Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Peli Motto likes to act like you’re a nuisance, but you have a feeling that the more she rags on you the more she likes you.

Admittedly you had given yourself the title of her unpaid apprentice, but she hadn’t put up much of a fight turning you away. Although ships had been a relatively unfamiliar beast to you when you started shadowing her, you were confident with your hands and excited to get them on whatever she would let you.

Given the proper tools and the time, you can usually figure out how to fix a piece of machinery based on function and context; the shape of parts, the way they connect, and the job they should ideally be doing. For your entire adult life you had made use of this skill doing odd repair jobs around Mos Eisley, but eventually it became stagnant. The jobs were too easy, too monotonous, and you itched for more stimulation.

Driven by a desire to throw yourself entirely into a new niche, an early-mid-life crisis hit you and you hitched a ride to Mos Espa.

Now a month later, you laugh as Peli’s head of curls emerges from the hood of a speeder emanating tendrils of smoke. She mutters a string of curses and angrily pats them out. Just as you go to stick your own head in to see what did the damage — maybe not the best idea, you realize — she calls out in excitement at a craft coming in overhead.

“Now that’s a ship I haven’t seen in a while!” She sets down her tools and walks up to where the landing gear is deploying on the large gunship. When the hatch opens, a man clad in sleek silver armor steps out holding something bundled in his arm.

You stare as Peli excitedly meets the shiny individual at the bottom of the gang-plank. Upon seeing the details of his helmet, you realize he must be a Mandalorian — even though you have never seen one in person before, their aesthetic is notorious and you don’t know what else he could be.

Peli takes the bundle from his arms, the two of them exchanging friendly greetings until you approach beside her and the Mandalorian looks straight at you.

“Oh, right, Mando! Since the last time you were on Tatooine, I got an apprentice!” Peli introduces you to ‘Mando’, who looks between the two of you with what seems like amusement from the way he leans back and puts his hands on his hips. You notice that Peli is holding a small, pale-green creature, endearingly wrinkly with eyes nearly as big as its ears. It seems to recognize Peli, playing with her fingers while she prattles on.

“She just showed up one day and I told her I couldn’t pay her, but I couldn’t get rid of her!”

You’re about to ask the little creature’s name when suddenly to the left, there is a clang and the droids exclaim wildly as they are apparently already wrecking the job.

Peli yells out to reprimand them and you turn back to her with a hopeful grin. “I better take over-“ you say to get permission, but you’re already jogging backward toward the chaos.

“Oh alright,” she waves, “but only because Mando’s a friend and I wasn’t gonna charge him this time anyways!”

You wrangle the droids and send them away to do some busy work somewhere else, reattaching the pressurized hose they pulled off.

Once you figure out where all the main systems are on the ship, which Peli had called the Razor Crest, you make quick work of topping things off and checking for any loose or smoking parts. Nearby you hear the Mandalorian asking Peli for some information, which you assume to be about a job. His voice is much like how he carries himself: steady and measured, but with a hint of something playful.

Finishing up general maintenance on the outside, you wipe your greasy hands on a rag, tossing it on your shoulder.

“Maybe I finally found some good help after all!” Peli gestures to you as you approach the ramp.

You look sympathetically at the little droid showing them a map of the planet and are about to proceed into the ship to run quick diagnostics when you hear the Mandalorian start to follow with heavy footsteps.

You turn to see him sizing you up before looking back at Peli, seemingly wary about you getting personal with his ship.

“She’s alright, Mando,” Peli waves him off.

He watches you turn about the main hold, assessing what you’re working with. “Don’t worry, Mandalorian, I won’t go snooping through your personal effects-“ you assure before coming to the carbonite freezer. “Ope- especially not that,” you laugh, not making eye contact with the scared-frozen faces of the bodies lined up there.

He stands in place with his arms crossed, silent and unmoving.

Damn, not much of a sense of humor on this guy, you think.

You point up the ladder in the ship and ask, “Cockpit?”

He nods shortly.

Also a man of very few words, apparently.

It has been a conscious effort all your life to learn how to read people and act accordingly. You thought you had a handle on it after a few decades, but this guy with his shiny helmet doesn’t give you anything to work with.

He didn’t say you couldn’t — he actually hasn’t said anything directed to you at all yet — so you start to climb up to the cockpit. Peli shoos Mando off of his own ship to lead him down to the hangar and you laugh at the way the tough guy, to your surprise, relents with his hands up in compliance. You have to admire Peli for not being the least bit scared of the guy and you climb up.

It’s a quick check of the systems from the main hub and you return outside, noticing Peli bringing out a speeder to the Mandalorian.

You stride over, checking off everything you did on a tablet screen and handing it over to Peli. You watch as Mando saddles onto the bike with the child in a bag on his hip.

“Business elsewhere on Tatooine?”

“Mos Pelgo,” he replies dryly, getting familiar with the controls.

“Or what’s left of it,” Peli scoffs. “Good luck out there, Mando!” She gives the back of the bike a solid two pats and heads back to the hanger.

“Hope you don’t end up needing that carbonite freezer in Mos Pelgo,” you joke, trying once more to get something out of the Mandalorian.

He does not oblige.

“She’s looking alright, by the way- the Razor Crest. Topped off all the necessities, greased some creaky joints. There’s a few things that could use tuning,” you think out loud, “but otherwise she’s ready for you when you get back.”

He gives you a nod and knocks the kickstand of the speeder up.

“Appreciate it.”

You nod back and wave to the little creature in the satchel before Mando closes it up. Not a moment later he’s speeding off without a goodbye.

…

The Mandalorian is gone for two nights and a day.

Despite Peli not paying you as an employee, you can’t keep your hands off the Crest while Mando was busy in Mos Pelgo. She’s just such a presence in the hanger, you can’t help but get distracted by her.

She has definitely seen better days, being pre-Empire, and every time you fuss with one little issue another pops up. The way she’s configured is so unlike today’s standards with just enough similarities in basic tech that you feel like she’s challenging you to figure her out. When you’re not shadowing Peli as she works on crafts for other clients, you steal away to futz with the Crest.

Over the three days you feel like you got to know her pretty well, and when Mando shows up the night of the third you can’t help feeling a little irked.

You’re in the cockpit checking some diagnostics when Mando appears from the ladder behind you. You hadn’t expected him to return so late in the evening, your dinner of a ration bar hanging out of your mouth when you look over your shoulder at him.

“Oh-“ you take a bite and stick the rest in your shirt pocket. “After the suns set I figured you wouldn’t be back ‘til tomorrow at least.”

You have a few panels unscrewed, curiously fiddling with the lines going in and out of the main hub. You had found a few issues of power running through places where it didn’t need to be — while not detrimental and easily unnoticeable, it could be optimized — so the part of you that can’t handle boredom is working at resolving it with a pair of wire strippers and a soldering iron.

Mando hops up all the way into the cockpit and when he doesn’t give you any greeting, you turn back to the mess of wires before you. He is hovering somewhere behind you and to your right, not speaking up but not making any move to leave you be. He’s obviously impatient and suspicious of you, judging by the way his gaze sweeps around and settles on you in his pilot’s seat.

His presence is distracting, but you get the feeling he’s a stubborn type and so you stoop to his level.

You respond to his, well, nothing with a point to the tablet screen in front of you. “Diagnostics,” you explain unhelpfully; the diagnostics are hardly the part that needs explaining. If he wants to know, he can ask like a normal person.

Like clockwork, he gestures to the exposed wires and tilts his head. “I didn’t think any of this needed fixing,” he muses. You roll your eyes because he still hasn’t actually asked, just made a mildly accusatory comment.

“Anything has room for improvement,” you shrug and try to continue working. It hits you that you’re not even being paid for this, so you are not letting yourself be rushed by him.

He disappears from your right and reappears on your left, closer this time. He leans in to pick up the tablet, tapping through readings and percentages to make sense of what you’re doing himself.

You feel a slight spark of irritation, reading the action as a little patronizing. In your field, the type of guy to grossly underestimate your abilities comes around all too frequently. “Don’t trust me to do my job, Mando?”

“Thought you didn’t have a job.”

Okay, damn. You’re taken aback for a moment and laugh despite his rudeness.

“It has nothing to do with your skill, clearly-“ he gestures to the tablet, having found the outputs you were optimizing. “I’m wary of any stranger in the cockpit of my ship. In my chair.”

He plants a hand on the back of said chair, making it rock back only slightly, but enough to make you feel like you’re losing your balance for a split second.

“Understandable,” you breathe. You clear your throat and try yet again to finish up wiring. “Well I’m not about to take her for a test flight, if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

Not that you could — you’ve never flown a ship as big as this one, and never smaller ones more than a hover around Peli’s hanger — but he doesn’t need to know that.

He lowers down to his forearm on the back of the chair, further investigating the statistics on the tablet.

“I didn’t know these numbers could even get this high.” His voice assumes a casual lowness you haven’t heard yet and your chest warms at the praise.

“Neither did I, for a ship this old. Simple fixes, really, but easy to go overlooked. She might’ve been running barely sub-optimally since she was made.”

“Hm,” Mando sets the tablet back on the dash and steps out of your space and finally you can breathe correctly.

You don’t look, but you hear him hop down the ladder behind you to leave you to your work at last. Apparently you earned some fraction of his trust — or, he just doesn’t see you as a concern.

…

Once you’re satisfied with the wiring you look over to check the diagnostics, which read off everything as online, and screw up the panels. Dusting off your hands proudly, you unplug the tablet and make your way down to let Mando know she’s good to go.

As you walk down the hatch, a frog lady carrying a canister of round blobs suspended in blue liquid passes by you as she boards the ship. You nod at her politely, albeit confused.

Down at the hanger, you slow your steps when you’re greeted with an unexpected but admittedly heartwarming sight: the Mandalorian chatting with Peli around a fire, the child cradled in his arms while he absentmindedly lets it grab at his pointer finger with its little three-fingered hands. The child looks at you and coos as you approach.

“She’s running as good as ever,” you announce, handing the tablet over to Peli. You allow yourself a moment of pride and add, “maybe even better.”

Peli smiles and gives you a pat on the shoulder saying, “Well you heard her, Mando. You and your passenger are clear to get outta here,” before adding quietly, “though, you can leave the little guy with me if you’re sick of him.” As if it understands her, the child makes grabby hands toward Peli and she leans forward, letting those little claws grab at her nose.

You decide to take your leave and sit down at a table you’ve taken over as your own small workspace, leaning on an arm and propping your feet up on the metal surface beside you. In your lap you fiddle with some spare parts to ponder a use for them. Or rather, to find a use for your fidgety hands — the way they slot together, clicking in and out, makes you feel grounded.

After some time the Mandalorian appears over you, reaches into his satchel, pulls out a pouch of credits, and unceremoniously drops it onto the table in front of you.

He makes to turn around and walk away, but you slide the pouch back toward him.

“Peli said she wasn’t charging you this time,” you nod your head in her direction, who is currently feeding the little green thing some mystery meat roasting on a spit.

You think you know what he’s trying to do but you want to work the generosity out of him; it is generous of him, but you don’t want to let him get away with being so brusque about it. Unable to picture him taking the credits back after he already offered them, you’re confident that you’re not risking losing them in playing this game. Even so, you keep your fingers on the pouch.

He pauses, turning back toward you. You notice the sharp jaw of his helmet incline in a way you can’t get a read on.

“For all of your work.” Although his voice is clipped and monotone, his popped hip is surprisingly sassy and you suddenly think he has more of a sense of humor than you thought.

You raise an eyebrow at him. To your surprise he continues unprompted, leaning forward and placing two knuckles on the table, foot crossing over the ankle of his supporting leg.

“You deserve to be paid, I saw what you did with the-”

“I’m-“ you stop him short, glancing quickly at Peli, “-not really supposed to do any work myself…so I can’t accept payment for work I didn’t do.”

You hear a sigh come through his voice modulator — he’s getting frustrated. “Okay, then this is for you to stop arguing. Keep it.” He pushes the pouch back toward you, his gloved fingers resting over yours with a noticeable firmness.

You squint your eyes at him, smile playfully, and decide to let him have his way.

“Done.”

As you move to pocket the credits, you take notice of how your fingers slide out from under his.

He gives you a satisfied nod and finally makes his way back to Peli and the kid. You don’t miss how he shakes his head on the way back and you roll your eyes.

…

As you watch the Razor Crest fly away into the night sky, a giddy tension you only now realize you had been holding leaves you with a shaky breath out. You wiggle your arms to get the rest of it out, but the fingers on your right hand still feel heavy from where Mando had held them under his own.

Chapter Text

On your back underneath the body of a smaller craft you don’t care to know the name of, you watch Peli’s hands expertly tighten and twist certain bits of machinery. That’s the part you’re interested in.

A bead of sweat drips into your eye and you rub at it with the back of your hand. With your eyes squeezed shut from the sting, you scoot out from underneath the ship and see red, the suns beating on your eyelids.

Then, momentarily, the light is blocked out by something and you hear the growing sound of engines — which don’t sound like they’re doing too well, if you were to guess. Sitting all the way up, you open your eyes to the hunk of junk landing in the hanger barely recognizable as the Razor Crest.

You push yourself to your feet and feel your heart shatter just looking at it. “Dear, Maker.”

It hadn’t been more than a couple weeks since you last saw the thing, but she is in shambles.

Beside you, Peli wipes her brow with a rag and shakes her head as the hatch can’t even open all the way and the Mandalorian has to do a sit-and-hop off the edge. You follow as she meets him halfway, reaches into his satchel and grabs her favorite big-eared child. With that entrance, greetings seem a bit silly.

“Hey, I’m feeling generous!” Peli starts, putting a hand on your shoulder and feigning positivity.

“How ‘bout you take this job on your own as a test of what you’ve learned? You get the payment from Mando, and I’ll take a cut to cover the parts and the hanger space. Take as long as you need — and judging by that,” she nods behind her toward the Crest in its sad state, “you will need it.”

Seeing her grimace as she turns to walk away, taking the child with her, you’re sure she’s mostly doing this because she doesn’t want to deal with it herself. She is trusting you with your own job, though, so you really can’t complain.

You look back at the Crest and take note of the giant hole in its side…Maybe you can complain a little bit.

“Think you can fix it?”

You blink at him.

Mando is looking at you in all his usual seriousness. You brush by his shoulder and scan your eyes more closely over the damage, which is being held together by fishing nets.

“After all that work…” You sigh. “She was running perfectly, and you go and trash her! What even happened here?” You ask incredulously, gesturing to the breech in the hull.

Mando winces and you almost feel bad for yelling at him.

“Fell through a cave of ice. She’s never gotten this badly damaged before,” he says, voice laced with regret.

Realizing that Mando also went through whatever the ship did and probably didn’t like it very much either, you decide to go a little lighter on the guy.

You level him with the most confidence you can give and meet him where you think his eyes are. “I’ll get her fixed up as best I can, if you don’t mind staying on Tatooine a while.”

This seems to make him nervous, but he turns it over in his mind and gives you a reluctant nod. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” you warn with a laugh.

Mando walks off and you start a mental list of priorities as you give the Crest a walk-around — that hole kicking it off with number one, and the sputtering engine you noticed on its way in taking number two. You’re glad you got to know the Crest fairly well before, at least, since that will make it slightly easier to put back to together.

You figure it’s probably a good idea to run diagnostics on everything before you do anything, so you grab the tablet and make your way inside, already feeling exhausted.

…

“Could’a warned me about the dead squid in the cockpit,” you huff when you walk out to see Mando waiting outside the ship.

You think you hear some sort of laugh from him, but it’s hard to tell. “Surprised the kid didn’t eat it.”

“It eats-? Never mind.” You shake your head as you pass him, on your way to gather the scrap metal you need to start patching up the breech in the hull.

You pass by him on your way back, hauling sheets of metal nearly the size of you. Wordlessly he takes to his feet and picks up the ends dragging on the ground, walking with you.

He hangs back as you get to work, and at first you’re irked by his supervision thinking it condescending, but you come to appreciate it when he starts handing you relevant tools or holding a piece of metal in place if need be.

He’s in and out, periodically checking in and helping when he can. A few times his voice cuts through your focus and you startle, grunting at a fumbled bolt or screw. After a few of those instances you think he realizes that you don’t like to be interrupted, since he doesn’t announce his presence or ask you any questions from here on out.

You’re still not used to his hovering, but you’re able to get into a groove and smile at the silent hand whenever it appears.

…

It’s approaching evening and you’re just finishing up repairing the major exterior damage when Mando comes to check on you again.

“How’s she lookin’ so far?” You walk over to him, tying the sleeves of your jumpsuit around your waist.

He comes to a stop, assessing your work. He’s silent for long enough to make you a little nervous.

“If you’re not happy with it, I can let Peli take it over-“

He holds a hand up and you tuck your bottom lip in your mouth to shut yourself up. Slowly he walks around the ship, sweeping a hand along the areas of the hull that had taken a particular beating but were now seamlessly repaired, and your chest swells with pride.

You stand there with your mouth clamped shut, hands stuffed in your pockets since you’re not sure what else to do with them. He looks back at you and nods approvingly. “Impeccable work.”

You find that you love the feeling of his approval and mentally kick yourself for it. With your confidence regained, though, you brush off the compliment and take a long few glugs from your canteen of water.

“You look like you could use a break.”

You screw the cap back on the canteen and throw a hand on your hip. You squint at him against the setting suns, his beskar shining blindingly. “Is that an offer of some kind?”

Then Mando starts to walk away, before pausing to look over his shoulder like he’s expecting you to follow. You chuckle and shake your head, throwing down your tool belt and moving to catch up.

“By all means, Mando, lead the way,” you call after him sarcastically.

…

At the local cantina, Mando sits in a booth across from you while you sip on something cool and refreshing. He has been silent since you sat down a few minutes ago, mulling something over.

When he finally speaks, you lean forward over your drink to listen.

“I’ve been thinking-“ Mando crosses his forearms over the table looking defeated. “-What happened on Maldo Kreiss — and Trask — can’t happen again. I was too reckless.”

He pauses to breathe. You’re missing a little bit of the context but you let him take his time to continue, figuring you shouldn’t interrupt right now.

“It was too close. We almost got stranded and…” He trails off. “I never want to get that close again, for the sake of the ship…and the kid.”

He looks over at said kid, who is happy as ever munching on his food.

You nod solemnly. You’re not sure what the situation with the kid is, whether it’s his own or why it’s under his care, but you can see how important its safety is to him.

“Going forward, it could be beneficial to have someone around to keep the Crest up and running in emergency situations. I know enough about making certain repairs that I could get us out, but barely. Any worse and I don’t know if I could’ve.” The next words out of his mouth seem especially laborious for him and his ego to admit: “I need help.”

These are more words than Mando has ever said to you consecutively, so you just sit there taking it in. It takes your brain a moment to catch up and understand what he is getting at.

“Wait- are you offering me a job?”

Mando shifts in his seat, looking everywhere but you. “You obviously know your way around the Crest pretty well.”

“Is that a yes?” You lean further in knowingly.

His gaze finally settles on you and he takes another slow breath. “Yes.”

You feel your cheeks push up in an involuntary smile. You had your heart set on a job with Peli, but you have to admit that this one falling into your lap is much more exciting and you’re going to have a hard time turning it down. So much so that you already know you won’t.

Mando waits patiently for you to give your answer.

You sip on your drink. “How much?”

“I can promise it would be more than you make now.”

“That’s not saying much,” you point out. “Tips are rare these days.”

“Room and board.”

“Well room is obvious, board is nice,” you consider. “As long as you stock up on the ration bars I like.”

“Is that a yes?” Mando asks, echoing your words.

Polishing off your drink, you clunk it down on the table and hold out your hand damp with condensation from the glass. “What do you think, Mando?”

He takes your hand, the wetness going unnoticed through his leather gloves, and you give it the firmest shake you can before wiping your palm on your pants.

“Just don’t get in my way.”

“And don’t get in mine,” you half-joke.

