Author's Note

Surprise, another chapter! And this one is really long (for me) to make up for the last one being so short.

I struggled with this chapter. Like, a lot. It was difficult to find a balance of Mahin showing weakness and strength. I wanted to show how scared and shook-up she was after everything with the Stormtrooper but I didn't want her to be defenseless. I think I got it how I like it though?

Alright, go onward and enjoy!


Carving Out a Place Pt. 4

"How do you stand this?" Mahin asks quietly, striding down the road at Mando's right. The kid sits in a bag Mando carries over his shoulder, strap slung crossways over his chest so the kid hangs at Mando's left hip with his head poking out. Not the best baby carrier but it makes it easier than the pram to keep the kid close in these crowds.

The market crowds make Mahin's skin crawl. Hundreds of people mill between stalls lining either side of the road, the network of market streets crisscrossing all through the south side of the city. Every available space constantly emptying and filling with shuffling feet and the hum of voices and languages all blurring together. Really, no worse than her old spaceport, but all these people make Mahin feel nervous, jittery, maybe more than a little paranoid.

Everyone staring at them definitely doesn't help.

No one notices their little group at first. Not right away. But then someone looks up from the stalls, from their conversations, head turning just so. They catch the gleam of the sun shining off beskar and they freeze, just for a second, in shock and wonder. And fear.

A Mandalorian walking among them. To cause trouble? Based on the rumors spread about Mandalorians, most definitely. And so they part for him, wanting out of the way and as far from him as possible.

That's when they notice the woman walking with him. Without hesitation or trepidation. And that makes them gawk almost twice as hard, not just at Mando, but at her.

Mahin sticks close, her arm brushing Mando's every other step so she doesn't lose him. Not that anyone even attempts to walk between them but still. The stares totally creep her out.

"You learn to ignore it," Mando replies gruffly, head on a swivel. Looking for trouble or just admiring the stalls? No one can tell with the helmet, though Mahin suspects it's probably both. "They're curious. They haven't seen a Mandalorian in a long time. Most just stare."

They move through a more congested area, a popular stall with a lot of people huddled around the table that forces the path into a bottleneck. Mahin moves behind Mando, letting him take the lead to push through the people. Her hand reaches out on its own to curl into his cloak, her body pressing so close that she catches whiffs of gun oil, sweat, and something crisp—like the fresh, clean air of the forest after a storm.

Her lungs expand as far as they can, wanting to soak in that scent.

"What, uh, what about the others?" she asks to distract herself, voice almost lost in the sea of chatter and shouts and bartering, but she knows the sound amplifiers in his helmet pick her up. "The ones who don't just stare?"

They make it through the bottleneck and Mahin returns to his side. Mando's hand hovers against the small of her back, drawing her a step closer. Her breath hitches, catching more gun oil.

"Just remember," he says, hunching to bring his head closer to her ear so she can hear him better, "you're with me. All these people see that. And if anyone decides to mess with me, you, or the kid, they'll get a Whistling Bird in the face."

She lets out a surprised snort. He sounds so serious. And he probably really would do it, too. Not hesitating a second to protect them.

It helps settle her a little. As horrible as that sounds. That he would kill without hesitation to protect them.

He stops them at a stall selling clothing, all frills and flowery patterns and colors bright enough to make her go blind. Glad for the distraction, Mahin plants her hands on her hips and gives him an unimpressed glare. "Do I really seem like the kind of girl to wear this slag?"

"Um…." He shifts back and forth on his feet uncomfortably. Her brow arches and he fidgets even more. She bites back a giddy laugh. She actually makes the Mandalorian squirm. "No, I guess not. But you still need girl…stuff. Right?"

Her eyes scan over the collection of tables, noticing some bras and underwear laid out on one. True, she does need some girl stuff. She also spots some more normal clothing further down from the frilly. Chuckling, she decides to have pity on him. "Alright, alright, this will do. Hang tight. I should only be a couple minutes."

