Author's Note

Sorry it's been so long. Life continues to sucker-punch but I do continue to write for this fic. At least this one is on the longer side.

Go onward and enjoy!


Safe Hands

The sun just starts peeking over the mountains when Mahin opens the Razor Crest's rear ramp. A cool breeze drifts in, still chilled from the shadows of the night. Mahin grips her cup of caf between her hands more tightly to leech off its warmth. With socked feet, she shuffles to the bottom of the ramp and sits down, enjoying the way the red and orange sunlight dusts the forest down below. Mando parked them at the top of a cliff just a few hours ago, allowing her to see the sparkling leaves dance for miles and miles.

They arrived in the middle of the night, both for the planet and their day cycle. Mahin only vaguely remembers landing. Just hazy memories of Mando knocking on her door and his modulated voice informing her he was leaving to start his hunt. She thinks she gave a groggy response that sounded a bit like "stay safe" and then turned back over in her bed to sleep for a little while longer.

She'll never be much of a morning person. She doesn't understand how Mando gets going without a good cup of caf. Especially with such a random sleep schedule.

Cooing drifts from behind her just as Mahin finishes off her cup. She looks over her shoulder to see the child slowly making his way down the ramp on his little legs, rubbing sleepily at his eyes. She smiles, setting her empty cup aside to scoop him up in her arms when he makes it to her. "Good morning, ad'ika. You sleep okay?"

He gives another soft coo as he settles in her lap, head swiveling around like he's looking for something.

"Mando already left, ad'ika," she tells him, smiling sadly when his big ears droop. She tucks him close against her chest, gently rocking side to side in comfort. "I know. You miss him when he's gone. But your buir will come back soon. He always comes back to you as fast as possible."

Mahin knows she probably shouldn't do that. She shouldn't call Mando the kid's parent. His father. She knows Mando wouldn't want her encouraging that kind of thinking, but it's so hard not to. Mando dotes on the kid, protects him, takes care of him, just like any loving father she's ever met. And the kid—he looks up at Mando like he hung all the stars in the sky.

They are father and son. No matter what Mando says. Even if Mando ends up reuniting the kid with his people. Mando is this kid's buir, through and through.

The kid gives another coo as if in agreement. Then she notices a little presence drifting along the edges of her mind. Sensing where her mind has wandered. She gives the child a little glare, more playful than truly disapproving. She still sends him a little admonishment before gently pushing his Force presence back from hers, but it's hard to be truly mad at the joy—the love—she feels from him before they disconnect again.

He agrees with her. Mando is his buir and he loves hearing someone say it when he can't.

Of course, she definitely won't risk mentioning it in front of Mando. Just when it's her and the kid.

It's definitely been interesting living with the two of them, she muses quietly as they continue to watch the rising sun together. An adjustment, but not an unpleasant one. She finds herself missing Mando, too, when he leaves. She adores the child, but sometimes it's nice to have another adult around. Even one as quiet as Mando. He hardly ever offers up a conversation. Not out of rudeness or shyness. He's just a quiet person. She never minds the quiet, not after being alone for so long, but it's a different kind of quiet. A comfortable quiet instead of one filled with loneliness.

It's nice to simply sit together, each doing their own thing. She definitely talks more than him overall, but she doesn't always feel the need to fill the silence. They've grown comfortable with each other. At least, Mahin hopes he's comfortable with her now. That he maybe enjoys her company as much as she enjoys his.

The child meeps at her, fingers curling into the front of her tank top as he looks up at her imploringly. She shakes her head in amusement. "What, you don't want something, do you?"

He meeps at her again, hand tugging, and she chuckles.

"Alright, alright, let's get you some food."

She shifts the child to cradle him on one arm so she can stand, rummaging around the crates one-handed to get them both some breakfast. After satisfying the bottomless pit—for now—Mahin gets them both ready for the day. The Razor Crest's landing gear has been making an odd knocking sound when extending and retracting. She needs to figure out the problem before the landing gear decides to collapse out from under them or something.

It seems like every time she gets something fixed and the ship running smoothly again, something else decides to break. The hazards of older ships, she guesses. At least it keeps her busy.

