Title: Ancient Records
Author: Novemberries
Characters: The Mandalorian, Baby Yoda, OC
Genre: Family/Angst/Romance
Word Count: 3750
Raiting: T (subject to change?)
Disclaimer: Star Wars belong to George Lucas. I mean, to Disney. I'm only borrowing Mando and Baby Yoda to give them a cosy time.
Completed on: 29DEC2019
Published on: 30DEC2019
Chapter Last Revised on: 30DEC2019

A/N I love you guys all so much! 333 Thank you for dropping by, reading or leaving a review!

"What are you?"

Siri stared at the Mandalorian helmet and the helmet stared back at her. For a person who guarded his privacy with literally steel determination, he was quite adamant at wanting to get to the bottom of other peoples' secrets. She supposed it must have been a universal disposition of all good bounty hunters. Something necessary to survive in this world where one slip turned one from a hunter to a prey.

And it must have had something to do with wanting to know who had boarded his ship, too, for sure.

"I'm a doctor. And I was smuggling medical equipment and supplies out of a post-imperial facility," Siri said, keeping eye-helmet contact with him. Truth bomb on deck.

"Why the contraband? The Empire is gone," he said. No light tones coloured his voice. For Maker's sake, so suspicious.

But then Siri was hit with something. Yes. Precisely. It was true. The Empire was gone and disbanded four years ago, by the rulings of the Galactic Concordance, followed by the total restructuration of Empire's systems. The Rebel Alliance was also gone, officially giving way to the New Republic.

And here in space, she was alone.

There was no one: no post-imperial machinations she had been listening on to hidden in the maintenance shafts, no Republic allies she had been then sending the coded messages. She had lived a quite purposeful life up to this point. Her mission was well defined. Her tasks were crystal clear. Forge a record here. Take a detour to that checkpoint. Remove logs of the ship there. It was wild, but at the same time structured and predictable. True, many times, it was like playing with an unprotected grenade while balancing on a rope thrown over a river of sizzling, burping lava. But she supposed those on the field had it many times tighter.

All of this was left behind when she found herself on that nameless planet, cut off from all she had been working on. Her trail had gone cold and perhaps both sides believed her dead. No more mission. No more contribution for the Light side.

The Mandalorian in front of her was very much alive and very much real, though. As was his child. And the more she shared with him, the better their pooled resources would become, perhaps even producing something that none of them could separately think of. Yes, she was just a ride, for how long – unknown. She had no idea where to go from here. She had only planned so far as to catch the ride with this man and be somewhere where the restless calling sounded. But one thing she was certain of at this moment – she genuinely and fiercely wanted to see the child safe.

They were alone here. Both hunted. Both running.

"It is gone. But not really. Something has started to shift in the late imperial structures." Siri tightened the cloak around here.

"What do you mean?" He now sounded more curious and alarmed than suspicious.

"I…" Say it. "During the Empire days, I was working for them."

Silence punched the air between her and the Mandalorian, creating a screaming vacuum.

"No, not what you think." Siri waved her hand, painfully jolting the fresh wound, and the cloak slipped from her arms. She secured it one more time around her. "From the very beginning it was a double-work for the Rebellion. You don't turn away a medic just like that, not when you have an entire army and a legion of high-ranking officers to keep running in their finest condition. They knew that. They were smart asses. And I was using my limited access to send as much intel to the Rebels as I could. As well as rerouting few shipments of supplies to them." She noticed the Mandalorian had uncrossed his arms, resting them interlaced together on his lap. "After Jakku, I was officially 'pardoned', just like the rest of them, but it was decided to keep my position running. Another set of eyes on the former enemy always comes in as handy. And who could guess? We were right."

"The Imperial Remnant is up to something," he said slowly.

For the love of Solo. Did he know more about this, too?

"Yeah. It looks like they are. I just-after witnessing how the cogs of their machinery operate… I really doubt a change happens like this." She snapped her fingers, dislocating the cloak again. "But you know what? Maybe it really was the Emperor. He was one dark presence. Maybe after he died, the grip on people's hearts lessened, allowing them to breathe. To see. Some of them are good guys."

"You have bounty issued by the former imperial command," said the Mandalorian.

No question here was necessary. It was quite obvious who wanted her captured for all the stolen shipments. Siri nodded.

"What was the Empire wants me and the New Republic has no official association with me. I don't exist for them. So… I'm on my own."

