chapter seventeen: the whole is more than the sum of its parts

Something is wrong with Rey.

Mando knows her too well to pretend he doesn't see it. He has witnessed all of her many moods over these last nine years, becoming particularly well acquainted with them during her tumultuous adolescence.

She didn't become one of those wildly effusive teenagers who wore their hearts on their sleeves, but when her moods were tossed around by those hormonal teen squalls, she stewed in stormy silence and grit her teeth and curled in on herself — and she argued a lot more. It was as if resentment for him had suddenly built up out of the blue. Those had been rough days. Mando knew it could have been worse if she'd been the loudly emotional type, but even still he felt as if he'd been saddled with some unknowable creature. Fortunately those moments dwindled as she grew, and then she mellowed out again, her simmering anger seemed to fade. She didn't become cheerful after that, exactly, but she was quiet and steady and self-sufficient.

It's not like she's reverted to her adolescent self now. He can't really compare that to her current state. This is different. He's learned to recognize the signals of her changing emotional tides, but he doesn't recognize anything about this at all.

It's so subtle, for starters. She easily slips back into the natural rhythm of things, acting her part largely the way she did before she left. Anyone who didn't know her extremely well might miss it. But she smiles a little less. Her laughter is brief. She loses focus on any given task after a few minutes. She goes on jogs more often and spends even more time by herself than she did before. And she doesn't argue with Mando — about anything. No quips, no snark, no passing passively aggressive comments. And that is one of the biggest tells of all.

Dyn senses it too. One morning while Mando gathers his things in preparation to head to work, Dyn leans against the window the camper and watches the distant figure of Rey running along one of the hiking trails.

"What's the matter with her?" he asks.

"Not sure," Mando says, glancing out at her too.

"Is she sad?"

"Maybe."

Dyn considers this for a while. Then he nods and says softly, "Yeah. I think she's sad."

It's not really any of his business, so Mando doesn't let himself give it too much thought. But Dyn's assessment does puzzle him. What would she have to be sad about? She's been fighting for this idea of her future for so long, going to battle against Mando about it over and over in the same rehearsed argument for years. Now she has it in the palm of her hand, and this is her reaction?

Mando is perplexed.

Griff is annoyed.

"When is your daughter gonna let me know about the job, Mando?" he grouses later that same day.

Mando doesn't look up from the folder he's rifling through. "You'll hear when you hear. And she isn't mine."

"Bullshit. I'm so sick of your bullshit with these kids," Griff snaps, shaking his head. "What's taking her so long anyway? I thought she wanted this."

"I'm not gonna rush her through the decision. You already know my thoughts on it."

Griff gives him a scowl. "You're right. It's your fault. This whole thing was your idea."

"But somehow, we all got what we wanted, didn't we? You got your highly valued, highly difficult skip, Rey got to prove herself as a capable and competent adult, and I got her reconsider her plans for the future."

"Oh really? If that's what we all wanted then why aren't any of us happy about it?" Griff arches a brow.

"I don't know."

Because none of this feels good. But Mando isn't one to examine situations of emotional complication too closely. He likes to keep moving forward and see how things shake out.

Griff grunts. "Well I do. If she just took the job, it would solve everything. I'd be happy, she'd be happy, and your guilty conscience for trying to hold her back would be happy too."

"Leave her alone and tell me what I need to know about this guy," Mando sighs, motioning at the folder.

Griff isn't ready to let the matter drop though. He points a damning finger and growls, "Get your house in order, Mando."

The words hang over him for the rest of the day, circling like a vulture.

He resists them. Honestly, whatever's up with Rey might not even be a problem. She's working through something, that's obvious, and he trusts her to come to her own conclusion. She's a good kid. Level-headed. Smart. Adaptable. The only dumb thing he's ever seen her do is want to be a bail bond agent like him. And if this is her process for second-guessing that decision? Good. He'll leave her to it.

So there's nothing to get in order. Everything is fine. It's different from before, but it's not like strained, complicated silence is anything new for them. It's the same old song, just a slightly different tune.