Mahin examines the selection of clothes like she examines an engine, meticulously working out what works and what doesn't. She grabs one of the baskets the vendor left out for customers, tossing in anything that looks good and in her size. Bras, underwear, socks. Her boots are still in good shape so she doesn't bother with shoes. She's never been one of those women obsessed with shoes. She slings in more tank tops and shorts—what she prefers to wear under the coveralls. She even finds new coveralls as well. The ones she wears are rather old, covered in grease stains, burn marks, and a few tears she stitched back together herself.

When finished, Mahin turns towards the personal care items—hairbrush, deodorant, and the like. Simple necessities. With every item she adds to her basket, she adds up the prices in her head, stopping when it gets to about a third of what she has available. She makes her way to the vendor camped out on a chair with an old cash box sitting at her feet. After a few steps, though, Mando gently grabs her elbow and turns her back around so he can peer in the basket.

"That's not enough," he huffs in disapproval. "You need more than two sets of clothes."

"This stuff isn't exactly cheap, you know," she points out stubbornly.

"I live as a nomad. Even I have enough clothes for at least five days. And you need clothes for planets with cold climates." He takes her by the shoulders and turns her back towards the tables. "Don't worry about prices. I'll help pay for it."

Her eyes widen, hand flapping frantically. "No! No, don't do that. It's fine. I don't need a whole lot and anything more can wait until—"

"Look, either you pick out more stuff or I'm picking stuff from the slag." He jerks his thumb towards the piles of frilly things.

Her brow drops low over her eyes as she glowers at him with the weight of a rampaging mudhorn. It affects him absolutely none. Of course, it wouldn't. He's stared down worse than her. Even a rampaging mudhorn according to that signet emblazoned on his right pauldron.

"Pushy Mandalorian," she grumbles under her breath, stomping back to the tables to pick out more things. She grabs more tank tops, t-shirts, some actual pants so she doesn't have to wear the coveralls all the time. Shorts are okay but she doesn't particularly like leaving her legs exposed. She gets one outfit for cold weather and then two jackets.

Just to spite him, she also grabs a set of crochet hooks she finds tucked in a corner and a skein of yarn dyed a soft baby blue.

She holds the basket up to the Mandalorian and asks sarcastically, "Well? This good enough?"

"It'll do for now," he relents, sticking close to her side as he finally allows them to approach the vendor. He pays for half of it before she so much as blinks. She tries to tell him that's way too much but he just crosses his arms in front of his chest and gives her a look that she can see in the particular tilt of his head.

She grumbles some more but lets it go. Once she starts earning money of her own, she'll pay him back. Even if she has to slip the money into his belt while he sleeps.

They continue on through the market, collecting bags of supplies as they go. As promised, Mando lets them buy half ration packets and half real food. They then get some toys for the kid. A teething ring, blocks, coloring supplies, a stuffed dog. Things that don't take up a whole lot of space and can easily fit in a crate when needed. The child seems interested in all of it, watching curiously as Mando packs the toys away in a bag to present to him back on the ship. Hopefully it'll keep him out of trouble for a while. Then Mahin can maybe buy him a new toy every other month or something to help keep him from growing bored.

When they get to the tools, Mahin slows down, taking her time to carefully examine everything on display. She ignores the fancy, brand-new selections that cost an arm and a leg. What the Mandalorian paid her won't cover the cost of even one of those tools. But the used tools are good enough for her. A little beat up, they've gotten dirty in the bellies of engines before and they're capable of doing so again with a little love. Mahin grabs another basket to start filling up, focusing first on what she needs to specifically work on the hyperdrive and then spreading out from there.

Shiny or rusty, new tools are new tools and Mahin happily picks through her prizes like most women do purses.

Mahin gets so caught up in the giddiness of shopping that she doesn't notice the Mandalorian slipping away from her side at first. When she holds up a tool and turns her head to ask him a question about it, her heart just about freezes when she finds him gone. Her eyes whip around, scanning the nearby faces for shining beskar.

Only to find strangers.

Her breath hitches in her chest as her stomach tightens uncomfortably. No, it's okay. It's alright. He just wandered off to look at another table because she's taking so long. He got bored waiting for her. He didn't just leave her.

