Chapter 10: In rainbows

Once Cara docked on the small jetty, Mando had to restrain himself from jumping out of the boat and make a run for the helicopter, which had landed barely fifty yards ahead of them. They needed to figure out their approach, even when every fiber of his being was screaming at him to get moving, now. That his kid was right there.

"Are you packing?" he asked Cara over the wind, as they were crawling to a stop on top of the sand dune separating them from the beach in order to remain hidden.

She gave him a now familiar dark look. "Just my service weapon and a couple of clips, though. You?"

"About the same," he replied, feeling for the reassuring shape of his gun at his back.

"How heavily do you think he's armed?"

Mando shrugged - anything was possible.

"I'm thinking it's Gideon, plus someone else. I don't know if the man he was with when he took the kid was the pilot, so it might be three in total."

Cara nodded in reply, and he could see her mind working, cataloguing scenarios and outcomes – he was doing the same.

"You think they landed because of the weather?" she inquired.

"I'm certain of it, they didn't mean to stop. They were probably flying north for the border but visibility is awful, especially over the ocean. And that's not taking the wind into account."

"So are they just waiting for it to clear a bit?"

No one had gotten out of the aircraft yet, and they couldn't see any movement inside from where they were. The reassuring dot was still showing on his tablet, though. Mando stared at the horizon – what he could see of it – and did a small circuit around him, trying to decipher how thick the clouds were.

"Visibility might improve, especially in the east, but that must be the direction they want to avoid. The wind isn't going anywhere, though."

"So you're thinking what I'm thinking…" Cara concluded.

"Yeah," Mando confirmed.

"They're calling for backups right now."

"Yeah," he repeated.

The FBI agent cursed.

"I'm guessing there's no point asking if you're going to do the same, and call in your Bureau friends."

She cursed some more.

"By the time I'm done explaining what the hell I'm doing here, with you of all people, Gideon will be in the wind again. Literally."

"I'm not letting him have the kid," Mando declared, "and I'm not letting the District Attorney have him either," he added. "I'm getting him back, with or without your help."

Cara sighed, but took out her gun.

"You get the kid, I'm getting Gideon, we'll figure out the rest later."

"Deal," Mando agreed, copying her movements.

Their best bet to remain hidden was to circle the helicopter from the back, which they did, but frankly Mando was past caring at this point – Moff could notice them coming all he liked, as far as he was concerned. Even better if he did, actually. They would get this over with faster. But that was before he remembered how much La Eme's boss liked the sound of his own voice.

No sooner had they gotten near the helicopter doors that they opened, as if they'd been waiting for them patiently – and maybe they had. Mando tried to focus on the positive first: it was just Gideon and the big man Winta had described, who was doubling as a pilot. And the latter was the only one armed. On the downside, he was equipped with a compact submachine gun, something that could fire 900 rounds in under a minute. The fact that the magazine only held 20 bullets was of little comfort. Their guns were virtually useless against it.

"Finally, we were almost worried no one would show up," announced the boss with a smile.

Gideon wasn't armed, but what he held against his chest was just as lethal to Mando: the child. Wailing. Jerking restlessly against the hard man's bruising grip. That was a smart move – with the boy's unpredictable and wide movements, the boss was safe in the knowledge that anyone shooting at him would risk harming the kid.

"Obviously, this is only a matter of a few minutes, as my men should soon be arriving by road, but this will give us enough time to chat."

Cara was holding the pilot at gunpoint, for all the good it did, and he knew he was supposed to keep his muzzle in Gideon's direction to maintain their small advantage, but his aim kept on wavering, his shoulders shaking with the strength needed to counter his first instinct. Don't shoot the kid, don't shoot the kid, don't shoot the kid…

"To think we weren't able to properly introduce ourselves the last time we talked in Karga's office…"

The boy now making grabbing motions in his direction, his cries just as strong and just as agonizing. Mando wouldn't be able to resist for long. He couldn't keep pointing the gun at the child, and the next outburst, although expected, almost broke him.

