Author's Note
Well, life hasn't gotten any better, or at least slowed down. I swear this fandom is the only thing keeping me sane right now. And Criminal Minds. Binging Criminal Minds always makes me feel better.
Anyway, this chapter starts Mahin getting settled in on the Razor Crest and we get a bit more about her past.
Go onward and enjoy!
Carving Out a Place Pt. 1
Mahin wakes in the dark, pitch black, and panics for a moment before registering a warmth curled against her and remembering. Mando's ship. Sleeping in his bed. The kid sleeping in the hammock.
And now sleeping against her chest.
Mahin still lays on her side and the kid somehow got out of his hammock and curled his way between her arms, snuggling right up against her chest. Her arms unconsciously curled around him in her sleep to hold him close like a teddy bear. She smiles softly to herself. Does he do this to Mando, too, while he sleeps?
The kid babbles some nonsense words, clearly wide awake and realizing she is now, too, but he hasn't left yet. The kid's smart enough to get out of this compartment on his own based on some of the things Mando mentioned. Yet the child stayed with Mahin.
He likes her. It makes her really happy. A really good thing if she's meant to look after him when Mando's gone. But mostly it makes her happy.
The little green bean is growing on her, too.
"Good morning, ad'ika," she whispers groggily, tracing a finger sightlessly up the kid's back and along one of his long ears. He coos happily as he nuzzles his face against her chest.
Even when she can't see him he's adorable. How is that fair?
Gathering him close with one arm, she sits up, feeling around the wall with her free hand for the interior control panel. She finds it on the right, getting the hatch open and spilling the bright light of the ship right into her eyes. She squints against it, grumbling under her breath. She's never been much of a morning person.
If it even is morning. Kriffing space, man.
She sets the kid down on the edge of the compartment. What should she do with him? Leave him in the compartment? Bring him to Mando? Feed him or something? She doesn't see Mando anywhere. Must still be up in the cockpit. She eyes the ladder, then another door next to it. Opening it up, she finds a refresher with a toilet and shower that work on a water recycler.
She stares longingly. Cleaning up sounds wonderful all of a sudden. She doesn't have a change of clothes but she can at least take a shower.
But what to do with the kid? The sweet, innocent face looks up at her like he's not capable of doing anything mischievous at all. She doesn't believe it for a second.
It's only for a few minutes though. He'll be fine for just a few minutes. Right?
"You stay right there," she tells him sternly. He cocks his head to the side with a soft coo. "I mean it. Don't you go getting into trouble. I'll be right back."
Not sure if he understands or not, she closes him inside the sleeping compartment so she can take the quickest shower of her life. She scrubs roughly with hurried movements, borrowing the shampoo and soap she finds on a shelf with relative confidence that Mando won't mind. The worry spirals down the drain, though, because she feels so much better after. Getting the dirt, grime and sweat off her skin and out of her hair is worth any blowback. Even a half-destroyed trip due to an adorable little menace. She feels a bit more like herself. Less frazzled after her world turning upside down again.
It helps that she finds the remains of the money Mando gave her in the pocket of her coveralls. She stuffed the payment in there and totally forgot about it, too tired to put it with the rest of her stash when she got home the previous night after giving the other half to the alor.
At least she's not starting with absolutely nothing this time. That was bad. She lived on the street for weeks, in a dingy little alleyway with rats as her neighbors. Then she got the job at the spaceport, but even then, it took forever to save enough for a down payment on that apartment above the cantina.
Her first real shower after moving in was just as blissful as this one. She practically turned pink from her struggle to scrub the rancid odors of the alley out of her skin.
This new beginning is definitely better.
She runs her fingers through her wet, tangled mess of hair as she exits the refresher, doing her best to brush it out and quickly giving up to pull the wet mop up into a bun. The kid still sits in the exact same place she left him. Except now clutching a silver ball in his hands like it's the most fascinating thing ever. Where did that thing even come from? It's not like the kid has pockets. She chuckles to herself, picking the kid up to sit him on her forearm.