"And where are the Gungans in all of this?" asked his modulated baritone voice. She was shivering under her cloak, goose bumps attacking her skin in rising waves, but the Mandalorian would not let her go until he heard the full story. Maker, Gungans were really not the most important here.

"It became known in some circles that I have access to the galaxy's one of the most technically advanced engineering and I would get pinged at times." She was sure her ears were growing hot. "There was this moment when I had a homeless surplus of heat converters and both Kooriva and Naboo contacted me. I was so stupid…" Siri closed her eyes briefly, managing with sheer willpower to stop her hand from punching her forehead. "I believed the Koorivans needed it more. But look at those stinking lizards now." How could she even believe that Kooriva would be a good start was beyond her. But it was gone too, now.

"I see." The Mandalorian scooted few inches closer to her on his chair. "Have you heard of the name Pershing?"

She looked up to him. The man clad in an impenetrable beskar was actually revealing her something. And Siri have heard of that name. She bit on her lip, searching where exactly.

"… Yes, I have."

The Mandalorian sat straighter in his chair.

"Do you know the man?"

"Barely. I saw him few times, few years ago. In the post-imperial facility. What is he to you?"

He clicked something on his vambrace and a holo image of doctor Pershing came to life.

"That's him," she said, scrutinising the image. "Can you zoom into his insignia? It looks as if he had changed division."

He clicked something again.

„The image is still blurry. I can't be sure."

"What do you know about him?"

She crossed her arms.

"Not much. It was a long time ago." Siri looked to the wall and then back to him. The Mandalorian seemed tense. "He seemed a nervous guy."

He clicked on the vambrace and the holo image of doctor Pershing disappeared.

And then the ship rocked in a convulsion. Siri and the Mandalorian managed to grab the table for support and then looked at each other.

And they ran to the cockpit.

"We are supposed to be in hyperspace, Mando," she panted, heart racing, climbing first up the ladder. She thought she heard him grunt something as he followed right behind her, but then another tremor rocked the ship and her foot slipped.

Hitting something hard. Like maybe a beskar breastplate. Siri looked down and had only managed to catch a glimpse of the Mandalorian gripping at the side of his helmet when the ship rocked violently again and she was thrown painfully into the metal wall of the shaft, the air almost knocked out of her lungs.

"…Kriffin' hell." She clambered to the cockpit on her knees, fresh stitches on her arm protesting loudly, and it immediately became known what was causing the disturbances. Siri sprang to her feet and Mando ran past her, beating her to the baby who was about to launch another attack at the console's yoke. He held the little one in his one hand and clicked on the console command with the other.

"Let me hold him." Siri outstretched her hands. The Mandalorian took a second to deliberate and then handed her the cooing baby who in all its innocence was not having the slightest clue as to what trouble playing with the ship's console could land them into. Most probably, as Siri could swear sometimes it seemed as if the little one knew more than it let on. Sly little womp rat.

Mando was in the meantime ensuring the damage control, having jumped into the pilot's chair.

"Did he actually drop out of hyperspace?" Siri asked incredulously as he was punching commands into the console. Outside, the stars were flickering, no longer a hyperspeed streak.

"He did."

"Is he doing that often?" The baby was looking between her and Mando, a squeak, a coo, a twitch of filigree ears.

"That's his first." He didn't look up, checking the radar scans and map. "But we're past the Rimma Trade Route, at least."

"Do you have a plan?"

His hand stilled over the console.

"We're going to the Outer Rim," he said at last.

After the navicomputer spit out a new route, Mando punched the hyperdrive. It must have been sheer luck that they didn't emerge straight into some planet's core or a vessel or other space monster.

"You like to play, huh?" said Siri to the child as it squeaked, trying to get a solid grasp on her cloak. "I'll go play with him," she addressed the Mandalorian, who still wasn't looking at her.

"Yeah." He was cradling one side of his helmet. In the place where she had quite accidentally, but still, kicked him.

"Oh… I'm so sorry about that." Siri literally felt blood turning cold in her veins. In the commotion she forgot that it was not the breastplate, but the helmet that she kicked. As a guest, she should really avoid hurting her host. "I'll bring you some ice." They really needed some bacta. Seriously. Siri wistfully though of all the supplies in her late office.

She handed him the child who by this time had managed to grab a fistful of her cloak and as she passed the little one into Mando's hands, the cloak slid off from her shoulders onto the beskar pauldron and the arm underneath it.