…

“Will it be dangerous?” You find yourself asking on the walk back to the hanger.

“Can be,” he admits. “Can you handle that?”

You take a moment to nod your head and think. “Honestly?”

“I’d prefer it,” his tone lilts in an endearing way.

“Try not to get us into trouble and hopefully we won’t need to find out,” you bump into his shoulder playfully and you turn your head away to grimace at a bruise you feel forming from his armor.

You press your thumb there and wince. “Damn, that’s no joke.”

Mando nods. “Beskar.”

…

Come the afternoon of the next day, you have precariously gotten yourself to the top of the Razor Crest and are elbow deep in one of the engines.

“I know you said you needed time,” Mando’s voice interrupts your work from down below.

Oh, great, you roll your eyes. You’re too familiar with the trade to know where this is going. You look down at him from your perch with as much attitude as you have left in you. He looks so small from here.

“But?” You call out.

“But could you get it to fly sooner?”

You ignore him. He continues with his case.

“As long as the exterior is fixed up and it’s safe to go into hyperdrive, you can work on anything else that needs fixing while we’re in hyperspace.”

This reminds you of the fact that soon you’ll be packing up your life and moving into the Razor Crest — apparently now sooner than you thought. How exactly you feel about it is too complicated to think about right now, but you know it’s mostly positive. All you can focus on in this moment is how silly he sounds yelling up at you from all the way down on the ground. Doesn’t he have a jet pack?

“Got somewhere to be, Mando?”

“Corvus. I’m looking for someone there who might be able to help the child.”

You assess the work you’ve done and determine it’s nearly good enough for flight, so long as the diagnostics run clear of anything that can potentially cause an explosion. “Give me the evening to finish this up and pack my things.”

You can’t quite tell from this height, but you think he looks relieved. You would’ve liked to have more time to perfect things on the ground, but you’ll make it work if it gets him off your case.

…

“So you’re stealing my apprentice now?!” Peli threw her hands up when she got the news that night.

Although she played angry, she insisted on taking you out for drinks as a proper send off, so you’re back at the cantina for the second night in a row. You hadn’t expected that she had grown quite so attached to you and you feel touched.

Mando and the kid tagged along, even though he obviously didn’t get drinks of his own.

“How about a trade for the little guy? Only seems fair,” she argues over the music, as if it’s a realistic possibility.

“It’s not like she was making you any money.” Mando’s quip catches you off guard and a laugh bursts out of your chest. Maybe one too many snorts of spotchka, you think as you notice how warm you feel.

“And he’s actually going to pay me,” you tease, recklessly leaning an elbow on his shoulder. You’re not quite as tall as him, so it tweaks your shoulder at an awkward angle — not to mention the armor digging into your skin.

He’s stiff beneath you and you have half a mind to worry about overstepping, but you’ll be in close quarters after this so he’ll have to get used to it. You wonder if he’s ever lived with anybody other than the kid before, and how awkward the adjustment period will be.

“Hey, I was seriously considering taking you on after what you did with that hunk o’ junk! I thought she was destined for the scrap yard.” The praise from Peli makes your chest feel full and you lean off of Mando to reach across the table for her arm.

Her face betrays a hint of fondness and she sighs dramatically. “Just promise that if you need to land for parts or the hanger space to do repairs you’ll come to me, I don’t wanna lose out on my best customer.” She points an accusatory finger at Mando and he nods. “Or, you know, just to visit from time to time.”

“Of course,” he says sincerely before turning to you. “Are you ready to get going?”

At his question you feel excitement fluttering in your chest, tethered down by a tinge of sadness.

“Ready as ever, boss!”

He looks at you deadpan and you cringe, mentally shelving the nickname. Yep, too many snorts.

…

It’s rare to come to a singular moment in your life when you actively witness a big change. Most often it builds over time and you have those moments when you realize how different your life is comparatively, but this is one of the ones where you watch it happen in real time.

It’s both terrifying and exhilarating, looking at the stars whizzing by in the distorted tunnel of hyperspace, faster than you’ve ever seen them move before — which isn’t saying much, considering you’ve only seen them inch by from the point of view of Tatooine. Always the same set, knowing that they move but not being able to notice it happening.

You had already loaded your things — not more than a few duffel bags’ worth — onto the Crest before Peli took you out for drinks, so by the time the four of you made it back to the hanger there was nothing else holding you back. You had already checked out of the room you rented, you cleaned off your desk at the hanger, paid Peli her cut of the job, and thanked her for all the knowledge. As a last parting gesture, she threw in a hefty toolbox full of necessities as well as the all the parts needed to finish the remaining repairs. ‘Backpay,’ she called it.

While walking up the ramp into the cargo hold, Mando lightly took hold of your elbow and steered you into the ship toward a closed sliding door. You gave him a questioning look and he pressed a button on the wall, revealing a bunk with not much aside from fresh blankets and small lights on a wire strung up top. Apparently you were too absorbed with repairs that you hadn’t noticed Mando inside making his own adjustments to a storage closet.

“It’s not much-“ He stopped himself when he saw your expression, looking simultaneously like you were about to beat him up and hug him. From a bounty hunter you assumed to be living in very spartan conditions, taking the smallest measures to make it cozy for you spoke volumes.

You had stomped over to where you stashed your things and placed them firmly on the bed, cementing your place in the Crest.

When you took off, you looked over your shoulder in the port-side passenger seat as Tatooine got smaller and smaller, and you almost felt like you couldn’t believe what you were seeing. You work on crafts that are built for space travel, yes, but it was your first time ever experiencing it.

Now, in the cockpit flying at hyperspeed, you let yourself marvel at the wonder of space travel-

Until Mando’s voice puts a pause on your spiritual experience. “It was late when we left Tatooine, so maybe you should get some rest. We won’t be reaching Corvus for a couple days.”

You shake your head, not taking your eyes away from the lights and colors beyond the windows. “I don’t think I could sleep if I tried.”

Mando thankfully lets you leave it at that, settling deeper in his own seat quietly and taking his hands off the controls.

You’re not sure how long you stay like that or if either of you drifted off at all — the kid definitely did — but eventually you feel exhaustion tugging at your body.

Mando was right about you needing rest, but you don’t tell him that when you get up to retire to your bunk. Whether he’s awake or not, he doesn’t gloat either and you’re grateful for that.

Chapter Text

Not long into the flight to Corvus, Din is rudely awakened by an incoming transmission. That’s what I get for falling asleep in the cockpit, he thinks.

He had thought about retiring to his bunk, but having another person on the ship was throwing him off. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep and was planning on taking shifts — although the idea of sleeping while someone else is milling about the ship also throws him off.

He isn’t sure what his plan is yet.

Blearily he presses the button to play the transmission and is met with a hologram of Greef Karga. Din groans as he listens to Karga’s request for help in taking down an Imperial base on Nevarro and shuts the transmission off when he gets the gist of it. He looks over his shoulder at the groggy child, who blinks back at him without a thought behind his eyes, and turns back to the dash. Weighing the options, he decides Corvus can wait a little longer and adjusts the coordinates on the navisystem.

“Sorry buddy, we’re taking a detour to help out some friends. How’d you like to go back to Nevarro?”

…

“No, don’t- don’t put the blue one back. Put the red one where the blue one was,” Din explains to the child, who makes a confused noise, “and the blue one where the red one was. But be careful, they’re oppositely charged, so keep them away from each other.”

The kid looks at the two wires in his tiny hands.

“Make sure you hold them apart from- no, hold them apart-“

There is a loud zap as he touches the wires together, smoke billowing out of the crawlspace.

Din sighs. “Are you okay?”

The child coughs and makes a cute noise, looking innocently at Din.

“Well, it was worth a shot.”

Din hears footsteps and almost startles before remembering his crewmate.

“You know you have a mechanic now, right?”

He looks over his shoulder and you’re staring at him, eyebrow raised and arms crossed.

“You were sleeping.” He sticks his head back in the crawl space, where the child waits with his ears perked up.

“And you were bored?” More footsteps, and your finger pushes his helmet out of the way for you to look in.

“Come on, buddy, you can put those down!” With a few more encouraging words in baby talk, you emerge with the child in your arms and don’t make a move to set him down or give him back. “Your dad’s puttin’ you to work too, huh?”

Din watches closely as you check him over, inspecting his ears and spreading his fingers to look for injuries. A sudden warmth appears in his chest at the picture. There is a scowl on your face, but the wrinkles by your eyes and slight quirk of your lip betray it.

“Alright,” you say, pushing him further out of the way by his bicep. “Let me at this, I can take off the panel and get to it myself. And don’t mess up any more of my wiring again.” You point a finger at him and set the child down on the floor.

Din throws his hands up in surrender, which you smile satisfyingly at, and heads to the ladder. As he climbs down he doesn’t try to stop a smile forming on his face when he overhears you narrating electrical work to the child.

…

Alone in the hull, Din lifts the helmet just barely enough to take a drink of broth.

Just then, you jump down from the ladder with the kid in your arms and he has to finish his sip before easing the helmet back over his chin.

As he does, Din notices you pause and avert your eyes to look around at nothing in particular.

He clears his throat, giving you the clear to look back. “There’s been a change of plans.”

He gestures to two more bowls set to the side, still steaming — he had planned to bring them up to you when he was finished with his own, but you had finished work quicker than he anticipated. You set the baby down and place a bowl in his hands, which he immediately gulps from with a satisfied gasp, before taking a seat on the storage container next to him.

Your knees bump Dins and he stays still in what he hopes is a casual way. He waits for you to take a drink before updating you on the travel plans.

“We’re headed to Nevarro. I got a transmission from some friends, they need help taking care of an Imperial base.”

His eyes follow your throat when you swallow. “He says like it’s nothing,” you breathe out a laugh.

“Shouldn’t be too bad from the information I was given, mostly inactive save for a skeleton crew. We’ll be there a full day at most.”

You nod and take another drink. Din contemplates for a second as his broth goes cold, then makes a quick decision. He looks to the side and his helmet hisses as he lifts it to polish off his bowl. He hears your intake of breath and when he turns back, your face is buried in your own bowl.

It’s quiet as you and the child finish your broth. When you do, Din stands up and takes the empty bowls from you to bring back to the galley.

“Thanks,” he hears you calls after him softly.

He tries not to dwell on the fact that you were to first person he had had a meal in front of since he had donned his helmet, aside from the kid. But, you were also the first adult to travel with him on a long-term arrangement, so he supposed he had to come to terms with a lot of things concerning his personal space if it was going to be an easy transition. If he couldn’t have a meal in his own ship, there would be more serious problems.

…

Din didn’t think he would particularly enjoy having a crewmate on the ship, but he finds that he is strangely and unexpectedly comforted by the occasional noise from you; the sounds of tools; a muffled curse; light footsteps down the hall; your voice carrying across the ship as you talk to the child. At first the noises set him on edge, making him straighten in his chair and plant his feet on the floor, but he is slowly working at fighting his instincts. When he is successful at it, he’s able to appreciate how you break up the suffocating silence of hyperspace he’s used to.

Except for now, how you come into the cockpit to stand annoyingly behind him — your presence in this moment is what feels suffocating. He doesn’t know what you want, but is too stubborn to turn around and ask.

Finally when you speak, Din is able to breathe.

“Do you sleep?”

“Of course I sleep.”

“…When?”

“Whenever I need to.”

“Do you take the helmet off to sleep?”

You hadn’t brought up the helmet yet so Din had started to wonder when you were going to. Everyone always does. His eyes shift focus to see your reflection staring at him in the glass in front of him, and suddenly he becomes aware of his face as if you could see it. He feels a spark of nervousness, but when he studies your nonchalant expression it dims down to an ember.

It’s a bigger question than what it is literally, so he answers in a way that he hopes explains it.

“…If I’m alone.”

“Ah.” There is a rustle to his left as you settle into your seat. Thankfully you don’t ask any more questions.

Your plain acceptance comforts Din in a way he isn’t used to; it’s rare that somebody doesn’t make a spectacle of his armor, of his creed. People prod and joke, with their big reactions and exclamations. But you just wanted to know, whether you understood or not.

Din finally looks at you sitting in your seat, holding the child on your knee.

“He’s very sweet,” you comment softly.

Din nods slowly. “He’s…special.”

You hum knowingly. “I can tell.”

Your eyes flit up to Din’s and back to the kid, a question brewing. “…Is he?” Your finger points first at the kid, then at Din and back.

“Mine?“ Din finishes for you. “No.”

He looks at the kid, bouncing happily and looking back at him with those dark eyes that reflect the starlight. Din hears himself continue to explain, “He was a bounty.”

“What in the world did he do to deserve that?“ You look at the child incredulously, then back up at Din suspiciously. “Did you kidnap him?”

Din shakes his head. “I was hired to deliver him to the client. I didn’t know he was a child until I found him.” He smiles and puts a finger out for the kid’s grabby hands. “He’s fifty years old.”

“That explains the wrinkles,” you laugh. “So you didn’t bring him in?”

Residual guilt makes its presence known, but is soon replaced by a feeling of protectiveness. “I did at first, but I took him back.”

“So, you kidnapped him.” You’re looking at him with a smirk and it makes him feel the need to argue, even though he knows you’re not seriously accusing him.

“From people who were experimenting on him,” he justifies.

“If this situation puts you on wanted lists, I deserve to know about it,” you reply. “Seeing as I’m traveling with you now.”

Din thinks over his words. “It’s hard not to be on a few lists as a bounty hunter.” He settles, putting his elbows on his knees and looking at you squarely. He puts an edge to his voice. “Thought you knew what you were getting into?”

“I did,” you shift uncomfortably in your seat, just as he was going for. Leaning close, he can see the moment your confidence returns as you sit back in your seat and give him a stare of your own. “Just wanna know who my enemies are.”

You tilt your head and when Din automatically tilts his own, he feels belatedly like you were mocking his mannerisms. He’s less concerned with that, though, than he is with the implication that his own enemies are automatically yours. It pulls at his chest in a weird way — you’re too trusting, he thinks. Only having been on the ship for little more than a day, you are already his ride or die.

“The big one is taken care of.” Din spins his chair to face forward again, leaving it at that.

…

It has been quiet in the cockpit for long enough that time doesn’t feel as real anymore. When Din can hardly keep his eyes open, he admits to himself that he needs to lay down. He braces himself on the chair and pushes himself to standing.

“I’m going to go sleep.”

“O-oh, okay.” Your voice is quiet and hoarse.

On his way to the ladder he hesitates and stops to look at you, this specific scenario foreign to him. You’re looking at the stars.

You lift your head up from the glass and blink, eyes scanning him curiously. “If I’m a permanent passenger you’re gonna have to start trusting me in the cockpit, Mando.”

He nods unsurely, but heads down the ladder anyway.

“G’night,” your voice follows after him.

“…Night.”

As the door to his bunk slides closed and he sits down on the bed, the conversation from earlier comes to mind:

…If I’m alone.

He brings his fingers to his helmet and pauses — sleep feels weirdly intentional now. It takes a moment before he’s ready to take it off, and when he does he takes in a deep unfiltered breath. Before laying down he eyes the door and listens for any sign of you, but it’s just as quiet as ever and he can almost pretend like he’s alone.

Almost. The image of you in the cockpit, comfortable with your feet tucked under you and head against the window looking at the stars, keeps replaying in his mind.

It’s difficult to relax, so he ends up staring at the ceiling in the darkness while his eyes adjust. He’s aware of his face again, and it feels too warm. To lull himself to sleep, he keeps trying to pretend that he’s alone, but it’s not as comforting as it should be.

…

When you’re close to Nevarro, Din finds you in the hull pulling on your boots; he had given you a half-hour notice.

“Since we’ll be splitting up, I figured it would be a good idea to have a way to communicate.”

When you look up at him, he holds out a wearable communicator and drops it into your hand.

“Smart,” you say, attaching the earpiece and strapping the link to your wrist.

Din leans in and puts a finger to your device, pointing out a glowing green light and a button. “It’s already live, just press that to talk.”

You do so. “Come in, Mando. Do you read me?” Your voice plays double in his head and it gives him goosebumps under all the layers.

Din presses the button on his own link and responds in kind. “Loud and clear.”

You give him a thumbs up and a cute smile and he has to look away.

”If that light is off, that means I turned off the line or it got cut off somehow.” He glances back and a concerned look has replaced your smile. He feels the need to assure you, “I’ll be keeping it on the whole time here.”

You nod and roll up the cuff of your shirt to have easy access to the comm.

“Alright, time for decent.” Din nods towards the cockpit. “Ready?”

You nod back and make your way up the ladder. He follows behind, purposely keeping his eyes down out of decency.

…

Din glances sidelong at you as the hatch opens, looking for any sort of nervousness. You had said on the decent into the atmosphere, eyes wide and investigative, that this was your first time on another planet.

Now, you’re peering excitedly out as more and more of the scene is revealed to you through the opening of the ship. If you’re nervous, Din can’t tell.

He looks out to see Greef Karga and Cara Dune waiting for him with smiles on their faces. The two of you walk down the ramp together and Karga calls out as you approach, spreading his arms open wide.

”The ship looks newer than it did last time, I almost didn’t recognize it! But who else flies a Razor Crest?”

It’s an exaggeration to say it’s unrecognizable, but Karga is a politician; a master at putting on a performance just for some small talk. Din clasps forearms with the man in greeting then turns to you.

”All thanks to my new mechanic,” he explains, smirking when he sees your posture raise minutely at the title.

”Ah!” Karga’s eyebrows raise comically high in understanding as he turns to face you.

“Magistrate Greef Karga-“ Din introduces him to you with a gesture toward the man, and the same for Cara. “-Cara Dune.” He steps back, letting you introduce yourself and shake hands.

“There’s a few more things I need to work on, actually,” you continue. “Is it alright if I work here?”

“Mando, you should let her have a break and I’ll have my best men take care of everything!” Without waiting for an answer, Karga calls over said men and tells them to start work on the ship.

“Oh-“ You turn over your shoulder to watch the crew silently make their way to the ship. Din sees the slight worried look on your face and watches it morph into suspicion. He follows your gaze, realizing you’re making eye contact with one of the workers.

Karga’s voice interrupts the moment and he beckons with a motion of his hand. “Come, we can show you around the city!”

He takes the child from Din’s arms, easily becoming absorbed and switching to his baby voice. While he’s distracted, Din gives you a look to ask what’s wrong.

When you make eye contact with him, a tight smile plasters itself onto your face. “Getting a break as soon as I start the job? What a generous boss!” You joke loudly, but Din thinks your tone is strange.

He furrows his eyebrows and lowers his voice, “I’m not your-“

Your hand grips his elbow and pulls him in so you can talk between the two of you in a hush.

“I don’t have a good feeling about those guys.”

“Karga said they’re his best,” Din questions, though he doesn’t pose it as one.

“And suddenly you don’t have a problem with strangers in your cockpit?” Your hiss has the essence of a yell and so does your expression. Palms splayed at your sides like you’re waiting for him to agree, you start to walk backwards toward the ship.

Din looks wearily at the crew but slowly continues to follow Karga and Cara. He shifts to walk backward as well so he can face you as the distance between you grows.

“…You can handle yourself?” He checks before he’s about to leave you alone on a new planet.

He watches you pat the blaster on your hip and press the comm on your wrist.

“See you soon, Mando,” your voice comes through his helmet.

“I’ll keep you updated,” he responds through his comm before catching up with his friends.

Cara tilts her chin and eyes him playfully. “Where’d your mechanic go?”

“Workaholic,” Din shrugs as they walk into town.

…

“Checking in,” Din calls through the communicator as he flies away from the Imperial base by his jet pack. “On my way back, and I need the Razor Crest ready to fly. Now.”

“On it. Danger incoming?”

Din thinks again how quick you are to go along with him, doing as he asks. “Possibly. Things are worse than we thought.” Dread runs through his blood thinking about it.

“Just told the guys to wrap it up quick.”

“Listen. The child,” he continues. “I left him in town at the school, can you get him and meet me back at the ship?“

“Tell me the way. I’ll have to leave the guys alone…”

“It’s okay. Just make sure he’s safe.”