Mahin gets the child settled into his floating pram with blankets and toys and grabs her toolbox to head outside. She presses buttons on the pram to lock it in place nearby so she can keep an eye on the kid and then slips into the sleeves of her coveralls to get to work.

The morning goes by slowly, filled with the child's soft coos and her own mumbled curses as she struggles with the landing gear. She takes pieces apart, puts them back together, inspects them up and down looking for something off but finds absolutely nothing. Then she gets to the hydraulics and it clicks.

"Of course, duh," she says, rolling her eyes at herself. Air in the hydraulic fluid would cause a knocking noise when the pistons move the legs of the landing gear in and out. She switches out her tools so she can undo the line that connects the pump to the piston. Sure enough, she finds the seal worn and degraded, which would allow air to get in to form bubbles in the liquid.

The whole thing has to be stubborn, though, just like the ship's owner. She spends twenty minutes kneeling on the ground trying to get the kriffing seal off but it refuses to budge. It even feels a little melted, almost welded to the metal making it difficult to pry away. Mahin huffs in frustration as she reaches into her toolbox to grab a utility knife.

She wedges the tip of the blade between the metal connector and rubber seal, carefully jiggling back and forth to try to loosen it. It pops a little. The rubber bends to her blade and finally releases to allow the knife to get fully behind it. Still jiggling, she works her way around the edge of the seal to pry it away from the connector.

The child coos loudly, a sound she recognizes as his attempt to catch her attention.

"Hold tight, ad'ika," she tells him without looking up, the seal almost loose enough for her to grab with her fingers. "I'm almost done. Let me just finish this and then we can play."

Mahin's head whips around as a sudden cry of "Help!" rings out across the cliff, like the prey of a nexu battling for their life.

Mahin's heart jumps into her throat, hand jerking in surprise followed by a flash of pain. She hisses through her teeth, ignoring it for now as she launches to her feet and spins around to plant herself between the child and the voice. She tosses the utility knife behind her in favor of the blaster strapped to her thigh.

Just as she gets her gun raised, two figures walk up over the edge of the ridge. A terrified human man in his forties, hands cuffed behind his back with Mando gripping his arm roughly to shove him forward. The man jerks around in Mando's hold, trying to get away while yelling his head off.

Mahin practically wilts in relief, lowering the gun but not holstering it just yet. The look in the man's eye sets her on edge. He looks wild, feral, fight or flight instincts making him struggle like his life depends on it.

Maybe it does. But he's a bounty and Mando has a job to do.

"Help me!" Desperation mars the guy's face in a horrifying grimace when he spots Mahin. He struggles even harder, begging and pleading with her, "Help me! Please, help me! I didn't do anything! I didn't do the things they're saying, I swear! There's been a mistake!"

Mahin blinks owlishly, taken aback. "I..."

"Please, miss, you have to help me!" the man cries, jerking forward in another valiant attempt to wiggle out of Mando's hold.

Mando yanks him back with a growl that almost doesn't sound like him, angry and biting, "Shut up. Don't talk to her, don't talk at all."

Mahin's never seen Mando like this. Cold and fury wound tight beneath shining beskar. He looks very much like the warrior he was trained to be. He stands on a hair-trigger, a fire in him just waiting to unleash all manner of violence on the quarry in his hands.

Without hesitation. Without remorse.

He's fought before. Killed before. Maimed. Tortured. She can see it in the bunching of muscles beneath layers of fabric not covered by armor. Feel it radiating off of him like a bonfire waiting to ignite at the slightest hint of a spark on tinder.

Almost wanting it.

It should scare her. Seeing him like this. Seeing what he's capable of. She waits for the fear to bubble up in her chest. To make her shrink back.

It never does.

The quarry, though. He looks absolutely terrified, pleading with her over and over again to let him go, to convince Mando there's been a mistake, to have mercy.

"I have children!" he cries, stumbling on his feet. He falls out of Mando's grip when he trips to his knees in the rocks and dirt. Mando sighs in frustration when the quarry doesn't try to run, just continues to beg. "My children, please! Don't do this to my children!"