"Hey, let it go." The child needed a proper toy. The child needed family. Warmth. Nourishing food. Still bent over Mando, Siri gently peeled chubby, green digits off her cloak and then squeezed gently the tiny hand. "We'll get you a toy, little one. I'll be right back," she addressed the last sentence to the beskar helmet.

She was back up with him in no time and after handing him the ice, she had to touch upon something that he had said before.

"Mando, what about this doctor Pershing?"

He sat unmoving, seemingly as if not having heard her question. But she was beginning to learn of this language of beskar and silence. She bid her time, patiently.

"He was involved in an attempt to put the child through an experiment."

"What? What did he do to it?"

"The child is with me now."

She wished she could do more to repair the damage she had caused, but she hoped the ice would alleviate some of the bruise that was definitely forming right now under that shiny helmet.

But there was one more very important thing.

"Where do you keep the dry rations? Do you have any left?"

"They're by the carbonite freezer. Not much left."

"I'm sure they'll be enough for the child."

"Try him."

"Watch me."

That woman could kick. Had the hit been aimed at his jaw, it would surely have been dislocated. The stars had burst bright in front of his eyes when he felt her foot connecting with his helmet and sure enough, there was an angry pulsing under the helmet even after he had applied the ice.

The Mandalorian sighed. If they left the doctor on the next planet they landed on, it would not improve their situation. He had a bounty on him and the child was wanted by the Imperial Remnant, for some obscure reason. This situation needed to be fixed at its core, not on its fringes. He wanted to ask the child what he thought only to realise that it was on the lower deck with the doctor.

She seemed to be taking a good care of the kid, and the kid in turn was delighted with the doctor. If there would be no more almost dislocated jaws, he supposed she could hang with them for few more jumps, until she found what she was looking for.

He heard her climbing up to the cockpit – with the baby.

It was more than its cooing and squeaks. He could swear he actually felt the little one's presence when it was near him. The vibrance was hard to miss.

She had set the child in its crib and then joined him in the co-pilot's chair.

"He's tired now, he should sleep like a stone. I fed him some of the dry rations, but we need real food."

He knew that. He looked to the doctor. She also looked pretty tired herself. And pretty beaten up. She had went and salvaged the torn shirt, which had only one sleeve now, the stitched blaster wound uncovered. Something akin to pity was germinating in him, but he strongly assumed she would not want his pity. Someone who smuggled supplies right under the nose of the Empire must have been someone hardened for tougher times, preferring action and resolution, and not commiseration. She was no family doctor. More like a field doctor. The few scars on her exposed arm and defined muscles a testament to this.

She looked to the map.

"There's nothing here."

The Razor Crest had stopped somewhere on the edge on the known regions. Up ahead were territories uncharted, a place he had decided earlier to give a shot. What he intended to do was quite risky, but the little presence behind him reminded him that there was no time for hesitation and that he had no choice to pick a favourite vacation spot for them.

"We're going there." He rolled the ship few degrees through its port-side.

There, in the distance, shimmered a humongous cloud of ionised gas and behind that, there should be a place that an ally shared with him a long time ago. If the tip he had received then was true, a temporary refugee could be waiting for them there. All the Ancient Gods knew he needed a few breaths of rest and a place to regroup, and the child deserved more than constantly running, its life at gunpoint.

"It's beautiful."

It was. Deadly, unpardonably if committing a mistake.

"It's straight into the outskirts of the uncharted regions. Will I ever see the daylight again?"

He appraised the ionised cloud of gas, shimmering, brilliantly orange-blue. It would speak in their favour, hiding their trail. There was nothing on the starcharts in that region. They would disappear like a Jawan in the Sarlacc's pit.

"Yes."

"How is your…" she gestured to his cheek.

"It's fine." It was pounding and smarting.

The good doctor was doing everything to earn her ride on his ship.

Siri Reed. No, it was the first time he had heard that name. She must have been a good spy in her time under the Empire to remain undetected for so long and to remain alive. Look at that sweet face. It must have lulled the vigilance of many, too.

The kid trusted her. He wished to have him on his lap right now, to hold him and know he's safe, to have those big, curious eyes and grabby, clawed digits to try in their earnest to pilot the ship with him, but the ride through this cloud would require his utmost concentration and swiftness of reflexes drilled through the years.

"Anything I can help you with?"

He looked to her.

"Yeah. Hold tight the child."

He was setting up the radar and navicomputer as the doctor settled back in the chair.

Grabbing the steering yoke, the Mandalorian set the controls to manual and adjusted his helmet's visor to thermovision. He grabbed the throttle and sent the Razor Crest hurtling straight into the gas cloud. Just before the ship plunged into the cloud, he eased up on the throttle and sailed gently into the ionised dust.