But it keeps niggling at his mind, scratching at his conscience. Whatever happened up there, Rey has not come back from Seattle the same person. And it might be his own fault, for refusing to help her or give her much advice. She did what he'd hoped, though — she'd figured it out herself, relied only on her own skill and ability. That was the whole point. But she's home now, victorious. There's no reason for him to make her go through the rest of it without help.

It's just that he doesn't know where or how to help her.

When he gets home he finds her sitting astride the old motorcycle she'd been fixing up before she left. Her tools are in hand, but she's just sitting there, frowning at them like they've offended her. Her hands aren't greasy. There's no evidence she's worked on it at all.

Dyn is near her, playing with his toy dinosaurs in the grass. He is quiet, and every once in a while glances towards her like he's waiting for her to do something.

Rey hasn't worked on much of anything since she got back. Her previous projects are all abandoned.

Mando doesn't like it.

He won't tell anyone, but he secretly worried himself into frustration every day that she was gone. It was a strange and admittedly terrible time. He'd not anticipated how much he would miss her. How it would feel like part of his chest had gone wandering off without him, leaving the rest of him anxious and unsettled. He hadn't gone a single day without seeing her since she was ten years old.

He'd regretted making Griff find her a hard target. He wondered all the time if it would prove too much for her. If it would, in fact, be more dangerous than she was prepared to face. After she'd called, he stayed awake hating himself for leaving her with nothing to work with, no advice to make it easier. But he didn't try to fix it by reaching out either. It did surprise him how deep his attachment to her ran, but he'd known for a long time now that her transition into adulthood would be complicated and difficult. So of course he felt bad pushing her to be better. It was pushing her right out of the only home she'd known for the last nine years.

But he's been preparing her and him for this all along. Autonomy and independence. He hasn't let her make a father out of him, because he wanted her to always be able to stand on her own two feet. To maintain that fiercely independent spirit that had kept her alive on her own for two years. And all that had paid off. Rey returned from Seattle in arguable triumph, swathed in grit and strength and a whole lotta luck, and Mando is ridiculously proud of her, even if he fears that her success means she will sell herself into this soulless career for his sake.

But so far, she has surprised him.

Looking at her now, though, he thinks that she looks just as lost now as he felt while she was gone. Like part of her has gone missing.

"Hey, kid. What are you up to?" he asks her.

Rey looks up from the tools and levels him with a wary eye. As if the question alone has made her suspicious. Finally, though, her shoulders lift. "Not sure. I was going to work on the bike, but..."

She trails off, and her shoulders fall again, punctuating the end of a helpless shrug.

Dyn glares at his dinosaurs and stabs at the grass with one of the tails. "Papa, fix Rey. Make her better."

The girl scrambles off the bike in a flash, crouching down next to him, giving him a wide smile and a reassuring tousle of his hair. "What are you talking about, buddy? I don't need to be fixed. I'm fine."

"Nuh-uh. You stare a lot now," Dyn says, his expression sullen. "That lady came to visit and it made you sad."

"What lady?" Mando asks.

Rey's body tenses, but she ignores him and addresses Dyn again. "I'm not sad. I'm happy to be back with you."

Dyn gives her a dubious look.

Get your house in order.

He sighs. Time to bite the bullet.

"Come on," he says abruptly. "Both of you, in the car. Let's go for a drive."

"A drive!" Dyn jumps to his feet. "Where are we going?"

"Don't know yet. Let's just drive."

Rey stands too, frowning a little. Still, she doesn't make any sounds of protest, just drops her things back into her tool box and then silently goes to her car to transfer Dyn's booster to Mando's back seat. Mando unscrews the containment cage partitioning off the front from the back while Rey helps Dyn get buckled. Finally she slides into the front passenger seat.

Mando takes a deep breath before getting in too. He knows what must be done — is long overdue, actually — but he has no delusions about the necessity making it any easier.

He stops at a fast food drive-thru and they all get burgers and milkshakes. Dyn softly proclaims it is the best day ever, which draws a little smile from Rey. Mando takes a route that leads them into the mountains. He still doesn't have a specific destination in mind, so they travel the winding roads and sit in ruminating silence. Dyn is familiar with the group dynamic, and even he doesn't disturb the stillness. He knows that quiet, private thought is the norm here, so he just stares out his window and munches on fries.

