Chapter Text
"Ba."
"G'morning, little one," you yawn, fighting the burn in your thighs as you trudge to the table. The breakfast spread of alien (to you) eggs, meat and desert fruits looks and smells amazing; your mouth waters and your stomach cramps as you throw yourself into a chair and follow Grogu's lead by stuffing your face. The small green creature looks as happy as you've ever seen him, perched on the Mandalorian's knee as he passes food over. "You missed your dad, huh?"
Din's helm turns towards you slightly to make you wonder what his expression is beneath it. Grogu bounces up and down, spraying crumbs as he babbles. Din puts a hand on him to hold him still. "Stop that. You're gonna make yourself sick."
You eat while trying to ignore any perceived or imagined awkwardness; Din's body language is relaxed as far as you can tell, and you're too damn hungry to bother with small talk. He doesn't eat - you assume he did so while you were in the 'fresher.
"Feeling better?" he asks you once you're close to finishing your plate. You just smile at him while sucking suggestively on a berry. He clears his throat and looks away. Grogu takes the opportunity to snatch a piece of bread from the table and stuffs it into his mouth whole.
"I'm good. A little sore, but good." You cross your legs, Mando shifts in his seat. You're finding new delight in making him uncomfortable. "I just really hope wherever you're taking me next isn't on some cramped passenger liner."
"My ship won't seat three," he rumbles. You raise an eyebrow, fighting down a stab of panic - reminding yourself he promised, knowing he won't break it - but then he continues: "So I've just gotta get a new one."
You think of the lost bag of credits, lying in the dirt outside the bar thousands of lightyears away. You think of your old plan, the course you charted for yourself that seemed to go out the airlock the moment you met the Mandalorian. You think maybe it didn't after all.
Maybe you're just getting there in a different way.
"I know a guy who might be able to help with that," you say slowly, playing with the tines of a fork. Mando's head swivels towards you, tilts curiously (at least, you think it's curiosity). Waiting for you to continue.
You've never spoken of this out loud. Not to anyone. Speaking it aloud would've made it real - given it a greater chance of failure, somehow. Superstitious of you? Maybe. But you hadn't wanted to leave anything to chance. Well, chance took it from you anyway, but it could be about to give it all back.
"I was ... I was saving up my wages. For a long time." You look away, forcing yourself to keep talking. "I was halfway there, and when you walked into the cantina with that pouch of credits, I..." You pick at your fingernails with the fork, staring at it, refusing to look back up at that inscrutable black visor. In case he laughs at you. In case he calls it stupid. "I saw a way out, finally. But, well...You know what happened."
"I'm sorry." It's not what you expected him to say. You're just about to look up when you feel a tug on your pants. Grogu looks up at you and blinks those big eyes, ears tilting. "Ba?"
"It's okay," you say - to them both. Lifting the foundling into your lap, you finally glance over at the Mandalorian. The hand resting on the table has curled into a tight fist. "Scud happens. Frequently. I've seen travelers lose everything at the cantina - it was only a matter of time before I did, too. But," you add, more brightly, "Like I said. I know a guy. I had a deposit down, too."
"A deposit?" Din's head tilts again. You nod, reaching for some candied fruit before Grogu can get his hands on it.
"About a quarter of the value of the ship, but enough to hold it for the years I'd need to work to pay it off." You shrug. "It's not much - an old pre-Republic patrol ship. Two engines, a hyperdrive, enough to get me far away from that damn cantina." You chuckle to yourself at the thought that you might be going back for it.
"Weapons?"
"Um, yeah, I'm not stupid. Two laser cannons. I think. I'm not sure if they're working on this one, though - like I said, it's old."
Din rises to his feet, moving around the table to retrieve his foundling, who has now gotten into the last plate of eggs while you were busy talking. He lifts him up by the back of his robe and tucks him against his breastplate even as he protests. "I didn't know you could fly."
"What, you thought I was always just some cantina girl?" Somehow, it comes out with more bitterness than you intended, so you throw on a smile, but -
"No. I never thought that." Your smile wavers, slips away like oil on water. But Din takes your chin gently with his free hand before you can look away from him. "And neither should you."
You're not sure what to say to that, so you reach up to touch his wrist - the sliver of skin between his bracer and his glove. He lets you take his hand. The leather seems softer to you now, warmer. He doesn't say anything.