He didn't leave her all alone again.

The crowds seem to close in tighter around her, sucking all the air away from her lungs. She quickly takes her basket to the vendor and pays for her tools with shaking hands. Panic feels close to the surface, hot and boiling, about to spill over the edge no matter how much she tells herself that everything's fine. It's all fine. Any minute now, he'll show back up at her elbow in that silent way of his, kid babbling away in the satchel.

But tension just coils between her shoulder blades tighter and tighter.

Maker, how did she become so attached so quickly? She's been on her own so long, why does it feel so impossible all of a sudden? Like being away from him tempts trouble to find her. That someone will grab her and whisk her away at any moment.

She's been alone before. She's always been alone. And she's been just fine. She's strong. She's capable. She can take care of herself.

But for some reason, it doesn't feel like it right now. She feels like a child lost in the woods without the Mandalorian near.

Losing the security of the covert, apparently, jarred her more than she first believed. She relied on them more than she believed. More than she should have.

She juggles all of her bags into one hand, her other delving into her pocket to curl her fingers around the commlink. She bites her lip, walking slowly through the crowd as she scans every face, ears searching for a modulated voice. Should she call him? Find out where he went? She doesn't want to appear needy to him but his sudden disappearance unsettles her more and more with every passing second.

He wouldn't just leave her here…right?

Wait, what if someone took him? And the kid?

Before that thought can completely spiral out of control, the Mandalorian says her name from behind her, completely out of nowhere. It startles a squeak out of her and she spins on her heel with rounded eyes. Her breaths whistle in and out of her throat in short puffs as she stares at him before leaving her in one big whoosh.

Her relief tips her forward to rest her forehead on his pauldron.

He's here, he's safe, him and the kid are both safe and they didn't leave her.

"Mahin?" he says softly, full of concern. His hand raises hesitantly as if to hold her arm or hip or something but pauses in the air halfway.

"Sorry," she mumbles, taking in a bracing breath before standing straight again with a forced smile. "Sorry, I just…didn't know where you were."

"I'm sorry, I—"

"No, no," she cuts him off with a shake of her head, wavy hair brushing against her shoulders. "No, it's not your fault. I overreacted. I…." She takes in a shaky breath to try to settle herself, fingers clenching into the pants of her coveralls. Her heart still roars in her ears. Adrenalin slow to wane. "Sorry, I don't mean to be clingy like this."

Mando looks up and down the street before taking her elbow and gently leading her away from the crowds. Doesn't say anything. Doesn't do anything to give away what he's thinking. Just walks. She goes with him numbly, head falling to watch her feet drag along the ground. They go down an empty side street for a semblance of privacy. People pass the alley's opening but none glance in. Like they don't exist.

Mahin bites her lip, still not looking up. He's going to yell at her for freaking out. He's not going to want her to come along anymore, she messed up….

Mando's hand suddenly disappears from her arm as they stop. Instantly, she misses the warmth, and just as fast she tries to quash that feeling down.

His feet shuffle in front of her just in her line of sight with her gaze lowered. She watches silently as his hand reaches out, completing its journey this time to curl a finger under her chin and tilt her head up to look at him. "Talk to me, Mahin," he implores softly.

Staring into his visor, that gentle plea hanging between them, she finds her mouth opening before she can really think of what to say. "I lived for years on my own. Almost two decades. And then the covert came and I…suddenly, I wasn't alone anymore. I had friends. I had people looking out for me. And I think I became complacent. Reliant on that protection they offered. Too reliant." She licks her lips, the words tumbling out faster and faster. "And now they're gone and I'm alone again and yet, I'm not. You're here, and I can feel myself wanting to develop this unhealthy attachment after everything that happened. But I won't!" she adds hastily, hand flapping uselessly between them as she stares up at him pleadingly. "I won't, I swear, I'll get over it in a couple days and everything will be fine, I—"

"Hey, hey," he catches her hand waving around, his large hand engulfing hers. The leather of his gloves feels smooth, soft. Thick and sturdy, but still she can feel the heat of him through the fabric. What would his skin feel like? Soft and smooth as well? Or rough, covered in callouses from the labor of a Mandalorian and bounty hunter? "It's okay."