Unlike Dyn, Rey never had to learn introspective behavior. Mando found her that way.

Even in the earliest days, when he was still awash with hidden panic about what to do with this wild child stowaway, she was extremely quiet. She sat in the passenger seat, as she does now, looking out at the road before them, very much withdrawn into her own secret thoughts. In town, she'd been this tiny shadow, following him around, but not chattering at him. He'd chase her off and she'd always reappear eventually. She reminded him for a stray kitten. Aloof, skittish, but persistent and hungry for affection. Sitting there in his RV while they got further and further away from where she was supposed to be, she had relaxed a little. A very little. He couldn't forget the way she sank against the seat and breathed this tiny, soft breath. The sound of it, so innocuous, had gone straight through his heart.

He didn't protest that hard when they told him he had to keep her. Sure, she could be a pain in the ass and he'd definitely resented the loss of his bachelorhood, but reluctant compassion had arisen in him for that scrawny little slip of a girl, that skittish shadow. He wanted a good life for her. Better than anything he could give. A real father, a real mother. They couldn't be that kind of family, and he knew it wouldn't be enough for her.

It wasn't.

He'd watched her grow, indomitable and resilient, determined to thrive in whatever hostile soil she was planted. Her life with him wasn't as harsh as surviving alone on the streets, and it allowed her to grow in other areas, but still. He saw that need in her face, and he didn't know how to fill it.

It was much easier with Dyn. Dyn came with no expectations. He was so young. He didn't have memories or trauma or demands. He was just pure innocence and pure love.

Rey was hurt and hunger. She needed someone to bind up her emotional wounds and fill her cup with unconditional acceptance. Mando had been so scared of that. He kept her at arm's length.

And here is the product of this fear. A young woman who is as strong and every bit as prepared to face the world as he could have hoped for, but who also still retains a semblance of that shadow kitten, needing more than she is willing to admit. Silent in her hurting because she knows she will find no comfort here.

Would it really have been so hard to let her love him?

Mando tamps down a wave of self-loathing. No use thinking things like that. He could only deal with what was before him, not behind.

Eventually he finds a parking lot with a scenic overlook. There are benches seated a little ways back from a sharp drop-off, and a wide vista of snow-capped peaks.

"Lets go take a look," he says, turning the engine off.

Rey puts whatever food remains back in the paper bag and leaves it by the foot of her seat. She gets out without a word. Dyn unbuckles and scrambles after her, grabbing her hand. He's been glued to her side ever since she got back. Mando's noticed, but he doesn't say anything. It's good for both of them.

They all sit together on one of the benches. A chilly autumn breeze flirts with them as it passes, cooling their cheeks with kisses that promise imminent winter. Dyn snuggles into Rey's side, and she puts her arm around him. Mando thinks about snow with distaste.

"So what are we doing here, Mando?" Rey asks softly after a couple more minutes of silence.

He nods at the sprawling mountain range before them. "I thought you could use a different scene. Fresh air clears the mind."

To this, she says nothing.

"So you wanna tell me what's going on?" he asks.

She frowns. "Is that what this is about? We're going to sit up here and have a big heart to heart?"

"Don't you think it's a little overdue?"

She cuts him a resentful look. "And whose fault is that?"

"I mean, I'll own my part, but it's not like you've been a fountain of conversation either," he observes. "Neither of us is good at communicating, kid."

She sighs through her nose and purses her lips, but she doesn't refute his point. Instead, she says stonily, "It's fine, Mando. I know you don't really want to know what's wrong, you just feel like you have to ask. So consider the obligation fulfilled."

"This isn't about obligation. You are not the same as you were when you left. I know I'm not the easiest person to talk to, but since you won't talk to anyone else, I'm the best you've got. And you're wrong, I do want to know."

She snorts.