This green bean will keep her on her toes. She can already tell.
Using only one hand to climb the ladder is interesting but manageable, something she commits to getting better at since it will likely be a common occurrence. She finds a short hallway at the top of the ladder, a door on the right and another on the left. Based on the hum, the hyperdrive engine hides behind the right door, so she goes to the left. The door slides open to reveal the small cockpit, walls lined with buttons and control panels twinkling like the stars currently blurring by in hyperspace. Two passenger seats sit to the right and left of the door, and right across from the door sits Mando in the pilot's chair, flicking some switches with a hand resting on the joystick.
"Good, you're awake," he says by way of greeting without even turning his head. "We'll be coming out of hyperspace in just a few minutes."
Mahin plops down in the seat to his right tiredly, keeping the kid in her lap. "I don't suppose you have caf on this ship, do you?"
Despite giving no outward sign, she can feel his amusement. "Sorry, no. I don't typically purchase luxuries like that."
Her nose wrinkles in displeasure. "Uhg. Bounty hunter like you, constantly on the move, you probably subsist off of ration packets alone, don't you?
"Nothing wrong with ration packets."
"For you, maybe. But not for me, or the kid for that matter. He needs actual nutrients, not that processed slag." She leans back in the chair, legs stretched out in front of her and crossed at the ankles as she muses, "Maybe I should pick up work at the ports while you go off on jobs. Most will take on an extra mechanic short-term so long as I promise to give them a cut of what I make. Then we could afford real food."
"Caf isn't real food," he reminds her lightly.
"Ration packets aren't real food," she throws back.
He lifts a shoulder and tilts his head in acknowledgment. After flicking a few more switches, he swivels the seat around to face them with his hand held out. "Come on, kid. I need that back now."
The kid coos in displeasure, clutching the silver ball a little tighter. Mahin notices the hole in the metal for the first time, the inside threaded like it screws onto something.
"Come on, kid," he says, gentle but firm. "You know the rules. Hand it over."
The child grumbles a bit more, hesitating, then plops the ball in Mando's hand like a chastised toddler.
"Good," Mando nods in thanks before spinning back around to screw the little ball back onto a lever.
Huh. That's where that came from. Kind of need that, and yet Mando seems to let him have it whenever he can.
"Does the kid have a name?" she wonders aloud, letting the child in her lap have one of her fingers in place of his ball. He clutches it with surprising strength, moving her fingers around to inspect in fascination. "I've only ever heard you call him kid. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but if I'm going to help take care of him it would be nice to know."
"He doesn't have a name. Or, at least, I don't know what it is." He flicks a few more switches and then they drop out of hyperspace, the blur of stars suddenly going still to fill the viewport with a blanket of black dotted with fiery lights. A planet floats in the middle of it all painted in swirling blues and greens and whites, a sun just peeking over its horizon. Mando stays quiet for a few moments as he works the nav system to scan the planet for the town he wants and plot their descent. "I…I don't know where the kid comes from. He probably has a name, and a family, but he doesn't know how to talk so he can't tell me. All I know is that he was taken by the Empire at a young age, held for…years, I suspect. And then he somehow got away."
He spins to face them again, hesitating for a moment, the air around him heavy with guilt. "You should know all this. If you're going to stay."
She straightens in her seat, brow furrowing in concern. What could have him this rattled?
"I," he takes in a deep breath and then lets it out slowly, "I accepted a bounty from an Imperial officer in exchange for beskar. I was to collect an asset and bring him back. Dead or alive. I was given a partial gene code, a tracking fob, an age, and a last known location."
Mahin clutches the child tighter in her lap, as if she can shield him from events that already happened. She can't imagine doing that, turning in a child to the Empire. A part of her wants to hate Mando for it. And yet, after being friends with Mandalorians for a year, she knows his people consider beskar sacred. She may never fully understand how important the metal is to them, but the strength of its importance in their minds isn't something she takes lightly. He had a duty to get it back, especially from Imp scum.
However she feels about it, she knows this story has a better ending than that—the proof of it sitting safely in her lap—so she stays quiet, letting Mando speak.
