd silenced him before looking back at the dog and the child.

Tate sitting in his crib, feet dangling out of the bars. He was happily smiling and giggling at the dog staring back at him. Fidd and ford couldn't believe it. They were standing side by side. Ford's jaw slightly open in surprise. They watched silently as Tate interacted with the gentle giant. Fidd's face contorted into a sympathetic stare at Ford. Silently pleading to keep the dog. Stanford tried hard to ignore his wide eyes and stay strong. Fiddleford, sensing his husband was going to be a grudge, walked over to his son's crib and scooped Tate up into his arms. The twins just watched, slightly confused, in the doorway. Stan giving was smirking as he watched Fiddleford put Ford in his place.

Fidd was now sitting on the floor, Tate in his arms and the dog sniffing Tate's pudgy face. "Ford look, Tate likes him" Fidd smiled up at his partner, one hand secured Tate in his lap and the other was combing through the dogs fur. "But Fidd don't you want a smaller dog?" Ford asked stepping further into the room. "Mmmm...nope" he smiled "Ford just come here" he patted the floor beside him. Stanford sighed and complied with his husband's order.

Stanley chuckled as he watched his brother sit beside Fiddleford. The taller man then handed Tate to Stanford and watched with a smile as the dog trotted around them to sit by Tate once again. Fiddleford hummed at the adorable scene the just played out before him. "So what'cha gunna call him?" Stanley asked from the doorway. Ford gave him an angry glare to which Stan replied with smile and thumbs up. "Hmmm...Ford junior" Fidd concluded to himself. "What? Why?" Ford asked. "Cause his fur is soft like yer hair" he giggled and ruffled his fingers through Stanford's hair before quickly pecking him in the lips. "Ugh, you could have told me you too were going to be all mushy, I would have left" Stan whined in the door way, making fake gagging noises. His fake disgust made Tate giggle in Ford's lap, Ford junior then licked the toddlers face, resulting in Tate to giggle even harder. Fiddleford laughed at his son's cheer and looked at Ford with pleading eyes. "Fine we can keep him but can we call him Junior, because Ford Jr is just going to get confusing" Stanford stated. Fidd smiled at him before placing a kiss on his cheek and entangling his five fingers on Ford's six. "Thank ya honey"

They stared down at Tate and Jr carefully interacting. Watching The dog tolerate Tate pulling at his fur and patting his nose. It was quite a peaceful and happy family sight that was until Jr began to hiccup and spat out some fire onto the carpet. Ford and Fidd jumped to their feet, Stanford had Tate in his arms and Fidd rushed to put out the small flames. Once Fiddleford had patted out the fire they both looked up at stan who was sheepishly smiling in the doorway. "So yeah....I'm gunna go, enjoy your dog, bye" he said quickly before darting out of door and down the hall. Stanford then handed Tate to Fidd and knelt down to be eye level with the dog. "So do ya think he's gunna fit in?" Fiddleford asked over Ford's shoulder. Stanford was beaming at Jr, who was now cleaning his fur. "Perfectly".