Over the years, they've not had many confessional conversations like this, and he isn't sure how she'll react to his prying now. But he hopes she'll remember that they have had them, a few, and that they've always gone well. Like once when she was sixteen, and she finally opened up to him about how she didn't feel like anyone else at school. She struggled so much, and Mando couldn't understand it. Rey was like living sunlight wherever she went. He didn't know how she didn't attract a huge group of admiring friends all around her. But she said she felt like she had missed out on what it was like to be a kid, and she couldn't relate to anyone because of it.

That had been a good conversation. He had just listened while she talked and cried a little.

But he doesn't know if things will go that way now. She's a lot more hostile and guarded this time.

He prods. "Come on, Rey, I know you. I know you've wanted to become an agent since you were thirteen years old. You did it. You got what you wanted. But now you're not jumping after it. Why not?"

Rey glares out at the mountains, but her expression wavers a little, like a candle flame sputtering in a breeze. Mando isn't great at reading people. Not like she is. He can't begin to guess what the look means.

"I don't know if I want it anymore," she finally says after a long, heavy silence.

Mando stifles the urge to celebrate. Instead, he just nods and says carefully, "Okay. No big deal. You're allowed to change your mind."

"I said I didn't know, not that I for sure don't want it," she says, flicking him an irritated look. "I already know what you want me to choose."

"But what I want isn't important. It's your life. The choice needs to be yours. I don't have anything to do with it."

"Except you do," she snaps. "Of course you do."

"How?" he asks, frowning.

Rey's head tips back and she expels a long, exasperated exhale. "God, Mando, can you just own your influence in my life for one second? Just for once can you pretend that this thing we have here, this relationship, means something to me? Can you pretend to care?"

"Of course I care, kid, but I'm trying to understand. I'm trying not to impose my will for your future on you. That's not my place."

"You didn't have a problem telling me what you thought before," she says, her voice colder than the breeze toying with them. "For years you've been trying to talk me out of going into bounty hunting with you. That I was wrong for it. That you don't want me as your partner at work. You didn't have a problem making my future your business then — and even though it stung that you thought so little of me, at least I could sort of pretend I had a parent who cared enough to tell me their opinion."

"Rey," he starts, but she forges ahead, cutting him off.

"And now when I really could use some guidance, because you're not wrong, I need to talk to someone, you sit there and tell me it's my decision and you have nothing to do with it. But of course you do, because it's always been about you. About staying close to you. But what if you were right in the end? What if I'm all wrong for this job? What if I'm a terrible bounty hunter? And what if I never want another assignment again?"

Her voice breaks and Mando glances at her, alarmed to see the telltale glisten in her eyes, the wet clinging to her lashes.

Dyn shifts on the bench, laying his head on her lap and putting one of his hands on hers. He doesn't say anything. Perceptive, empathetic. He's a lot like Rey in that regard. They can both sense what others need.

Mando wishes he had that instinct. Maybe it would tell him how to help Rey feel better, instead of making it worse.

"What happened in Seattle?" he asks in a low voice.

Her breath shudders through her and she closes her eyes for a moment. And then, surprisingly, she tells him. She talks about the friends she made, the side job she picked up, the ruse she employed to get close to the fugitive, and how much that association meant to her. How much she liked him. And then she tells him about some guy, the skip's son, the same one she called him about. The kid with all the lawyers. She admits to hanging out with him. Her voice gets all thick and shaky when she talks about him, like she's just holding back from bursting into tears.

"But I screwed it all up," she grieves. "We understood each other, and he...was...he was so kind, and I just hurt him. And now I've lost him forever. It was such a huge mistake, going there. I got way too close to all of them. I loved them. My friends. And Han and Chuy. And Ben. I got all tangled up in this pretend life there. It was so stupid of me. So unprofessional. But it felt so good. I felt happy. And it killed me to throw all of them away just for a contract. Especially Ben. God, if you could have seen the look on his face. It was awful. His mother says he's good now, but I can't forgive myself. Because I didn't throw them all away just for a contract. It was for you too. To try to stay close to you, even though you don't want me to. And I hate you for it, but mostly I hate myself for it, because I knew that coming back here, everything would be the same. It's what I wanted. But now it feels so empty and bad. I just want it to be enough, Mando…"

He's quiet throughout it all. Flickers of emotion briefly filter through him. Glimpses of his own failings when she talks about the affectionate regard of Han. The old, old echoes of his own traumatic childhood when she talks about connecting with this Ben kid over mutual loneliness. The satisfaction that she at last found friends. The shock and guilt that she thinks he doesn't want her. It all goes through him and out him like water. He can't look too closely. It's more than he's prepared to face.