He sounds earnest. Eyes large and pleading. Shiny with unshed tears. His clothes are simple, a worker's uniform, maybe a miner. And trashed, with smears of dirt and blood covering it like the canvas to some abstract art. How can someone so frightened and pathetic be so dangerous to have a bounty on them? It's enough to put a seed of doubt in the pit of Mahin's stomach.

Could there have been a mistake? Could the guild be wrong? Is he innocent? Someone setting him up? Someone lying just to get a bounty hunter to do their dirty work? This man has children, a family, people relying on him. Turning him in could be a mistake.

Maybe. Just maybe.

Except that she senses it through the Force. A thread of darkness lying beneath that convincing terror.

She senses Mando's worry, too. Worry about her reaction. Worry how she'll take this, what she'll think, what she'll do. If she'll cause trouble. And she senses his surprise when she shakes her head, backing away closer to the kid before nodding her head towards the open cargo door.

The longer she stares at the dried blood on the bounty's clothes—the more she listens to the Force—the more obvious the darkness in him becomes. The man doesn't look hurt. His skin holds not even a scratch. That blood isn't his. It's someone else's, someone else made to bleed by his hands.

She doesn't say that out loud. Doesn't mention how she can hear the echo of a woman's screams in her head before one last, choked-out gasp of air. Because she has no way of explaining how she knows the man's lying. How she knows he's wanted for murder and other unspeakable things.

She just silently watches as Mando gets the guy to his feet again, drags him to the back of the ship, and shoves him in the carbonite unit to freeze him into a solid slab of chakaaryc.

A deep breath escapes her as her body catches up to the fact that the excitement's over for now. She drags a hand through her hair, turning back around to regard the child with a sudden tiredness in her bones. He cocks his head back at her, large eyes more curious than alarmed at the stranger's jarring arrival. She reholsters her gun, wondering how many times he's witnessed something like that.

Enough to be used to it, apparently. And something tells her that's not Mando's doing.

Well, not only Mando's doing.

"I didn't expect you to be out here when I got back," Mando says behind her, almost—almost—sounding like an apology. "I knew I should have gagged him. He tried to…." His voice trails off as he joins her at her side, his entire frame suddenly going taunt with urgency. "You're bleeding."

Her brow furrows. "What?"

"Your hand." He grabs her wrist in a firm grip, not tight enough to hurt but still leaving her little choice as he raises her hand to eye-level. She tries to pull back, mouth opening with a scathing remark about not being one of his bounties, but then she notices the blood dripping down her palm.

White-hot pain flares in her hand now that she pays attention to it. Deep crimson drips down from a long cut in the flesh between her thumb and forefinger. Right where her knife caught her skin when she was startled, she suddenly remembers. She hardly noticed getting the wound at the time, more focused on protecting the child, but she definitely notices it now.

Air hisses between her teeth as she flexes her fingers, pain spiderwebbing out from the cut until her whole hand feels like it's on fire. Kriffing thing must be deep.

"Great, just what I need," she grumbles, Mando finally letting her pull away as she searches through her pockets. She finds a rag, gripping one end between her teeth the help her tie it around her hand.

"You're not using an old, grimy rag to bind a wound," Mando chastises, yanking the rag away from her. He takes her by the elbow, turning her towards the open ramp as he presses buttons on his vambrace to make the kid's pod follow him again.

"But I still have work to do," she protests weakly, gesturing with her injured hand towards her tools still laid out. "I finally figured out what's wrong with the landing gear. I need to finish it before we can leave."

"You're not going to be able to do much with your hand like that." He presses his hand to the small of her back, urging her forward. "Look, just give me ten minutes to fix up your hand and then you can get back to it."

She sighs dramatically but nods as she goes with him into the Crest. Honestly, she wasn't really looking forward to working with an injured hand anyway. Hopefully, with a little bacta gel, her hand will numb enough for her to still use her fingers to replace the seals.

"After that, I don't want you using your hand again until you're fully healed," Mando adds bluntly.

She glares at the side of his helmet as she sits herself on a crate, Mando shuffling through the wall cabinets for a medpack. "Seriously? Don't you think you're overreacting just a little bit?"

"Nope."

"It's a cut."