"Dada!"

"How sweet, at least the little one has a name for you. I know you by another one though, Din Djarin. "

Mando stopped breathing, but Gideon wasn't done.

"And you brought Carasynthia Dune with you, how fitting. I can still remember the look on her young agents' faces when I pulled the trigger."

Cara's reaction was more noticeable than his, and she was now aiming at Moff. But changed her mind with a groan when he smiled, and she switched back to the pilot, who didn't need to be any more threatening than he already was, his Uzi trained in both their directions.

"I can't believe I almost made the same mistake twice, thirty years apart. Granted, when I was sent to kill your parents I was only a young member who'd recently taken on the oath. So I had an excuse for not searching the house properly for you. But for this little one…" Pressing the kid harder against his chest and triggering a louder howl. "I should have been more careful."

Mando couldn't move, speak let alone think over the droning sound growing in his mind. Swallowing all his being. Destroying him. Erasing him. Scattering what was left in the wind.

"The look on your face right now tells me your old boss never had the nerve to tell you, then. I know he wanted to, in the end. Tell you that it was my old boss who told him to come and get you in the house, and do with you what he wanted. And now here we are, coming full circle, with you also choosing to keep the kid alive."

The gun was still pointed in Gideon and the child's direction by sheer reflex. Mando was oblivious to the movements of his own body. Untethered. Detached. Gone.

"You NF hermanos are so weak," he added with disdain in his voice.

His right hand holding the gun's grip, his left balancing its weight and steadying his aim. Just like they had taught him in the army, the instructors correcting the way he'd been using weapons for years already. The right hand takes the shot, but the left hand decides when. Listen to the rhythm of your heartbeat, then shoot. Aim with your heart, press the trigger with your brain. Left, and right. The lone star of Chile on his left hand, the dragon on his right hand. His heart and his brain. His parents and his military training.

His brain telling him to shoot, his heart stopping him.

"But I'm not making any mistake, now."

The child was staring straight at him, huge brown eyes begging for it all to be over. To be held, to be safe, to be loved.

"You need the kid alive." Cara's voice, coming from his left.

"Oh yes, what a nice prospect. Hand the child over and watch him become a symbol of the government's failure at protecting innocent victims in the war on drugs. His parents are still dead. He'll grow up in foster care in Los Angeles. A thriving environment, to be sure. And the gangs will be ready to welcome him back when he's old enough. Din can empathize with his situation."

That name again. Crushing whatever force had been keeping his arms raised. The last time he'd heard it was in his mother's voice.

Mando dropped the gun.

Gideon dropped the kid.

Then a flurry of motions Mando didn't see, because he was focusing on one thing only, the child. He fell to his knees, hoping the soft sand he could feel under him had also protected the kid from hurting himself.

"Mando!"

He raised his head at Cara's voice, in time to see the gun Moff was pointing in his direction. There was a shot before he had time to realize that the boss had been waiting for him to drop the gun he could still just touch with his left hand to grab his own. A grunt of pain and another gun touching the sand softly. Gideon's. Then three shots in rapid succession and a hiss. By then, Mando had gripped his piece again, and shot the pilot twice.

The pilot was dead. Cara was bleeding. The child was crying. And Moff Gideon was running.

"Cara?" he checked, noting it was the first time he was using her name.

"Through and through, one bullet," she replied, pressing against her side with gritted teeth. "Fucker couldn't aim for shit."

The kid standing up slowly, stumbling in his direction with his arms raised, unharmed.

A look at Cara again, then at the boy reaching out for him, and then at Moff's retreating form.

"Don't!"

But Mando was running.

He was fast, always had been, and Gideon was hurt. It should have been easy to catch up with him, but he was running close to the water edge towards the access road, where the sand was soaked in water and spongy. His ankles were digging in deep with each stride, sending shooting pain to his lower back. Mando couldn't let him reach his men who were bound to show up. No matter what. Who cared if he could feel the staples closing his fresh knife wound tearing at his skin? It was almost over. There was no point pretending he was running after Moff to protect the kid – said kid was safe, and he had just abandoned him and Cara. This was for him and him only.