The Gulf Stream

THIS DREADFUL SCENE on April 20 none of us will ever be able to forget. I wrote it up in a state of intense excitement. Later I reviewed my narrative. I read it to Conseil and the Canadian. They found it accurate in detail but deficient in impact. To convey such sights, it would take the pen of our most famous poet, Victor Hugo, author of The Toilers of the Sea. As I said, Captain Nemo wept while staring at the waves. His grief was immense. This was the second companion he had lost since we had come aboard. And what a way to die! Smashed, strangled, crushed by the fearsome arms of a devilfish, ground between its iron mandibles, this friend would never rest with his companions in the placid waters of their coral cemetery! As for me, what had harrowed my heart in the thick of this struggle was the despairing yell given by this unfortunate man. Forgetting his regulation language, this poor Frenchman had reverted to speaking his own mother tongue to fling out one supreme plea! Among the Nautilus's crew, allied body and soul with Captain Nemo and likewise fleeing from human contact, I had found a fellow countryman! Was he the only representative of France in this mysterious alliance, obviously made up of individuals from different nationalities? This was just one more of those insoluble problems that kept welling up in my mind! Captain Nemo reentered his stateroom, and I saw no more of him for a good while. But how sad, despairing, and irresolute he must have felt, to judge from this ship whose soul he was, which reflected his every mood! The Nautilus no longer kept to a fixed heading. It drifted back and forth, riding with the waves like a corpse. Its propeller had been disentangled but was barely put to use. It was navigating at random. It couldn't tear itself away from the setting of this last struggle, from this sea that had devoured one of its own! Ten days went by in this way. It was only on May 1 that the Nautilus openly resumed its northbound course, after raising the Bahamas at the mouth of Old Bahama Channel. We then went with the current of the sea's greatest river, which has its own banks, fish, and temperature. I mean the Gulf Stream. It is indeed a river that runs independently through the middle of the Atlantic, its waters never mixing with the ocean's waters. It's a salty river, saltier than the sea surrounding it. Its average depth is 3,000 feet, its average width sixty miles. In certain localities its current moves at a speed of four kilometers per hour. The unchanging volume of its waters is greater than that of all the world's rivers combined. As discovered by Commander Maury, the true source of the Gulf Stream, its starting point, if you prefer, is located in the Bay of Biscay. There its waters, still weak in temperature and color, begin to form. It goes down south, skirts equatorial Africa, warms its waves in the rays of the Torrid Zone, crosses the Atlantic, reaches Cape Sao Roque on the coast of Brazil, and forks into two branches, one going to the Caribbean Sea for further saturation with heat particles. Then, entrusted with restoring the balance between hot and cold temperatures and with mixing tropical and northern waters, the Gulf Stream begins to play its stabilizing role. Attaining a white heat in the Gulf of Mexico, it heads north up the American coast, advances as far as Newfoundland, swerves away under the thrust of a cold current from the Davis Strait, and resumes its ocean course by going along a great circle of the earth on a rhumb line; it then divides into two arms near the 43rd parallel; one, helped by the northeast trade winds, returns to the Bay of Biscay and the Azores; the other washes the shores of Ireland and Norway with lukewarm water, goes beyond Spitzbergen, where its temperature falls to 4 degrees centigrade, and fashions the open sea at the pole. It was on this oceanic river that the Nautilus was then navigating. Leaving Old Bahama Channel, which is fourteen leagues wide by 350 meters deep, the Gulf Stream moves at the rate of eight kilometers per hour. Its speed steadily decreases as it advances northward, and we must pray that this steadiness continues, because, as experts agree, if its speed and direction were to change, the climates of Europe would undergo disturbances whose consequences are incalculable. Near noon I was on the platform with Conseil. I shared with him the relevant details on the Gulf Stream. When my explanation was over, I invited him to dip his hands into its current. Conseil did so, and he was quite astonished to experience no sensation of either hot or cold. "That comes," I told him, "from the water temperature of the Gulf Stream, which, as it leaves the Gulf of Mexico, is barely different from your blood temperature. This Gulf Stream is a huge heat generator that enables the coasts of Europe to be decked in eternal greenery. And if Commander Maury is correct, were one to harness the full warmth of this current, it would supply enough heat to keep molten a river of iron solder as big as the Amazon or the Missouri." Just then the Gulf Stream's speed was 2.25 meters per second. So distinct is its current from the surrounding sea, its confined waters stand out against the ocean and operate on a different level from the colder waters. Murky as well, and very rich in saline material, their pure indigo contrasts with the green waves surrounding them. Moreover, their line of demarcation is so clear that abreast of the Carolinas, the Nautilus's spur cut the waves of the Gulf Stream