"I already told you," the Mandalorian said, fixing his scowl, which was hopefully still intimidating even through his visor, on the Rodian mechanic. "I can give you 300 credits now and the rest at the end of the week."

The mechanic shook his head. "Look Ordo, it's not that I don't trust you, but what kind of work can you honestly expect to get?"

"Ordo?" Another voice asked from behind them, and though it had been more than three standard weeks since their brief meeting, it could only be one person.

"Oh great, another one of you lot."

He turned around, suddenly grateful that he was wearing his helmet so that the younger man couldn't see his expression of relief. He wasn't even sure why he was relieved, but he certainly hadn't expected to see the younger Mandalorian again. "I didn't think you'd be back."

"I come here sometimes for fuel," the man said, and Ordo noticed that he didn't have his child with him this time. "Didn't think you'd still be around, though."

Grix sighed. "Wasn't planning on it, but as you may have overheard, I'm having some trouble procuring the necessary parts for my ship."

The man was quiet for a while then nodded in the direction of the hangar. "I'm heading to my ship. If you want to… walk there with me."

They walked in silence until the younger man spoke. "Din Djarin."

"Grix Ordo."

He realized the other Mandalorian was looking at him. No, at his armor, which was painted white and grey to match his helmet. "You don't wear the Ordo sigil."

"No, I don't."

Djarin stopped at the entrance to the station's main hangar so Ordo followed suit. "I met people with that name in- when I was a boy. I was raised in a fighting unit."

Of course you were. What did we do to our children? "My cousins or their kids, probably. I'm not surprised," he said. "The clan- my father and his sisters, that is- spilt during the civil war and never really reconciled."

He could tell the bounty hunter was looking at him through his visor. "I didn't know."

"Well, now it's just me. As far as I'm concerned, Clan Ordo is as good as dead." Even the planet Ordo, which had once been his clan's home in the Mandalore sector, was now devoid of any traces of them. He started walking again, despite not knowing where exactly they were headed, and Din Djarin shuffled to retake the lead. Finally, they stopped in front of a ship. "Ah, a gunship. Not bad. Pre-Imperial, huh?

"Yeah."

He whistled appreciatively. "Looks to be in pretty good shape, considering."

"Thanks."

"Well, you gonna open the hatch?"

Djarin still hesitated. "The kid— he's a foundling."

The old Mandalorian laughed. "I figured."

"What? How?"

"No offense, but you don't really strike me as the partnered type."

"Ah, that's—"

Is he flustered? Kriff, he is. He decided to take pity on the kid. "Just show me your ik'aad. And your weapons cabinet while you're at it. Judging by your blaster and that rifle you had last time, I'm guessing you have quite the collection." That was enough to get Djarin to give in, and soon enough Ordo was standing face to face with a child who was not at all what he was expecting. It stood on the floor of the ship and stared up at him with adorable, expressive eyes and huge pointy green ears.

"What is he?"

"I was hoping you could tell me."

"No, I can't say I know the species, though maybe there's something a little familiar about him." He pulled off his helmet and tucked it under his arm. Djarin's slight flinch because it was expected. Less so was the child's reaction. His eyes widened and let out a small whimper as he waddled backward, clearly surprised. Strange, because though the child wasn't an infant after all, he couldn't be old enough to understand the cultural implications, surely? He crouched down and reached out a hand. "Ah, it's all right, little one. I'm still me." He turned and look up at the child's father who was watching the scene, arms crossed. "He doesn't do this every time you take your helmet off in front of him, does he?"

The younger man shifted uncomfortably and looked off to the side.

Grix stood up fast, fast enough that it hurt his joints, but he couldn't help it. "No way. You've got to be kidding me."

"I haven't taken it off for anyone- for anyone living- since I was a boy."

"Right, but- How long have you had the kid?"

Djarin tilted his head. "Maybe five standard months now."

"And you are his parent?"

"By Creed, yes. Unless I can reunite him with his people… and ensure he'll be safe with them. I haven't given him a name. I'm afraid he might already have one and I don't- don't want to take that from him." There was something in that tone of voice. Part of him, most of him, would do anything to avoid parting with the child. Grix could understand; the thought of giving up his daughters, even the one who'd disowned him and betrayed their people for the Empire, filled him with an intense swirl of dismay. Even now, even with them both gone. To claim someone as your child and then hand them off to be raised by others? Unthinkable.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but even you—" He paused and considered. His armor was in decent condition, but he probably wouldn't survive a blaster bolt to the chest at this range. Not at his age. "Even those who believe as you do take their helmets off in the presence of fellow clan members, yes?" There, that was diplomatic.

Djarin sighed and bent down to pick up the baby who'd been reaching up to him, tiny arms outstretched. He really was cute, whatever his species. "That's right."

This isn't about The Way at all. He doesn't want to become too attached only to find himself alone again. It hurt to think about, but it was a sentiment Ordo couldn't help but appreciate. "It's something you should consider then. It would be good for him." And for you, he didn't say out loud.

"I— I'll think about it."

"Good. Now I should probably get back. My ship's not going anywhere until I get those parts."

"Wait." Djarin moved so he was blocking the exit. "It didn't seem like you were getting very far with that Rodian."