"A deep cut that needs more than just a bandage. What happened, anyway?"

"I was using a utility knife. My grip slipped when I heard a guy screaming his head off." She rolls her eyes as Mando returns to her side, plopping a medpack down on the crate next to her hip so he can rummage through it more roughly than necessary. She frowns at that. "Mando. Seriously. You need to chill. It isn't bad."

"I should have gagged that di'kut as soon as I cuffed him," Mando growls. He tears a packet open, almost tearing the alcohol wipe inside as well. Despite his obvious anger, though, his hands go oddly gentle when they move to touch her. His fingers brush lightly against her skin as he takes her wrist in one hand, using the other to wipe at her cut and the surrounding blood that's already begun to dry.

Mahin winces slightly as the alcohol touches the wound but shows no other outward sign besides a stiffening in her shoulders. His thumb strokes little circles along her wrist in silent apology as he works as fast as possible.

He tosses the wipe away just a few seconds later and replaces it with a wad of gauze. She takes it from him at his urging, pressing it firmly to the wound while he reaches into the medpack for a device the size of a screwdriver with a pointed metal tip. Her eyes widen instantly when she recognizes it.

"Kriff, no!" She shrinks back, yanking her arm away from him. He lets her go with an exasperated tilt of his head. "You are not using a cauterizer on my hand!"

He lets out a deep sigh. "We need to seal it. Like I said, a bandage won't cut it."

"And risk giving me nerve damage? You know how difficult that'll make working with my hands?" She hops off the crate, brushing past Mando's shoulder to riffle through cabinets herself. She finds the suture kit and tosses it to him. "Just stitch it up. It's a lot safer. And cleaner. And less painful."

He turns the kit over in his hands thoughtfully. "I didn't even know I had this."

"I know. I'm the one who bought it when I realized you didn't have one." She hops back up on the crate. "You may be alright with burning wounds closed but I'm not. I have enough scars, thank you very much."

"Scars? You?" He pops open the suture kit, laying supplies out next to her. "How many could you really have?"

"What, you think being a mechanic is entirely risk-free?" She peeks under the gauze. Looks like the bleeding stopped, at least. "What happened today isn't uncommon in my line of work. I handle sharp objects all the time. And blunt tools and heavy machinery and electrical components. I've been cut, stabbed, electrocuted. I've broken bones and singed my hair. Oh, and take a look at this one."

She leans over to pull up her pant leg, revealing a large, puckered scar that trails down almost half her right calf. "I had the guts of an old starfighter's nav system laid out in my lap, working with a laser welder." He tilts his head at her and she holds up her hand before he can say anything. "I know, I know, not my smartest move. Kriffing thing nearly sliced through my leg. Took three shots of bacta just to get the wound to stop bleeding. So trust me, this is nothing. I'm even tempted to say my line of work is more dangerous than yours."

"Really?" He lightly taps another one of her scars, just a few inches down from her knee. A perfect circle clearly made from blaster fire. "I'm pretty sure most mechanics don't run into this."

Mahin smiles wryly as she pulls her pant leg back down. That one hurt worse, too, and not her only scar from a blaster. "Well, that's true. Most mechanics don't have to deal with the occasional Stormtrooper. But I never claimed I was like most mechanics."

"No, you most certainly are not," he replies, something warm to his voice that she can't really name.

She expects him to ask, then. About the blaster shot, about the Stormtroopers, why they chase her. But the questions never come. He still never asks. He must be tempted, but he still keeps his promise of allowing her to hold her secrets until she's ready to share them.

He still surprises her.

Mando snips off a length of surgical thread, holding one end up in front of his t-visor. He then brings up one of the needles. With the kind of extreme concentration she imagines he only gives to a bounty lined up in the sights of his rifle, Mando tries to push the thread through the eye of the needle. His gloves make his hands clunky, though, perfect for handling knives and blasters but not the delicacy of needlework. He pushes and misses the hole a few times, grumbling in frustration as the end of the thread begins to fray.

"Do you, uh…." She tosses the bloody gauze to the side since she doesn't need it anymore anyway, holding out her hands to him in offering. "You want me to—?"

