Author's Note

I am truly sorry for the unexpected hiatus. I did not intend to disappear like that. Some of you know, this has been a rather shitty year for me. A lot has happened, including the sudden passing of my grandfather and I just...lost the will to write. I'm doing better now. Things are still hard, but it is a little better. I've even started writing again. Thank you all for being so patient with me.

The glorious return of Mando this morning as I watched the latest episode of Bobba Fett certainly helped. It motivated me to actually post this chapter I've been sitting on for a while.

So, after so long away, go onward and enjoy!


Company

It hits Mahin like a solid wall. Boisterous voices, raucous laughter, and a rancid smell that's some combination of sweat, alcohol strong enough to strip paint, and questionable bodily fluids. The same on every planet she ever stumbled through. Like it's some sort of rule of the galaxy for cantinas to hold the filth of the universe.

Nothing Mahin isn't used to. Especially after living for years above one. So she follows Mando inside with no more hesitation than a quiet suggestion to the child to breathe through his mouth.

Mando leans down close so she can hear him over all the talking and yelling. "Go to the bar. Get yourselves something to eat. My contact's already here so I shouldn't be long."

"Alright," Mahin says, smile not as big as usual when she sees him off. "Good luck."

She watches as Mando walks through the crowds of the bar. Anyone sober enough to have half a mind automatically scrambles out of his way. He sits down at one of the booths in the back, joining a weathered old human man with white hair and wrinkles on his face that seem to give him a perpetual frown.

Someone who claims to know about the Jedi.

Mahin has mixed feelings about Mando's self-imposed mission. Would the kid benefit from having a Jedi Master? Of course, especially considering the strength of his abilities. But she hates the idea of just giving him away to some stranger.

A part of her also feels guilty for not telling Mando what she knows of the Jedi. Of not telling him of her connection. Would he see it as a betrayal? What new information could she even give him? As far as she knows, all the Jedi are dead.

So then, really, the most she could tell him is that this is a fool's errand. That he won't ever find anything about the Jedi except death, and he should just…give up. Keep the child.

She so wants him to keep the child. They need each other. Anyone can see that.

But talking to Mando about it isn't exactly an option for her, and so she leaves it alone with the hope that he will come to the same conclusions on his own.

Mahin manages to find a free barstool. Other bar patrons bump against her back and elbows, making her feel a bit claustrophobic but there aren't very many other options. It's busy, almost standing room only, the work day having come to a close only a little while ago with everyone flocking to the bars. She pulls the child out of the bag hanging at her hip to sit him on top of the bar in front of her.

"Alright, ad'ika," she says, laying her arms on the bar on either side of him in an attempt to buffer him from all the activity. "Let's see if we can't get you some food."

She waves the bartender down, an act that takes three tries with at least a dozen other people constantly vying for his attention. He provides her with a—very measly—menu and she perks up a bit.

Crillian Nachos. Kriff, yes.

"Hey, I'd like two orders of Crillian Nachos, one for here and one to-go, and a bowl of bone broth for the kid," she tells the bartender. Well, more like yells it at him. Music has started up in one corner. It, unfortunately, sounds like the beginnings of karaoke.

The bartender nods in acknowledgement and heads to the other side of the bar, returning just a minute later with a spoon and bowl of bone broth. He places them on the bar top next to the kid, yelling, "Your nachos are in with the kitchen. It'll take a bit. We're kinda busy."

Mahin smirks. "Oh, yeah? Haven't noticed."

The bartender chuckles, barely caught over all the noise, and then goes to fill the next glass.

Mahin hands the spoon to the kid and scoots the bowl close to him so it rests between his spread legs. He holds the spoon up a bit awkwardly before managing to dip it down into the bowl and bring a scoop up to his mouth to slurp at noisily.

He's a good little eater, though not exactly well-mannered yet. She was surprised when she first boarded the Razor Crest that he can eat on his own so well without any help. She expected he'd need to be hand-fed but no, he knows his way around a fork or spoon just fine.

A little bit of broth dribbles out of the corner of the child's mouth. Mahin chuckles softly, grabbing up a napkin to wipe it away.

He just may or may not need a bath and change of clothes afterwards.