Relying on the indications from his thermovision and the radar displays, he manoeuvred the ship through the maze of gas, keeping an eye on the forward movement vector and the azimuth he punched into the navi comp earlier. So far so good. The steel hull groaned once when he caught on a tendril of plasma and Razor Crest rocked violently, but other than this, it wasn't a bumpy ride. He kept perfectly still inside, processing all the indications his systems reported and translating it into minute movements of the yoke.

With one final thrust, the Razor Crest shot out of the cloud into the clear void.

"Good job," said the doctor quietly. The child cooed sleepily.

Up ahead, the radar picked up something. A star system. He rushed the ship in that direction, and true indeed, it was there, the third planet. No larger structures below, mostly forests, tundra, dwarfish trees, lakes. Some scattered forms of life. The Mandalorian checked the fuel reserves – it would be enough just to make one ride back to a fuel depot somewhere in the more inhabited region of space.

He calibrated the navigation to the approximate coordinate he had and the Razor Crest descended through a thick layer of overcast clouds and a frosty haze into the solid ground and landed by a sharp mountain slope, partially hidden from the aerial view by thick growth of pines.

They had prepared in silence and left the ship. It was cold here.

It actually felt like they wandered into the dark side of the absolute zero.

"It's either unbearably hot or freezing cold, nothing in between," breathed the doctor, her breath smoking, tucking the baby tight into a small blanket and pressing it close to her chest.

He couldn't argue with that. He started to feel the pinpricks of the freezing air as soon as they had stepped out of the immediate radius of the Razor Crest and set out in search of civilisation – this place that his ally had told him about. If it even existed. Judging from the planet's layout, it couldn't have been a trap. This place was cut off, no industrial structures. Seemingly, no civilization.

The snow was crunching under their feet and the Doctor beside him kept braving the strong wind that picked up as soon as they left the cover of thick trees. She looked pale, as if her blood had retreated to the deeper parts of her body. The Mandalorian displayed the navi layer under his helmet and checked their direction – they needed to correct their course.

She wouldn't hear him through the tempest of the wind, so he put a hand on her shoulder and when he had her attention, he nodded where the slopes winded, where the Navi compass indicated to go. The doctor had on her literally two thin layers of clothes and he could feel under the palm of his hand the topography of her shoulder. Consequently, he noted in the back of his head that no matter how much she had survived, exposing oneself to such frigid temperatures could end their escapade very quickly. She looked to him through narrowed eyes, trying to withstand the onslaught of the wind and nodded. The baby in her arms followed their exchange with its narrowed, blinking eyes. It must have been cold, too and it looked as if with their mightiest fighting the sleep.

You're going to have a home. I'll make sure of it.

After dusk began to set over this frigid place, which was pretty soon after they had set out, a shape of a settlement loomed in the distance. Like a shot of Corellian whisky, adrenaline spread through his capillaries, mobilising him into total focus. They had no idea what to expect. They needed to be ready. They had the fuel to run back from here, if it became necessary, and despite feeling like this walk took forever and a few moments more, the ship was still close by. They could make a tactical retreat in few quick moves.

They stopped and the doctor looked to him.

"Do you know what to expect?"

It was surreal how she seemed at times to read in his thoughts.

"No. Keep the child close."

"You don't have to tell me that."

Her dark brown hair mussed by the wind and cheeks coloured by the frost, she held his gaze – or at least where she thought his eyes would be. Every time she looked to him, she seemed to plunge fearlessly into the depths of his helmet, as if wanting to penetrate the beskar. Not minding the wind trying to peel her away from the surface of this rock. Of course she would hold the child close to her.

He nodded and turned to the way ahead of them.

Only to be greeted by a sight of a lone person clad from head to toe in steel, fur and leather, standing in a small distance from them. No features peaked through the thick cover of clothes or the sturdy helmet, but he deemed the person distinctly female.

Using a sharpened staff for support, the person walked closer to them and stopped few steps away. They clicked something on their helmet and the shaded-glass visor slid back, allowing a set of dark brown eyes full of wrath – not anger, not hostility, but wrath – to aim with its ion torpedoes at the doctor. And he saw the doctor tightening her grip on the child.

The person spoke, their voice from under the helmet rough and unwelcoming, not leaving any space for arguments.

"You have the Empire written all over you. Tell me one reason why I should let you walk away from this place alive."