"No, I got it," he grumbles. And hesitates. Just for a moment, his hands freeze. Then he places the needle and thread down. His hands move to grasp each other and, slowly, he slips tje gloves off. The better to grip the needle and thread. The better to make the tiny stitches Mahin's wound needs.

And revealing his skin to her eyes.

Don't freak out, don't freak out, don't freak out, she tells herself, over and over again. This is a big deal to him. She doesn't have to see his face to know that. They've been living together for weeks—over a month now—and he's never taken off any of his armor. Not his gloves, not his beskar. Not even his boots.

And now he willingly shows her his skin.

Just to make it easier for him to help her.

Instantly, she averts her eyes before she can take in too many details. "Are you sure this is okay?" she asks softly, not wanting him to do anything he'll regret. "It's fine, you know. I can just do it myself."

"It's okay," he replies, modulator evening out his voice to sound hollow. Unreadable. She turns her head away from his hands for good measure, determined not to make him uncomfortable, determined not to make him feel like he's losing his choice. But then he adds, "Really, it's okay. It's not against the Creed for you to see my skin. You just can't see my face. Though I usually…don't."

Mahin nods, still not turning her head to look at him. She can understand that. His skin, his body, his face—he's hidden himself behind layers of clothing and beskar for decades. To reveal any piece of himself to anyone, even when he feels he can—that he's allowed—it requires a certain amount of trust. Trust that, for him, probably isn't easy to come by.

She knows the feeling all too well. And just because they live together on the same ship, as crew, she won't force trust on him. She won't force him if it'll just make him uncomfortable.

So she doesn't look.

Not until she feels bare fingers touch her face.

Her breath hitches in her throat before she can stop it, sure Mando hears. Of course, he does. How can he not, standing so close like this? His fingers trail along the side of her jaw, callouses dragging against her skin, until they reach her chin. He nudges gently. Urging her. She lets him turn her head to face him, finally lets her gaze drop to his bare hands.

His skin is tan. That's what strikes her first. It seems odd to her, somehow. That he'd have tanned skin since he's so absolutely covered all the time. He never gets any sunlight. It must be his natural complexion, then, just a few shades lighter from a golden bronze tone. The callouses seem weird, too, now that she thinks about it. Maybe the gloves can't really protect his skin from everything. Really, they mustn't, because she notices little nicks along his fingers, a particularly long scar on his left palm.

Is it odd she finds his hands beautiful?

His hand drops from her face once he's sure she won't go skittish again, moving his attention back to the suture kit. She swears his fingers linger, though, slow in their retreat from her. Slower than they need to be. But then he refocuses on the task at hand and Mahin blinks the haze she fell into away.

All that from a kriffing bare touch. She's felt bare skin on hers before. Not often, sure. She and Mando have that in common. Neither of them let people close very often at all. But, kriff, he shouldn't be affecting her like this.

Without the hindrance of the extra material, his fingers thread the needle on the first try. He then holds her injured hand in one of his, poising the needle at the start of her wound and asking, "Ready?"

She clenches her jaw. "Just do it."

He gives a curt nod, wasting no time at all in pushing the needle through her skin. Her breath hitches again from this touch as well, this time in pain. A familiar pain, though, the act of pushing the pain down coming just as easily as ever. She distracts herself by watching Mando's hands. It means looking at her wound as he sews it closed, but she can't help herself. Can't help peeking behind the curtain.

She still finds them beautiful.

"Why did you do it?" Mando suddenly asks, pulling her attention back up again.

"Do what?"

"Why did you step back?" Mando keeps his head tilted downward, concentrating on his task as he parses out his words. "You didn't listen to him. The quarry. I expected you to listen to the whole 'I'm really innocent' slag and try to make me let him go."

Ah, kriff. How does she respond to that? She can't exactly tell him the truth. He'd believe her, considering the kid. He's probably the only person in the galaxy who would believe her. But she can't tell him. Can't put herself in that kind of danger. Another person knowing her secret could mean the end of her.

The child comes first, after all. What would Mando do, if he knew her secret and the child was in danger? Would he give her up to protect him?

Of course, he would.