"I took it." Mando leans forward with his elbows on his thighs, head hanging heavy between his shoulders. "I thought I was going after some fifty-year-old man, not a child, so I just…tried to put the whole thing out of my head and did the job."
Mahin's jaw drops open. "Wait, they told you the kid was fifty?"
"He is fifty." Mando reaches a hand out to trace one of the child's long ears. "I don't know what species he is, but they physically develop slower than humans. I can see it sometimes. Even though he mostly acts like a baby, sometimes he seems to understand things. More than a baby should. He can't talk yet but I know he understands what I'm saying well enough."
Mahin looks down at the kid in a new light. Fifty. A fifty-year-old baby. Been around all these years and yet, developmentally, still mostly a child.
How long did the Empire have him before getting away? Mando said he thinks years. It could have been decades. Decades of enduring torture and who knows what else.
And still, the kid smiles.
"Anyway, I took the job, got the kid, and gave him back to the Imps for the beskar. But as I was leaving I just," Mando plops back in his seat with a deep sigh, "I couldn't do it. I couldn't leave him there with them. So I got him out and we've been running ever since. I hope to find his people. Get him back to his family and make sure the Empire never messes with him again."
His shoulders droop slightly, weighed down with a loss that hasn't happened yet. A loss that he won't acknowledge to himself. "He deserves a better life than this," he whispers, so low she's not sure she's meant to hear.
You are as his father, as the as the Mando'ade say. The kid is his foundling. As such, Mando has a right to name him. Yet he hasn't. Because he doesn't plan to keep the child and raise him Mandalorian. He's trying to take the kid home, to his own people who hopefully know the child's true name.
And then leave him there. Never seeing the child again.
For someone who doesn't plan to keep the kid, raise him as his own, it definitely seems like he's growing attached. The sadness wouldn't sit so heavy in the air around him otherwise at the mere thought of his goal complete.
Mando clears his throat awkwardly, turning to take the ship controls in hand. "Well, we better land before we run out of fuel."
Mahin gives the back of his head an incredulous look. "Just how low are we?"
"Lower than I'd like." They descend closer to the planet, the ship rattling as they begin to push through the atmosphere. "I'm hoping I won't have to glide her in."
Mahin gets the seatbelt around her waist and wraps her arms tightly around the kid, clutching her fingers into the little cloak he wears.
This Mandalorian doesn't joke often and she gets the feeling he isn't joking now.
Mahin stares out the viewport as Mando navigates them to one of the planet's small towns, managing—thankfully—to set them safely down in the shipyard. Though calling it a shipyard is generous. It's more like a cleared piece of land with a mechanic's shack and fuel pump next to it. It'll do though. They can get fuel and Mahin can have the space to give the Razor Crest a proper once-over now that they aren't in the middle of space.
Mahin doesn't pay attention to the shipyard for long, or even the town, as the ship settles on its landing gear. Her eyes stay focused on the rolling hills spread out for miles and miles.
Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. She hasn't seen this much green in a long, long time. Her feet itch to run through it, lungs aching to breathe in the fresh air unpolluted by smog.
"I need you to stay on the ship with the kid," Mando informs her as he flicks switches and pulls the lever with the ball back to power down the ship.
"What?" Mahin squawks in dismay. "Why can't we come with you?"
He swivels his seat around and stands, walking right past her out the door. She scrambles after him, awkwardly carrying the kid as she descends the ladder with one arm. At least going down appears to be a bit easier than going up. The weapons locker built into the wall opens up and he looks over the frankly impressive arsenal.
"Do you think there's going to be trouble or something?" she asks with trepidation sitting heavy on her chest, watching as he holsters one of his many blasters to his hip.
"No." He grabs the amban rifle as well, slinging the strap over one shoulder. Mahin whistles under her breath. Amban rifles are nasty pieces of tech. It can be used as an electrical baton that can shock opponents unconscious as well as a sniper rifle with rounds capable of disintegrating targets on a molecular level. She thought the New Republic banned them.