Din gives you directions to the schoolhouse and when your voice tells him you’ve got the kid, he can breathe a little easier. Relief ebbs away at the dread, but it still lingers.

…

When he gets to the ship, you’re just running up with the kid hidden protectively away in your arms. The workers are packing up their tools and walking leisurely back to their post.

Din sees you eye them one last time and join him in heading up the ramp into the ship.

“Remind me to look over the ship when we’re out of here,” you mutter, sounding out of breath.

In less than a minute Din has the ship lifting off the ground as you buckle in the kid. He has somehow acquired a bright blue treat, which he takes a happy nibble of.

On the way back to the base there are sounds of lasers echoing through the canyon, and he spots three TIE fighters in pursuit of what he assumes is a stolen transport carrying his two friends and associate.

As they emerge from the canyon and the fighters are in plain sight, he takes out the center one and prepares for a chase.

“Hang on, kid.” He glances quickly at him over his shoulder, then over the other one at you. “You too.”

As the ship climbs higher at a steep angle chasing one of the remaining ships, the kid giggles behind him like he’s having fun.

With the fighter straight ahead, Din presses a finger on the trigger halfway. The beeping grows more rapid as he takes aim, and a moment later the fighter is exploding. He maneuvers the Crest to dodge the shrapnel before letting the engines stall, doing a flip to point the nose of the ship downward.

As you make a noise like you’re going to be sick, he engages the thrusters toward the last ship flying directly at them, takes aim, and once again flies straight past the explosion.

He straightens out the ship to fly horizontally again and smiles with adrenaline. “Not too bad, huh kid?”

As if in response, the kid throws up blue all over his jacket.

“Oh, boy,” Din sighs. When he turns to check on you, you don’t look much better. Although, you didn’t throw up on yourself so he just chuckles at your pale face.

“You fix ships and you can’t handle a little flying?”

“Shut up,” you manage, scowling at him through your sickness. “I’m a mechanic, not a pilot.”

The radio lights up with a transmission and Din flicks it on, Karga’s voice coming through the speakers. “That was some pretty impressive flying, Mando, what do I owe ya?”

“With the help on repairs let’s call it even,” he says, glancing at you wearily. He hopes you weren’t correct in your suspicions, or if you were, that your presence deterred any foul play. He finds a spare rag and goes to wipe up the kid’s spittle.

“Can I at least buy you a drink?”

“Sorry, I have some-” he pauses, abandoning the blue stain for now, “-onboard maintenance I gotta take care of. Then we gotta hit the road before Gideon catches wise.”

“Well good luck flying, my friend.”

The transmission clicks off and Din starts the ascent off-planet. As the ship is about to break atmosphere, you pipe up behind him.

“Thought it was just a skeleton crew?” You joke pointedly.

When Din doesn’t respond, you press on more directly in a serious tone he’s never heard from you before. “What exactly did you mean when you said it was worse than you thought? Who’s Gideon?”

Din presses his lips together and exhales through his nose. “That enemy I told you about…”

“The one that’s taken care of?”

He takes another steadying breath before continuing. “Turns out he’s not.”

He looks over his right shoulder at the child, who is already back to eating the blue treat even though he had just thrown it up. Over his left shoulder, he regards your grim expression.

“Tell me everything.”

…

“So…”

Din sits patiently while you process the information, the child snoring quietly as he sleeps in his seat.

“We’re gonna have to say goodbye to him at some point.”

With his eyes glued straight ahead into the tunnel of hyperspace, he nods.

“…Can you do that?”

That’s a question he doesn’t want to hear.

He had explained to you everything he knows about the child, and about everything that has happened ever since opening the pram for the first time. He told it all as statements of fact, reciting the course of events like a report: The battle on Nevarro, Moff Gideon, the Armorer’s quest, the purpose of going to Corvus. He answered all of your questions.

But that question is one that can’t be answered so objectively — except he tries.

Din gulps down the lump in his throat. “It is what’s best for him.”

A beat passes and he thinks you’re done, but you deal another brutal blow. “That’s not what I asked.”

Your voice is soft and understanding but the impact is hard and unforgiving.

“This is the way.”

Chapter Text

Especially after the heaviness of yesterday’s news, going about the ship around Mando is awkward and difficult. You don’t know if you can bug him or if he’s in too tense of a mood for it to be worth it. You don’t blame him after getting the full picture from him last night, even if you had to work it out of him question by question.

He is mentally preparing himself for the possibility of coming to Corvus with the child and leaving without him. Even if that doesn’t end up being the case, it will still most likely lead him one step closer along the quest.

Every time you pass by each other, it’s like both of you want to say something but fail at the last second.

In one instance you are hopping down the ladder, foregoing the steps, and almost land on Mando about to climb up. He has to step back off the rungs deftly, and when you land you feel his presence behind you, very close. You look up and see the hand still clasped on a rung in front of you, arm boxing you in on one side. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end just from the sound of his breath. You almost think you can feel it if you close your eyes, but that’s impossible.

You barely have enough room to spin around and face him. He just waits, not taking his hand off the ladder. You’re close enough to see your reddened reflection in his chestplate, and closer still to see your own breath fog it over.

You open your mouth to start saying something — you don’t know what yet, just that you need to — but when you meet his eyeline you snap it shut.

He had to be staring at you, from the angle of his helmet and the prickling on your arms you get when it feels like you’re being watched. In that moment it somehow slips your mind why Mando is looking at you like he’s expecting something.

He tilts his head at you, then inclines it up to the ladder trying to give you the hint you need. Your brain finally catches up and you silently step to the side to let him up. His head follows you and he hesitates, but then before he says anything he climbs up to the cockpit and you’re left alone to smooth down the hairs on your arms.

…

In the next instance, you’re laying on your back halfway into a crawl space organizing some wiring. There’s not much else to do with your free time in space.

Does Mando have any hobbies?

You hear him come down and you don’t scoot out at first. That is, until his footsteps draw suspiciously close. You sigh and roll your eyes, sliding out to see him standing over you, boots on either side of your bent legs. With wide eyes, you wait for him to talk while you try not to focus on the very indecent view.

When he doesn’t, you prompt him with a drawn out, “Yeeees?”

He squats down over you with an arm on his knee and holds out something in front of your face that crinkles. When your eyes readjust, you smirk at your favorite flavor of ration bar and grab it from him.

His hand doesn’t retreat, though, holding his palm out. You take it in your own and let him help you sit up, which now brings you face to face — or, face to helmet — with him still squatting over your legs. He watches you open the package and doesn’t make a move to stand up yet.

You push your eyebrows together and frown, but ultimately take a bite of the bar. This seems to satisfy him, since he nods, stands up, and is gone before you can take a second bite.

…

You are aimlessly picking at the grime under your nails sitting on the edge of your bunk when Mando approaches in a third instance. It’s your turn again to stare wordlessly, as he is without any of his armor aside from the helmet.

His bunk occupies the same corner of the ship as yours, so you assume that he is on his way to it when he stops in his tracks at seeing you. You had told him goodnight and to get some sleep of his own more than an hour ago, but you felt too hyperactive to sleep yourself.

He’s apparently in the process of getting undressed, right finger under his left glove paused halfway in pulling it off.

You can’t take your eyes away from his hands as he resumes, revealing tan skin. The warm tone of it sends you for a loop; you are so accustomed to the coolness of beskar defining him. Seeing his skin humanizes him; he is not made of polished metal, but imperfect flesh with blood running underneath. You notice a vein on the top of his hand that confirms it.

It has to be intentional, revealing an aspect of himself so casually. A man exclusively covered head to toe would not do something like this so lightly.

You think back to the day before, when he lifted his helmet up to drink in front of you. You hadn’t seen any skin under the bowl and you averted your eyes before you could; it felt like something you weren’t supposed to see.

Before asking, you knew to some extent that he didn’t show his face since you had never seen it since meeting him, so you wanted to respect the boundary even if you didn’t know what exactly it was. After getting the context that he only takes his helmet off alone, you were retroactively surprised that he did that. You wonder if the rules are that strict, or if there’s wiggle room for things like sustenance.

As you’re stuck in your thoughts Mando pulls off his other glove, visor pointed at you.

They’re just hands, you think rationally, but it feels more than that.

He presses a bare finger to a button on the wall that slides the door to his bunk open. Ducking his head, he retreats inside and the door hisses shut behind him.

Your breath stops when you hear another muffled hiss from beyond the door, then a clunk of metal.

…

“Corvus, this is the place.”

Mando eases the controls forward as you approach the planet, nods his head over his shoulder at you, and then glances at the kid. He sits up at the console with Mando, curiously looking at the controls.

“I’ve detected a beacon. I’m gonna start the landing cycle, you better get back in your seat.”

Mando starts pressing some buttons, but the kid doesn’t move. His eyes are fixed on a metal joystick, tilting his head.

“Hey, what did I tell you? Back in your seat.” Mando’s voice is a little bit sterner now, so the child complies as he makes cute grumbly noises. You smile at him and you notice he still won’t stop looking at the joystick like it’s the only thing in his vision.

After a few moments of staring, he raises his hand and his eyes slowly fall shut. Your eyebrows knit together in confusion, then shoot up in disbelief when you see that the ball on the joystick begins to spin. You think of warning Mando, but ultimately keep your mouth shut.

During the final descent to Corvus’s surface, a shiver of discomfort travels through you.

The planet is dull and foggy, dead trees poking through the mist menacingly. You can see a town in the distance, surrounded by an imposing wall.

“I’m not sure what to expect of this planet. I’ve never been here before,” Mando says, surveying the area and picking a clearing to land in. As you touch down, the metal ball finally pops off of the handle and flies into the child’s hand, and you smile in awe.

“So that’s what it’s like…I have yet to see it.”

Mando sighs like a tired father, takes the ball from his little baby fingers, and screws it back on. “Don’t take that.”

“Sorry buddy, I don’t make the rules,” you shrug apologetically.

Unswayed, he watches as Mando stands up and climbs down the ladder. When he is out of sight, the kid raises his hand and coos happily when the ball finds it once again.

“...But I don’t have to enforce them, either,” you smile conspiratorially at him, unstrapping his seatbelt.

With the kid in your arm, you follow Mando down to the hull, but when he cautiously steps out you stay behind the threshold. Everything is still except for the occasional snapping of trees and far-away cry of a large creature echoing through the forest.

Mando turns around toward you and steps back up the ramp to grab the ball from the kid again. “What did I say about that? This,” he emphasizes with the ball, “needs to stay in the ship.”

He looks to you and asks, “Did you let him take it again?”

You roll your eyes. “Oh let him have it, Mando.”

He puts the ball in your hand without a word and turns back toward the forest with a hand on his hip. “Not much to see out here.“

You chuckle and slip the ball into your jacket pocket with an apologetic look to the kid. “Ever had dealings with a Jedi before?”

Mando shakes his head. “Let’s head into town,” he checks with you over his shoulder. “See if we can pick up a lead.”

You press and hold the button on your wrist. “Keep your comm on,” you warn him. “I’m staying here with him for now.”

He nods as he steps further out, sweeping his gaze over the immediate area. The child tilts his head after him, like he’s asking where he’s going. You feel a strange tug on your heart like it’s connected to a tether, and you find that drawing the child closer eases the feeling.

“It’s okay, buddy.”

…

After some time of waiting in the ship, busying yourself with fixing up holes in your socks, the child starts to fidget restlessly and coos at the door.
“Hm.” You watch him grow more persistent and decide to check in with Mando through the comm. “The kid is getting antsy, I think he wants to go outside.”

It’s a few quiet seconds before a crackle comes through and he responds. “I’ve got some coordinates for a lead back in the forest. Why don’t you both meet me there?”

“Alright,” you respond, albeit wary.

“Sending coordinates now. Be careful.”

When the screen on your wrist pings, you put your shoes back on and venture out with the kid tucked in your arm.

The air is dense with smoke so you bring a face covering over your nose and peer through the low visibility. Assuming this lead is about who they were supposed to be meeting on Corvus, one Ahsoka Tano, you continuously scan your surroundings. As you walk, you try to avoid the branches that crunch under your boots, not wanting to attract any attention from the forest’s inhabitants. How anything could even survive in these conditions, you don’t know.

The closer you get to the coordinates, the more your anxiety can’t go unignored. Turns out it may be justified, because you think you hear the sound of a fight not far ahead. Picking up the pace, you duck haphazardly under gnarled, fallen trees arching over the path.

There is a strange whirring followed by unmistakable clangs against beskar. Two bright white lights swing wildly through the smog.

You see a blast of fire from Mando’s bracer and you set the kid down on a log before frantically running over. Mando has his assailant grappled, but she leaps up at an impossible height over the limb of a tree and Mando is yanked into the air by the tension of the wire. He releases it and lands on the ground with a grunt, pulling out his blaster. His opponent’s glowing weapons are raised in preparation for attack.

“Ahsoka Tano!” You shout breathlessly before anything else can happen. She freezes with her weapons still at the ready. “We were sent by Bo Katan.”

Hand raised in placation, Mando catches his breath and tilts his head in your direction as if to say, What she said. “We need to talk.”

She lowers her weapons and says with an intrigued tone, “I hope it’s about him.” Her eyes land on the kid, then on you, inspecting like she’s reading a book behind your eyes. You feel instinctually that her intention isn’t threatening, but curious.

Mando holsters his blaster as he turns to face the two of you. Your stance is protective of the child behind you, but you step aside and let Ahsoka approach.

…

Come nightfall she is still sitting with the child, now by the light of a singular lantern and the large moon. Mando paces as his patience runs thin, while Ahsoka is the embodiment of it. She has an easy expression as she sits with the child and nods occasionally, not speaking. You have a strong sense that they are communicating mentally somehow, and a few times during the evening she glances up at you before looking back at the child.

You wonder what they’re talking about. The sadness behind the child’s innocent yet wise eyes, and from Ahsoka a sense of understanding. Ahsoka makes eye contact with you again, and you feel another strange tug at your chest. Her eyebrows quirk and she looks to Mando walking the perimeter of the clearing, sharing a grin with the kid.

Finally, she stands and brings him over to an area where the four of you silently gather around the lamplight.

“Is he speaking?” Mando asks gently. “Do you…understand him?”

“In a way,” she begins to explain. “Grogu and I can feel each other’s thoughts.”

You and Mando pause just as you sit down on a log together, sharing a surprised look.

“...Grogu?”

The child makes a noise that sounds like, “huh?” and looks cutely up at Mando.

“Yes,” Ahsoka smiles warmly as the child looks back at her. “That’s his name.”

“Grogu.” Mando repeats. The kid whips his head around with another coo and Mando looks at you sitting beside him. Go ahead.

“Grogu,” you try, laughing with an open-mouthed smile when he turns eagerly toward you this time. “Nice to meet you, Grogu.” You reach out a hand toward him and he grasps two of your fingers, which you shake gently.

“He was raised at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant.” Ahsoka explains his time there – how he was taken at the end of the clone wars when the empire rose to power, and about a darkness in his memory after that.

“He seemed lost…Alone.”

Her words pull at your heart and when you make eye contact with Grogu, you’re overwhelmed with feelings of fear and sadness. You remain silent as Ahsoka continues and Mando asks about Grogu’s powers.

“The force,” is what she calls it – what gives him his powers. “An energy field created by all living things” sounds like myth to you, but having seen Grogu’s powers with your own eyes you’re inclined to believe it. It’s comforting, in a way, to think that there is a presence filling in the empty space of the galaxy. The hair on your body stands at attention, almost like you can feel it surrounding you when you think too hard about it. Like the manifested phantom tingles you sometimes get when you think about bugs crawling on your skin.

“I’ve seen him do things I can’t explain,” Mando tells her. “My task is to bring him to a Jedi.”

Her gaze falls to the ground. “The Jedi order fell a long time ago.”

Mando’s visor remains steady on her. “So did the empire, yet it still hunts him.”

You press your lips together and your eyebrows draw inwards as you wonder how much of a child Grogu really is. If he even fully understands the weight and scope of his situation, or if he only knows the consuming feelings of loss and instability.

“He needs your help.”

Mando’s words seem to get to Ahsoka and she quietly sighs. “Let him sleep…I’ll test him in the morning.”

…

In the morning Ahsoka leads you to a surprisingly mossy grove. It looks out of place in the dead environs.

“Let’s see what knowledge is lurking inside that little mind,” Ahsoka says before placing him down on a rock and beginning her test.

You stand with Mando and watch her hold out a stone in Grogu’s direction. It leaves her hand to float it in the air between them, making its way slowly over for him to catch. Mando bickers with Ahsoka as she waits for him to send it back to her. He tries to encourage him by nodding his head in her direction, but when he drops the stone, Mando lets out a disappointed breath. You nudge him with your elbow and give him a disapproving look.

Ahsoka returns to Grogu to pick up the stone and take one of his hands in hers. “I sense much fear in you.”

“He’s hidden his abilities to survive over the years,” she explains as she stands back up and resumes her previous position. “Let’s try something else. Come over here.”

Mando looks at Grogu and nods toward her again as a go-ahead. Grogu sits still on the rock.

“He’s stubborn.”

“Not him,” Ahsoka says. “You. I want to see if he’ll listen to you.”

“That would be a first,” you pipe up, and Ahsoka smiles in amusement.

“I like firsts,” she points out. “Good or bad, they’re always memorable.”

This especially rings true for you, as your days have been filled with so many firsts lately.

“Alright, kid. Lift the stone,” Mando instructs. The kid tilts his head, his giant ears flopping endearingly.

“Grogu,” Ahsoka leans in to remind him before walking over to stand next to you.

“Grogu,” Mando tries again, and the kid perks up like he had the night before. “Come on, take the stone.” The child huffs.

“You see? I told you he’s stubborn,” Mando says as he tosses the stone to the ground.

“Try to connect with him,” Ahsoka prompts.

Mando sighs and looks at you. You think for a moment, then pull out the metal ball and roll it between the pads of your fingers. You step toward him, taking his hand in yours and placing the ball there. Your fingers linger over the ball for more than a regular moment, and you look Mando in the eyes and nod.

Only when you are back standing by Ahsoka does he take his eyes off of you.

“Grogu. Do you want this?” He crouches down and holds it between two fingers enticingly. “Well, go ahead.”

Grogu already has his hand raised. “That’s right, take it. Come on, you can have it,” Mando urges. “Come on…”

The ball wiggles between his fingers, then breaks free and rushes over into Grogu’s grasp.

“Good job!” Mando praises him proudly. “Good job, kid!”

“You see that?” He asks Ahsoka, but she doesn’t seem as excited. “That’s right, I knew you could do it,” he turns his attention back to the kid. “Very good.”

Your eyes crinkle at the sweet moment and you can’t help but notice how much of a dad he seems to have become.

“He has formed a strong attachment to you.” Ahsoka’s tone doesn’t convey much other than observation, but you weirdly think this isn’t the outcome she wanted. She ponders for a moment, her eyebrows tight, and finally concludes:

“I cannot train him.”

…

You find yourself sneaking around the militant walls of the town with Mando while Ahsoka has the guards occupied, walking straight in. Mando had bargained his aid for the promise that Grogu will be properly trained, so on the way there she and Mando talked logistics while you put the kid safely back in the ship.

You’re unsure about the deal, considering all of Ahsoka’s warnings. She seemed so serious, it was hard not to heed them. However, the thought of Grogu being separated from his people and letting his innate abilities fade away left you feeling inexplicably hollow. You understood why Mando had been so adamant.

It was his mission, so you had remained quiet about your reservations.

“I thought you were staying back on the ship,” He says to you in a hushed voice when you sneak up next to him.

“The numbers didn’t sound so good,” You reason. “I know I’m just your mechanic and Ahsoka is damn good with those laser swords, but I think you guys could use all the help you can get.”

He eyes you wearily, but ultimately doesn’t protest. “You got weapons?”