"Sorry," she murmurs again.

"You have nothing to apologize for. What you went through yesterday was traumatic."

Her lips twist into a grimace as she whispers, "It's not the worst thing I've ever been through. And I was fine before. I don't want to feel like I need to rely on you. Like I can't take care of myself. And I don't want you to feel that you've gone from babysitting one child to two. But I…I don't know. The panic won't go away."

She hates feeling so helpless. And the paranoia and the constant fear. She may not have much of a life, but this is no way to live and she doesn't want to let the fear win.

She's a survivor. She's always been a survivor. And she can be one again now.

But it's been five years since the Empire fell. Since the constant need to look over her shoulder started to fade. A part of her forgot what all of this was like.

After long moments of silence, Mando squeezes her hand. "Come on. Let's go."

Not releasing her hand, he tugs her back towards the market. But instead of moving further into the stalls he turns them back towards the Razor Crest.

"W-We don't have to go back yet," she babbles insistently. "I told you, I'll be fine, we can finish getting supplies."

"We are done, Mahin." He holds up the bags he carries in his other hand, new ones along with her clothes that he insisted on carrying for her. "We have everything we need. Let's head back to the Crest."

She nods, suddenly feeling so tired and ready to be done with this day.

The entire trip back to the ship, Mando never lets go of her hand. She fights with herself with every step, a part of her relishing in the contact and another wanting to let go and reassert her independence because she doesn't kriffing need to have her hand held like a child, dank farrik.

It feels nice, though. It feels so kriffing nice and she can't remember the last time someone touched her like this. She shared touches and hugs and soft moments with Melinda and Luca and others in the covert but this feels…different.

This Mandalorian is different. She can't really pinpoint how, or why.

She wants to. And so she keeps hold of his hand the whole way back.

When they reach the Razor Crest, they find men unloading crates from a transport. Mahin frowns at the strangers but Mando shows no sign of alarm and so she assumes he expected them. He pulls her to a stop several meters away before placing the kid in her free arm. "Hang tight here for a minute," he tells her, taking the bags from her hand so she can wrap both arms around the kid. "I need to talk with them for a minute and then I want to show you something."

"What are they dropping off?" she asks curiously, eying the crates and wondering what he could have ordered that would be that big.

"I had some work I wanted done to the ship. Some," his voice turns aloof and she can practically hear the smirk, "equipment installed. I need to show them where everything goes so they can get to work putting it in."

Her eyes narrow. Well, someone's in a cryptic mood. But he sounds strangely pleased with himself and so she lets him keep his secrets for now, heading off into the field to let the child wander through the grass. The blades almost reach the top of his head and she giggles, keeping an eye on the pointed ears poking out of the grass like twin dorsal fins as the child runs in aimless circles.

A few minutes later, she hears the hard thump of the Mandalorian's boots walking up behind her followed by a strange swooshing sound, like something stabbing into the dirt. She turns around to find him pushing a large target into the ground, a bullseye secured to a pole around the same height as her.

"What's this?" she asks. The kid walks up to it as well, looking almost straight up at the bullseye as his tiny hands clench around the pole.

Mando scoops him up to cradle him on his forearm before the kid can get any ideas. "It's your target practice."

Her brow furrows. "Target practice? What am I practicing?"

"This." He pulls a blaster tucked into a holster out from where he was hiding it behind his back, offering it to her.

Her eyes go wide like it's a shiny new tool, fingers itching to touch but she holds herself back. "For me?"

He holds it out further, encouraging her to take it. "Yes. For you."

She takes it reverently, running her fingers along the leather of the holster before pulling out the pistol. It feels good in her hand, fitting perfectly in her palm. Too small for him—though a blaster is a blaster when you really need one—and she suspects he bought blaster and holster both for her today when he slipped away.

Mando steps close, so close, setting the child down at their feet. He takes the holster from her and kneels in the dirt. His forehead almost brushes against her stomach. Would she feel the beskar through her tank top? Would it be warm or cold? Her stomach tightens in anticipation, wanting to lean forward, close the distance, but the inches remain between them. He taps one of her feet to get her to spread her legs further apart.