"Well, hello, beautiful," a voice drawls near her ear. The words slide down the back of Mahin's neck like motor oil. She cringes away as far as she can on the barstool. Not far enough. Not nearly far enough. A man with a smarmy smile sinks onto the stool next to hers. Something slicks his hair back, turning the long strands oily and unnaturally black.

He looks like something poured out of a trash bag. And all of his disgusting focus stays focused on her.

She sighs deeply, keeping herself faced forward and her own attention trained on the kid as he continues to gobble down his dinner. "Sorry, not interested," she says, going for nonconfrontational but firm. "I'm not looking for company tonight."

Honestly, can't she just sit by herself in a bar, just once? Not everyone goes to bars just to hook up with people. And that is definitely what this guy has in mind as his dirty brown eyes dart down to the low neck of her tank top in the hopes of getting a peek at more.

She firmly ignores him. Most of the time, that's all it takes. A clear "no" and then no further attention given. The child finishes up his meal. She wipes the napkin at his mouth again, happy to find he didn't make too much of a mess this time.

"I haven' seen you 'round 'ere before," the slimeball next to her tries. Alcohol adds a slur to his words, yellowing teeth peeking through that smarmy smile. It sends an uncomfortable feeling of disgust crawling down Mahin's back like he's actually touched her already.

She won't let it get far. She never does. She keeps one arm protectively around the child, the other hanging by her side ready to lash out when needed. The blaster on her thigh also adds a comforting weight.

The bartender grabs the empty bowl and spoon on his next pass, telling her the nachos will be out in just a few more minutes, and she nods in thanks.

"I said I haven't seen you 'round 'ere before," the guy yells louder. Like she just didn't hear him over the music before.

"And I said I'm not interested," she replies again. Even angles her body away from him, partially blocking the child from his eyes with her shoulder. Hoping he gets the hint and moves on to easier prey.

His hand comes down on her shoulder roughly with an irritated, "Hey, I'm talking at you."

No dice, then.

She lets out an even deeper sigh, fingers curling into a fist while she contemplates punching him in the gut or the neck. Or somewhere far more sensitive. Normally, her patience lasts longer, but when his hand begins to slide around from her arm to her front, she knows this guy's more "insistent" than the normal flirty boozer. Why not just cut to the chase? And maybe just get all the nachos to-go.

Before she has a chance to choose where to hit, more hands reach out from someone standing behind her, one hand settling on her hip and the other cinching around the slimy guy's wrist like a metal claw, leather gloves creaking as he squeezes.

She rolls her eyes when she recognizes the gloves. Of course, Mando would step in. He squeezes the slimeball's wrist until the guy cries out in pain, yanking his hand away to cradle against his chest with growing anger. Anger that soon dissolves into fear when he realizes he stares down a Mandalorian.

Mando really can't help but be the knight in shining beskar. Mahin doesn't like relying on other people to take care of her—she can take care of herself just fine, thank you very much—and she usually doesn't put up with overprotective crap like this. She's not a damsel to be protected.

Still, Mando's presence instantly eases the tension in her shoulders, causing her to lean back slightly.

Her back meets beskar.

She stiffens again, this time in surprise, not expecting him quite that close despite the light, protective touch on her hip. Surprised, but not unwelcome to the proximity. Not unwelcome at all.

She leans back more fully against him, giving him more of her weight. He steps closer to take it, making them almost flush together as Mando stares the slimeball down. The guy finally scrambles away.

Mahin can't help but snicker at that. It's always fun to make men so full of themselves squirm. She could have done that herself, though, so she informs Mando over her shoulder, "You didn't need to step in, you know. I would have handled it."

"I know," he states simply, placing his arms on the bar top on either side of her and the child, forming a wall of beskar to bracket them in.

Her hands grip the edge of the bar tightly. "Then why interfere?" she growls, letting him feel a bite of her irritation. Irritation she finds difficult to hold on to but still feeling the need to make a point.

She feels him shrug behind her. "I know you can defend yourself, Mahin. This isn't about your capabilities."

"Then what?"

His helmet leans down just far enough to rest against the side of her head, voice pitching low, just barely audible over the clatter of the bar. "You should be able to go to a bar and order nachos without getting harassed. And no one will even think of messing with you with me here."