And she would as well. If it truly meant saving the child.

But keeping her secret from Mando means more to her than just keeping herself safe. It means keeping him safe as well.

If he doesn't know, then it can't be used against him. She can't be used to hurt him. At least, that is her hope. Even if the risk is small, it's not something she's willing to risk.

Best to leave him in the dark. So, what does that leave for her answer? Although she cannot tell him the truth, she doesn't want to lie to him either.

"I…I don't know," she stammers out, trying to ignore the rhythmic pierce and tug of her skin getting pulled together. "I just…could tell something was wrong. Something felt off about the guy. I'm not sure what it was, exactly, but I also knew that…well, you heard what that guy said, too. And if you thought he was telling the truth, then you would have let him go. So that meant you thought he was lying. And I'd trust you over that guy any day."

It's true. Even though the Force already told her all she needed to know, she still would have done the same because she trusts in Mando's judgment.

Mando remains silent, an awkwardness—shyness—beating off of him in waves. Mahin doesn't need the Force in order to feel it.

Aww, she embarrassed him a little. If she knew it was this easy, she'd express her trust in him openly more often. She smiles, grasping his forearm in a light squeeze above the beskar as he ties off the last stitch and snips off the excess thread.

He pauses for a moment, slowly taking her uninjured hand on his arm and squeezing in return. His hand feels warm, solid, around hers. Fully enveloping. Making her feel…safe.

Maker, when was the last time she ever felt safe like this? Especially around another person?

Almost enough to give up her secrets.

Almost.

Mando smears a bit of bacta gel over her wound, making her hand cool and numb, before covering it with a bandage. "There," he says, smoothing the tape down to make sure it sticks properly. "You'll be good as new in just a day or two."

"Thank you," she murmurs, flexing her hand experimentally. No pain. Not even a little tugging from the stitches. She slips off of the crate as Mando cleans up, packing the remains of the medpack away. "Well, I better finish up with the landing gear. Then we can get out of here."

"Mahin," Mando calls softly before she can go far.

She looks back at him curiously. He sets the medpack down and then steps closer, bare hand raising once again. The backs of his knuckles stroke along the side of her face, slowly, lingering long and intentionally. Mahin's eyes flutter closed briefly before she opens them again to look up into the blackness of his visor. Wishing she could know his intention, see some sign of it somehow, because he's making her heart go all over the place.

"Be more careful this time, yeah?" he mutters softly, stroking the side of her face again. "I prefer my mechanics all in one piece."

My mechanic. It rings in her ears, spreading heat across her face she tries desperately to ignore. And she desperately wishes not to read too much into it.

He just means it professionally. He must. He is technically her boss, after all. Literally his mechanic. He doesn't mean anything else by it.

Right?

Yeah, right.

She gives him a smile, seeing it reflected in the shine of his beskar. "I'll do my best but I make no promises. Occupational hazard, as you know."

He hums under his breath, a sound so soft and warm that the modulator doesn't pick it up and she only hears it leaking out from under the helmet because they stand so close. He strokes her face one last time before reaching for his gloves. "Your best is all I ask for."

Oh, but something tells her she could hurt a lot more than just her hand on this ship.

Her grin brightens.

Some risks are worth taking. But with how safe he makes her feel, this one doesn't feel so risky.


Author's Note

So, I'm going with skin is okay for people to see so long as no one sees a Mandalorian's face. We're not really given any guidelines on the whole thing in the show so I feel like I can play with it a bit. Remember, the only canon I know apart from the show is the movies, so if this is actually covered somewhere else in canon, I don't know it and I'm not going to worry about learning it.

Next chapter is one I had a lot of fun writing, because sassing Mando is always fun. Not sure when it'll be up. I'm going to try to get myself on at least a monthly posting schedule, but considering my luck lately and the fact that summer is our busy season at my work, I'm not sure how successful I'll be. But I'll try, guys. I'll try.

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


Translations

Ad'ika: Little one

Buir: Parent, father/mother

Chakaaryc: rotten, low-life, generic adjective to describe an undesirable person of dubious ethics

Di'kut: idiot, useless individual, waste of space (lit. someone who forgets to put their pants on)