Author's Note

Finally got a monster of a chapter finished (not this one, a future one) so here's a new chapter for you!

This chapter kind of wandered away from me. Didn't really know where I was headed, was just writing and going with the flow. Just letting the characters talk and lead me where they wanted to go.

And we get some fluff out of it. :)

Go onward and enjoy!


A Language Spoken in Silence

The Razor Crest runs with a surprising silence to it despite the ship's age. Mahin expected rattling, creaking, a far-off hiss from some leaking pipe. But no. Mahin lays awake in the middle of their night cycle and her ears only pick up the hum of the hyperdrive engine propelling them through space.

Not the most exciting thing to listen to when trying to fall asleep. She wishes she had a music player or something. Maker, she misses music. She passed street musicians a few times while on the run and they played loud, jarring music in the bar she lived above on Ulta-7, but she hasn't had the chance to actually enjoy music in years.

Her mother used to sing to Mahin in a soft, tinkling voice when she couldn't fall asleep. Sweet lullabies that never failed to settle Mahin's mind, help it slow down and settle enough for rest.

Those same tunes float through Mahin's mind now, trying to break through the door she shoved them behind. They don't beckon rest now. Just pain. Adding to the restlessness in her bones.

With a soft grunt, she levers herself up in bed, pushing the soft blanket Mando got her off of her legs. The bed is the most comfortable thing she's ever lain on but it's not enough. Not tonight. Her brain just won't shut down.

Blindly in the dark, she shuffles her feet around on the cold metal floor until she finds her discarded coveralls, pulling them up her bare legs to tie the arms around her waist. She then grabs the skein of yarn and crochet hook she left on her crate before going to bed and opens her door to creep out into the hold of the ship.

Darkness blankets the rest of the ship as well, the hold illuminated only with the yellow auxiliary lights twinkling near the floor. Mando actually went to bed, then. The main lights only get turned off when everyone sleeps. Usually, he goes to bed after her and rises before she ever gets the gumption to open her eyes again, so it's actually rare for her to be awake while he sleeps. Especially with a rambunctious toddler.

She hesitates in the doorway of her room, wondering for a moment if it's okay for her to go wandering the ship at night. What if he wakes up and comes out of his bunk without his helmet on? Though he's always really careful. And he sleeps in the kriffing thing. He won't just randomly go walking around without it.

And this is her home now, too. She doesn't have to stay trapped in her room until morning. He leaves her alone—with the child—on the ship plenty enough. Wandering around while he's sleeping really isn't any different, so he shouldn't get mad at her for it.

As quietly as she can, she pads on bare feet over to the ladder, pausing in front of the hatch to Mando's bunk with straining ears.

Soft snores seep through the door. Mahin curls her lips in, biting down on them to keep in her laughter.

She's watched the kid sleep often enough to know the little guy doesn't snore.

She quickly goes to the ladder before she makes a noise, climbing up to go sit in the cockpit. The streaming lights of hyperspace illuminate the small space in soft blues and whites. Mahin settles into the copilot seat on the left she quickly claimed as her own since boarding the Razor Crest, watching the stars and planets streak by for a few moments with a content sigh.

Out of all of her travels in her younger years, the beauty of hyperspace has to be her favorite sight. Though "travels" seems a bit too glamorous for what it was. She was a teenage stowaway, staying a few weeks—sometimes a few months—on a planet, earning credits however she could, and then sneaking aboard the next transport out. She never really got the chance to appreciate the sights the planets had to offer during that time. Before Ulta-7, she almost constantly moved around, a year-long stint on Wisteria the only exception.

A chill shoots down her spine at the thought of Wisteria. Another memory she wishes to keep buried, so she quickly turns to the yarn in her lap. She pulls on the end of the skein, yanking out a bit of slack before pushing the rest of the skein to the floor near her feet. With a practiced twist of her fingers, she forms a loop in the yarn and then slips in the crochet hook to start making a chain.

Soft yarn curled around the fingers of her left hand, hook moving back and forth in her right, she feels herself falling into the familiar rhythm. It calms her. The repetitiveness of crocheting. She knows all the steps, all the moves so well that she hardly has to think about the way her fingers need to move to form the stitches. She finishes the little chain, slipping the hook back into the beginning chain and pulling the yarn through in order to create a ring, and then starts the next stitch inside the ring. Her left hand twists, drawing out more yarn from the skein on the floor, her feet gently holding it in place so the yarn doesn't get stuck.

Round and round and round she goes, the creation in her hands gradually growing with every carefully constructed row. She drowns herself in it, mind finally, blessedly, going blank.

The sudden weight of a hand dropping on her shoulder surprises a squeak out of her. Instinctively, she raises the metal crochet hook to strike with the pointed base.