“Four,” you show him with a smirk – a blaster in your hands, another strapped to your leg, and two last-ditch knives tucked into each boot. Hopefully it didn’t come to those since you’d prefer to keep your distance, as good as you are with your hands. “Raided your armory, hope you don’t mind.”

He shakes his head. “Those are all from bounties.”

Giving you a nudge on your lower back when the coast is clear, Mando guards your back closely as you climb up a passageway to the top of some interior walls. Ahsoka kicks things off on the ground, but Mando holds up a hand signaling you to wait. There’s a barrage of blasters, but then things quiet down when Ahsoka disappears. As some guards prowl the streets in pursuit of her, two remain to kill the prisoners at the order of Morgan Elsbeth.

Mando holds up a hand and tells you, “not until my say-so.” With that, he takes off on his jetpack and lands a kick directly to one of their heads, knocking him to the ground before he can shoot them. Mando blasts the other guard, and then the first, and then stops when a civilian runs up. They share a nod and he starts rounding up the rest of the civilians while you keep watch from above.

It’s eerily quiet while the militia stalks the alleyways like rats in a maze, with only the occasional sound of Ahsoka appearing and taking them out one by one. Your nerves are alive and on alert with adrenaline.

Through your comm Mando yells, “Now!”

With your blaster you take out some droids from above, not letting them get too close to Mando and the innocents. Your aim isn’t the best, so you’re firing constantly to land as many shots as you can. For a while things are looking good, until they aren’t. While you’re distracted with the droids, a guard notices you and suddenly there are lasers whizzing by your head as you duck behind the wall. You catch your breath and listen intently as the guard makes his way up to you. When he reaches the top, you camp out around the corner and bash the butt of your blaster directly into his forehead and he’s stumbling backward, but he grabs your arms and takes you with him down the stairs. Your blaster hits the steps and tumbles away, likely shattering from the drop.

You tussle with the guard as you both try to catch your footing, but he’s heavier and off-balance so the momentum sends you both rolling to the bottom. You groan at the concrete jutting into your sides over and over, and when your back is on flat ground, you plant your feet and blindly reach toward your boot. The guard tries to pin you where you are, but he gets a blade to the shoulder and keeps rolling – off of you. He’s still alive, but you take the opportunity to run away toward the center of town.

You slow your steps when you realize what you just ran into: Mando in a one-on-one standoff with Morgan’s main guard, which normally you wouldn’t be worried about with Mando’s impeccable timing and quick draw. Past the point of no return, you decide to slowly approach Mando’s side, each of your footsteps echoing through the square. When you reach him, his hand on your side ushers you behind him without taking his eyes off of the guard. You comply, trusting him – and his beskar – to keep you safe.

What worries you is that when Mando shoots him dead for trying to pull a cheap shot, you notice one last droid pop out on a rooftop behind Mando’s back and aim directly at the two of you.

The fact that you see it just a second or two before Mando does is the only reason you’re able to draw your backup blaster quick enough and shoot it down with any number of the five-or-so blasts you fire, sending it tumbling off the roof and landing in front of you with a crunchy thud. Standing back to back with you, Mando raises his blaster and aims it all around looking for any more. When the man who tackled you comes running into the scene holding his shoulder, Mando doesn’t hesitate and he falls down for his final time.

“Thanks,” Mando says close to your ear, voice rough and breathy.

You breathe out and let your shoulders drop. “No problem,” you manage.

…

The festivities are a blur, grateful people gathering around and cheering. Mando is silent as he makes his way through the crowd with you and Ahsoka, looking out of his element as people pat him on the arms and thank him. You reach the entrance of the city where things are quieter, and while Mando settles things with Ahsoka you head to the Razor Crest parked just ahead. You check on Grogu, who is fast asleep in his hammock. If Ahsoka holds up her end of the deal, he might just be staying here with her.

Just then, confirming your thought, Mando’s footsteps approach behind you and he reaches over your shoulder into the hammock. “Wake up, buddy.” He gently prods Grogu awake, but he can barely keep his bleary eyes open. “...It’s time to say goodbye.”

It’s hard to tell, but you think Mando’s voice is starting to sound choked up. As much as you want to see the kid off, you decide it’s probably best to give Mando a moment alone with him. Before you leave, you stroke the side of Grogu’s face and he coos sweetly. Trying to hold back tears of your own, you shift out of Mando’s way and head to the cockpit.

When you take a glance back, he has the kid cradled in his arms as he leans back against the wall of the nook. It’s a quiet, vulnerable moment you feel slightly awkward seeing, so you turn away. As you climb up, you barely make out Ahsoka’s voice from just outside the ship and try not to eavesdrop.

“You’re like a father to him…”

You smile sadly, thinking about how empty it will feel without the little guy around. And how hard it must be for them both to say goodbye. From the way Ahsoka spoke about attachments earlier, you have a feeling visits are out of the question. Will you even have a job after he’s gone? Keeping the kid safe was basically the reason you were hired in the first place. Would Mando just drop you back on Tatooine? The thought makes your heart sink.

Sitting in your chair, you start to wish you had gone to your bunk instead so that you can get undressed. Your clothes are sticky with sweat and your sides ache, likely forming bruises from your tumble down the stairs.

You hear Mando’s footsteps back on the ship and- is that…?

You quickly hop down the ladder and, yes, your ears didn’t deceive you. Mando is holding the little green child over his shoulder, who babbles sleepily.

“He’s not leaving?” You ask with a hopeful smile.

Mando shakes his head. “Ahsoka can’t train him, but she gave information that might help us find who can.”

Although the possibility of Grogu leaving was still in the near future, you’re relieved that you get at least a little bit more time with him – and with Mando, if it turns out he doesn’t need you anymore when the time comes.

“But for now,” he says as he hands the kid to you, “he stays with us.” He seems relieved.

Us. You smile.

The melancholia in the air seems to be dissipating, and you’re happy things can go back to normal, at least for a little bit.

Chapter Text

Sweaty. Tired. Adrenaline wearing off.

Grogu is running low on steam too, so you quickly tuck him back into bed before turning around back to Mando and unstrapping your arm guards. After the relief of not having to say goodbye to the kid after all, you finally feel like you can strike up conversation.

“I signed up to be your mechanic,” you quip, stopping to unlace your boots. “Didn’t think covering your six was gonna be in my job description.”

Mando is in the process of taking off his own armor piece by piece. “You could’ve stayed on the ship. I told you the job would be dangerous, didn’t I?” He sits on the edge of a storage bin, bends over and begins unstrapping all the metal pieces from his legs. His head is pointed up at you, not needing to look at his practiced hands.

You shed your jacket and tie it around your waist for now. “Well, dangerous doesn’t often include freeing an entire town from a cruel tyrant with no backup.”

Mando lets out a gravelly chuckle. Bracers and pauldrons off now.

“All in a day’s work?” You eye him playfully as you take off your gloves and shove them in your pocket.

“Not usually, no. Not before the kid- Grogu, at least.”

“Well he’s a good influence on you then.”

Mando stands up as he unstraps various leather things on his chest. “Might need to update your title,” he points out. “You’re actually pretty useful out there.” He’s smirking, you just know it.

“Don’t act so surprised,” you joke in a dull tone and lean casually against the wall.

Lastly, chest plate off. Well, technically not lastly. Only the helmet and his padded clothes remain.

He takes a few steps as he stretches out his arms and shoulders, and you can’t help but admire just a little bit. Your mind starts to wander as your eyes trail his muscles. By now he has fully encroached on your personal space, reminding you of your encounters on the way to Corvus. This time, though, it feels weirdly intentional instead of just happenstance.

“Mando, what’re you-“

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” you reply without thinking much about it, and you find that it’s mostly true. You look back up to meet his gaze. “Why?”

There is a slight tilt of his head, beskar glinting with- curiosity? Satisfaction? Challenge? You’re not sure.

“Close your eyes.” He brings his gloved hand up to cover them, and you silently wish he had taken the glove off first.

For a moment you think he’s not going to answer your question. He gently guides your eyelids closed and when you comply, eyelashes fluttering against the leather, his voice barely passes through the modulator like he’s speaking to himself. “…Want to test something.”

His hand leaves your face and you sense him pause, not moving or breathing.

Then, “No peeking.”

You nod your head and hold back a giggle as you imagine his finger pointing warningly at you like he does to the kid when he misbehaves.

Without being able to see, the silence feels especially depriving and you fight the urge to ask more questions — the quickest way to strip away the Mandalorian’s patience, you’ve learned.  Normally you take pride in riling him up, but just this once you reign yourself in. You want to find out where this is going.

You hear a hiss of de-pressurization, a rustle, and the recognizable clunk of beskar being set down somewhere to your right.

The last piece of armor.

Your breath escapes you and you barely remember to suck another back in. It’s like he can sense you gearing up to ask another question and he interrupts before you can. 

“…A theory.” 

His voice unmodulated is warm and husky, lacking the usual tinniness. You feel goosebumps rush down your arms like an electromagnetic pulse. He suddenly feels distinctly human.

The space following those words is his last warning, a last opportunity for you to back out. When you don’t, he shifts closer still. He’s crowding you and you’re face to face — you feel it from his breath mingling with your own. You hold still, unsure of what is allowed and not daring to overstep.

Would touching his face, mapping out the planes and prominences, give him too much of an identity? He wouldn’t be doing this if it broke his creed, you reason. Or maybe he’s acting entirely for himself, forgoing The Way, as he calls it. The idea brings an immediate sense of guilt, but you can’t deny that it also makes you feel stupidly special. He had asked you to trust him, but it wasn’t even a question of whether he trusts you. With every second that passes, he is making the decision to trust that you won’t open your eyes.

Firm hands on your hips pull you from your thoughts like a ship coming out of hyperspace; a feeling akin to a planet rushing into your field of view and consuming it, time suddenly warping to slow motion by comparison.

He backs off on the pressure holding you against the wall, but only enough for one hand to steal in behind you at your lower back and press upwards, easing you off of the cold metal of the wall little by little. Soon his forearm is flat against your upper back, supporting you between your shoulder blades and up to where he cradles the base of your skull in the palm of his hand. With just the press of his thumb, he angles your head slightly to the side, baring the underside of your jaw for him. He doesn’t do anything with this access, but the option is there and you’re painfully aware of it. He holds you still so you assume he’s examining where some skin had been rubbed raw against the concrete from your fall, which you hadn’t noticed the burning of until the adrenaline started to wear off.

The hand still on your hip moves between your bodies to press flat against your upper abdomen, almost pushing you away, but stuck at a stalemate with the other arm pulling you in closer. Every action of his is wrought with an indecisiveness you’re almost certain is intentional, meant to keep you on your toes.

A frightening thought comes when you realize you would let this man do anything to you. You want him to, if only he would. Like a nail in the coffin, his thigh pushes up under you and takes most of your weight off the ground.

You hiss as your sore sides pinch at the sudden movement and Mando immediately stills.

“You’re hurt.”

“Just some bruised ribs, no big deal,” you breathe. You don’t mention how you got the bruises, because you’re afraid he’ll laugh and ruin the moment.

The hand on your abdomen slowly moves to your side, feeling the sore area while he observes your reactions. You’re utterly pliable in his hands — which are firm and controlled, but hold you with a tenderness you hadn’t anticipated. At first your body is tense, but as his hands move you begin to relax more and more.

Just as your mind flicks through options of what could come next, your feet are firmly planted and he is already leaning away, seemingly satisfied with his findings.

The hand from behind you smoothly captures your own and your arm is pulled out along with him as he steps back. You feel a puff of air against your knuckles and that is the only thing that prepares you for his lips kissing the tops of your fingers. He tilts your hand up and brings, this time, the pads of your two longest fingers to his lips. They’re softer than you expected, not that you were ever expecting to feel his lips before now, and you gasp when you feel the contrasting prickle of scruff. It feels like forbidden knowledge, but you know that he willingly gave it to you and that makes you feel inexplicably lightheaded. He lowers your hand and without his touch it feels almost like you dreamed the whole thing up.

Your eyes are still closed as you listen for the hiss of his helmet being put back on. When you hear it, you’re reluctant to come back to reality just yet and you lean against the wall, trying to regulate whatever is brewing inside you.

“You can open your eyes,” Mando’s voice comes casually through the modulator, a hint of smugness being the only indication anything had happened between you at all. What exactly had happened, you’re not too sure.

When you open your eyes he looks as he always does, not needing the rest of his armor to give the same guarded impression. Logically, you’re not sure what you had expected to change about his appearance. Somehow it’s comforting, being back in familiar territory. You had gotten used to maneuvering around Mando in his ship and reading his body language, knowing when you’re free to push his buttons and when to just stay quiet. Although the scenario is new, something about it tells you it’s best to let it be what it is for the time being. 

Mando’s metaphorical armor slips for a moment when you see him fidget with his fingers at his side, fists barely clenching and unclenching. He’s looking at you, you think, and no signs of life make it through his voice modulator.

You mull over everything he had just let you have, unprompted: his trust, his voice, his touch, and something else. Whatever it was that drove him to kiss your fingers, something so sweet and unexpected that you don’t know yet how it fits into the idea of him you’ve created — he gave you that too. 

Does Mando himself even know what it was?

He tosses you a small canister and you hastily catch it.

“Bacta-spray,” he explains. “It’ll help with the scrapes, but I don’t know about the bruises.”

“What about you, did you get hurt at all?”

He shakes his head and puts a hand on the ladder to the cockpit. “We’ll be taking off soon.”

You nod and he climbs up, leaving you to decompress against your wall.

…

“So, Tython ,” you call up to Mando as you make your way to the refresher. “Is it far?”

He had briefed you as he made the flight plan, apparently planning on acting normal again. “Deep core,” he responds. “So, yeah.”

You had just entered hyperspace, so the ship was stable enough for you to go get cleaned up. It was the first time you had not been in the cockpit for a takeoff, but with what had just happened, you’re a little too not normal to be in the same space as Mando.

Plus, you’re stinky. Though, that didn’t seem to bother him , you think.

As you strip and wipe down with a rag, you cringe at the thought of making that journey without a proper bath. Pulling out the bacta-spray, you brace yourself as you press the nozzle and your jaw feels like it’s on fire for a few seconds.

You check your sides for the bruises and, yep- those are pretty gnarly . You hiss as you apply pressure to one to see how deep it goes. Luckily you don’t think any of your ribs were cracked, so there doesn’t seem to be any further damage than just some ugly yellowish-purple blotches.

Fingers brushing your sides, your face goes hot as your mind replays the feeling of Mando’s hands on you. 

Immediately you start to put on a fresh change of clothes, not liking the combination of your uncontrollable thoughts and your naked body. Before going to put your dirty clothes away, you poke your head up into the cockpit.

“…Mind if we stop somewhere along the way? I’d like to bathe properly at some point.”

Mando looks at the navigation screen and hums. “We’ll have to stop for fuel and supplies at some point anyway, so I’m sure we can find a planet with a decent place for that.”

You nod but he’s not looking so you call out a “thanks!” as you head to your bunk.

With a deep sigh, you flop down on the mattress and let your legs hang off out the door. Mando will likely be up there for a while — he seems to get a lot less sleep than you do. Unless he sleeps in his chair , you laugh to yourself and shake your head. He is so predictable most of the time, but other times — like tonight — he surprises you. On one hand it’s fun being kept on your toes after so many years of the same things. On the other, he frustrates you to no end. I deserve an explanation for these things, don’t I? I mean, it’s ridiculous! What was that-?

You stop yourself before you have a full out argument in your head. If you were gonna have one, you should have it with Mando. But you don’t want to have an argument with him, not really. What you truly want, what you don’t want to admit to yourself, is more of whatever that was. You try to rest your eyes, and you’re successful for some time. You probably even drift off, but at some point your stomach starts to grumble furiously and forces you to get up with a groan.

Rubbing your eyes on your way to the galley, you bump into something that shouldn’t be in your way and look up — someone , you realize.

“Oh-“

Mando presses something warm to your chest and side steps you, putting a hand on your shoulder as he heads the direction you came from. You look down in your hands to see a steaming cup of broth, this time with fancier green-somethings and plenty of cubes of some kind of rehydrated protein. Gingerly you sip and you feel its warmth make the path to your stomach, spreading out from there. You hum at the comforting feeling.

Turning on your heel, you follow Mando out and catch him just as he’s going to his bunk. Something about the middle of the night makes you want to keep quiet, so you just smile thankfully. He pauses awkwardly and nods once back.

You’re facing each other across the small hallway as you both take slow steps back into your bunks. The backs of your knees hit your mattress sooner than you expect and you almost fall back, but you stay upright and thankfully don’t spill any of the hot soup on yourself as you sit. He’s leaning against his doorframe and studying you. You don’t know what to make of it, mind still groggy from your supposed sleep.

Mando lifts his helmet to drink his soup and you look down at your own bowl warming your cold hands. Neither of you closes your doors, so you both stay where you are and share your meal in silence. Sipping slowly, you want to savor this weirdly domestic moment.

Admittedly you’re still not quite comfortable with the dark endlessness of space, so his presence makes you feel grounded.

When you reach the bottom of your bowl, Mando takes the few steps over to you and puts his hand under it, waiting until you release it to stack it on top of his own. He’s very close again and blocks the dim light from outside your door, but not for long since he quietly leaves to put the bowls away.

When he returns he taps a couple fingers against your doorframe as a goodnight, lingering there before stepping into his bunk. There’s another hesitation before he presses the button to slide his door closed, so you follow suit. It’s hard not to try and listen to his muffled rustling as you lay alone. You close your eyes and think about him doing the same just across the way.

Your hands trail from your arms to your chest, tucking underneath your clothes to feel skin against your fingers. One hand moves flat against your lower stomach, bringing about ideas you hadn’t intended. But not bad ideas, necessarily…

It has been a while. You’re frustrated in more ways than one. It’s been a long day…

Your hands move on their own without permission and for a moment you melt at the feeling, before your mind catches up to the goings on lower down.

Sighing in frustration, you flop over onto your stomach and breathe deep into your pillow, trapping your hands underneath. With a final huff, you beg for sleep to take you back into its embrace before you do something you can’t emotionally come back from.

Chapter Text

Din had imagined you with your eyes open.

When he was face-to-face with you, seeing you with his naked eyes for the first time, he imagined you looking back at him — seeing him.

Then, and still. It plagues him.

He is no stranger to nightmares, but this vision in his head that he can’t get to go away might be one that shakes him to the core like no other. It is not bloody, or horrific, or tragic. He has trained himself to handle the unsavory, to best it to make up for the times it bested him. To be stronger.

This vision brings about an entirely new kind of fear. It makes him question the framework of his life, terrified that one pair of testing eyes will cause it to crumble down around him. 

So used to looking at people through his visor, it was almost like without it was when he was looking through a filter. Everything was softer, more romantic and shifting in and out of focus; unlike the calculated, electronically enhanced screen in his helmet, where everything and everyone is analyzed and reduced to statistics.

On the edge of his bunk with his head in his hands, he rubs his fingers down his face. 

The Jedi Ahsoka Tano had gone on about emotional attachment getting in the way of their practice, of their religion. In a moment of reconciliation, he realizes that this is something it has in common with the Mandalorian creed; or at least that of The Children of the Watch, as Bo Katan had bitingly called them.

As a Mandalorian one has a deep bond and duty to their clan, but protecting ones’ identity through a layer of the strongest metal known to existence, while it doesn’t prevent intimacy entirely, has a habit of keeping people at a distance. Always a step removed. Din — Mando — has always been comfortable with this. Being this way for so long, he had learned to prefer solitude.

With the armor, people always seemed to be on the brink of asking a million and one questions. When it came to bothersome people, it was easier to be intimidating; when he leaned into it, they tended to not bother him as much.

His thoughts drift back to his shipmate, as they so often do these days when it feels like you’re the only two people in space. You bother him more than anybody else. 

He had fully expected living with someone else to get on his nerves, and had come to terms with it if it meant increasing the child’s safety. But he had not been expecting to feel like he was constantly a live wire, primed to short circuit and blow a fuse.