With a desperate lunge, he jumped at Gideon's back, sending him face first in the water. They struggled, Mando pressing him in the shallow depth with all his might. The fast sprint had winded him more, and he was struck by his opponent's remaining strength. He managed to turn around and breathe air again, his arms and legs doing their best to push Mando off. The water was cold and meant finding purchase on skin was difficult. He couldn't prevent Gideon's fists striking him, his knees digging hard against his stomach. He screamed out loud when a kick caught his bad side but didn't stop, doing all he could to maintain the other man's head in the water, which was just deep enough.

Mando got his hopes up when Gideon stopped struggling, but he realized his mistake when a vicious hit landed just above his left ear.

That hadn't been a fist.

The searing pain pierced his skull deep and brutal. He saw a bloodied rock in the older man's hand before his vision started blurring. His whole left side was becoming numb, his body betraying him despite his rage. Half collapsing despite his valiant efforts, Gideon had no trouble reversing their positions, and pushed his head in the cold water. Mando was only able to take in breaths at irregular intervals, coughing, spluttering, struggling against the current and Moff's pressing hands.

The ringing in his ears and the ocean drowned out all other sounds. He could just about see Gideon's lips moving but not hear the words. It was probably something along the lines of how stupid he was. How stupid it had been to run head first into danger after him. Unprepared and unarmed. Something he never did. But he had been listening to his heart, and not his brain. He wanted Moff to pay for what he had done. To his parents. To the kid's parents. To him. All the lies that had shaped his life and that still threatened to unravel now if he let them.

But he couldn't, he needed to stay alive.

Not for him, he realized, as he couldn't suppress water entering his lungs. He was done being selfish. He needed to let Mando go. Mando could die. Worse than that, he wanted him to die. Him and all he represented. But perhaps Din would be allowed to live again and come out of his cupboard. And perhaps he could make sure the kid wouldn't be subjected to the same kind of life Mando had known.

Mando stopped struggling.

Gideon stopped pushing.

He waited a few extra seconds, unmoving, his whole chest burning, then toppled the startled man over him by swinging at his ankles. The water was deeper there, and Mando used both his hands to press around Gideon's neck and dig his head in the sand. His numb body no longer felt the fists and kicks, but they weren't as vigorous as before. He just focused his eyes on his two tattoos joining strength to put an end to Moff Gideon and all he meant. His right hand and his left hand. Together. Until it was over, and still after that for good measure.

Only then did he remember to breathe. And cough. And breathe again.

He collapsed a few feet away on his back, and the wind made him appreciate again how cold the water had been. He coughed some more – deep, wracking barks that shook his whole body and hurt something fierce. Mando wasn't sure he'd ever be able to breathe properly again. His hearing was still muffled and the left side of his head throbbing. It was hard to tell if the liquid he could feel dripping down his neck was water or blood, but his vision was somehow improving, and from his prone position he could see the sun starting to peek behind the clouds over him. The sand was soft, and he just wanted to close his eyes, right here and there on the beach, despite his rattling teeth and wheezing breath.

"Mando!"

So maybe now wasn't the time to sleep, then. Cara was standing over him. The child in her arms. He had calmed down, despite how uncomfortable the FBI agent looked holding him. Part pain, part awkwardness, he guessed.

"Are you okay?" she asked, although he read the words on her lips more than he heard them.

Mando nodded, then decided that one, he needed to cough some more, and two, moving his head was a bad idea right now. He'd have passed out if he wasn't already lying down. Needless to say, standing up was the last thing he wanted to do, but Cara didn't need to remind him that they would soon have visitors, and neither of them was capable of taking them on.

"We have to go, come on," she pressed, and helped him up.

It would have been comical if the situation wasn't so dire – she was taking on half his weight, while wincing in pain over her bullet wound and holding a wriggling toddler.