Though it's not like the New Republic does a whole lot of policing in the Outer Rim. Even if they did, they probably still wouldn't care. Or at least wouldn't look too closely.
"I still like to be prepared," he explains, slipping ammo for the rifle into a holster attached to his right calf. "It didn't look like we were followed, but the Stormtroopers could still fan out to nearby planets looking for us. Including this one. And this planet isn't the safest place anyway."
"That why you want us staying on the ship?"
"Yes and no." He closes up the armory and then turns to face her. "It's also to test you with the kid. I wasn't exaggerating when I said he can be a handful. I want to start with the two of you staying on the ship while I'm gone. Once you're used to each other, we can talk about you leaving the ship without me. I also want to set up safeguards in case something happens to you and I'm not there. Starting with this."
He offers her something and she holds her palm out, gloved fingers pressing a commlink to her hand. She runs her thumb over the device half the size of her palm, inspecting it closely. "Hush commlink," she notes, flipping it over, "capable of picking up even the smallest whisper, with a wide range that can cut through the electromagnetic chatter of most large cities without dropping signal and a built-in locator. Very nice."
"Keep this on you at all times," he orders firmly. "It connects to the commlink in my helmet. You keep me updated on where you are. Even if I can't always answer. You get in trouble, something feels off, someone even just looks at you funny, you tell me. If for some reason you can't talk, just click the talk button. It'll send a burst of static. Click it twice to tell me you need help and I'll find you."
Mahin swallows thickly, the severity of the situation truly making itself known to her for the first time. He's not just paranoid. This is an actual need. She may need to use this thing. She may end up in some kind of real, terrifying danger that only he can get her out of. Being with them, living this life, may get her hurt. Threatened, taken, tortured for information. Chased or beaten or scared within an inch of her life.
She should run. She should get out while she has the chance.
That feeling, though—the need to flee—it never comes. Just an increasing belief that she needs to stay. For herself, and for them.
"I promise to always have it on me," she vows seriously, shoving the commlink into a pocket before her lips twitch up at the corners, "on one condition."
"Alright," he says warily, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "What condition?"
"Two minutes."
His arms drop back down to his sides, taken aback. "What?"
"I want to go outside for two minutes before you go off and do your thing."
He stares in silence for a few seconds before nodding slowly. "Uh, sure."
He leads her towards the back of the ship, smashing the side of his fist against the button to lower the rear ramp.
Passing the kid to Mando, she walks to the end of the ramp and pauses. A field stretches out before her. Bright green grass rustles in the wind like rolling waves. Trees dot the field like islands, their branches lush, reaching up to the sun rising over the hills that paints the sky in shades of reds and oranges and yellows. She bends down to tug her boots off before stepping off of the ramp. Blades of grass tickle her bare feet in soft caresses. A content smile pulls at her lips and she closes her eyes, breathing the fresh air in deep.
"When was the last time you left home?" Mando asks quietly from behind her, trying not to burst her little bubble of peace.
"That wasn't home," she answers hesitantly, opening her eyes and keeping her gaze fixed on the scenery. A part of her wants to tell him. Everything. He's trusted her with so much already. Doesn't she owe him the same?
But he said she doesn't have to tell him. She can wait, until she's truly ready. Though she never even told Melinda and Luca the whole truth. If she couldn't tell them after a year, will she ever really be ready to tell this Mandalorian everything?
She doesn't know. But she feels obligated to tell him fragments, at least, and keeps it as close to the truth as possible when she adds, "I lived on Ulta-7 for about eight years. I got to the city, carved out a place for myself, and then never really left. Not even to the woods to the north. This is the most nature I've seen in a while."
"You don't need to be born in a place to call it home. I wasn't born a Mandalorian, I was a foundling, but the covert became my home."
"True." She rocks back on her heels, taking his little revelation in stride without comment as she tilts her face towards the breeze. A foundling himself. That kind of explains a lot. With a twist of her fingers, she lets her half-dried hair hang free to enjoy the feeling of her hair floating in the wind. "But that place still wasn't really a home."