"Easy, Mahin, easy," Mando says calmly, hands held up in front of him in a show of peace as her mind catches up with the fact that it's just Mando, it's just the two of them, she's safe. Mando's head cocks to the side as her frantic breathing returns to normal, hands lowering back to his sides as he asks with wry curiosity, "Were you about to stab me with a craft tool?"

She lets out a breathless chuckle, willing her heart to calm back down. "Don't underestimate the lethalness of craft tools."

Mando shifts past her to the pilot chair, turning it to watch as she slips her hook back in the loop of yarn and returns to her stitches. Her fingers falter slightly as she realizes the only piece of armor he wears is his helmet. He's still covered from head to toe in a flight suit, cowl, gloves, and socks on his feet, but the rest of his beskar, cloak, outer shirt and pants, and boots are discarded for now.

She's never seen him so…dressed down. Relaxed. Just that one time he took the gloves off. Even then, that was just his gloves, not any of his armor. She wasn't even sure he'd let her see him without the full armor on.

Warmth glows softly in her chest. He wouldn't have entered the cockpit if he didn't want her to see him like this. It shows an amount of trust that sends butterflies fluttering through her stomach.

"What are you making anyway?" he asks.

Mahin gives herself a mental shake, focusing back on her hands as she works a series of stitches into a single space in order to build up a corner. "It's called a granny square. It's just a crocheted square of yarn designed in a kind of lacy pattern. They can be stitched together to make all kinds of things."

"What are you going to use them for? This has to be the tenth or twelfth one I've seen you make since boarding my ship."

She lowers her head, allowing her curtain of hair to hide her smirk. When they're in space and she's not taking care of the kid or the ship, she likes to drag her yarn up to the cockpit, quietly working as Mando pilots the ship or maps out their next move. She could crochet in her room but there's something comforting about his presence. Just sitting next to him. Having someone else near to drown the constant loneliness out that she's lived with most of her life.

So, yeah, he's seen her make quite a few granny squares so far. And she has a lot more to make before she's done with her project. A little surprise, for him and the kid. She doesn't want to give it away, though, so all she says is, "You'll see when I'm done."

He stares at her. She can feel it. That silent, blank stare made possible by the helmet. Intimidation rolls off of him in waves that normally plows even the toughest bounties to their knees.

Mahin stands her ground, smirk growing as she keeps her gaze trained on her hands, not missing a stitch.

The silence drags on until he finally sighs, relenting. "Fine, fine." The leather chair creaks as he shifts. She glances up at him, his legs spread out in front of him on either side of her yarn, arms crossed in front of his chest. "So, you can't sleep either, huh?"

Either?

She knows for a fact that he was fast asleep when she came up here. Seriously, the kid doesn't snore, so that had to be Mando. And all the questions. He's not usually so talkative.

It doesn't take seeing his face to know what woke him. Or why he might be looking for a distraction.

"I have them, too," she says softly, starting the last row on her granny square. "Nightmares."

The silence drags again. Heavier this time. Aching. An admission in and of itself, despite Mando never saying a word of confirmation. "What are your nightmares about?" he asks long moments later, a deflection that screams admission just as loud as the silence. He seems to get how hypocritical it seems as soon as the words leave his mouth, though, because he sheepishly adds, "If you don't mind my asking. You…you don't have to say."

"It's okay," she whispers, taking in a deep breath through her nose and tensing against the memories. He needs this, though. To know he's not alone in the darkness. And maybe she needs that, too. "The Empire was after my parents before I was even born. My mother gave birth to me on the run and running was all I've ever known. But the Empire caught up to us eventually and there were just…too many of them. The Stormtroopers shot down my parents right in front of me. Well, behind me. My parents told me to run but…I looked back."

He nods somberly, like he half-expected an answer like that. "How old were you?"

"Twelve." With one last tug, she completes the square, tying it off and then bending forward to pin it to the skein of yarn with the hook.

She can still hear it. Their screams as the Stormtroopers mowed them down with blaster fire. Her mother urged her to run, to run as fast as her scrawny legs could carry her while her parents bought her time.

In the end, they couldn't do much. Her parents were strong fighters, but it was during the height of the Imperial reign and their numbers were just too many. Still, her parents made sure to put up a fight, enough for Mahin to get away.

She felt it, when they died. She felt their lifeforces snuff out, like twin explosions rippling through the Force. The Force never felt so big and so lonely and so frightening than in that moment.

"I was nine when my parents died," Mando drops into the sudden silence.

Slowly, she sits back up, yarn completely forgotten between them as she watches his helmet patiently. Afraid that if she says something he'll clam up and stop.

"It was during the Clone Wars. The fight with the Separatists wandered onto my home planet. Mandalorians drove them off, but not before my parents…."

She nods, giving him a soft smile to show he doesn't need to say more. "And then those Mandalorians took you in?"