His stoic persona is at risk around you, and without it functioning he doesn’t know how to act.

For some reason when you ask your questions, patient but steadfast, Mando’s armor can’t hold up and he finds himself answering. The only thing that can break through beskar with ease. You look at him and sometimes it feels like you can see right through it, and it throws him off kilter. The fact that you have him double guessing if you actually can tells him enough about your affect on his state of mind.

He blinks restlessly and looks at the ceiling like it will grant him peace from his own head. Laying back onto the mattress, he closes his eyes and tries to see pitch black behind them. To fill his dreams with it, so that he could go about his next day without ruminating on an indulgent one.

…

Din was not so lucky.

Seeing you fiddling with random panels and screws that morning reminded him of it. Your hands had been doing other things — in the dream, that is — that he had somehow forgotten until it all came rushing back to him.

He notices you blink away your concentration to look at him, notices you brushing your hands on your pants and fixing your hair. He wants nothing more than to be in your space again. Ever since he tested his theory, most of his self control seemed to get launched out of the ship at hyperspeed. He draws on what little is left of it in this moment.

“It’s early,” he decides to open with.

You raise an eyebrow at him and chuckle with an amused, “Yeah? My turn to state a fact?”

“I just didn’t expect you to be up yet,” he shrugs and continues toward the cockpit.

You cross your arms and Mando follows your eyes as they look him up and down. “So are you gonna bring it up or are you gonna make me ask?”

Your tone is smart, but your smile makes Mando think he has a little bit of room for smartness of his own.

“What do you think?”

Without waiting for a response he hops up the ladder with an unseen smirk, settles into his seat, and checks the navigation panel. He just barely hears you mutter something along the lines of “highly unprofessional.”

Grogu is still asleep, so Mando is alone and the time whizzes by with the stars. All this time sitting still in his seat and he has yet to form a fully realized thought. Just images. Images of you that would be impossible to recreate without breaking his oath for possibly the most desperate reason.

One image — a real one this time, specifically the one of you beneath his touch willing and wanting — reminds him of one crucial thing.

He was right . Throughout his internal war, he had not addressed the newfound information in regard to his theory. To be proven right is to be left asking, what now?

…

For the rest of the day you don’t bring it up.

He wants to know what you’re thinking, but he can’t double back now. He has a thought that maybe you’re getting back at him by not asking, but he can’t be bothered with these mind games — even though he’s the one that started them. He didn’t mean to, it was just a way of avoiding the conversation in the moment. It wasn’t fair, he knew that, but he wasn’t himself and he didn’t want to go too far.

He wasn’t what he should be. He was losing control, and it was making him do stupid things. 

Like taking his helmet off in front of you. Even though he knew you would keep your eyes closed, it was stupid. Nearly a sin. So close to a sin that it could very well be one. He can try to blame it on the adrenaline or lack of blood flow to his brain, but what it came down to was a lapse in discipline, which hadn’t happened in a long time; he has been so used to the helmet after all these years that it’s usually not even a challenge to keep in on anymore.

He’s sick of the barrier, but he needs it. It’s all he knows. He’s scared without it, but he’s been starved of any kind of closeness and he can feel it catching up to him. Every time his thoughts sway one way, they careen back over into the other side. These ideas can’t — shouldn’t — exist simultaneously, but they do and it’s mentally exhausting.

Din realizes he’s gripping the controls harder than is necessary, which is not at all since the ship is on autopilot. He releases his fingers and stretches them out one by one. It’s moments like this when he thinks he should get a hobby. He has been going non-stop for long enough that he forgot what it was like to have nothing to do.

So he closes his eyes.

…

Poking. 

He stays still, hoping it will stop if he ignores it.

More poking.

“I’m awake,” he tells the annoyance without opening his eyes. It’s not like it can tell.

“Really?” The voice sounds unconvinced.

“No.” He deadpans, finally opening his eyes to…nothing. Wondering if he dreamed it, he tries to turn his head around but there’s a weight on it, so he tries to look up as far as he can.

“Found your blind spot, Mando,” he hears you giggle quietly from above. “If you’re this tired, you can go back to your bunk, you know. I’ll wake you if we run into any trouble.”

The weight leaves his head and two hands pat his shoulders firmly, ushering him to stand up.

“I’m fine,” Din tries to convince you. “And the plan is to not run into any trouble.”

“Good, so you’ll be able to sleep peacefully!”

He checks the system time and it’s only hour 8 of the 16 hour day cycle, which makes it “mid-afternoon” — not that it matters much in space. Normally he didn’t bother with a daylight schedule, so he’s still not entirely used to sticking to one for the sake of his shipmate.

Said shipmate’s hands are still on Din’s shoulders, his muscles tense underneath. “How many hours did you sleep this cycle? Three at best?”

Din doesn’t answer and merely shrugs under the weight of your hands.

“I know it was sometime in the middle of the night when you gave me the soup, and I know what time you came out in the morning. However long it was, it wasn’t enough.”

“Then you couldn’t have gotten much more,” he argues.

“I dozed before the soup,” you defend. “…I think.”

Your thumbs press into his shoulder muscles and for a moment he sees more stars than the ones outside the windows. It’s painful, but good. Another grunt escapes him and his head falls back to rest on the seat. His muscles are searing as you begin to work them, loosening up the fibers bit by bit.

One more noise from him that is highly more embarrassing than the previous ones and he has to bite his lip. It’s torture. A few digs feel like you’re taking out some frustration on him and if he’s right, he really likes that.

It’s a while before the pain fades away and it’s just the good left. He thinks you can feel his relaxation set in, because your touch becomes gentler and less focused in particular areas. You smooth down his shoulders and he exhales raggedly, letting his jaw loosen. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding that much tension, even in his sleep.

“Up,” you order, and Din finally complies this time. “Need to check some diagnostics, anyway.” You smirk with an air of confidence at telling him what to do, which makes Din want to try something.

He keeps his hand on the top of the seat as you take his place in an act of stabilizing it, but as soon as you’re settled he puts his weight down and sends it leaning back. He’s looking down at your pink, surprised face. Suddenly that proudness is gone.

“That’s my chair.” He states, mimicking a moment from the first time you had worked on the Razor Crest.

“ Understandable ,” you recall your next line with a knowing smile, head leaning back to look at him. “But if I’m a permanent passenger you’re gonna have to start trusting me in your chair, Mando,” you counter with a rehashed line from one of your first days on the ship. You prop a heel on the dash and cross the other foot over it pointedly, as if to say you’re not going anywhere.

“You’re getting too comfortable,” Din warns, leaning closer.

“Am I?” He doesn’t like that your confidence has returned in this position. Or, maybe he does. He wants to test it regardless. “I was starting to think you liked having me around…”

Lifting the hand that’s not holding the chair, he slides it over the side of your neck with a firm pressure, resting it in the nook there. You gulp. His fingers inch down to the dip between your collarbones and your eyes flutter closed. His other hand makes its way to the other side of your neck, splaying his fingers over the slope.

Mando reminds himself again that his theory was right . If his eyes didn’t deceive him, you’ve even bared your neck to him further, perhaps not deliberately.

He watches your chest rise and fall, your eyelashes resting against your cheeks. In a split-second decision he removes a hand from your neck to lift his helmet just enough to give you a quick kiss on the head. Your eyebrows shoot up, but your eyelids stay closed. 

Din lowers the helmet once more and retreats, letting the seat spring back upright which elicits a surprised “ umph! ” from you.

“I do,” he finally confirms. 

Relieved at having at least some self-control left after all, he chuckles and climbs down the ladder. He hears you clear your throat before calling out, “you owe me a shoulder massage, you tease!”

Once he turns around, he sees Grogu on the floor rifling through your tool bag — which probably doesn’t contain the safest of toys for children, even if this one happens to be fifty. “Let’s leave that alone, buddy.”

“You forgot this,” Din says as he lifts Grogu up through the hole to the cockpit.

“What am I, a babysitter too? You really need to start paying me more,” you huff, but glady get up and take the kid from his hands.

“Maybe don’t leave him alone with your tools next time,” Din jokes as he hops off the bottom rung of the ladder and heads to his bunk.

“Yeah, yeah,” you shout. “You’re the one who made him play with live wires, so I’m not taking orders from you!”

…

In his bed, Din finally gets some much needed peaceful rest. It seems like he hasn’t screwed things up too badly.

…

For the second night in a row, he has a midnight encounter with his shipmate, but this one isn’t as calm and quiet as the last.

“You look less grumpy,” you tell him as soon as he steps out of his bunk. “Finally get some sleep?”

“I wasn’t grumpy.” He looks down at you laying with your back on your bed, but your legs hanging off with your feet planted on the floor outside the open door. “You’re still up.”

“Yep.” You confirm dryly.

Din rolls his eyes. Now you’re the one forcing him to ask questions. “Why?”

You shrug, not looking at him – your tired eyes are fixed on the ceiling. Not his problem. Not his problem-

Actually, he steps across the hallway and stands over you. It is.

“Maybe it would help if you actually put your legs on the bed ,” he remarks, nudging your shin with his foot. “And took off your shoes.”

“Well, the only time I was able to drift off was when I was laying like this,” you spread your arms out in demonstration. “So I thought I should try it again.”

“ Well ,” Din mimics, “obviously it’s not working.”

You lift your head off the mattress just enough to give him a scowl. “ Obviously .”

“Have you tried counting?” He offers plainly.

Apparently the suggestion wasn’t helpful, because you sigh in frustration and slam your head back down. “Now I’m almost sorry for bugging you about it earlier because I’m realizing how annoying it is!” You take one of your pillows and smush it over your face, muffling your yelling. “I know I can’t sleep, you pointing it out is not helping!” 

Din stomps away to the hull, comes back with a few pieces of armor in need of polishing, and takes a seat on the floor against the doorframe to your bunk. Dipping a rag into a tin of polish, he begins rubbing the surface of a pauldron.

He hears rustling to his right and you must have lifted the pillow off of your face because your voice is no longer muffled. You don’t sound frustrated anymore either. “...What are you doing?” Your voice is quiet and small.

“Polishing.”

Your legs shift slightly and end up touching his knee, probably by accident, but you don’t move them away. Din’s polishing becomes less aggressive and he pauses for a moment to breathe. His hand abandons the rag to brush the backs of his fingers against your ankle, moving gently up your calf and back down. He does this a few more times before returning to his work, not really knowing what possessed him to do it. He has such vague memories of his parents comforting him to sleep as a child, so foggy that they slip away if he tries to grasp at them. Maybe, subconsciously, he remembers what it feels like to have someone there watching over you while you sleep.

He hears some more rustling occasionally, but eventually your breathing becomes even and you stop stirring. He doesn’t look to the side, just down at his armor as he buffs the scrapes out and listens to the steady in and out of your breath. It’s meditative in a way, and when he’s done polishing he stays there for a long while, leaning his head back against your mattress and resting his eyes.

Chapter Text

When you wake, your door is closed and your feet are tucked up in bed under your blanket. You wiggle your toes. No shoes…You hang your head over the edge of the bunk to see that they are lined up neatly under your bed. Confused and groggy, you open the door and there is no Mando to be seen. You blink away the sleep and as soon as you’re coherent, your face heats up and you slam it back down on the pillow. You don’t remember putting yourself in bed properly, so unless you did it in your sleep…

The image of Mando tucking you in is too much for your morning brain to handle. Caffeine, you say to yourself like a mantra. Caffeine, and I’ll feel normal.

After procuring caffeine times-two in the galley, you wander about the ship looking for Mando. You find him with Grogu in the main hull sitting on some storage crates and you wordlessly shove the hot drink into his hands without looking him in the eye. Out of your periphery you see him nod, so you nod back.

Grogu babbles at you in good morning, so you kneel down in front of him and tickle his wrinkly nose. He crinkles it more than it already is and he reaches toward your face, grabbing the tip of your nose. You mirror his funny expression and you both share a laugh.

Other than that, the morning is silent in the hull of the Razor Crest. Partially out of courtesy and partially out of a need not to be seen by him right now, you sit back to back with Mando.

You sip your drink and Mando sips his. At some point you decide to rest your head on his upper back. He stays very still.

Eventually he leaves, carefully letting your head’s weight return to your own shoulders, but he returns shortly with breakfast of some kind of steaming porridge for the three of you and you eat in more silence. You feel him test the weight of his back against yours, so you push back in reassurance and he lets himself relax against you while you do the same. 

You’re grateful for the silence, since you don’t know what conversation to start or how to start it if you did. Mando’s recent tenderness with you was one thing, and his unexplained theory was another. Both have you equally rattled, and him leaving the conversation up to you was not helping with your read on him.

You have to admit that the lack of communication is one of the thrilling aspects about it, in some severely dysfunctional way. You find yourself putting off the conversation in fear of dispelling whatever it is the two of you have going, weighing the pros and cons of being stubborn and letting this thing stay nebulous. You know it will never last that way in the long run, though; you’re not sure how long you can last without having either some words or something…less dependent on words.

When you finish your bowl, you occupy yourself by biting your nails. You want to be delicate about this, but you don’t know how to. Although you’ve gotten this far being rather blunt with him, you reason. And he seems to respond well to honesty. Maybe blunt is the way to go.

The more you think about it the more it sounds right. He had left it to you to bring up, whether out of giving you the power to decide where this goes or out of sadistic tendencies that cause him to be a smart ass — maybe a little bit of both. Either way, you let yourself think that you are the exception when it comes to being allowed to ask Mando questions. You conclude that he wants you to.

…

“You never told me what your theory was.”

“You didn’t ask,” Mando says matter-of-factly.

The two of you sit in the cockpit of the Crest, flying through hyperspace toward your next stop. 

You don’t ask the real question yet. “Did you get the answer you were looking for?”

He tilts his head, taking a moment to mull it over before deciding. “Yes.” He directs his attention forward again, not elaborating at all. He busies himself with the controls, nonchalantly checking the flight plan.

Smart ass. He’s not going to settle for anything short of direct. Or, he just wants you to torture yourself wondering.

To spite him you want to forget about it, to push it from your mind and not let him play you like this. But he can’t read minds — as far as you know — so you indulge yourself in some torture.

You heard so little of his unfiltered voice, but that only makes you crave more of it. Mando is cocky and insufferably unbothered, but you thought you heard a little bit of uncertainty there that night that would otherwise not make it through the modulator. It’s a dangerous line of thinking to focus on the intimacy of the moment. He told you himself that he had an ulterior motive to what he was doing, and you can’t let yourself think it was driven by anything else. Regardless of the heat in your belly you felt when he stepped too close to you, your understanding of him reminds you it was simply him letting you know he had the upper hand. Nothing more. 

…But the helmet coming off is what lets you doubt that. Such an act from him, even with your eyes closed, is one of vulnerability despite the obvious power play. With one action he gave you equal power, if not more; power to betray him so easily. Out of honor, you would never cross that line. You think he knows that too, but it’s a risk for him nonetheless. You wonder when he had last done that with another person, if at all since he swore his oath. You grapple with the new definition of him in your head, mentally adding to the list of things you know to be true or possible. Your skin tingles remembering the feel of his scruffy facial hair — the only fact about his face you know, other than the tone of his skin.

You realize that you have been looking at his profile for an indeterminate amount of time and feel a twinge of embarrassment. He lets you stew in your thoughts without so much as a glance, visor pinned straight ahead into the stars. With how still his body is, he could be sleeping.

Acting out of character, he breaks the silence by thinking out loud. “You’ve been quieter than usual.”

“I thought you liked quiet,” you point out easily. “Is that your way of saying I’m usually annoying?”

Mando tilts his head to the side as if to say, you said it, not me. You huff out a laugh and swat his arm without any real malice. He doesn’t react, simply fixes his gaze on you in more of a sincere manner — at least, it feels that way somehow.

“Did I…make you uncomfortable?” His voice has a sweetness to it that you usually only hear when he talks to the child.

You note the hesitation in his question, obviously being out of his element. He was so sure of himself yesterday. “Never did I think you would second guess yourself, Mando,” you tease, trying simultaneously to ease the air of sincerity and let him know you’re okay.

“Didn’t say I was.” He looks relieved in some capacity, regaining his effortless ‘cool guy’ countenance as he rotates a few degrees toward you, crosses his arms, and levels you with a more dramatic head tilt than you’re used to. “Just checking.”

You nod and stare at him for a moment, expecting him to turn back around like he normally would when a conversation reaches this point. He doesn’t.

You burn under his stare, getting a sense of deja vu at him pinning you there with just his attention. 

“Ask me.” 

It’s no use playing coy at this point, and you’d be lying to his face if you acted like you weren’t desperate to know. Barreling past your embarrassment, you meet his gaze and cross your arms, mirroring his attitude. “Alright. What exactly was the theory that led to you pinning me against a wall the other night?”

“My theory,” he starts, swiveling his chair the rest of the way around to face his body towards you, feet planted wide, “Was that you would allow me do anything to you, no questions asked.”

The way he says ‘to you’ makes you shiver, two small words holding a sense of possessiveness. He has no right, you think, but somewhere inside of you a match is struck.

“So I’m just supposed to blindly follow orders, without thoughts or concerns of my own?” You retort hotly, not wanting to remember that you had confirmed his theory without even knowing what he was testing. Quickly and eagerly, at that.

The fact that you did means Mando doesn’t even have to respond to prove his point. All he does is swivel back around. 

“Brainless, spineless,” you prattle on, trying to salvage some dignity even though you both know that’s not what he meant. “Yeah, Mando, that’s exactly what I’ll be for you. Is that what you want?”

He stills, taking a moment to breathe evenly before standing up and taking two measured steps toward you in the co-pilot seat. “What I want?” His voice is deceptively casual.

You clench your jaw. He’s standing over you, not quite menacingly, but still in a way that makes you instinctually nervous.

“You misunderstand. I can’t force you to bend to my will, nor do I want to. I want you to choose.” He leans forward from his hips, his hands dropping to the arm rests of your chair to box you in. “To give your trust freely because you want to.”

You stare into his visor from inches away, not wanting to lean back and relent so easily this time. In a moment of bravery, you reach a hand up and grip the bottom edge of his helmet between your thumb and pointer finger. He stays eerily still. 

You recall the stillness of the moment just after he had removed his helmet before, a sacredness to it that touched you more than you let on to him in the moment. Now you try to.

You rub your thumb in circles on the beskar covering his chin. “Why did you? I didn’t ask for that level of trust from you.”

“And yet you have it.” His voice mirrors the softness of yours and you inhale, chest tightening at the simple devotion in his words.

“Why?” You ask again persistently.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” If you weren’t mistaken, he sounds a little bit amazed himself.

He puts his weight on one arm so he can lift the other hand toward your face. You intercept it and slide a finger underneath his glove, pausing just long enough to give him an out. He doesn’t take it, so you watch intently as you pull the glove off. It feels like you’re undressing him, which by definition you are, and the thought makes your cheeks warm.

Finally his fingers are on your cheek and he shudders almost imperceptibly at the skin to skin contact. With a sigh, he lets his head fall forward. “Since I swore the creed, I have never desired to test its limits like I do now.”

You’re too stunned at his plain admission to respond. He’s been starved.

“It frightens me, wanting that. It should feel wrong.”

But… Your brain fills in.

You look straight into where his eyes would be, then purposely close your own, a silent invitation and promise. He wraps his other hand over yours, which still holds the bottom of his helmet, and guides you to lift it up.

Both of his hands leave you as he sets it aside and you keep your hand hovering where he left it. Then, there is a weight leaning into your palm and your heart stutters when you feel scruff. He lets out a shaky sigh and you circle your thumb on his chin like you had just done, but without the barrier.

You catch his bottom lip, soft and pliant. Damp breath warms the tip of your thumb as you carefully explore his top lip now, where more scuff encroaches.

Kisses on the pad of your thumb trail down to your palm and Mando practically nuzzles into it. Open-mouthed kisses on the inside of your wrist have you holding your breath. Out of surprise your fingers flex awkwardly but they quickly find the side of his face with more purpose this time, finding little sweaty curls of hair around his ear. Following this lead, you find more hair and you sink your fingers in, needing to maximize the surface area of your hand pressing flush to him. You pull him closer, needing more something.