Grix Ordo put his helmet on and sighed. "No, but that's my problem. I'll figure something out."

"I'm heading for a job in the Mid-Rim. It's just security, but they're paying 6000. I think they'd be happy to have another Mandalorian and might be willing to up the fee. Even if they don't, I'll give you 50%."

The old warrior frowned behind his visor. "Half, huh?"

"Half." The other man's voice was firm.

Grix wasn't an idiot. Even without ever having seen the younger Mandalorian fight, he knew there was no way he was worth as much pay as Din Djarin. A few years ago, he would have refused out of pride. Instead, he nodded. "All right, then. I'll grab some things from my ship and come back." He thought about the strange turn things had taken as he walked through the hangar. He knew this would a temporary arrangement, but still, he would make some money, and who knows? Maybe Djarin would be willing to bring him along on a few more jobs. Maybe Ordo could go out fighting after all.

Grix woke up in the hold of a strange ship. He blinked around in confusion until the events of the previous day came back to him. He stared down at his bedroll and noted with surprise that his back hurt less than he'd been expecting. His pride was still intact enough for him to have refused Djarin's offer of the only bed, though that description was overly generous anyway. The thing barely looked more comfortable than the floor.

Djarin and the child weren't around, though he could see a covered pram hovering near the wall and had no idea if it was empty or not. "I'm coming up," he remembered to call as he began to climb the ladder up to the cockpit. "Ah, good morning. I guess we can say it's morning," he said as Djarin turned to look at him. The baby was on his lap, cooing happily and holding what looked to be a knob of some sort.

"Good morning."

"Uh, so, we getting close?"

The other man nodded. "Another few hours. You mind being in charge of things up here for a bit?"

"No, not at all."

"Okay," Djarin said, but Ordo realized the younger Mandalorian was no longer addressing him. He'd turned the child around on his lap, so they were facing each other. "This is the plan: Grix Ordo is going to pilot the ship, I'm going to get my weapons ready, and you're going to take a nap." The child cooed, though it sounded more like a whine this time. "He doesn't sleep through the night," he added, looking up at the old man.

"Ah yes, I remember those years."

"I'm just afraid it'll end up being decades," the other replied, sounding resigned, and Grix smiled at that obvious exaggeration while the child tugged pleadingly at his father's vambrace. "No," Djarin said. "This is not a negotiation. I am your parent and your clan leader and you have to listen to me." He stood up, gently cradling the child as he did so. "Not to mention that you're currently outnumbered."

"Oh no, I did not sign up to get involved in any internal disputes," Ordo countered with a laugh. "It's good that you talk to him," he added as took Djarin's place in the pilot's chair. "But..."

Djarin had made it to the door, baby in hand, but turned to look at him. "What?"

"Shouldn't you be speaking Mando'a? Getting him used to it since he's not verbal yet?" It had been bothering Ordo. They'd been speaking Basic since their first meeting and he'd initially taken it as an intentional slight, but now that Djarin had gone out of his way to help him, he wasn't so sure.

Instead of the brusque reply he'd been expecting, Djarin simply hung his head slightly. "I do speak Mando'a."

Grix blinked at that. "Well, of course you—"

"It was all anyone spoke to me for a while, when I was young. After I was taken in." Djarin was a foundling himself, no big surprise there. "So, I know it. I do.

What in the hells? "I wasn't suggesting otherwise."

"But it's not my first language, and—" The other man seemed to shrink into himself, shoulders falling slightly. It was an absurdly childlike gesture that caused a pang in Ordo's chest. "It's been years since I've spent much time around other Mandalorians. I'm probably out of practice, so I don't know if I should—"

Grix laughed, he couldn't help it, and the sound echoed around the cockpit. "Hey, I'm sorry but—" He stopped when he realized the other man's posture looked more dejected than angry. He stood swiftly and reached an arm out toward Djarin. When there was no move made to stop him, he let it rest on the other's shoulder. "Look son, I'm not mocking you. It's just—"

"What?"

"Let's just say that was not what I was expecting from someone who shut himself in a closet to eat dinner and says 'this is the way' more than anyone I've ever met besides my great-grandmother."

"Oh."

"You know what, it's been years since I've been around other Mandalorians too. We can get back into practice together, all right?"

"Yeah, all right."

The young man's voice had regained some of its usual confidence, to Ordo's relief. "Hey," Djarin said, turning his attention to the child who was attempting to squirm out of his grip.

"Here, give me the kid," Ordo said. "I'll bring him down when he starts to get sleepy."

Djarin nodded and handed the child over without hesitation. Ordo waited until he was gone and then settled back in the pilot's chair with the baby on his lap. "That buir of yours is a bit of a di'kut, isn't he? Oh well, maybe I was too at that age. He's doing the best that he can, though, don't ever doubt that. You can be proud to be part of your aliit." The tiny creature looked up at him with those big, round eyes and it almost seemed like he was listening. Maybe he was. "How about we start with that, huh? Aliit. In Basic, it's usually translated as 'family' or 'clan,' but neither word is quite right…"

He kept speaking until the child fell asleep in his arms and then carefully carried him down to his father.