"You're soaked through, and cold," she complained, as they slowly made their way to the drier part of the beach, his right arm over her shoulders and the baby trying to press his small hands against his face.

"Can you hear that?" Cara said, stopping.

Mando could barely hear the sound of his own rough breaths over his pounding skull, and just managed to prevent a shake of his head.

"No," he uttered.

"We're gonna have company soon," she announced, looking behind her.

Mando trusted her on that, as turning at the moment was beyond him. He only wanted to look ahead, and what he saw reminded him of Paz's parting words when he left Bolinas. Fly, fight, win. Well, he was pretty sure he was done fighting. And despite how shitty he felt, he had won. There was only one item left.

"You're not serious," blurted Cara, following his line of sight. "You can barely stand!"

"I don't intend to pilot standing up," he countered, and she grumbled in answer, clearly not a fan of banter.

They'd started walking once more, as quickly as they could in their states. Sounds were beginning to make sense again, and Mando thought he could hear cars behind them, now. Still some way off, but worryingly there. The child was also making himself known, complaining at Mando's apparent indifference.

"Lo siento, cariño. Lo siento mucho," he whispered, wishing he could take him in his arms. But he was cold and drenched and in pain. And yes, that was definitely blood dripping on his forehead and ear and neck. And more blood was running low on his back where the staples had ripped.

They now faced the helicopter again, the dead pilot lying where he had fallen.

"Are you sure you can fly this thing?" pressed Cara, and he hoped his answering stare was just as dark as the ones she had given him earlier when he doubted her skills.

"I don't think we can make it to the boat." And Cara's worried look at what was transpiring behind them was proof enough of the veracity of his words.

"What about the weather?" she still added, even though she was following him inside the aircraft.

"It cleared up," he answered, and it had. He could definitely see the sun now.

"And the wind?"

"It's just wind," he shrugged, regretting the movement immediately.

Yes, the wind was still just as bad. And yes, the medium sized Bell 212 wouldn't have been his first choice with its mere two blades and twin engine. But he'd piloted its military counterpart, the Twin Huey, countless times, and he found himself at home once sitting in the cockpit.

Checklist, checklist, checklist… He thought, or said out loud, he was no longer sure. Pilots lived for checklists, and he was no different. Helos, especially the smaller ones, had never been his favorite aircraft – they were unpredictable, moody little shits at the best of times – but the good thing about them was that taking off was the easy part. He wouldn't tell Cara that the flying would actually be the problematic bit, though.

His checks completed – they'd have enough fuel for 200 miles at least – he put on his headset, gestured for Cara to do the same and strap herself and the kid as best as she could, and then they were off. And just in time, as he could see at least five heavy SUVs reaching the beach, paying little mind to the end of the road in their rush.

He set his pain and worries aside over the sound of the rotors, his brain automatically switching to piloting mode. He couldn't let himself be distracted by anything, as the wind required all his attention. He kept on calculating speeds and angles and altitudes to avoid the worst of it, but it was still a struggle. Mando radioed in, protocol deeply ingrained in his training, and for the life of him wasn't sure how he had introduced himself to the operator. He'd probably given his USAF credentials without thinking, but it seemed to do the trick, and when he asked for the nearest trauma center to land, he was granted the necessary coordinates to Providence St. Peter Hospital in Olympia.

Dimly aware that they all needed to be checked out and treated, his biggest worry remained the kid, who hadn't stopped crying since they took off. Cara had placed a headset over his ears, but it was probably too big and uncomfortable for him to block the noise properly, and he kept removing it.

Mando could feel either blood or water trickling in his eyes, but he needed both his hands to fight the wind and answer the incessant beeps of the aircraft. Something else he hated about helicopters. Always warning him about some alert or other.

"Mando…" he heard Cara speak over the comms.

He'd been thinking out loud again, he realized.

"Have you called it in?" he asked, to hide his blunder. His brain was messing with him. He couldn't hear her answer over the coughing fit taking over him. Jesus, that sounded bad even to his own ears, and the aircraft lunged left.