It was an existence. Everything about her life has only been about existing—surviving—for a long, long time. What does home even mean? She's not sure she knows anymore.
Faces flash in her mind, broken pieces of memory clawing to the surface from where she buried them. A man with a square jaw covered in stubble and the deepest blue eyes she's ever seen. A woman with a bright, kind smile and the same fiery hair that falls down Mahin's back.
Those same faces marred with blood. The rancid smell of burning skin from blaster fire.
Forcing a smile on her face, she returns to her shoes to put them back on. "Alright, two minutes are up." Her hands brush against Mando's as she takes the kid from him. They don't shake, she notes to herself proudly. The child coos softly between them and her smile turns a bit more real, bouncing the kid on her arm.
No matter what she's lost or where she's been, maybe this time she'll find something more than existing.
Din can't shake the look on Mahin's face out of his head as he makes his way through town. He's never seen a smile look so broken before. Not even on foundlings' faces. Not even on his own face in the mirror after he lost his parents and was brought to the covert.
But he and the other foundlings had people looking after them, the Mandalorians. A family.
As far as he can tell Mahin has no one. Maybe the covert from Ulta-7, but they're gone now, too.
He heads to the bar he knows the local Guild rep likes to frequent. It's almost empty since it's still pretty early in the day, filled only with the die-hard drunks who never truly sober up, along with one man sitting in a darkened corner. Din slides into the booth across from him, leaning his amban rifle against the table while plopping down three complete pucks.
The man glances up from his datapad, dark eyes set into a grizzled face. "Finished already, I see," he comments absently, marking something off on his datapad with a finger. "That was fast."
Din doesn't reply, not one for idle chit chat. He does the job, he gets paid. End of story, no need for anything else. This rep seems to get that as he silently counts out his payment, tapping at the datapad again to arrange pickup for the carbonite bounties at the Razor Crest. A man walks out from the office behind the bar, heading outside to get a transport ready. "I have a few more bounties available," the rep says, laying out three new pucks on the table between them. "Nothing much, especially for someone of your skill. Pocket change, really."
Din looks the pucks over as he pockets his freshly earned credits, running calculations in his head as he replies, "Even pocket change has its uses. I need to purchase supplies for some ship modifications I have in mind. So long as it's local, it should help pay for everything I need."
"This one, then." He slides the middle puck closer.
Din activates it to take a look at the bounty information. Human, twenty-five years old. Parole jumper. Not overly sophisticated, so he shouldn't be very skilled at evasion. Last known location was just one town over. Perfect. "I should be able to finish this in under an hour. Mind delaying that carbonite pick up until I get back?"
"You've proven to be reliable enough." The rep leans back in his seat, laying a casual arm across the back of the booth. "And I can't get anyone else to take the puck since it pays so little. So yeah, sure. I can wait. You Mandalorians are obsessed with honor and all that stuff so you won't run out on me, right?"
"Right," Din clips between clenched teeth, getting up from his seat and gathering his rifle and puck to walk out of the bar. It always rubs the wrong way, whenever someone tries to talk about the Way like they understand. It usually comes with a mocking edge, whether they know they're doing it or not.
Mahin has been the only exception.
Alright, he's got work to do, half his brain focusing on the hunt while the other half pulls together a list of things needed to make the Razor Crest more welcoming for its newest crewmember. Hanging a hammock was good enough for the kid but Mahin needs more.
She deserves more.
He falters in his step a bit. Perhaps he should let her know that he's going to be longer than planned. Check in, make sure her and the kid are doing alright.
He's…not used to having someone to check in with.
It's definitely not an unpleasant feeling.
Author's Note
Whelp, we got people opening up a little. And Mando wanting her to feel welcome just as much as she wants to fit into this new life of hers.
Next chapter, we have Mahin alone with Grogu for the first time. Along with some pretty big revelations.
Hope you enjoyed, PLEASE REVIEW, and see you all next time!
Translations
alor (leader, chief)
ad'ika (little one)