"Well, well, well. Do we have a new Duchess of Mandalore?" Boba Fett's deep voice from the doorway makes you jump. He looks amused - helmet tucked under his arm as it often is, he saunters to the other side of the table and takes a seat as you let go of Din's hand. He doesn't move away, lingering at your side as he gently pats an overstuffed Grogu's back.
"It already has one." Din's voice is heavy with - disdain? Resignation? You have no idea who they're talking about (also, Duchess?) so you just raise your eyebrows, waiting for an explanation. Predictably, neither flavour of Mandalorian man sees fit to provide one.
"Will you be leaving us soon then, Mando?" Boba casts his eye across the decimated breakfast table until he locates a solitary hard-boiled egg, peeling it one-handed without looking. No mean feat in gloves.
"We may need one more favour." We. Something seizes in your chest, some small lonely part of you that is starting to believe that maybe you're no longer quite so lonely after all.
It's Fett's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Do you have another gang of criminals after you, then?"
"No. I need to go buy a ship."
"Ah." The Daimyo sits back, nodding. "Well, I suppose the funds we recovered from the Trandoshans will be more than enough. There is a yard in Mos Espa with some ships available-"
"We have one in mind," you interrupt without thinking, but fortunately Boba Fett doesn't seem about to shoot you for it. He just turns his raised eyebrow on you instead. You clear your throat. "I, uh, the planet Mando found me on - I had a ship. Well, half a ship. Quarter, really, but I was going to pay it off. It's still there," you insist, as his stare fails to waver. You almost wish he was wearing his helmet still.
"A good ship?" he questions, eventually. You shrug.
"I mean, it's old, but it has four seats and a hyperdrive, so." Both Mandalorians just stare at you. You throw up your hands, exasperated. "Look, I know there are some people who say ST-70s are garbage, but I happen to think-"
Mando almost drops Grogu. The child, who was almost drifting off into a food coma, yelps and holds onto his bandolier as he suddenly grips the back of your chair and leans over you. You lean back, mouth agape. "Did you say ST-70?" he rasps, suddenly intense, and you look over at Boba for any hint of what might be going on but the Daimyo sits with his fingers steepled and his face as impassive as his helm.
"I - yeah, sorry but that was the best I could even hope to save up for in a reasonable amount of time - "
"So," Boba says as Din straightens slowly. You think you can hear him breathing - his chestplate is rising and falling a little quicker than normal. "Your informant has a Razor Crest."
"She's not an informant," Din says, and his voice is firmer than you've ever heard it as he tells Boba Fett your name. A part of you is surprised, and heartened, that he remembered it - whispered in the dark last night, you weren't sure if he heard. "And she's coming with us."
"All right. I'll have the Firespray readied." Boba Fett finds another egg that somehow managed to escape Grogu. "After my breakfast."
You get up and follow Mando out. Once you're in the hall, you touch his arm to get him to stop and turn. The child snores softly, tucked against his chest. "What the kriff was that about, Din?"
He shakes his helm slowly. "Let me put Grogu down. Then I'll tell you."
You follow in tense silence towards his room. You hesitate at the door but step inside, watching the armored warrior lay the foundling down in a repulsor-powered capsule. It looks more comfortable than your bed. Din straightens, but doesn't turn towards you straight away, and you wait.
"I had a Razor Crest once," he begins slowly. "It was blown up. Melted to slag. Fett was there. I-" He pauses, staring down at the sleeping child. Something in his voice is tight, restrained. "For a long time it was just me and the Crest. And then it was me, the Crest and the kid. Now...It's Mandalore, and the fight, and hunting for credits to fund the war. But you -" he turns to you, so suddenly you don't have time to step back. His gloved hands are gentle, taking you by the shoulders, pulling you a little closer. "You...you reminded me of things I never thought I could have."
"Like what?" you whisper. It's the most you've heard him talk at once - maybe ever. War? you wonder briefly. The intensity almost frightens you - no, it's not intensity, it's exhilaration.
Din goes quiet, and the visor just...looks at you. His hands travel down your arms, curl around your elbows. "I'll tell you once we get your Razor Crest."
You manage a smile. "Promise?"
His hand on your face again, long fingers eclipsing your jaw. "Promise," he says, the digitized voice as sure and solid as Beskar, and you know the truth of it in your bones.
You've never been one to believe anything happens for a reason. You don't believe in the Force or any cosmic magic ju-ju. But you believe the Mandalorian.