Mando, ever the mind-reader it seems, grabs your other hand and lays it against the side of his neck, allowing you to pull him the rest of the way down to you. There’s the sound of him kneeling on the floor, then the feeling of his hand leaving yours only for it to reappear on the top of your thigh. His head now level with your chest, you let your hands drift around the back of his neck.

Both hands on your thighs now, you note through a sudden bout of lightheadedness. You try to regulate your breathing and Mando buries his face into your chest, which oddly helps. He breaths in deeply as your chest swells, and the weight of his head guides your breath back out.

You feel a low buzz through your chest as he hums wantonly and buries deeper. He grips your thighs like he is bracing himself. You’re doing everything you can to hold back any embarrassing noises you feel coming on, but with him savoring you unashamedly it’s a losing battle. His head moves lower and he kisses your abdomen through your shirt, and your head falls back against the seat. Warm, firm hands slide up to your hip bones and from there, wrap around to hold your hips and massage with his thumbs. His head now practically in your lap, it’s getting increasingly warm down there and it’s hard to bear.

“Wh-,” you try to start. A breath later you try again. “Whatcha doin’ down there?”

“What I normally can’t,” he explains poorly. Is it ever a straight answer with him?

His voice is so soft and human, with a desperate edge to it that only stokes your fire. You curse him for making it that much harder to try to put out.

“As much as I like the idea of you on your knees,” you laugh breathlessly, “I don’t even know your name, Mando.”

At that he rests his forehead fully on your lap and eases his grip on your thighs. He breathes in and out, then in again. Against your leg he utters a one-syllable something, but it’s too muffled to make out.

“Didn’t catch that,” you laugh again.

“Din,” he says clearly this time, lifting his head.

“...What?”

“My name,” he clarifies. “Din Djarin.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean you had to-,” you stop yourself, smiling and nodding once in acceptance. “Din.”

It feels nice, knowing him like this. Comfortable. It’s just a name, but not really for him; telling you makes for one less barrier, and barriers are how Mando functions. How Din functions could very well be a different thing entirely. He’s given you glimpses of it, and you have to admit you’re more than a little bit intrigued.

You ghost your fingertips up from his neck to his jaw, testing how far he’ll let you go.

He doesn’t stop you, so you proceed, feeling around the perimeter of his face, then over his cheeks, the outward slope of his nose, his brow, his closed eyes. You bring his face closer to rest forehead to forehead. “Din,” you say again, cementing it as part of his identity to you.

Din draws in a sharp breath and then exhales a chuckle. “That will take some getting used to.”

You kiss his forehead innocently like he had done to you the day before, but when your lips touch him they don’t want to leave. Your lips move against his skin to kiss his temple and whisper against his ear, “Is this…okay?”

When he doesn’t respond right away, you say his name again, prompting him to nod quickly like he had forgotten to respond before. You drag another kiss below his ear and another at the corner of his jaw. His hands move up your waist and your noses brush as you move to the other side of his face, mirroring your kisses.

“Din,” you mumble against the warmth of his skin. He shivers.

All you hear are your breaths and the low hum of the ship as you slow down, not wanting to overwhelm him or yourself.

“Keep going,” Din utters, his voice husky.

With your eyes closed your aim is a bit off, so you accidentally catch the corner of his lip when you only meant to kiss his cheek. It surprises you, but you don’t shy away. You let your lips linger flirtily before pulling away, acting like it was intentional. This seems to drive him up the wall, because his lips somehow immediately find yours perfectly. You remember for a moment that he doesn’t have to keep his eyes closed like you, until your memory stops functioning all together. All you know is his tongue on your bottom lip.

He groans against your mouth and you feel like melting. For the sake of being able to keep kissing him, you hold it together. It’s a little messy but it’s the best, most gratifying kiss you have ever been on the receiving end of. With one hand on your waist and the other at the back of your neck, angling your head just right, Din quite literally kisses you senseless. You don’t know what got into him but you don’t want him to stop-

But it’s over all too soon and his forehead is back against yours. His breath still tickles your lips.

When your brain function returns you finally have a moment to be surprised. Mando’s — Din’s — kiss is much sweeter than you thought it would be, which seems to be a theme with him. 

Another theme has been leaving you high and dry just when things start to get interesting. You hope that the time for him to step away and put his helmet back on hasn’t come yet, so you keep hold of him by his hair.

“Don’t go just yet,” you tell him in a whisper.

“I wasn’t going to,” he counters, hands settling at your shoulder blades.

“But you will,” you point out.

“…At some point.” But he doesn’t move yet.

You smile shyly, which is a foreign feeling for you. But you know he’s watching you intently and you can’t look intently back, so yes — you feel shy. “…Thank you.”

“For…kissing you?” He chuckles cutely.

“That,” you share in his laugh before clarifying, “and for trusting me with your name. And this.” You bring one of your hands to gently explore his face to signify what you mean.

You’re not sure why he allowed it or if he even should by his practice, but he did regardless. From what he said before, you can only assume that he is at as much of a loss as you.

…

The aftermath of your kiss wasn’t as awkward as you thought it would be. The tension that’s there is a good kind, even as you go about your normal activities. The two of you are no closer than usual, no more talkative than usual, but there’s something there. Something that keeps making you smile when you’re not meaning to, and something that makes Mando keep looking at your lips. His eyeline is just slightly too low to think that he isn’t, and sometimes it goes even lower. Every time you catch him, you roll your eyes. 

He really is just a man.

There is no way he’s trying to be subtle, with the amount of times you’ve noticed. Does he have no shame? About this particular thing, apparently not.

And neither do you. If a couple buttons on your shirt have come loose from your busy work, it’s hardly your fault. 

Chapter Text

Din had picked the planet of Berchest for your pit-stop, a touristy trade world just off of the Hydian Way in the Inner Rim. Supposedly it is known for its beauty.

Beauty, it turns out, is an understatement; the planet is covered in brilliant crystal deposits towering over foamy cyan seas, and you quite literally have never seen anything like it. You haven’t even seen this much water all in one place, for that matter. The surface is sparkling everywhere you look, a drastic change of pace from Nevarro and Corvus. It’s not until you begin the descent that you realize that some of the largest crystal formations have been carved into intricate cities by the inhabitants.

You barely give the Crest any time to deploy the landing gear before you’re hopping off to breathe in the salty air and listen to the distant crashing of the waves against the craggy shore below. Looking around you see that you have landed on a flattened section of crystal you assume is a runway perched on top of a leaning cliff, overlooking the vast ocean.

A polite-looking individual with runes tattooed onto their forehead approaches.

“Welcome to Calius saj Leeloo, the City of Glowing Crystal. What brings you here?” They inquire, hands politely tucked into their robes. “Business or pleasure?”

“A bit of both,” you reply. A short exchange with the person informs you of resorts and natural bathing pools along the coast of the Leefari sea, which are a popular tourist attraction. You raise your eyebrows at Mando as he makes his way off the ship.

“How convenient, huh Mando?”

All he does is shrug and say, “Peaceful and good trading. Seemed like the best option to stay out of trouble.”

You smile and turn toward the gate to the city. “I am so looking forward to those bathing pools…”

…

“Did you know that this city is one of the Twenty Wonders of the Galaxy?” You flip through a pamphlet you picked up on the way into the city. “I can see why.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Din admits. 

“You said there’s good trading, yeah? I’ve got a list of parts we need.” Beside you Din nods and you keep idly thumbing through the pamphlet as you walk. You reach a page depicting an impressive waterfall in a simple, graphic illustration that advertises the planet’s natural water features and the benefits they provide.

“Did you know that the water here is the densest in the galaxy due to its mineral content?”

Din nudges your arm, which causes you to stop and look up. You recognise what you see because it’s the waterfall from the pamphlet, only much more impressive than the illustration gives it credit for. It acts as a centerpiece of the city, a wide open plaza with shops and restaurants surrounding it in a large half circle flanking the cliff. You blink and look around, taking it all in, and stuff the pamphlet in your pocket.

“Eyes up,” Din teases.

He pats you on the upper back and starts toward a line of connected shops, leaving you to catch up to him.

The two of you start at one corner against the cliff and make your way all around the half-circle through every shop, arms now fully loaded with supplies. You’ve landed yourselves around the backside of the waterfall, where there is a quiet viewing area shaded from the afternoon sun. After having been on your feet for quite a while, you suddenly realise your fatigue when you plop down on a crystal bench.

You take inventory of everything you got and start to fiddle with some ship parts, mentally fitting them into the Razor Crest and planning what you should get done while you’re on solid ground.

Din leisurely catches up to you and pauses before sitting down beside you. A tiny yawn comes from his satchel.

“I think that one needs a proper nap.” You reach over and lift open the satchel to look at the sleepy little creature. Just looking at him fills you with the same feeling of sleepiness. “And after doing my job,” you speak through a yawn, “I’ll need a proper bath.” 

Din stretches back and kicks a foot over the other. His head dips for a moment and a strange sound comes from his voice modulator.

“Was that a yawn?”

He links his hands behind his head and looks down at you. You smirk at him and he motions his head in the direction out of the city questioningly.

Without another word, you haul yourself back onto your feet and walk, listening to make sure Din follows.

…

Din sits against the landing supports with his legs stretched in front of him, one foot over the other in classic fashion. Idly he watches you go in and out, tuning up this and replacing that. Every time you walk by you know he’s watching, so you feel the need to say a little useless something about what part you’re working on now.

”Synced the repulsor grilles, hopefully she won’t still favor the right side.”

Every time he just continues quietly observing. You think he might have drifted off at one point or two, but any time you think he has a slight move of his head gives him away.

When you’ve checked off everything on your to-do list, you wipe your brow and tidy yourself up as much as you can. Toweling off the oil and grease, combing through your hair, and changing into a cleaner, looser set of clothes.

Back outside the ship, you stand over Din to check if he’s awake. His head tilts up toward you before you get the chance to poke him, so yes.

Grogu is cozily shut away in his pram, which hovers at Din’s side. He’s been more protective than usual lately, not letting him stray too far from either of you. “Still sleeping,” Din says in a quiet tone, though it probably isn’t necessary. That kid could sleep through anything.

You smile and extend a hand down to him. ”All done and ready for the bath you promised me.” You’ve gotten used to his moments of silence where he just stares blankly at you, so you keep your hand extended. He does take it, but it’s more of a formality because he doesn’t let you take any of his weight as he stands.

He doesn’t let go. Instead, he flips your hands so that he’s the one holding yours. Always has to have the upper hand, you joke to yourself. Literally.

You flip them back over. Your eyebrow raise is met with his head tilt. This has somehow become a standoff and he’s the lucky one with the mask. You’re about to break. In an effort to maintain your cool factor for once, you give his hand a tug to drag him toward the city, but he doesn’t budge and now you’re awkwardly losing your balance because you accounted for his weight. 

With the most smug non-reaction possible, Din tightens his grip on your hand and steadies you. You scowl as he lets go and starts walking, but you follow anyway.

I’m getting that damn bath.

…

“Most of the bathing pools are communal,” the receptionist explains. “But we do have a small amount of private rooms that are typically booked in advance.” They have not yet made eye contact with either one of you since you inquired about a private pool.

With his arms crossed, Din just stares.

The worker finally looks up and startles slightly when they see a Mandalorian. You smile at them awkwardly and they glance between the two of you, appearing to grow more nervous the longer Mando simply stands there.

“O-oh, look! I happen to have one double suite open. Follow me!”

One…double suite? 

…

Standing in front of your respective doors, you glance sideways at Din with concern as they slide open. He shrugs minutely and disappears into his side of the suite.

As soon as you step into the room, you are greeted with a bathing pool that stretches wall to wall, with the absence of a fourth wall across from you creating an overlook onto the pristine ocean. The cave seems to be inset into the sheer face of the cliff, high up above the waves.

The seashore below is dotted with tide pools. You watch in awe as the waves rush in and fill the pools with fresh foam before retreating, leaving water sloshing against its walls of crystal. The water left behind in the pools is dense and foggy, enriched with minerals, while the water that pulls away is as clear as glass.

Some of the pools on the higher elevations are out of reach from the tide at the moment, like your own, leaving them calm like bath water. You shiver at the thought of getting clean in it, washing away the sweat and grime of the last- when was the last time you bathed? You don’t want to think about that.

Yours is actually one of two small pools separated by a thin, gentle waterfall emanating from the ceiling, and by a wall of crystal that meets the waterfall halfway. When the water hits the crystal, it splits into two and slides down the faces of the wall, feeding each pool. You’re stunned by how quiet it is, with the smooth crystal easing the waterfall into the pool with no splashing. The pool is filled to the brim and overflows down the opening in the cliffside.

You can make out Mando’s distorted silhouette through the seamless screen of water, but it’s interrupted when his hand cuts through it and creates a small window.

You peek through at him. “Is this private enough for you, Mando?”

“Don’t peek and I won’t.”

“Deal,” you agree and wave goodbye as he removes his hand and restores the privacy screen.

As you peel off your clothes that stick to you in the humid air, you try not to pay attention to the sounds of Mando undressing on the other side. When all of your garments are on the floor, you notice a smaller waterfall near the entrance that collects in a basin and drains away. After rinsing away all of your visible grime under it, you waste no time stepping into the pool.

The water is a pleasant temperature, about the same as your body so there is no moment of shock. You fully submerge and when you come back up, you begin scrubbing at all the rest of the unpleasantness on your body. As it is washed away, your skin starts feeling softer and your washing becomes more slow and gentle. You savor the feeling of being clean.

Only the sounds of sloshing water fill the air as the both of you bathe.

As relaxing as the bath is, you can’t stop thinking about him just on the other side of the wall. That, and your kiss. And what could’ve happened before, if you didn’t stop him like an idiot.

Eventually when you can’t stand not addressing his presence anymore, you start thinking out loud. 

“I, um, didn’t mean to interrupt you the other night before we…” Your voice bounces off the walls of the cave. “...You know.”

Din doesn’t ask you to clarify, but the water has stopped sloshing on his side so you know he’s listening.

“It’s not that I didn’t like where it was going,” you lower the volume of your voice to reduce the echo and wade closer to the shared wall. “I did. Very much.”

You look around at the ceiling as if it would make his response come faster. “Just letting you know in case you wanted to pick up where you left off sometime.”

When there is still no proof of life from the other side of the wall, you lean back against the smooth crystal and sigh. “Din, it would be nice if you could respond, so I know you didn’t drown over there or something.” You work at the calf muscles in one leg and grunt at the ache.

“That’s-“ He finally starts. Your ears pick up on the displacement of water, and he sounds closer when he finishes his thought.  “-Good to know.”

It’s quiet while you rub up your leg to your thigh muscle, until he speaks up again. “Where did you think it was going, exactly?”

He sounds teasing, so you play dumb. “How should I know? My eyes were closed,” you remark and move onto the other leg.

“Come on.” He’s not buying into it. He sighs as he leans against his side of the wall, right behind you.

“You know.” You argue, not wanting to clarify.

“I want to hear you say it.”

“Say what?”

“You know,” he says this time.

Frustrated, you sink into the water up to your chin to pout. “If it’s going to be like this, we’re never going to get anywhere.”

“You want to get somewhere?”

“Maybe.” You’re trying to figure out where he’s going with this. “You?”

“Maybe.” He says it like he’s playing a game of Sabacc, trying not to reveal his hand.

You roll your eyes. “Is your version of flirting just repeating everything I say?”

“Who said I was flirting?”

“Me. Keep up, Mando.” You smirk to yourself as you glide your hands up and down your arms.

He chuckles. “Confident.”

“If you’re not flirting, I’ll take back the offer of picking up where we left off.” Your head rolls as you rub at your shoulders and neck.

“Do you really want to do that?” His voice is husky and not at all convinced by your bluff.

“Of course not, Din,” you huff softly, suddenly losing your will to play this game of cat and mouse.

There’s an intake of breath from Din’s side.

“Not used to hearing your name yet?” You chuckle at how one syllable can make him falter. “Din,” You get his attention once more.

“Hm?”

“Are you going to do something or are you going to make me?”

Din considers this for long enough that you almost give up hope of an answer. “How about both?”

It takes you more than a moment to piece together what he’s implying. “You mean…”

“I think we’re both pent up.”

Your lips go slack. You’re trying to find your words, but all you can focus on are his. Pent. Up.

“Mmm.” It’s very nearly a moan, and it’s the final piece that makes it click into place for you.

“Oh,” your eyes widen and your cheeks flush in realization. Fingers come up to your parted lips as you listen intently. You pick up on Din’s breathing and the slight shake to it.

With your other hand, you slick your hair out of your face with the salty water. Your fingers glide through it, past the water’s surface and down to your chest. The water feels cool against your suddenly hot skin and you shiver as you rise up again. You return to laying back against the wall, baring your chest to the air and feeling the drizzle of water down your back.

Right behind you, Din’s breathing takes on a low tone as he quietly ‘mmm’s and ‘aah’s.

You tilt your head against the wall. “How are you gonna ‘make me’ from all the way over there, huh?”

Your fingers slide down your stomach to between your legs, where you’re the most pent up. You hum into the palm of your hand as the other one provides some much needed friction.

“I think I already have.” You can hear the smirk framing his ragged voice and it makes you have to bite your hand. When you don’t confirm or deny, he asks, “Is that right?”

“Mmhmm,” you nod and let your hand fall to put it to good use, biting your lip instead.

“What was that?”

Your bottom lip slips from your teeth and your mouth falls open. “Yes,” you let out clearly this time, and a few weak moans escape.

“There it is,” he breathes with a desperate edge.

You want more so you let the languid circling of your fingers become firmer, not picking up the pace just yet. Cheek pressed against the crystal wall, water splits into rivulets around your face.

It’s too much, but not even close to enough. You whine frustratedly, trying not to lose control too quickly. 

You try to focus on Din’s breathing from the other side, letting everything else take a backseat. He sounds utterly undone. His breath is irregular now, catching every other moment with whimpers woven in between. Is this really happening?

Listening in awe at his loss of all composure…it’s almost too delicious to be true. It sends you dangerously close to the edge, so you force your hands to pause. Only in this sudden absence do you notice how your body is practically buzzing in anticipation.

Breathe, you remind yourself. The problem with doing that is your lack of control of certain sounds that may come out, which fills you with embarrassment. Pros and cons of breathing…

“Get out of your head,” Din’s voice breaks through your thoughts.

“How did you know?” You mumble against the wall.

“You got quiet.” A pause. “I need to hear what you’re feeling.”

“I’m feeling...” …Like I am going to electrocute myself in this water.  “...like I don’t want this to end too soon,” you admit with a smile.

Din chuckles and thunks his head against the wall. “You’re holding back,” he concludes. “Don’t.”

You shudder at his implication. Embarrassment bubbles up in your chest again, but you’re too far gone to care. You let your hands take back control, uninhibited.

Only a few motions put you right back on the precipice. If before you were strung tight trying to keep yourself from release, now you have completely let go and relinquished yourself to the feeling, and Din can hear it. He sounds like he’s not far from the edge himself.

When it finally happens it’s a wave crash. The aftershocks lap up in its wake, gently ebbing and flowing as they wane in strength.

Each of you riding out your pleasures in your own time, you both let the waves roll out until only stillness remains. As your breathing returns to normal you roll your head to the side and notice that the sky has taken on a purple hue, reflecting off the ocean and flooding the room with the color. The sun is setting, and your bliss-filled brain cannot shake a sickeningly sweet idea.

“Care to go for a walk on the beach?”

…

The sand on the shore is not really sand at all — at least, not the kind you’re used to. It’s made up of tiny crystals that crunch under your bare feet. 

Din’s boots crunch alongside, keeping your unhurried pace. Grogu waddles along too, freshly woken from his nap. He is picking up pieces of smooth, frosty sea glass and turning them around in his fingers.