Her breath hitches, heat rising to her face. She complies without a word.

"Right-handed or left-handed?" he asks, calm and assured.

Is the proximity doing nothing to him? Because Mahin feels like her skin's going to boil right off her face with her flush and her heart flutter right out of her chest, burst through her ribcage in its haste for freedom.

Kriff, why is the mushy imagery in her head so violent?

He looks up at her, head cocked to the side, and she realizes belatedly that he asked her a question. "R-Right-handed," she croaks out, biting her lip to keep from speaking more because she knows she'll only make a fool of herself.

His hands go for her right thigh, securing the straps of the holster in place. She blinks hard, swearing she imagines it, but no. No, she does see it.

His hands shake slightly as they work. Brushing against her—lingering—more than they should. She wouldn't notice if she wasn't looking for it.

How can that make the embarrassment better and worse at the same time?

But at least she knows—he's affected by this, too. Something simmers in the air between them like a mirage, blurring in and out of focus and threatening to disappear if she gets too close.

Does she want it to come into focus? Or would it be best to leave it alone? Mirages are just an illusion, after all. They're not real. They don't last. They don't stay.

No one ever stays.

Mando picks up the kid again and stands to his feet to back away from her. "How does that feel?"

The distance helps clear her head a little. She takes her first full breath in what feels like hours. "It, uh, it feels good." She flexes her leg, lifting her foot up and down and bending at the knee to make sure the straps don't move. "Comfortable. Thanks."

"Good," he says with a nod, clearing his throat a little. "So you, uh, said you had some training?"

"That's right."

"Any of that include shooting?"

Her lips slowly curl up in a smirk. She expertly releases the clip on the blaster, checking the energy cartridge before sliding it back into place with a slap of her hand. She cocks the gun with a high-pitched whine, primed and ready. "A bit, yeah."

"Then show me what you've got." He jerks his head towards the target and backs away further so she can take up position in front of it a few meters away.

She settles her feet into a solid stance, holding the gun out with both hands and taking aim. She can feel the memory of hands on her shoulders, hands so much bigger than hers. First her father's, teaching her how to protect herself before she ever understood she'd need to.

"Brace your feet. Don't keep them too close together and keep your arms rigid. If you don't prepare properly for the kickback, you'll end up falling flat on your back."

She takes in a deep breath and releases it slowly. Her father taught her the basics but Luca showed her precision, how to hone the raw talent.

"Watch your target's movements. Learn them. Know them. Anticipate them. And when the time comes, take the shot without hesitation. Hesitation will only get you shot first."

On her next exhale, she squeezes the trigger, hitting the dead center of the bullseye. She fires again and again, hitting the same spot every time until the blaster fire burns a smoking hole right through the metal target.

Mando lets out an impressed whistle as she lowers the gun, slipping it into her new holster. "You're quite the shot."

Pride settles warmly in her chest. Sure, a stationary target is a lot different than real combat—real people—but the praise is still nice to hear. Especially from someone as skilled as him. "I had good teachers."

"Let's see what else they taught you."

A shift of the Force is her only warning. She doesn't even hear the swishing of grass as he sets the kid back down or when his feet launch him forward. A warning pulses in the Force and instinct takes over, ducking just in time to miss Mando's swinging fist. She scrambles backwards, almost stumbling but then she catches herself and falls into a familiar fighting stance.

Mando's head tilts in what she thinks is approval. He falls into a fighting stance as well, lifting a hand and curling his fingers to invite her to make the next move.

She flashes him a dangerous grin, heart hammering excitedly in her chest, and she thinks she feels actual trepidation from him.

Her body flows into a familiar dance. This is the one thing she can't keep herself from using the Force in. She's not sure what it is about fighting. The threat of hands or feet or blades flying at her. The overwhelming need to survive that courses through her veins to override everything else. The Force just opens up to her when she finds herself in a fight, flowing all around her and in her without ever consciously calling for it. It's just there and there's no denying it or shoving it away like she normally would. She sees its ebb and flow, how it fluctuates with the slightest shift of Mando's feet or twist of his hand, giving away where he'll move, where he'll be five steps ahead to give her an edge that puts most opponents flat on their backs within five minutes.