"Mando!"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he answered her unspoken question, then had to focus on his flying again. Their ETA was 30 minutes, but this was in good weather, and with a non (probably) concussed pilot. He heard Cara speak over the radio, but paid no attention to her words, assuming she was talking to her superiors.

He wasn't sure if it was his vision tunneling in, or the weather turning bad again, but it was getting harder and harder to pretend everything was going well when it wasn't. The last part of the journey took everything out of him. His head was pounding so hard he could no longer tell where the pain ended and had to refocus constantly on his instruments to register what they were telling him.

The key to their safe landing turned out to be the kid, in the end. When Cara was done reporting back, he asked her to press the headset over his ears again, and did his best to reassure him, speaking his usual Spanish nonsense. Making promises. A lot of them. Promising he'd take him aboard a real airplane next time. Something less noisy. That he'd show him the stars at night once more. That everything would be okay soon. The boy eventually quieted down over the sound of his voice, and Mando found it in him to deliver on his promises. Some of them to start with, at least. He'd focus on the others later on.

He had no memory of how he actually landed on the helicopter pad on the hospital roof, only that when the rotors finally stopped spinning, he coughed so hard and for so long he almost blacked out. Which he eventually did, after seeing blood on his hands.

Mando woke up two days later, feeling marginally worse, but at least he was lying down.

"You almost drowned."

Cara's voice. The idiot was implied at the end of her sentence.

"There was a shitload of water in your lungs and you were on a respirator for two days in ICU, they just took out the tube."

So that was why he felt like he'd been run over by a tank, he thought. His chest was just one block of pain. He could move his hands and toes, but only just.

"No…handcuffs?" he marveled in a gravelly voice, his throat like sandpaper.

Cara waited until he was done coughing – it predictably hurt like a son of a bitch – before she answered.

"No, the matter of your arrest is still under discussion," she replied.

Mando raised his eyebrows in amazement, thinking it was easier to communicate that way for the time being.

"I heard the staff here wanted to tie you down, though. You kept fighting them and trying to remove your tube."

This he briefly remembered, in vivid flashes.

"How are you?" he managed to ask her eventually.

"Barely a scratch, I'll live. I'm not the best patient either and they were glad to quickly get rid of me."

Swallowing painfully around his inflamed throat. Waiting for her to say it but no words were forthcoming.

"The kid?"

"He's fine. There was absolutely nothing wrong with him, but I made sure they checked him over thoroughly."

"And he's…where?"

A beat. And her voice turned softer.

"CPS took him yesterday, he's being processed in Seattle."

"Not L.A.?" he confirmed, trying to focus on the positive.

"Not L.A., not for now at least."

Mando nodded and winced.

"Oh yeah, you have a concussion as well, I forgot to tell you. And they had to do surgery on your back. Something about repairing damaged tissue."

He tried to stay very still but the pain, emotional rather than physical – although he would never admit it – was immense. Mando thought Cara could understand his predicament, because she mumbled something about getting him a nurse or a doctor to adjust his meds. Alone in the room, he still rolled on his good side, not minding the discomfort. Warm tears were spilling from his eyes and he didn't know what to do about them. So what if he had hoped to see the kid one last time? He couldn't expect the authorities to simply wait for him to wake up though, right? That was silly. And he'd fulfilled his mission – the kid was safe, Moff Gideon was dead. Why did he feel so desperately, desperately sad? It made no sense. The boy would be fine. He was no father and he'd almost had him killed. Several times. Anyone would be better suited to take care of him.

Eventually, he slept. When he woke up again, it was dark. Just him and his thoughts for a change. The drugs coursing through him made things a little better, but he couldn't escape the stark realization that he had no idea what was expected of him, now. He'd feel better if he was under arrest, because that would at least give him something to focus on. He tried not to think about Gideon's revelations on the beach, but it was almost impossible not to. His whole life had been one big lie. But there was no one left to lay the blame on. Well, not really anyway. His old boss was also dead, and Greef had never truly been his enemy.