while its propeller was still churning those belonging to the ocean. This current swept along with it a whole host of moving creatures. Argonauts, so common in the Mediterranean, voyaged here in schools of large numbers. Among cartilaginous fish, the most remarkable were rays whose ultra slender tails made up nearly a third of the body, which was shaped like a huge diamond twenty-five feet long; then little one-meter sharks, the head large, the snout short and rounded, the teeth sharp and arranged in several rows, the body seemingly covered with scales. Among bony fish, I noted grizzled wrasse unique to these seas, deep-water gilthead whose iris has a fiery gleam, one-meter croakers whose large mouths bristle with small teeth and which let out thin cries, black rudderfish like those I've already discussed, blue dorados accented with gold and silver, rainbow-hued parrotfish that can rival the loveliest tropical birds in coloring, banded blennies with triangular heads, bluish flounder without scales, toadfish covered with a crosswise yellow band in the shape of a Greek t, swarms of little freckled gobies stippled with brown spots, lungfish with silver heads and yellow tails, various specimens of salmon, mullet with slim figures and a softly glowing radiance that Lacepede dedicated to the memory of his wife, and finally the American cavalla, a handsome fish decorated by every honorary order, bedizened with their every ribbon, frequenting the shores of this great nation where ribbons and orders are held in such low esteem. I might add that during the night, the Gulf Stream's phosphorescent waters rivaled the electric glow of our beacon, especially in the stormy weather that frequently threatened us. On May 8, while abreast of North Carolina, we were across from Cape Hatteras once more. There the Gulf Stream is seventy-five miles wide and 210 meters deep. The Nautilus continued to wander at random. Seemingly, all supervision had been jettisoned. Under these conditions I admit that we could easily have gotten away. In fact, the populous shores offered ready refuge everywhere. The sea was plowed continuously by the many steamers providing service between the Gulf of Mexico and New York or Boston, and it was crossed night and day by little schooners engaged in coastal trade over various points on the American shore. We could hope to be picked up. So it was a promising opportunity, despite the thirty miles that separated the Nautilus from these Union coasts. But one distressing circumstance totally thwarted the Canadian's plans. The weather was thoroughly foul. We were approaching waterways where storms are commonplace, the very homeland of tornadoes and cyclones specifically engendered by the Gulf Stream's current. To face a frequently raging sea in a frail skiff was a race to certain disaster. Ned Land conceded this himself. So he champed at the bit, in the grip of an intense homesickness that could be cured only by our escape. "Sir," he told me that day, "it's got to stop. I want to get to the bottom of this. Your Nemo's veering away from shore and heading up north. But believe you me, I had my fill at the South Pole and I'm not going with him to the North Pole." "What can we do, Ned, since it isn't feasible to escape right now?" "I keep coming back to my idea. We've got to talk to the captain. When we were in your own country's seas, you didn't say a word. Now that we're in mine, I intend to speak up. Before a few days are out, I figure the Nautilus will lie abreast of Nova Scotia, and from there to Newfoundland is the mouth of a large gulf, and the St. Lawrence empties into that gulf, and the St. Lawrence is my own river, the river running by Quebec, my hometown-and when I think about all this, my gorge rises and my hair stands on end! Honestly, sir, I'd rather jump overboard! I can't stay here any longer! I'm suffocating!" The Canadian was obviously at the end of his patience. His vigorous nature couldn't adapt to this protracted imprisonment. His facial appearance was changing by the day. His moods grew gloomier and gloomier. I had a sense of what he was suffering because I also was gripped by homesickness. Nearly seven months had gone by without our having any news from shore. Moreover, Captain Nemo's reclusiveness, his changed disposition, and especially his total silence since the battle with the devilfish all made me see things in a different light. I no longer felt the enthusiasm of our first days on board. You needed to be Flemish like Conseil to accept these circumstances, living in a habitat designed for cetaceans and other denizens of the deep. Truly, if that gallant lad had owned gills instead of lungs, I think he would have made an outstanding fish! "Well, sir?" Ned Land went on, seeing that I hadn't replied. "Well, Ned, you want me to ask Captain Nemo what he intends to do with us?" "Yes, sir." "Even though he has already made that clear?" "Yes. I want it settled once and for all. Speak just for me, strictly on my behalf, if you want." "But I rarely encounter him. He positively avoids me." "All the more reason you should go look him up." "I'll confer with him, Ned." "When?" the Canadian asked insistently. "When I encounter him." "Professor Aronnax, would you like me to go find him myself?" "No, let me do it. Tomorrow - " "Today," Ned Land said. "So be it. I'll see him today," I answered the Canadian, who, if he took action himself, would certainly have ruined everything. I was left to myself. His request granted, I decided to dispose of it