It's a good thing she doesn't find herself in a brawl often. Normally she simply flees so she doesn't have to risk using the Force, but Mando wants to see what she's capable of.

So she lets him have it.

Mando catches on quick that she's not exactly an amateur. She actually gets a surprised squawk out of him when she lashes out a kick to the back of his knee not covered by the armor. His leg buckles. His knee hits the ground and she launches herself onto his back, wrapping her arms around his neck in a chokehold and squeezing. Not too hard to actually cut off his windpipe but enough to get the point across.

That she could.

She brushes her nose against the side of his helmet where his ear would be. "Impressed yet?"

He does something with his hands, a move so fast even the Force doesn't catch it in time and then she finds herself laying on her back in the grass, Mando hovering over her with his forearm pressed to her neck and her arms trapped to her sides by his knees straddling her.

Fire tingles up her spine.

"I am impressed," he says slightly out of breath, smile evident in his voice. "But you still have a lot to learn."

"There's always more to learn," she replies, remembering Melinda telling her the same words months ago. "The day you decide you know it all is the day someone will get the better of you."

"Spoken like a true Mando'ad." He shifts off of her. Instead of standing, however, he surprises her by rolling to lay on his back in the grass next to her, their forearms touching.

They lay in silence for a long time, listening to their labored breathing even out again, the soft swooshing of the grass swaying in the breeze, clanking as the laborers work on the Razor Crest. The child's babbling drifts around them as he explores, never wandering so far that they feel the need to go after him. Eventually, the child joins them himself, sitting down in the space between Mando's arm and his hip to lean back against Mando's side.

Mahin's muscles ache from the sudden exertion of their impromptu sparing match. She revels in it. It reminds her of what she can do. It reminds her of the power she holds, not just in the Force, but in her own ability. Her own strength.

She's not defenseless.

"Thank you," she whispers, idly threading grass through her fingers.

"I knew you had strength the first moment I saw you." She hears the metal of his armor sliding against the ground and she turns her head to see him already looking at her. The beskar gleams in the afternoon light. Almost blindingly so but she refuses to look away.

"How did you know that?" she whispers, like the knowledge is the deepest secret no one else can know.

"You stood in front of me without fear. Which doesn't happen often. I knew there was something different about you. And then I saw you with the covert. How relaxed you were. At home with them. One of them. And I could see it. You have mandokar."

Her brow furrows curiously as she turns to lay on her side facing him, arm bent to pillow beneath her head. "Mandokar? What's that?"

"It means you have the right stuff. You exhibit the virtue of the Mando'ade." He gives his hand to the child, letting the little one play with his fingers. He makes a valiant attempt to take Mando's glove off but his little fingers can't quite manage it. He lets out an adorable frustrated huff as he keeps trying. "It's hard to explain in Basic. It's more of a feeling. A jumble of feelings."

She hums in encouragement to go on, her curiosity of his culture never waning.

Mando remains quiet, head turning away to look up at the sky. Not like he won't answer but like he takes his time to seriously think through his thoughts before speaking. "It's like a blend of loyalty and tenacity. And aggression, but not, like, anger. Not something so negative. Fierceness, maybe? And a sort of…lust for life. A willingness to do all that you can to keep yourself alive and to keep your clan alive. To protect those closest to you."

Her lips part on a small gasp, fingers clenching in the dirt. "And you think I have that? Even after today?"

After she showed so much weakness?

"I know you do." His helmet turns back to her, voice filled with such conviction. No room for doubt. "It's why I wanted you to come with me and the child. You just needed to be reminded of it."

Mahin traces her fingers along the blaster on her thigh again, the tremulous emotions she's been holding in since leaving the Razor Crest melting away as his surety washes over her. He's right. She does have that willingness to keep herself alive, and she has the skills to do it, too.