Come morning, he thought he'd made up his mind, and was glad to see Cara again once visitors' hours started.

"Here to arrest me this time?" he asked, only half-joking.

"No, not yet," she replied, "but I still have a few things to discuss with you."

She sat down next to his bed, and Mando raised the mattress. It wasn't comfortable, but he didn't like having to look up at her.

"The Los Angeles District Attorney is coming to talk to you. Just talk, mind. But he's a bit pissed."

"I wonder why…"

"Well, he's not just pissed at you," she admitted. "See, when you had the bright idea of disposing of Gideon here in Washington, this meant we got federal jurisdiction. And we managed to arrest quite a lot of his guys, too. Many trying to abscond to Canada. Turns out, loyalty isn't that great once the boss is dead, and several are now willing to talk."

Mando wasn't surprised – the hierarchy in La Eme, as in most gangs, was strictly pyramidal. Leaderless, they wouldn't know who to turn to.

"That was stupid of me, running after him like that," he voiced out loud, feeling it needed to be said.

"Yeah, and you almost died," she confirmed. "Still, I would have done exactly the same as you, if I hadn't been shot."

"Thanks for saving my ass," he added.

"Tell that to Paz," she asked with a smile, and he nodded slowly, the movement starting to feel a little less painful.

"And I should be the one thanking you, really. You just made my life a lot easier. And between the two of us, Gideon's place wasn't in prison."

Mando wasn't sure what to say to that, so he remained silent.

"My report should help your case, hopefully. It reflects that you acted to protect a FBI agent who'd been shot at and a kid."

"Not really…" he countered.

"Yes, really. Now we just have to hope we can make the charges against La Eme hold. We wanted to come down on your old gang as well, and the gang members we caught are not very high up, but we should have enough," Cara tried to convince herself.

"About that," Mando started, knowing there was no turning back now, "I might have some stuff to help."

"I'm listening."

"But in exchange, I want something."

"Immunity? That shouldn't be too hard if you have the goods."

"No, I don't care about that," he replied, surprising her. "What I want, is for the kid never having to be part of the investigation or the legal proceedings. He should stay in Washington and not go back to L.A., unless you find his family."

"You really care about him," she marveled.

"He doesn't deserve to be used. And I really don't give a shit if it hurts your case, but I'm pretty sure what I have to share is more valuable."

"Well, it's only going to piss the DA a bit more, but if you do mean to help our investigation…"

"I do," he confirmed.

"Then it's no longer going to be his case, anyway. Depending on what you can give us, it could turn big. Much bigger than L.A. or California even."

Mando nodded again, thinking of all the files he had accumulated over the years and hidden on a remotely accessible private server. The recordings, shipment manifests, inner going-ons and illegal trades and proceedings of both Nuestra Familia and La Eme. His insurance policy, collected over his time of servitude, that had only been meant to be used as an incentive to let him go for good. He was pleasantly surprised that Paz hadn't been using the credentials he'd given him in Bolinas and told Cara about it already. He'd kept true to his word, and let Mando decide what to do with them.

He mentioned a few examples to her, and she whistled, definitely interested.

"And you'd be ready to testify to everything? This would have to be closed proceedings, it could be dangerous for you."

"Anything. It's time."

"You should still get a lawyer, a good one," she pressed, frowning.

"I really don't care about that, as long as the kid is kept out of it."

"You should care, you idiot. Let me look into it before you say anything, alright? You might need to go into witness protection."

Mando shrugged. "No need for that, I have the most perfect identity lined up, already. My own."

"I did look into that, actually. The name Gideon used. And you were declared legally dead 30 years ago, you're a ghost."

"Perfect, then," he said, glad that she wasn't pressing for more. If she'd found his name, she knew exactly what had happened to him already.

"Din Djarin," she whispered, as if his name was still taboo, somehow.

The silence that followed should have been uncomfortable, but it wasn't. As if their shared experience over the last few days equated to years of friendship.