immediately. I like things over and done with. I reentered my stateroom. From there I could hear movements inside Captain Nemo's quarters. I couldn't pass up this chance for an encounter. I knocked on his door. I received no reply. I knocked again, then tried the knob. The door opened. I entered. The captain was there. He was bending over his worktable and hadn't heard me. Determined not to leave without questioning him, I drew closer. He looked up sharply, with a frowning brow, and said in a pretty stern tone: "Oh, it's you! What do you want?" "To speak with you, captain." "But I'm busy, sir, I'm at work. I give you the freedom to enjoy your privacy, can't I have the same for myself?" This reception was less than encouraging. But I was determined to give as good as I got. "Sir," I said coolly, "I need to speak with you on a matter that simply can't wait." "Whatever could that be, sir?" he replied sarcastically. "Have you made some discovery that has escaped me? Has the sea yielded up some novel secret to you?" We were miles apart. But before I could reply, he showed me a manuscript open on the table and told me in a more serious tone: "Here, Professor Aronnax, is a manuscript written in several languages. It contains a summary of my research under the sea, and God willing, it won't perish with me. Signed with my name, complete with my life story, this manuscript will be enclosed in a small, unsinkable contrivance. The last surviving man on the Nautilus will throw this contrivance into the sea, and it will go wherever the waves carry it." The man's name! His life story written by himself! So the secret of his existence might someday be unveiled? But just then I saw this announcement only as a lead-in to my topic. "Captain," I replied, "I'm all praise for this idea you're putting into effect. The fruits of your research must not be lost. But the methods you're using strike me as primitive. Who knows where the winds will take that contrivance, into whose hands it may fall? Can't you find something better? Can't you or one of your men - " "Never, sir," the captain said, swiftly interrupting me. "But my companions and I would be willing to safeguard this manuscript, and if you give us back our freedom - " "Your freedom!" Captain Nemo put in, standing up. "Yes, sir, and that's the subject on which I wanted to confer with you. For seven months we've been aboard your vessel, and I ask you today, in the name of my companions as well as myself, if you intend to keep us here forever." "Professor Aronnax," Captain Nemo said, "I'll answer you today just as I did seven months ago: whoever boards the Nautilus must never leave it." "What you're inflicting on us is outright slavery!" "Call it anything you like." "But every slave has the right to recover his freedom! By any worthwhile, available means!" "Who has denied you that right?" Captain Nemo replied. "Did I ever try to bind you with your word of honor?" The captain stared at me, crossing his arms. "Sir," I told him, "to take up this subject a second time would be distasteful to both of us. So let's finish what we've started. I repeat: it isn't just for myself that I raise this issue. To me, research is a relief, a potent diversion, an enticement, a passion that can make me forget everything else. Like you, I'm a man neglected and unknown, living in the faint hope that someday I can pass on to future generations the fruits of my labors - figuratively speaking, by means of some contrivance left to the luck of winds and waves. In short, I can admire you and comfortably go with you while playing a role I only partly understand; but I still catch glimpses of other aspects of your life that are surrounded by involvements and secrets that, alone on board, my companions and I can't share. And even when our hearts could beat with yours, moved by some of your griefs or stirred by your deeds of courage and genius, we've had to stifle even the slightest token of that sympathy that arises at the sight of something fine and good, whether it comes from friend or enemy. All right then! It's this feeling of being alien to your deepest concerns that makes our situation unacceptable, impossible, even impossible for me but especially for Ned Land. Every man, by virtue of his very humanity, deserves fair treatment. Have you considered how a love of freedom and hatred of slavery could lead to plans of vengeance in a temperament like the Canadian's, what he might think, attempt, endeavor . . . ?" I fell silent. Captain Nemo stood up. "Ned Land can think, attempt, or endeavor anything he wants, what difference is it to me? I didn't go looking for him! I don't keep him on board for my pleasure! As for you, Professor Aronnax, you're a man able to understand anything, even silence. I have nothing more to say to you. Let this first time you've come to discuss this subject also be the last, because a second time I won't even listen." I withdrew. From that day forward our position was very strained. I reported this conversation to my two companions. "Now we know," Ned said, "that we can't expect a thing from this man. The Nautilus is nearing Long Island. We'll escape, no matter what the weather." But the skies became more and more threatening. There were conspicuous signs of a hurricane on the way. The atmosphere was turning white and milky. Slender sheaves of cirrus clouds were followed on the horizon by layers of nimbocumulus. Other low clouds fled swiftly. The sea grew towering, inflated by long swells. Every bird had disappeared except a few