She'll be alright. With or without the covert. With or without this Mandalorian. Because she is capable. She is strong. She is a fighter. A survivor. And though she's been tossed back into the storm, she knows she can weather it again, just as she has many times before.

She can. Even when it feels like she can't, she can, because her true strength never left her.

Slowly, she reaches out a hand to lightly squeeze Mando's fingers, interrupting the child's play. Mando's fingers twitch. Hesitating. She holds her breath, just waiting for him to pull away. Then, just as slowly, his fingers curl around hers, offering a quiet strength and warmth she suspects he likes to keep hidden behind the armor. Not letting anyone see.

But he gives it to her freely.

Not to be left out, the child plops his three-fingered hands down on theirs with a happy coo, making Mahin's chest squeeze even tighter. She looks up into the child's big, dark eyes. Just as dark as the glass visor that hide's Mando's own eyes. She looks between these two people who plopped down into her life and she swears she feels their reassurance, their solidarity. Even from the child, so young in form but old in years, understanding more than a child should.

They're in this together. Mahin knows she doesn't have to rely on them. She is not so weak that she has to. But she can use their strength to make herself stronger.

"Come," Mando says after a time, squeezing her fingers and then helping her to her feet with the child cradled in the crook of his elbow. "The workers are done."

She didn't even notice the receding voices of the laborers, leaving only one man behind to collect payment. Mando hands the man a handful of credits and bids him on his way before motioning Mahin into the belly of the ship.

Her boots echo off the metal floor, the shaded coolness and cycling air of the ship causing a chill to run along her sun-warmed skin. She thinks of the new clothes she bought today, including a jacket she selected with the chilled air of the ship in mind, and looks about for where Mando placed her bags. They don't sit in immediate sight. They could be in one of the crates, but the crates don't look to be disturbed. The only other place could be the cockpit, but she can't imagine him putting her bags there.

She turns to the Mandalorian as the ship ramp closes, shutting them inside. "Where, uh, where's my stuff?"

"In here." He passes her, setting the child down on a crate as he goes to the far corner of the ship. He opens the door to the storage compartment across from the ladder.

Ah, of course. Where else to put extra luggage but a storage compartment? Maybe she can organize the space a bit more, commandeer a crate for her stuff without taking too much space away from the supplies he keeps in there.

But when he opens the door and steps back for her to take a look, she finds all the supplies completely cleared out. One crate remains in the corner, and across from it to the right of the door is a bed.

It takes up half the space of the storage compartment—no, her room, this is her room—almost twice as big as the Mandalorian's own bed. It has a padded mattress on top that looks comfortable, sheets and blankets and a pillow folded neatly on top, along with her bags from the market. Drawers are built into the bottom of the bed for additional storage and her throat closes up so tight it aches.

"You—this is…you did this for me?" Her face goes slack with the emotions swirling around in her stomach, not sure which one to voice first. Shock? Disbelief? Gratitude? A polite but firm refusal because this is a lot, this couldn't have been cheap and she never wanted him to rearrange his life for her so literally.

"You're my crew," he says as if he can hear those clattering thoughts and the one, simple truth answers them all, "and you need a place to sleep."

"B-But this is so nice. It should be the captain's quarters. You should have this, I'll be fine with the sleeping compartment—"

"No," he cuts off with a growl, making her mouth clank shut. Not truly aggressive but it startles her. "This is yours and that's final."

She nods mutely. She really wasn't looking forward to sleeping on the floor—or trying to find a way to take turns with the sleeping compartment if he would be up for that—but she didn't expect him to do this.

He taps the doorframe. "There's a keypad inside and outside the room so you can lock the door. Set the code to whatever you want. Sometimes we'll have other people on the ship, so you can keep them out when you want. I have an override in case of emergencies, of course, but I promise to respect your privacy and not use it unless, well…."

The corner of her mouth crooks up. "Unless it's an emergency?"

"Right," he huffs. She can hear his answering smile. She imagines it being a touch boyish. Shy. "I take my meals in the cockpit. If the cockpit door is closed, uh," he scratches at the back of his neck awkwardly, "knock, I guess."