"Din," she tried again, testing the word. It still sounded strange to hear it, but Mando was getting better at reacting normally.

"Were you like…a very loud baby?" she asked, not believing that was the case for a second – no way he had been.

Mando laughed genuinely, something else Cara had a hard time believing.

"No, it means 'faith' in Arabic," he replied.

She didn't think that was answer enough and she raised her eyebrows in question.

"My mother told me she read it in a book – she loved books – and the name just stuck, she liked it," he added.

He'd started remembering small things he thought he'd forgotten. As if hearing his name again had unlocked a whole chapter of his life he had assumed lost forever.

"It's nice," she confirmed. "Suits you, somehow. But you're a dead man if you start calling me Carasynthia, are we clear?"

"We're clear," he promised with a small smile.

She stayed with him when the DA visited, and he was grateful, as the man hadn't been pleasant, and kept on making threats. Under Cara's recommendation, he remained silent, and let her do the talking. It was her case now, and Mando was glad he had decided to help her – he could see her sense of justice was more in line with his own. The District Attorney was an elected official, and his principles seemed showy and forced.

Cara left after the DA's departure, promising she would do her best to follow his wishes regarding the boy, and he asked her for one last favor.

"There's this woman and her kid in Raymond. I was staying with them when you called. Could you let them know the child is safe? Omera and Winta, I don't know their last name. Paz might know, though."

She nodded, and urged him to rest. But there was no rest for him, as a new visitor showed up shortly after. One he didn't recognize at first. An old man, small and wrinkled, who seemed to have difficulty walking.

"Din? It's you, isn't it? Little Din?"

The hoarse voice and honest blue eyes did ring a bell. And the man knew his real name after all.

"Yes?" he replied, frowning. The man looked helpless, but his stare was powerful.

"You look so much like your father. You're not little Din any more…" he uttered with a sad smile.

"I'm sorry, who…"

"I'm Kuiil. I worked with your father. I'm sorry I didn't look for you more. I'm sorry I thought you were dead."

Apologies were not something he was used to, and he didn't know how to react. He didn't feel like staying in bed anymore either, so he suggested they went for a walk in the ward instead, something the doctor hadn't actually recommended, but he needed a change of scenery. And hear what the old man had to say.

Mando quickly realized that he wasn't limited at all – the man's mind was intact, and sharp. It was good that he walked slowly though, as Mando's breath was still uncomfortably short.

Kuiil had been an Executive Assistant District Attorney in Los Angeles in the late 1980's and early 1990's. And Mando's father an Assistant District Attorney under him. His "partner", "the most promising prosecutor" he'd known, Kuiil called him, delighting him in old stories of their cases together.

"He was fearless. Except when it came to you. He decided to take on the gangs, but realized too late he'd bitten more than he could chew."

"That's why they came after us?" Mando asked, as they were making slow circuits in the corridors.

"Yes, and I felt so guilty, son. So guilty… I should have stopped him sooner, but he was adamant. He wanted to make Los Angeles a safer place."

Mando stopped, leaning against the wall. "I just remember him as working in an office," he said, wishing his mind could let him recall more.

"You were young. But he loved you and your mom so much, Din. He never would have wanted you hurt."

And yet, this did hurt, Mando thought. To be told something he'd known all along. He had beenloved. He had meant something to people.

"And when they were killed and there was no trace of you, no ransom demand or anything… I just assumed…"

"That I was dead, too," Mando finished.

The old man looked so forlorn and so remorseful that he didn't have the heart to feel anything but sympathy towards him.

"I am so sorry, Din. And when I heard that the District Attorney meant to prosecute you, I came as quickly as I could. And I tried to find out as much as possible about your situation. But you're gonna have to tell me everything now, son. Because I'm not letting that opportunistic media-freak asshole cause you any more trouble, you hear me? You need a lawyer now, and that's me. No one else is gonna hurt you, I promise."