Mahin's throat suddenly grows tight. "What about your contact? Finding the Jedi?"

"Just another dead end. It's fine."

His "fine" sounds a lot like disappointment. Mahin can't find it in her to dredge up the same feeling.

"Anyway, sit. Enjoy yourself. I'll be your deterrent so you can relax."

Mahin smiles sadly. Dealing with lowlife like that guy—men who think they have a right to her attention, her touch, her body, just because they have an interest in her—she's no stranger to it. It's normal to her, as it is for most women in the 'verse. She has to almost constantly be aware of the people around her. The men around her. Looking out for potential trouble that won't be solved with a simple no.

It's tiring. It makes it difficult to ever enjoy herself after an incident like this.

But Mando wants to try to make it better for her. Just a little.

All of a sudden, though, she's not in the mood for this public setting anymore. But not because of the slimeball. She waves the bartender down and asks him to make both orders of nachos to-go instead of just the one.

"You don't have to leave," Mando insists, more disappointment leaking through the modulator of his helmet that sounds tighter than before. "I-I didn't mean to overstep. I'll head back to the Crest. Let you enjoy your meal."

She grabs his arm before he can pull away. "Not what I want, Mando." The bartender sets both boxes of nachos down in front of her. She tosses him his credits and then presses the kid into Mando's arms. "Come on, let's go."

Mando takes the kid from her without thought. The little guy snuggles down for the ride, already nuzzling against the soft parts of Mando's arm not covered by beskar with a sleepy coo. "Go where?"

"The Crest." She hops off the stool, shoving the nachos carefully into the kid's bag as she heads for the door. Mando stays just one step behind her as they weave themselves through the crowd. "I think I'd rather relax and enjoy myself without the drunks tonight."

She can tell Mando still doesn't really get it but he dutifully follows her anyway, opening up the Crest's ramp with his vambrace when they approach. The child lets out an all-mighty yawn. Mando and Mahin both chuckle. Poor little guy. With a full belly, the call of sleep pulls him down hard. Mando goes to his bunk to put the child to bed while Mahin closes the ramp and moves some crates around in the hold.

"What are you doing?" Mando asks when he returns to her side, watching with a curious tilt of his head as she hops up on the crate she pulled out away from the wall.

"I told you, I didn't feel like eating with a bunch of drunks." She hands Mando one of the to-go boxes with a shy smile. "I got enough for both of us. I thought, maybe, we could share a meal together?"

After her first day aboard the Razor Crest, they haven't shared another meal together since. He seems comfortable enough eating around others by lifting his helmet just past his chin, but it can't be very easy for him. So they worked out a system. Mando eats in the cockpit with the door closed. It gives him a chance to eat at his leisure and relax without the helmet for a while. Mahin knows that if she finds the cockpit door closed, she doesn't go in. Even the kid seems to understand the implication of the closed door.

Even though it's the easiest way for Mando to eat, still. It must be lonely.

Mando says nothing. Doesn't even move. Mahin's smile falls, confidence fading fast, but she soldiers on, "We can sit with our backs together, so I'm facing away from you. And I promise I won't look, I won't turn around at all until you tell me to."

He still doesn't do anything. Just stares. A boulder drops heavy in the middle of Mahin's chest. She struggles not to let it show on her face but the backs of her eyes still sting.

Right. Okay. So he doesn't want to take the helmet off in front of her. That's fine. It is asking a lot, and it's important to her, that he knows she won't ever do anything to disrespect him or his Creed. It's disappointing, because she hates that he always has to eat alone—that he has to do so much alone—but she accepts it and pulls on a smile.

"That's okay," she tells him, sliding off the crate to stand. "You don't have to. I just thought…I just thought that if we did it this way then I wouldn't see your face and it just, you know, it might be nice. To share a meal. But I don't want you to feel uncomfortable or like you're compromising your Creed or anything. That's important to me. Really important. So I'll, uh, I'll just," she moves around him to head for her room, "I'll get out of your hair so you can—"

His arm catches her around the waist as she tries to move by. She stops, looking up into the darkness of his t-visor. Is he angry? Did she offend him?