petrels, friends of the storms. The barometer fell significantly, indicating a tremendous tension in the surrounding haze. The mixture in our stormglass decomposed under the influence of the electricity charging the air. A struggle of the elements was approaching. The storm burst during the daytime of May 13, just as the Nautilus was cruising abreast of Long Island, a few miles from the narrows to Upper New York Bay. I'm able to describe this struggle of the elements because Captain Nemo didn't flee into the ocean depths; instead, from some inexplicable whim, he decided to brave it out on the surface. The wind was blowing from the southwest, initially a stiff breeze, in other words, with a speed of fifteen meters per second, which built to twenty-five meters near three o'clock in the afternoon. This is the figure for major storms. Unshaken by these squalls, Captain Nemo stationed himself on the platform. He was lashed around the waist to withstand the monstrous breakers foaming over the deck. I hoisted and attached myself to the same place, dividing my wonderment between the storm and this incomparable man who faced it head-on. The raging sea was swept with huge tattered clouds drenched by the waves. I saw no more of the small intervening billows that form in the troughs of the big crests. Just long, soot-colored undulations with crests so compact they didn't foam. They kept growing taller. They were spurring each other on. The Nautilus, sometimes lying on its side, sometimes standing on end like a mast, rolled and pitched frightfully. Near five o'clock a torrential rain fell, but it lulled neither wind nor sea. The hurricane was unleashed at a speed of forty-five meters per second, hence almost forty leagues per hour. Under these conditions houses topple, roof tiles puncture doors, iron railings snap in two, and twenty-four-pounder cannons relocate. And yet in the midst of this turmoil, the Nautilus lived up to that saying of an expert engineer: "A well-constructed hull can defy any sea!" This submersible was no resisting rock that waves could demolish; it was a steel spindle, obediently in motion, without rigging or masting, and able to brave their fury with impunity. Meanwhile I was carefully examining these unleashed breakers. They measured up to fifteen meters in height over a length of 150 to 175 meters, and the speed of their propagation (half that of the wind) was fifteen meters per second. Their volume and power increased with the depth of the waters. I then understood the role played by these waves, which trap air in their flanks and release it in the depths of the sea where its oxygen brings life. Their utmost pressure - it has been calculated-can build to 3,000 kilograms on every square foot of surface they strike. It was such waves in the Hebrides that repositioned a stone block weighing 84,000 pounds. It was their relatives in the tidal wave on December 23, 1854, that toppled part of the Japanese city of Tokyo, then went that same day at 700 kilometers per hour to break on the beaches of America. After nightfall the storm grew in intensity. As in the 1860 cyclone on Reunion Island, the barometer fell to 710 millimeters. At the close of day, I saw a big ship passing on the horizon, struggling painfully. It lay to at half steam in an effort to hold steady on the waves. It must have been a steamer on one of those lines out of New York to Liverpool or Le Havre. It soon vanished into the shadows. At ten o'clock in the evening, the skies caught on fire. The air was streaked with violent flashes of lightning. I couldn't stand this brightness, but Captain Nemo stared straight at it, as if to inhale the spirit of the storm. A dreadful noise filled the air, a complicated noise made up of the roar of crashing breakers, the howl of the wind, claps of thunder. The wind shifted to every point of the horizon, and the cyclone left the east to return there after passing through north, west, and south, moving in the opposite direction of revolving storms in the southern hemisphere. Oh, that Gulf Stream! It truly lives up to its nickname, the Lord of Storms! All by itself it creates these fearsome cyclones through the difference in temperature between its currents and the superimposed layers of air. The rain was followed by a downpour of fire. Droplets of water changed into exploding tufts. You would have thought Captain Nemo was courting a death worthy of himself, seeking to be struck by lightning. In one hideous pitching movement, the Nautilus reared its steel spur into the air like a lightning rod, and I saw long sparks shoot down it. Shattered, at the end of my strength, I slid flat on my belly to the hatch. I opened it and went below to the lounge. By then the storm had reached its maximum intensity. It was impossible to stand upright inside the Nautilus. Captain Nemo reentered near midnight. I could hear the ballast tanks filling little by little, and the Nautilus sank gently beneath the surface of the waves. Through the lounge's open windows, I saw large, frightened fish passing like phantoms in the fiery waters. Some were struck by lightning right before my eyes! The Nautilus kept descending. I thought it would find calm again at fifteen meters down. No. The upper strata were too violently agitated. It needed to sink to fifty meters, searching for a resting place in the bowels of the sea. But once there, what tranquility we found, what silence, what peace all around us! Who would have known that a dreadful hurricane was then unleashed on the surface of this ocean?