Mando blamed his burning eyes on his physical pain this time, and they sat down in the cafeteria to talk. He'd found an ally where he had never expected one.

There was one more surprise visitor the next day. In full uniform, which Mando thought was overdoing it a bit.

"I'm reporting back tonight," Paz argued. "My plane is leaving Sea-Tac in three hours."

But Paz had always liked making an entrance. And he was convinced it had helped him reach him quicker. He was seeing him outside of visiting hours, after all. And he'd brought his stuff from his car. Well, Paz's car, actually. But it felt good to wear his own clothes over his hospital gown when they went for a walk outside.

"Keep the car, by the way," Paz pressed. "It looks like a crime scene in there, and Cara said it should be released to you, soon."

"Thanks," Mando replied, still having a hard time imagining what his life was going to be like outside the hospital.

"Please try to stay out of harm's way for a while if possible, kid. I shouldn't be posted overseas in the near future, but this has just been ridiculous. I can't keep worrying like that. Your luck is bound to run out at one point."

Mando stayed silent and focused on his steps. He wasn't used to people minding whether he was alive or dead.

"Oh, and Cara said she reached that woman, Omera. She was glad to hear the boy was safe, apparently. And she asked after you as well…"

"What did Cara say?" Mando asked too quickly, and Paz smiled knowingly.

"That you weren't dead," he replied blankly.

"Oh, well, that's good, then," he nodded, trying to look unconcerned and failing.

Paz snorted, but let him off the hook.

Mando recounted Kuiil's visit the previous day, and shared his reluctance at having someone defending his interests. It still felt wrong to him to escape his violent past unscathed. Kuiil meant to restore his name and have him sign immunity papers before he confessed or shared anything with the FBI.

"Your lack of self-preservation would be laudable if it wasn't so fucking pointless and stupid, kid" told him Paz.

That stopped him in his slow tracks. He was getting tired of having all his beliefs shattered, one after the other. He'd lost all the bearings that had shaped his identity until now. It was more difficult than he had expected to let Mando go.

"I should start calling you Din, actually," Paz realized, somehow reading his thoughts.

"You've never called me by my first name. Or my last name, come to that," he noted.

"True," conceded his mentor, "you'll always be 'kid', I'm afraid."

They started walking around the small garden again, both aware of the subject they were consciously avoiding.

"Speaking of kid…" Paz started – of course he was going to be the one mentioning it. "How's the boy?"

Mando told him what little information he'd gathered from Cara and his pledge to have him stay in Washington in exchange for his testimony, and he didn't have to pretend that the subject wasn't a painful one for him. Paz's upset look told him as much.

"It's nice of you to want to protect him, but that doesn't mean you can never seem him again. Surely you can negotiate that with the FBI, too. Seems like they'll still be getting a lot out of you. More than they are willing to give back, I'm certain."

"I don't know if it's a good idea…" voiced Mando, giving words to his fears. "Maybe it's better if he doesn't see me again. It might confuse him," he reasoned.

"Confuse him? I think you've got this wrong, kid. He's not the one confused. If you want closure, then you should ask to see him again. Even if it's for the last time. But you both owe each other that."

Mando nodded, not truly convinced, but never one to go against his old superior's advice.

So with the FBI's reluctant but eventually effective aid and Kuiil's guidance, he found himself at a Child Protective Services' welcoming center in Seattle a few days later, when he was released from the hospital. He'd quickly calculated in his mind that he hadn't seen the boy for as many days as they had spent together on the run. It was very possible then that the toddler had forgotten all about him.

It would have been easier that way, he realized.

Because when the kid saw him, his eyes lit up and his arms raised in a familiar gesture. One that hurt infinitely more than his still healing lungs and skull. Mando had no idea if he was allowed to or not, but he listened to his heart and pressed the kid close to his chest, hiding his watery eyes in his regrettably shorn locks.

"Dada," the toddler babbled happily, and Mando hoped no one could see how badly he was shaking. He'd meant to come here to say goodbye. And instead he found himself making new promises to the child.