“That was nice,” you muse out loud.

Crunch, crunch. 

It was nice. You’re still riding the high from it, but each step that Din does not acknowledge your presence brings you back down little by little.

You don’t have to take your gaze away from your feet to know that he is stewing in his thoughts. You sense a jumble of emotions plaguing his aura; uncertainty, gratification, desire, guilt, and a tinge of…regret? 

You shake your head. Your subconscious is putting these thoughts in your head because you don’t know how he feels. I can’t possibly know, because he hasn’t said a single thing. Sneaking a glance over at him, what you see should completely disprove your suspicions. He doesn’t look particularly reserved or even tense. In fact this may be the most at ease you’ve ever seen him, even compared to when you’d given him a massage. Physically, he is the image of peace.

If he has any issues, they’re contained to his mind.

At some point when the sky is at the peak of its color, you slow to a stop and turn back around. It will only get darker and grayer from here, so it’s best to head back to the ship.

Din stops with you but doesn’t turn around right away. Knowing he’ll follow, you start the walk back but can’t help but look over your shoulder.

Inside of you a tiny coil of tension releases and you can breathe right. He’s looking at me again. When did you get so reliant on his attention? 

His visor is all purples and pinks in the sunset and his aura suddenly doesn’t seem so jumbled for the moment. Just…Longing. Like a magnet.

But maybe that’s just you.

You walk a couple more steps to test the strength of the magnetic pull. Lo and behold, Din follows.

Chapter Text

Berchest was roughly halfway along the journey to Tython, so by now there are less than three days of travel left. The last stretch.

Din slept more than he thought he would that night. Maybe it was the release. Even though he had far too much to unpack mentally, sleep overtook him as soon as his head hit the bed. This meant he was left to deal with it all in the dark hours of the morning. However, everything was dark in space, so the time didn’t make much of a difference. He layed staring at the ceiling for an indeterminate while, pondering things like:

Had he broken his oath? Was feeling his face with your hands akin to seeing it with your eyes? Did rationalizing loopholes mean he had strayed too far regardless? He still hadn’t come to a conclusion after two nights. 

When he got tired of this, he put on his helmet and opened the door to sit on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees and Grogu now awake at his feet. 

Here, Din ached over the fact that the events of the last two days had left him wanting even more, among many other conflicting feelings.

Regret isn’t quite the word. He doesn’t regret said events, he more regrets the floodgates they opened. He shouldn’t have gotten a taste that he knew wouldn’t be enough. If he hadn’t, it might be easier to keep living his life without it. But now that he has, he thinks he shouldn’t regret it at all, that it opened his eyes to something he should be able to have. Something he wants to have.

Now he was left with thoughts of risking it all — his oath, his way of life — because playing it safe is agonizing. 

“In a gambling mood, Mando?”

Din blinks. “What?”

Your hands appear in his line of sight and splay a deck of cards, blocking his view of the metal floor. He hadn’t noticed you come out of your bunk.

“Classic Sabacc. No shift, no interference shield — just regular cards.”

Din pushed up from resting on his knees to stretch his neck and shoulders. “It’s morning.”

“No gambling before ten? Is that a Mandalorian rule?” You lean on one hip.

Din sighs. He could use a distraction. “What’re the stakes? I’m a bit low on disposable funds right now.”

“Too much unpaid hero work and not enough bounties?” You smile teasingly. There’s something in the way you’re fiddling with the cards that makes Din think you have an agenda of some kind.

He sighs. “What do you want?”

“Right to the point,” you laugh sheepishly, caught red-handed.

Din could think of a million and one things he wants you to want. More of what you did yesterday, for one. Or, something more entirely. Things he hasn’t done. His mind starts to wander.

“Well…” you start nervously.

His mouth on your jaw, your ear, your neck.

“I was thinking…”

His hands gripping your bare waist, hips, legs.

“I want you to give me flying lessons,” you finally blurt out.

His-

Huh.

Before Din can say no, you start listing off reasons why he should, but he’s mostly tuning it out. 

His first instinct is to say no. With anyone else, he would. Actually, with most people, he wouldn’t even get to “no” before simply walking away. Teaching anyone anything is time consuming and frustrating, especially for someone who asks a lot of questions. And he didn’t consider himself to be a good teacher anyway. He’s a firm believer in learning by doing. By that logic, for you to learn to fly the Crest, he would have to let you fly the Crest. The picture fills him with uncertainty. 

However, it does make sense for emergency purposes. If you’re going to live on a ship like this you should know how to fly it, especially when the only other thing on board can’t even reach all the controls when sitting on them. And you’ve proven to know your way around the ship in all other aspects.

“Alright.” Din decides with a short nod. Judging by your open mouth, he cut you off mid-ramble.

“Really?” You looked surprised but hopeful. Din feels his heart rate pick up for a moment.

He nods again.

“What about you, huh? What do you want if you win?”

His mind betrays him again immediately. Asking for anything of a physical nature would be coercion. If you wanted to do anything of the like, he wouldn’t have to use a bet to get it. He smiles at the thought and thinks he should tease you anyway.

“I’ll think about it.”

“No, no, no. I’m not playing when I don’t know what the stakes are. You can’t just choose anything after you’ve already won-,” you hold up a finger. “-If you win.”

“Then what do you want to give?”

You turn your head to hide a violent blush from Din, although he still got a glimpse. “Not mechanic lessons, that’s for sure. Can’t go giving up my job security.” You take a sidelong glance at him, idly shuffling the cards in thought.

Mando rubs at his neck, realizing he had been hunched over in the same position for too long. He pops his neck on one side, then the other, and catches you still watching him. His neck feels warm.

“How about another massage?”

Din hums. “…I can live with that.” 

“Alright.” You stick your hand out to shake on it. Din lets it hang there as he gears himself up to take it. You haven’t touched at all since before the bath. When he finally takes it, you give his hand a firm shake and let go before he even has the chance to savor it. With you, it’s never enough. “What are we playing to?”

Din shrugs, still feeling a bit tight in the shoulders. “Keep playing and we’ll keep sweetening the pot. Either one of us can bow out when we’re satisfied.”

“Better go find some makeshift chips then.” You head off to rummage around in the other areas of the ship. Grogu attempts to follow you, but he doesn’t get far before you are already coming back with a storage crate, some nuts and bolts, a pot of caf, and two cups. The crate is plopped on the floor and you slide it with your foot between the two of you. You sit down on your knees, so Din slides off of his bunk and joins you on the cold floor, taking the job of pouring the steaming drinks. 

The kid plops down as well, eyes portraying his curiosity about what’s going on. He watches the ‘chips’ get split evenly between the two of you.

“One chip is half an hour of flight lessons, or half an hour of massages.” You put one chip down to ‘buy in’ and start the sabacc pot, which will only keep growing the longer the game goes. There’s also the hand pot, which is the bet for a single round. In the end, whoever quits or runs out of chips loses the sabacc pot to the winner.

Din starts by putting the same into the pot, and you begin dealing the cards. Two each.

The game is a simple one: Get your hand as close to a total of 23 or -23 as possible without going over. Each player draws one or more cards from the deck, and then has the option to swap one card in their hand for another. Just one turn to determine a round’s winner.

When you slap down his second card, he picks them up to see what he’s working with, keeping them low and tilted down:

An Ace of Sabers and The Evil One — worth 15 and -15 respectively, putting him right back down to 0. He cracks a smile at the odds. 

“Ooh, someone got a good card,” you tease, watching him. “Ace? Master?” 

Din drops the smile like you can see it, quirking an eyebrow instead. “The dealer speculating isn’t a good look.”

“I didn’t peek at them,” you assure, keeping your eyes to your own cards now. “That’d be cheating. Your turn first.” You set down your hand and wait for him to draw, taking a sip of caf.

Din’s unfortunate start doesn’t get much better as he draws small cards back to back to back; 2 of Coins; 4 of Flasks; 3 of Staves. He’s at a 9 with The Evil One, and 24 without — which would be a bomb out, so discarding that is off the table.

He tilts his head down as he takes a sip from his own cup. Another draw it is.

3 of Flasks.

Out of his periphery, Din sees your eyes narrow, studying him. “What do you need all those cards for if you’ve got an Ace?” You ask with a smug look, likely trying to gauge how his bluff is.

Even knowing that, Din can’t help but respond to you instead of playing it silent like he usually would. “You don’t know what I have.” He reaches for the deck again.

5 of Sabers.

You crinkle your eyes like your suspicions were just confirmed. “Drawing so many usually isn’t a good thing. You’ve gotta have a negative that’s keeping you from bombing out, so can’t swap that,” you bite your lip. “You’re getting close with a lot of low cards, but…”

8 of Coins. He pauses.

“...My guess is you’re past the point of no return by now.” You look satisfied with yourself.

25. He went too far. The only way to guarantee bringing his score down is to swap the highest card in the game for something else. Painfully he discards the Ace, hoping to trade it for a Mistress to get him a pure sabacc of exactly 23, but he’d settle for lower if it means not bombing out.

“Swapping out a low one is far too risky, since you’ll likely just get a higher one and still bomb out. Meaning, you had to discard your Ace to play it safe.” 

Din’s hand stalls on the draw deck, but he tries not to give it away. Just who is he playing with?

He pulls the Endurance card — worth -8 and aptly named for his folly this round — which brings him from a 10 point total all the way down to a 2. Not my best hand.

“…Which would leave you pretty low.”

Was this all a ploy to distract him and keep him drawing? Even if it was, it didn’t explain the fact that you were exactly right. What crazy deduction skills had you been hiding from him? Granted you’re very clever, but Din hadn’t known you to be a whiz with numbers and probability. He’s thrown off, to say the least.

“Unless, of course, you drew another big one, but I don’t think you did.”

It’s like you have a complete image of his hand in your head. Instinctually Din tucks his cards lower and closer to his body, as if you really could see them. “Why not?”

You shrug. “Just a hunch. And the fact that you’re being defensive.”

Din relaxes his shoulders and tilts his head like nothing is out of the ordinary. “You assume I’m playing it safe. Strange choice for a bounty hunter,” he disputes into his cup as he takes a few more sips.

As you take your turn, you seem to think this over, clicking your tongue. “When it’s life or death, yeah, you take risks. But this?” You shake your head. “You’re playing to win, so trading in anything other than your Ace is just a stupid move. And you’re not stupid, Mando.” You look up at him when you say this, your eyes seemingly telling him so many things but he can’t make them out, and it ends up being nothing at all.

“All this,” he gestures a hand between them and leans forward, “based on the fact that you thought I got an Ace. What if I didn’t?” 

You pull your eyes away and finish your turn without answering his question. When you’re done, you confidently wager three chips in the hand pot, then look at him expectantly. Now it’s Din’s turn to bet or stand before the hands are revealed.

There is no chance he isn’t going to lose. “Stand.” As a penalty, he puts a chip in the pot.

“Thought so,” you chuckle and take back your bet. “What d’you got?”

Din regards you suspiciously and shows his hand. “2. Are my tells that bad?” With his helmet he should have an advantage, not to mention his stoic nature; his fingers didn’t twitch; his posture didn’t change; he didn’t clear his throat. 

“17. Don’t feel bad, I played Peli,” you explain humorously, laying out your cards face-up. “She once won over 500 credits from this Doctor Mandible guy with an Idiot’s Array.”

Din shrugs. “Luck.” It’s his turn to shuffle and deal, so he leans farther forward into your space and gathers up your cards, then takes the rest of the deck along with it as he settles back.

“Sure,” you concede, like tossing a couple breadcrumbs, “but you gotta have gumption to get there. The goal isn’t to win a single hand, it’s to win the game. And that all comes down to a battle of will. It’s not about the cards, it’s a mind game.” You tap your temple, then toss one chip into the pot.

Din follows suit, then stacks the cards neatly and cuts the stack down the middle. “You certainly have an interesting strategy. That always work?”

You shrug and smile rakishly, a specific smile Din has never seen from you before. “Sixty-forty. Sometimes I’m wrong and look like an idiot, but other times I’m right and I scare people out of the game before they can win back what they put in.” 

“So you got lucky.” Awful lot of luck, he thinks as he bridges the cards and lets them neatly flit back together, doing that a few times over.

“Or you’re just easy to read.” He prefers to be the opposite, which you have to know. Either you’re saying it to grind his gears, or he really is easy to read — to you and only you. He’s not sure which bothers him more.

“You know, card counting can get you shot in some places,” Din warns as he deals the cards.

“There’s a lot of weapons on this ship and you haven’t shot me yet.”

Yet, Din jokes to himself. You are surely testing whatever makes him not want to shoot you. He watches your hands as you draw, tap the tops of your cards in thought, then place them down, apparently deciding not to swap.

He finally looks at his own hand: Commander of Coins, worth 12, and The Star, worth either -17 or -10. One of the best cards in the game.

He draws — 8 of Staves — and takes a moment to think over his next move. His current total is 3 or 10 with The Star, and 21 without. He’s in a similar situation to before and doesn’t want to make the same mistake. Apparently you notice his dilemma because you start trying to make assumptions about his hand again. 

“You must be in a weird spot. Got another really good one you don't want to get rid of?”

Din disregards you. He’s not going to let you get under his skin.

Is keeping The Star worth it? With his other cards, he has to go in the positive direction and it brings his total down quite a bit. However, that seven point buffer is handy for drawing without as much of a risk. He’s too close to 23 for comfort without it, as he’d only be forced to draw another in its place. Considering how he had gone too far last round…Discarding The Star would be a mistake.

“Don’t tell me you got The Star,” you joke offhandedly, and it yanks Din out of his thoughts.

He just stares at you. Something isn’t right. His eyebrows draw together. His first instinct would be that you’ve rigged the game somehow, but- no, that’s not you.

And the way you’ve been staring at him…

“Oh it is, isn’t it?” Your eyes are twinkling with knowing.

…It reminds him of a silent conversation had in a forest clearing.

“That’s a risky guess.” His voice is flat and dark. Din is coming to a conclusion he’s not sure he likes. He needs to focus on the game.

He draws a 6 of Flasks. 9 or 16.

Now he needs a 7 or a Master for 23. The Star gives him a higher chance of drawing something that gets him a pure sabacc, and an even higher chance of getting close. After drawing an 11 of Staves, Din ends his turn there without swapping. He tries to suppress any reaction whatsoever, although that may be futile if it’s not his physical tells you’re reading.

Ahsoka showed him that it’s not impossible to read minds. Surely that would be considered cheating. Would you even realize you’re doing it? If not, maybe it could be mistaken for just a thought of your own.

Din looks at you as he wagers four chips.

You raise your eyebrows, match his bet, then lay down your cards. “18.”

“20.” He does the same.

For a moment it’s silent. Your eyes are fixed on his cards, and Din’s on you. The only sound is the clinking of bolts as he collects his winnings. 

“Wanna bow out while you’re ahead?” You start gathering the cards. “This is usually where the weakest would call it.”

Din deliberately toys with the bolts in his hand. “Not me.” He thinks you can feel his intense stare because you give him a strange amused look.

You’re too confident, and none the wiser of what you’re doing. He’s impatient, so he raises the stakes and throws two chips into the sabacc pot, which you have to match. The rounds were taking too long and he wanted to speed things up.

Two more rounds yields a win for each of you. Though you’re evenly matched, Din is still slightly ahead in terms of chips for now. You stopped trying to call his hand, but you hadn’t left behind your smugness from being right against the odds.

“Hope you won’t miss those flight lessons too much.” Din goads as round five proceeds. 

You smirk. “You can always give yourself a massage.” He’s not sure if you intended for a double meaning.

“Not as good as the real thing,” Din counters. Satisfaction fills his chest when your cheeks flush.

“I imagine not.” You muse, eyeing him up and down. If you didn’t intend a suggestive meaning before, you definitely did now.

Din wins this round again, but only barely. He collects the hand pot and glances at the larger pot, which is growing slowly but surely.

The rounds go by and Din loses count of the score, one of you never staying in the lead for long. The hand pot is essentially just being exchanged back and forth. Neither of you have many chips left after contributing to the larger pot each round, so you’re playing it safe with small bets, losing some then gaining it right back. It really is just a mind game at this point. Who can last at a pointless game the longest?

Din has one knee up and the other leg out comfortably to the side. His arm is propped up on his knee as he studies you. You had come out of the gate guns blazing the first few rounds, but now you’ve taken a more subdued approach. The long game.

At some point you had slid your legs out from under you and put them out wide on either side of the crate. Unexpectedly, Din feels one of your feet start to play games with his and he takes in a sharp, involuntary breath. He holds it in his chest for a moment, trying not to give you the satisfaction. Then, your foot draws a line up over his boot and grazes his leg, making him shiver slightly. He knows you heard it in his breath out.

“You okay, dealer?”

Right. He has to deal.

You’re throwing him off his game — or trying to. It might be working. He counts each card to focus his mind. One, one. Two, two.

It’s your turn first. He watches your fingers pick a card from the deck and wedge it with your other two. He’s keeping a close eye, so he notices that it ends up being the same one you decide to swap for a new one. He tries to glean some reaction from when you lay eyes on your new card, and- there’s quirk of your lips, one corner forcing down a smile. You tried to hide it behind a casual hand on your chin, but it really just drew his attention to it more. You’ve got something good.

Now it’s his turn to speculate. “Happy with your hand?”

You were yesterday. 

You face your cards down and cross your arms. “It does the job. For now.” You smile coyly, which tells him all he needs to know, on two fronts.

Now it’s Din’s turn. A 10 of Flasks and a 4 of Staves gives him a strong start. Then comes a 9 of Coins, making his total…23. It’s his first pure sabacc of the game. Fitting for a final round, he thinks.

“All in.” He bets his last two chips. He wants to get you to do the same, so he tilts his head in a challenge he knows you can never resist.

“Oh, really? Risky, Mando.” Just as he wanted, you push forward your three remaining chips. “I guess I am, too. For the game.”

You could’ve just matched him, but you had to one-up him with your last chip. Din has to admire it, even if it was for naught.

He flips over his cards right in the middle of the makeshift table. “Pure sabacc. Wanna beat that?”

“Actually, I do.” You flip yours over one at a time.

2 of Sabers. 3 of Coins. The Idiot.  

As in, Din is one. An Idiot’s array.

He bites his tongue. You got him to go all in, not the other way around.

With too much pride for Din to handle, you collect the five ‘chips’ that made up the hand pot, then the hefty pile that was the sabacc pot. “If you called it quits earlier, you could’ve made out with a couple massage hours. But you had to see it through to the all-or-nothing.”

“What’s the damage?” Din rubs at his neck and sighs. 

“Let’s see…” You count the nuts and bolts in pairs of two under your breath. “…Twenty-eight, thirty…That’s fifteen hours.”

“I don’t have fifteen hours of things to say about flying. I don’t know if I have half that.”

“Doesn’t have to be active instruction, then. Let’s just say time allowed in the pilot’s seat,” you compromise. 

“You’ve got a good amount of hours in my seat already,” Din remarks as he stands and looks down at you on the floor.

“Not flying, I don’t,” you sass back, swiping the nuts and bolts back into the bag they came from.

“Just don’t kill us,” Din warns tiredly. “And don’t fly without me there.” He points a finger at you and hopes you’ll listen to him.

You push yourself up to standing. Din’s finger is pointed right at your chest now, and you put a palm out to push it away. “Roger that.”

Without thinking, Din stops you by lacing his fingers in yours and holding your hand hostage. “I’m serious.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” you gesture with your other hand. “You think I’m gonna play for fifteen hours of personal Mando flying lessons only to sneak away and do it by myself? I’m gonna use you.”

Kriff, Din curses internally, feeling lightheaded. He snatches up your other hand and pulls you closer. “You can’t say that without meaning it,” He cautions, voice almost a growl.

You’re mostly unfazed save for the dilation of your pupils. “I intend to collect,” you state mysteriously. “Enjoy your solo massage.”

With that you weasel your hands out of his grip to pat him on the chest, then turn on the spot and walk away, taking the storage crate and everything else with you.