Mahin tries hard not to laugh. He sounds so far out of his depth, but he's trying. He's trying for her. "And what about in the mornings or something? Is there, like, a time when you want me to stay in my room so you have time to yourself? You know, take the helmet off for a while and stuff?"

He shakes his head. "No, don't worry about that. I never take the helmet off unless in the refresher or eating."

Mahin balks. "You don't even take it off when sleeping? Seriously? Doesn't that hurt your neck?"

The kid waddles over to them, stopping right at Mando's feet. She gets the feeling he rarely likes to stay wherever Mando puts him. He looks up at his guardian, small hands slapping the shin guards of Mando's armor with an adorable little pout to his mouth. It doesn't take much more than those big eyes set in that adorable face for Mando to give in and pick the kid up. He holds him high on his shoulder, allowing the little one to bury his face in the warm fabric of Mando's cloak where it gathers around his neck.

"The kid sleeps in my compartment with me," Mando says softly as the kid lets out a yawn, three fingers of one hand curling around the edge of his breastplate as his eyes droop closed. "I have to leave the helmet on. But it's nothing I'm not used to."

Mahin shifts on her feet, biting the inside of her cheek as she glances inside her room. "I could, uh, I mean, we could start keeping him in my room? I'm sure we could find a place to hang that hammock."

"No," he gets out hastily, so fast and urgent it makes Mahin's lips twitch up in a suppressed smile. He clears his throat, shoulders hunching a little higher in what she suspects to be a rare show of embarrassment. "No, uh, that's fine. He stays with me."

She smiles softly at him which seems to put him at ease. Turning to her bags, she starts sifting through her belongings. "Alright, I guess I'll get settled in. Afterwards, I can get started on giving the Crest a thorough once-over with my shiny new tools."

Mando nods, backing out of her doorway. "I'll let you get to it, then. Let me know if you need anything."

"Vor entye," she says as he leaves, stomach fluttering in abject joy with the realization that she can keep learning Mando'a. She can keep learning about Mandalorians and their culture and maybe, someday, she'll find Melinda's covert again and will be able to speak with them in their language. Tell them about the things she's seen on her adventures, show Luca her new blaster, tell them how much she misses them. How much she loves them.

They're out there, somewhere.

It's a big universe. And she plans on seeing as much of it as possible.


Author's Note

Alright, lots of stuff to unpack.

I like the idea that Mando would try really hard to make a place for Mahin on his ship. I've seen lots of fics where his companion/partner sleeps on the floor in the hold, which never really sits right with me. He tried all he could to make sure the kid is comfortable on the ship. Constructing that make-shift pram and giving him a little hammock; I think he would do just as much for her. So she gets her own room (which he will be moving into with her eventually, don't you worry).

With the Force helping her fight, I don't know if that's really a thing, exactly. But if the Force can help Luke block blaster shots while blindfolded then it should help Mahin dodge fists. Idk, makes sense to me and I'm sticking with it.

Mahin crochets cause I crochet and I think I've been craving a new project lately and so this happened. And it gave me a really cute idea for a future chapter so, yeah, crocheting in space is a thing now.

Speaking of future chapters, this is the end of the initial setup. When I first started writing with the intent of making this a one-shot collection, I didn't expect the beginning to turn out so long and connected. What can I say? I usually write full-on stories. Old habits die hard. But after this, we are entering one-shot territory. I'm going to try to keep them in chronological order. If I do end up writing out of order I'll likely rearrange any chapters already posted and make a note at the top of the chapter. Some of them may be in multiple parts again, especially if a plot bunny runs away with me, and they'll be marked as such.

Next chapter might not be up for a while. I have a long week at work ahead of me. But I'll try not to make it longer than two weeks.

Hope you enjoyed, PLEASE REVIEW, and see you all next time!


Translations

Mando'ad (Mandalorian, singular)

Mandokar (the right stuff, the epitome of Mandalorian virtue, a blend of aggression, tenacity, loyalty, and a lust for life)

Mando'ade (Mandalorians, plural)

Vor entye (thank you, lit. "I accept a debt")