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Zeb’s raucous laughs fill the cockpit, and Din shoots him as hard a look as he can through his visor. “Don’t encourage him.”
Ignoring Din, Zeb swivels back to the holocall displayed above the control panels, one large furry hand still rubbing Grogu’s head. “Kal, you should’ve seen this runt! Waits right until his pa is halfway up the rungs and decides that’s when he oughta toss him the canteen! Think he forgets Din here ain't a Jedi! Turned that fine armor blue as anything!”
“It’ll rinse off,” Din mutters, turning to the clear sky out the viewport. He can still smell the faint afterscent of blue milk beneath his vambraces. “I’ll clean it better once we’re back on base.”
Grogu makes a plaintive squeak, and Din takes him from Zeb with feigned reluctance. “Don’t think you’re getting off that easy, you little womp rat.”
The pale blue image of Zeb’s husband gives a dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes. “Why am I not surprised you can’t stay out of trouble for one cycle, Garazeb?”
“Because I was forged on the Ghost,” Zeb answers cheerily. He juts a massive thumb toward the copilot’s seat. “Say hi to the kid, Kal.”
Grogu waves, nestling into Din’s arm as he chirps out a greeting, and Kallus smiles faintly as he returns the gesture. “Din, I don’t know how you put up with my husband. He’s always picking up strays.”
“Come on, and you love it!” Zeb reaches over to scratch behind Grogu’s floppy ears. “Look at you, little guy. Can’t wait for you to meet Ezra!”