Din looks down at Grogu innocently playing with his metal ball. When did he get that again? He shakes his head and bends down to scoop him up in his arms.

“She's going to kill us.”

Grogu cranes his neck around the corner as you disappear, then looks up at Din and makes a cute grumble. Not for the first time, he wishes he could understand him.

…

For the middle chunk of the day, he busies himself with miscellaneous tasks while Grogu keeps him company. Every now and then, Din looks at him and gets to wondering again. 

About his powers, about Ahsoka, and his shipmate. He can’t shake the feeling that you had something going on. Your calls in the game were too precise to be chalked up to deduction. 

Is that how you always read him so well? Why it feels like you’re looking into his soul at times? Din thought it was just your eyes. Or the small possibility that you were someone who could understand him like no one else had. He looks at all of his past interactions with you through this lens, suddenly realizing that it would make perfect sense. All those little moments when it seemed like you could feel what he felt, or how you knew just how to get a certain reaction from him. 

The idea that it could just have been some magic power…

In a moment of selfishness, he hopes you weren’t aware of whatever you were doing. No, he hopes it isn’t true at all. That he didn’t fabricate this bond.

Another thought occurred to him: What happens when we get to Tython? If this truly is Jedi magic, would you need to leave with the kid?

He feels sick. Why is the mere thought of being left alone so painful? He’s used to it. He prefers it.

But if it came to that…

He couldn’t stop you from finding your people. Finding who you are, or who you could possibly be. If you were Jedi — just the thought is strange to him — would training you even be an option? Ahsoka was so adamant about not training Grogu, an impressionable child. Still moldable.

You, on the other hand, are already a fully realized adult. It may be better for you to never know. To go about your life as you would, like Ahsoka said.

If she had sensed it about you like she did with Grogu, she hadn’t said a thing. 

…

You’re waiting in the cockpit when Din makes his way up to check on the route.

You’re looking at him like you’re going to ask him a question. “You know what I’m going to ask, don’t you?”

It’s as good a time as any for your first lesson, and delaying your arrival to Tython by just a little bit was an unintended perk. “Get in the seat,” he sighs and gestures toward the pilot’s seat, which used to be only his. He'd have to learn to share.

Giddily you hop up and shake your hands, getting out your nerves before settling down ceremoniously.

“Don’t get too excited, you’ve sat here before.”

“I know, but it’s different this time. I’m gonna fly.”

…

“Landing and taking off is the hardest part. Once you’re in the air,” Din pauses to think of the words. “It’s not…so hard.” Great start. “For now, let’s just get you familiar with the controls.”

“But we’re still at hyperspeed,” you pointed out.

“I’m getting to that. This lever here controls the hyperdrive.” He puts his hand on the lever and taps it gently, waiting for you to put your hand there. When you do, he keeps his hand over yours, barely touching. “Pull it down.”

“Now? Is it safe?” You sound apprehensive.

You haven’t yet reached the Colonies or Core, where things are a bit more dense than they are in the Inner Rim and outward. “We’re in the middle of nowhere, relatively speaking. You’re fine.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.” He puts his hand more firmly on top of yours, making sure you grip the handle before signaling you to pull down with a gentle push. He lets you do the work to get used to the feeling.

The Razor Crest zooms out of hyperspeed to a gentle cruise. 

“Good. I’m gonna pull us away from the route, watch what I do.”

He waits for you to nod then takes hold of the controls, arms reaching around you in the seat. For a few silent minutes, he demonstrates the acceleration and the steering. Since he has to lean forward, his head is almost resting on top of yours.

When he does speak, he keeps his voice low. “There’s no up or down in space, so spatial awareness is tricky. Doesn’t matter much out here, but get used to looking down at this screen often to see where you are and where you’re headed.”

You slowly nod some more as you listen and watch. You’re more quiet than he thought you would be. 

He slows the ship all the way down to neutral. “Got it?”

“We’ll see,” you finally reply, placing your hands where Din’s had been. Too gently, you push the acceleration and it’s hardly noticeable.  

“You need to be more assertive than that. The Crest can take it.”

You take his advice maybe a little too far and the ship lurches forward, making Din lose his balance. He stabilizes himself on the back of the chair and chuckles. “Good.”

“Don’t lie to me, Din.”

He grins before admitting something with a bit more truth. “…Could use some finesse.”

“Thank you.” He can hear the smile in your voice before he sees it in the reflection of the glass.

He didn’t lose out too badly.

…

In increments over the next two days he gives you more lessons, taking his debt down to twelve hours. You’re getting better, but you’re still not very confident.

He focuses on the flying, and nothing else. He can’t get too close. He can’t get used to this.

The flying is both a distraction from what he can’t have, and an excuse to toe the line. Din thinks at one point that he has to be some kind of masochist.

When you’re not cruising around in an open area of space, the ship is at hyperspeed and he’s getting you familiar with more aspects of the console. Of course you know what a good amount of the controls do already, but you’ve never used them in practice. Eventually, the placement of things should become muscle memory for when you need them.

It’s a cruel thing for you to make him enjoy this. He needs to be bored of teaching you, to want to rip his hair out over spending hours in sublight. You can never make things easy, Din thinks. Except that’s not true at all, he realizes. You make things too easy, so much so that Din gets sucked in without thinking and he has to yank himself back to reality over and over. Having to do that makes it all the more painful.

Why can’t you just let him exist how he did before? Why did you have to make him feel like he needs more?

Chapter Text

“What do you want to give?”

It scares you that your immediate thought at that moment was, You already have everything. But it’s true, hypothetically. Anything you have to give, Din could have without winning a damn thing. 

You know he’s conflicted, you can feel it. It’s like your relationship has taken a step backward and forward at the same time. After having been allowed to touch his face — and kiss it for a deliciously long time, which you tend to recap in the lonely hours — the bath was more intimate in one way, but less in another.

He’s hot and cold. It’s clear to anybody with eyes that he has trouble trusting people, but you’d be lying if you said it doesn’t sting; the way he’s perfectly comfortable with you one minute, but the next he’s pumping the brakes before he can get too close. He’s wary of you and you don’t know why. 

During one of your flight lessons Din had leaned in close and talked in your ear, but when you glanced over at him and nearly let your cheek brush his helmet, he cleared his throat and backed away. For the rest of the lesson he kept his distance. Something must have changed to make him back down when he would normally match or one-up what you put forward. Sometimes he even looks at you like he’s scared of you, but you don’t know him to be scared of much of anything.

Perhaps he’s just on edge about whatever will happen on Tython. You should be arriving any time now.

You’re on your way to the cockpit when you think you hear Din curse from up there, and you can’t help but eavesdrop. Making your steps light, you approach the ladder and by the time you can pick up on Din’s words he doesn’t sound frustrated anymore.

“…You’re very special, kid. We’re gonna find that place you belong, and they’re gonna take real good care of you.”

You hold your breath, not wanting to interrupt the moment.

“This is Tython. It’s where we’re gonna try and find you a Jedi.” His voice is calm and sweet talking to the child, and it makes your heart hurt. “…But you have to agree to go with them if they want you to. Understand?”

Din pauses like Grogu will respond. 

“Plus, I can’t train you. You’re too powerful. Don’t you wanna learn more of that Jedi stuff?”

His phasing makes you crack a smile. Stuff. The way Ahsoka had talked about it was so much more serious, and it’s clear Din doesn’t understand it at all. 

“I agreed to take you back to your own kind, so that’s what I need to do.” When he rationalizes it this way, you realize that this conversation is as much for himself as it is for Grogu. As fond of the child as he is, Din can’t keep him away from where he belongs.

You never had that place. Maybe you do now, you’re not sure.

You pinch the bridge of your nose. You’re not even sure that the Razor Crest can qualify as ‘that place’ when it’s constantly hopping from planet to planet, never staying long enough to set down any roots. Can roots grow in the emptiness of space?

For the first time since leaving Tatooine you wonder if you have a home. You have a bed, some string lights, and a job. Passable food. Company that isn’t insufferable to be around most of the time. What more was there to a home?

Something intangible. That sense of belonging, maybe. Family…

“You understand, right?”

You close your eyes and sink against the ladder, resting your head on a cold rung. When it seems like the moment has passed, you make noise climbing into the cockpit to let Din know you’re coming. When you lay eyes on him, he looks as normal as ever. 

…

You’re looking out the window as you approach Tython, a planet with lots of greens and blues. Din had neglected to use this opportunity to teach you how to land the ship, which you’re not sure you’re ready for anyway. As he takes the ship around, surveying a mountainous area, you quickly spot a rock formation that is definitely not natural.

“Looks like that’s the…magic rock I’m supposed to take you to down there,” Din narrates to Grogu as he circles the structure. 

There are six giant, flat rocks propped up in a circle, angled in toward the center where a singular rounded stone sits. If any place would be magical, that’s it. The hairs on your arm stand on end and you think you can feel the power emanating from the place, but you shake it off. It must be in your head. 

“Sorry buddy. I can’t land on the top. Too small. Looks like we’re gonna have to travel the last stretch with the windows down.”

…

From the ground, you block the sun from your eyes and watch Mando jetpack up the steep hill with the kid in his arms. This is their mission, so you let them have their moment. They disappear over the flat top of the hill, where you can’t see from your vantage point. All you can do is wait.

You take in the atmosphere of this new planet. The air is fresh and crisp, a gentle breeze blowing through the brush. It creates a layered white noise that sounds like static if you close your eyes. As deserted as the place is, it feels alive. Again, you have to rub your arms to calm down the goosebumps. They don’t go away. 

Your eyes snap open when a droning sound cuts through the calm. It’s faint, but you can tell it’s getting louder. You squint up into the sky and track onto a tiny, vertically-oriented ship. It looks so odd and impossible, flying the way that it does. Nervously you retreat back up onto the ramp of your ship as you watch it land in some nearby brush.

You walk backward into the hull, trying to remain hidden while still being able to see out. You press the comm on your wrist and speak quietly. “Mando, I have a bad feeling about thi-“ 

Your vision goes black. Something happened on the hill that released a flood of energy you wouldn’t know how to describe if given the chance. You don’t have time to feel afraid as a trance-like state washes over you, rendering you incapacitated. You don’t have a body anymore — at least, it doesn’t feel like you do.

You hear a voice like it’s traveling through a thick, undulating substance, but you can still make it out: “Hey, snap out of it kid! We gotta get out of here.”

The voice isn’t talking to you, but somehow you can hear it like it is.

“I’ll see if I can buy you some time. Can you please hurry up?”

Some shapes start to appear in your vision, but nothing is tangible. Out of the blur of your senses, you can pick out a familiar connection; you’ve felt it before.

A tiny green hand on a stone; a blue energy field rising into the sky; a spurt of gunfire in the distance; a sniper scope trained right on the henge. It’s like you can sense the whole area, but only in disconnected, incomplete fragments — some visual, some auditory. It’s all too jumbled to put together into a complete scene.

A new, gravelly voice cuts in. “Stand down.” You can’t make out the rest of what is said, as if you’re being pulled away so fast that the sound can’t reach your ears.

What you do hear is the engine of what sounds like a fairly sizable ship as it races into the scene. Then the familiar voice again, sounding more desperate. “Time to go, kid!”

Distorted grunting follows, trying to force its way through the mystical connection. Your senses start to glitch before a strong magnetic pulse sends the disruption away. 

You hear the hatch of a ship open. All you see is a cloud of dust that parts only for several pairs of white, armored boots.

“Just stay there, I’ll be back soon.” 

The troopers fall one by one, but more keep coming. They’re setting up heavy duty weapons on stands — missiles and automatic blasters.

Someone is calling your name. “Can you hear me?” The crackly voice is ripping you away from the vision, but you try to hone in for just a little longer.

Another identical ship appears, landing just in between its twin and the Razor Crest. More storm troopers.

Someone is calling your name again. “Dank farrik, why aren’t you answering?” 

Once again you feel a blip in the connection like a wire being tugged. It won’t last much longer. Just before the scene dissipates from your mind for good, you catch a glimpse of something in the atmosphere, but it’s hard to make out and the image is growing fuzzy. When it comes into focus for just a split second, you know the thing to be an imperial cruiser, though you’ve never seen one in real life before. Then it’s gone, and all you see is the black of your eyelids.

Slowly you regain lucidity, and it’s painful. There’s blasting outside, but there are echoes of clanging and rummaging much closer. Ricocheting against the metal walls and inside your skull. There’s someone on the ship. You pry your eyes open and your vision fights to regain focus. You’re seeing black spots and the room is spinning and you feel like you’re going to pass out.

You look up and your vision stabilizes just enough to see the silhouette of a rugged bald man. He looks you in the eyes before donning a…Mandalorian helmet? He’s out of the ship before you can even process.

Outside there are clings of beskar deflecting lasers. Bombs detonating. More blasting, and then there’s the sound of ships taking off right next to you. You feel an explosion and subsequent crash that shakes the ground and everything on it.

That must be good, right?

Afterward it’s completely silent like the danger is gone, but you feel an urge to get up and go because you know it’s not. Grogu is still up there. Din is too far away.

Stumbling over to the ladder, you haul yourself up as quickly as you can. There is no time to make any other decision than the obvious. You take the controls and press all the same buttons and flick the same levers you’ve seen Mando press, turning off the part of your brain that second guesses things and running on pure instinct. You know what all of these controls do, you’ve just never had to use them. Maybe later you will wish that Mando had gotten to the lesson about taking off, but you can’t worry about it now.

Just as the ship rumbles to life and hauls its weight off the ground, the back of your neck tingles and your muscles clench. There’s a red laser streaking through the atmosphere directly toward you and time slows, allowing you to bank right as hard as you can. 

The blast whizzes by and hits the spot on the ground where you just were not a moment ago, the explosion sending the Crest barreling away. It screeches and scrapes against boulders. The landing gear didn’t have time to retract all the way so it’s getting caught, preventing you from getting up into the air.

“Come in, are you alright?” Din’s voice is desperate and out of breath.

You take one hand from the controls to press your comm. “D-Din, yeah. But- Grogu.”

You didn’t have time to buckle so when the ship starts to roll you’re almost thrown out of the seat. You grip the controls tight and put all of your weight into trying to right the ship.

“Come on, repulsors!” You urge through gritted teeth like it will help.

It’s the messiest take off since Mando’s predicament on Trask, but you finally get some elevation from the rocky ground and are able to take flight.

When you’re right side up again you notice four jet powered suits of armor descend from beyond the clouds. You’ve never worked a ship’s weapons before and you don’t want to risk misfiring. Do something, you scream in your own mind. Your hands shake and fumble as you try to find the right buttons to press, but time is short so you decide to screw it and go full throttle. As you zoom toward their trajectory, you squeeze your eyes shut and don’t let up. There’s a couple nasty clunks as you barrel through, but you’re still flying steady so you let out a satisfied adrenaline laugh and open your eyes.

In attempting a u-turn you try to find the right balance of torque and turn, but end up putting far too much of one — you’re not sure which — and the g-force makes your stomach churn. Flying in an atmosphere is much different than in the vacuum of space.

As the hill comes back into view, you see that you didn’t take out all of the troopers. You watch in horror as the remaining two get there before Mando.

You can’t shoot, you can’t crash. They’re surrounding the kid.

And then they’re off. Mando was too late.

You feel numb as you watch the smaller ship — which is apparently on your side now — start to pursue the captors, then come back down. 

Your ears feel like they’re stuffed with gauze as Mando walks you through landing the Crest over the comm. You go through the motions and somehow make it to the ground in one piece, but your mind isn’t present enough to know how you did it.

…

Boba Fett is the name of the bald man who wears Mandalorian armor. Mando talks to him and the sniper, Fennec Shand, but you can’t focus on the conversation so you find yourself back in the ship.

A tracker. You don’t want to believe it.

You frantically dig around the ship for anything that’s not supposed to be there, flinging open hatches and feeling around in dark nooks and crannies. You’re going so fast that you almost miss your hand running over something small attached to a random, hard to reach panel. You can’t even see it from the way you had to twist to get your arm in there, so you blindly fumble around and pry it off with a grunt. You get your eyes on it and- yep. You throw it to the floor, stomp it with the heel of your boot, and sob.

You bring the crushed metal thing out to show Mando and you catch the tail end of his conversation.

“Then our deal is complete,” he says.

“Not quite.”

“How so?”

“We agreed in exchange for the return of my armor, we ensure the safety of the child.”

“The child’s gone.” Hearing it from Din feels like being struck on the chest with heavy metal. 

“Until he is returned to you safely, we are in your debt.”

When you approach, they turn to you and you show the destroyed tracker. “This is how they found us.” You can’t bring yourself to look at Mando. 

“…Navarro.”

You nod and fight back tears. Somehow it hurts more knowing exactly where it came from and when, and that you still didn’t prevent it. You drop the evil thing on the ground and walk back toward the ship to survey the damage. Every step is a labor. You feel sick. Exhausted.

…

The flight to Nevarro is tense. It’s approximately 72 hours of stress and worry, with nothing to do about it. If you could make the ship go faster, you would. You know it must be driving Mando up the wall that he can’t, either.

He’s planning something. He doesn’t sleep, he hardly eats.

You’re not much better off. You busy yourself with what repairs you’re able to do, not feeling brave enough to talk to Mando. It’s not like you would even know what to say. Most of the damage is on the outside of the ship, so you run out of things to do. It’s the worst possible thing for your mental wellbeing.

All you can think of is where Grogu is now. You want to feel his connection again, to know he’s okay, but all you feel is emptiness. The energy that opened your senses — the force? — is impossible to tap into again no matter how many times you try. You don’t even know what you’re supposed to be doing specifically. You hadn’t done anything to trigger it then, so it must have been whatever Grogu was doing on the stone. 

When you lay down, you can’t let yourself drift off for long in case he is able to reach out to you again. You want to be awake, just in case.

This proves to be impossible as well, as the events on Tython have left you entirely drained and it’s catching up to you. Unwillingly, you’re overtaken by unconsciousness.

…

“Looks like you could use a nice. Long. Sleep.”

You’re holding out your tiny green hand at a menacing man crouching over you. Your vision shifts focus to a gun pointed directly at you, which shoots a blue ring of energy. Just when it hits you, the scene goes dark and you feel like you’re falling.

You shoot up out of your bed, chest heaving and sweat dripping into your eyes. That wasn’t a dream, you tell yourself. You know it wasn’t. It felt the same as before, but you can’t explain how. I guess I don’t need to be awake...

You wrack your brain for any information about where Grogu could be. There was a dark, empty cell, and a man you can only assume is Moff Gideon. Grogu’s in danger, but that was already clear. You wish you could glean more — something about what they were going to do with him and how much time you had.

You decide not to tell any of this to Din. You didn’t get any information you didn’t already know, and you don’t know how to get more. At least for now, it wouldn’t be of any help.

…

While you’re on Nevarro, you think to have a chat with Karga about the vetting of his “best” staff. Could he have had something to do with it?

This wasn’t the first time the thought had come up. Din had mentioned before that Karga tried to double cross him in the past, but that seems to be behind both of them now. Din apparently has other priorities anyway, and you want to know what he has planned.

“Cara Dune, Marshal of the New Republic,” he greets, getting her attention as he approaches her desk. “I heard rumors you might have gone legit.” 

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“I need your help.” This is the second time you’ve ever heard him admit this, but it doesn’t seem to hurt his ego as much as the first. It comes easier than it did back on Tatooine.

“Name it.”

Mando says something about locating someone on the prison registry, who and for what reason you don’t know. He hasn’t said anything to you other than necessities. Why should he? This is my fault. You knew something was suspicious about those guys, so it was your responsibility to make sure nothing was amiss…

“What do you want with him?” Cara asks.

“I need to spring him to help me locate Moff Gideon’s light cruiser.”

Your internal monologue stops in its tracks. While you’re wallowing in self pity, Mando is jumping right to action.

Cara says something about rules, but all Mando has to say is, “They have the kid,” and you can tell she’s in.