"I…," he sets his food down on the crate, lifting his free hand to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. She stays still, eyes widening slightly as her breath catches in her throat at the feel of his gloves grazing against her cheek. "I would like that."

Her brow furrows, teeth biting down on her bottom lip. "Are you sure? I'm not trying to pressure you or anything. I respect your Creed, Mando. Really, I do, so don't do this unless you're absolutely sure."

"I know you respect my Creed. And I am sure. I promise." As if to prove it, he sits down on the crate facing towards the front of the ship, almost eagerly. It gives Mahin the courage to join him. She sits with her back pressed against his, facing the back of the ship. This way, if he needs to go to the cockpit in a hurry, he can without worrying about her seeing anything.

They sit like that for a few moments, neither moving. Just sort of getting used to each other. To sitting together without seeing each other. It freaks him out a little, she thinks. Her sitting out of his line of sight. She could be doing anything. Looking anywhere. She can feel the tension in him when she tips her head back to rest against his shoulder, just above the armor covering his back.

"It's okay, you know," she says softly, afraid to spook him away. "You can change your mind. I won't be mad or anything."

"No, I," he takes in a deep breath, letting it out slowly and some of the tension he carries leaves with it. "I want to. And it's alright, it doesn't go against the Creed so long as you don't see my face, I just…I've never had someone I trust enough to do this with."

Mahin's voice goes small and her chest so big when she asks, "But you trust me?"

"I do." Something clicks, then the hiss of air releasing, and then the metallic thunk of Mando setting the helmet down on the crate next to him.

Mahin holds her breath. Waiting for something. Anything. She doesn't even know what, but the anticipation coils in her stomach so tight it almost hurts.

"I do trust you," Mando says with his voice, his real voice, unmodulated and open with a huskiness to it that sends a pleasant shiver down her spine. He sounds deeper without the helmet, smoother, warmer without the static overtone to flatten his voice out. "I wouldn't have even entertained the idea of this if I didn't, ner ka'ra."

Good Maker, the nickname he's given her sounds even better with his voice like this. She still doesn't even know what it means but the way he says it—all soft and tender, almost—well. The heat spreading up her cheeks and down her neck makes her glad he can't see her, either, right now.

"Good," she chokes out, coughing to cover up the sudden nervousness. "I, uh, I'm glad." She fiddles with her to-go box, willing her hands not to shake as she opens it up. "I got us Crillian Nachos. I've made a habit of trying them at every bar I visit."

She hears the pop of Mando opening his own container. "And who has the best so far?" Mando asks, genuinely curious.

"Ulta-7, at the bar I used to live above. I swear, their nachos are half the reason I decided to settle there."

"Above the bar or on the planet?"

"Both, really."

"Between the food and the low Imperial presence that planet was known for, I wouldn't have left either."

Mahin chuckles, taking her first bite of the nachos. She lets out a low hum, chewing thoughtfully. "Well, these nachos aren't bad. Not the best I've ever had, but not the worst, either."

She hears a loud crunch behind her. "I don't know. This might be one of the best meals I've ever had."

"Really?" she scoffs, faking offense. "After all the meals I made you? Now that you're finally eating them, anyway. You think this is better?"

"Oh, your cooking is still the best I've ever had," he replies honestly. She smiles around a tortilla chip slathered in cheese, leaning more fully against him like at the cantina. She feels him push back. "But the company is a lot better this time."

The blush returns even brighter than before but Mahin doesn't try to fight it. Fighting it seems pointless now. Fighting any of it seems pointless, his voice and words like honey to her ears, the feel of his presence she's able to sense through the Force as comforting as a blanket wrapped snugly around her shoulders. It does funny things to her heart thumping wildly in her chest and she knows—Maker, she knows.

She's kriffed.


Author's Note

Dealing with guys like this is the worst. I hate that it can be so normal for so many people, not even just women. I hate the feeling it gives you aftward.

I wish I had a Mando to make me feel better after.

Ah, the fluff. I needed this this morning as well. I hope you all enjoyed it.

I'm not going to make any promises about the next chapter. I'm still writing it, and even though things are better now, it's still hard and I'm still struggling to write a little. I'm trying, though, so please continue to be patient.

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


Translations

ad'ika - little one

ner ka'ra - my star