"Yes." He sighs heavily, leaning forward with his elbows propped on his thighs and hands dangling lifelessly between his knees. "I was raised in the fighting corp. I was raised to be a warrior and I threw myself into it. Perhaps more than I should have."

Her brow furrows, tilting her head in that usual, curious way of hers. "What do you mean?"

She can feel his gaze boring into her through the visor. "I've done things, Mahin. Horrible things."

"I've seen you do nothing but good since I've been here."

It's true. She's learned Mando can be vigorously moral, always chasing after the sleaziest of characters. He makes sure of that, before accepting a puck, because anyone can place a bounty on someone with intentions that are not always honorable.

He huffs out a broken laugh. "I didn't always. There was a time I took jobs, any job, never asking questions. I turned every bounty in without fail no matter how much they begged. No matter how innocent they claimed to be." His fingers find each other, twisting together in a way that looks painful. "Kriff, maybe some of them were. I didn't…I never thought about it, before the kid. Didn't let myself think about it."

Mahin's own fingers twitch, wanting to take his hands, make him stop, but she doesn't know if touch would be welcome right now. Their friendship still feels so tentative. She constantly fears pushing him too far. But she can't just not do anything, sliding out of her chair before she can overthink it and sinking to her knees in front of him. "It's okay, you know. You were just doing your job. If I remember the Guild rules right, it's part of the job not to ask questions. It's not your fault."

"Doing my job almost got the kid tortured by Imps," he replies bitterly.

"Everyone is allowed to make mistakes, Mando. And everyone is allowed to change. Someone once told me that, no matter what we do, all that matters is that we're able to sleep with it at night. That's all that really matters in life. You just learned that you couldn't sleep with it anymore."

"I never should have been able to. It was not," the leather of his gloves creak as he squeezes his fingers together tightly, "honorable."

Unable to stop herself any longer, she reaches her hands out to press her fingertips to the tops of his knees. His hands instantly unclench, falling slack in his lap. She stills, expecting him to tell her to back off, to push her away, but he doesn't. He just stares down at her. And she stares right back, looking up at him through the visor.

"Maybe," she whispers, searching the blackness for eyes she'll never actually see. "Maybe not. But when you made that realization, you did something about it. Most people wouldn't. They'd keep going like nothing's changed. But you did something. And that is honorable."

Slowly, silently, his hands inch forward until they can clasp hers. The leather of his gloves feels soft and impossibly warm despite cutting her off from his skin. It rubs along the backs of her hands as his thumbs move in little circles. He's so gentle with her it tears any words she tries to say right out of her mouth, none of them sounding right in her head.

And that's when she realizes that this—the silence and the touches—they're a language all on their own. His language. The only way a lonely soul knows how to speak.

The memories hurt.

I don't want to think anymore.

The guilt won't let up.

I deserve it.

I don't want to be alone.

Thank you.

She squeezes his hands, telling him she's here and that she's not going anywhere.

He shifts suddenly, sliding off his chair to join her on the floor. She slides back along the metal grating so that she can rest her back against the console and make more room for him. Mando sits beside her, still keeping hold of one of her hands, and they just sit together in the soft light of hyperspace. Pressed together from shoulder to knee.

She leans her head to the side to rest against his shoulder, the one that usually carries the pauldron with the mudhorn signet. The sign of his family. His clan. His clan of two.

Mando's thumb rubs back and forth along her knuckles soothingly. It pulls a sigh from her and she catches a whiff of gun oil, leather, and that woodsy scent that's all him. It washes over her, just as comforting as his touch. At last, her eyelids start to droop, sleep not seeming so far away anymore.

Hazily, Mahin wonders if maybe, someday, Mando might consider them a clan of three. Because already she's starting to consider him and the child and this ship home.

"Sweet dreams, ner ka'ra," Mando whispers, so low she almost misses it as she starts to drift off.

Huh, she thinks before finally slipping away, what does that one mean?


Author's Note

Ah, sweet fluff. :)

The crochet thing was, like, the only planned part of this chapter. You'll find out what she's working on...eventually...okay, so I have no idea when, but it'll happen, just be patient.

I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT HAPPENED ON WISTERIA XD

I just know it was bad and it shook her, like, a lot. And Mayfeld was involved. Seriously, I loved Mayfeld's character arc. I never went from hating a character to loving him and wanting him to stick around so fast in my life. So I love the idea that he and Mahin have met before. I just got to think of how and why and what seriously bad thing was happening during it.

I'll figure it out...eventually.

A lot of eventually going on here. Like you'll eventually find out the whole gist of the little nickname Mando gave her. I was tempted not to include a translation but ultimately decided to go ahead and do it. After all, you guys are very likely to have come across this bit of Mando'a in other fics already.

I'm not entirely sure what the next chapter will be. I have two or three that could come next in any order and haven't really decided what should be next yet.

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


Translations

Ner ka'ra - my star