He knew. He's always known.

"So maybe I'm an awful bounty hunter," she concludes so softly. "And maybe I don't want to do this at all."

Here at least is a safe entry point, and he gives her a mild half-smile. "I mean, you're not awful. That was a pretty gnarled mess you got yourself into out there. Not gonna lie and say you did it all right. But Rey, it was never about not wanting you to stick around. I didn't want you following me into this job because of all of this." He waves his hand vaguely at her. "These feelings. You care about people. It's good — it's definitely a strength, don't get me wrong. But you can't really care this much in my profession, and I didn't want to see you shut yourself into this limited box. I didn't want to see you shelve your feelings just because of me."

Rey presses the heels of her hands into her eyes and crunches over Dyn. "I hate so much that I was wrong and you were right."

"Why? It's a really good thing you're not a crusty and jaded old curmudgeon like me. Your heart is what makes you unique."

"I just need you both. I know that you don't like it. I know that you wish you could be free of me. But I need to keep you, because...because I can't let you move on without me. So I thought if I worked with you, if I made myself an inescapable presence, you would eventually decide you wanted me after all."

Mando's heart sinks. He still doesn't want to face it, but it's staring at him, obvious and bold. His failure. Just how badly he has failed this girl. "You're right," he says with some difficulty. "I wish you didn't need us. But I don't wish I could be free of you. I...the girl who climbed into my trailer and into my life was this incredibly strong little survivor, and I was afraid. I didn't want to ruin you. I didn't know how to be a father, so I thought it would be better if you never saw me that way. Then I couldn't contaminate your light."

"That's so stupid," Rey says, her voice hitching.

"It was. It is. I'm..." he frowns. The words are painfully inadequate, but he says them anyway, "I'm sorry."

They're silent for a while, Rey sniffling as she wipes the tears that won't stop coming.

Mando clears his throat and offers softly, "Those two weeks you were gone were empty ones. We could never move on without you, Rey. You are part of us. Both of us."

Rey's shoulders shake as she cries harder now. Dyn has wormed his way fully onto her lap and wraps his little arms around her neck.

"Don't cry, Rey. It's okay. We love you."

"We do," Mando agrees, putting a tentative hand on her back. "I do."

Touch has never really been a big part of their relationship. They don't hug. He quickly learned that this feral child who came into his life did not like to have anyone try to hold her hand, so even when they went places when she was young, Mando respected her aversion to touch. When Dyn came along, she discovered how much she liked giving and receiving hugs. But by then it was too late for her and Mando. It would have been awkward. They did not express affection beyond the occasional word of approval from him, or smirky grin from her.

So he doesn't hug her now.

"How long have you known?" she chokes. "How long have you known that you loved me?"

"All along," he admits quietly. "Though I've tried not to. I thought it would hurt us both."

"I wish you would have said something a long time ago."

"Yeah...me too."

She leans into his shoulder and takes one of his hands. Dyn cuddles in between them both. Mando swallows hard.

He draws a deep breath and asks, "You want to know my vision for your future? What I've wanted for you, instead of bounty hunting?"

Rey drags her free hand over her face, pulling herself back into composure, and nods.

"I want to see you do something you love, something you're good at. Like cars, if that's what you want. Or anything that lets your wings unfurl. I want to see you settle somewhere beautiful, where you want to be. Not something anyone else has chosen for you. A permanent home. I want to see you in your own house, someday. A real one. With a yard and a kitchen and a big nice bathtub — and no wheels. I want you to have lots of friends around you. I've always thought that one day you'd find love, something so great it fills your cup to overflowing. And I want you to make the family you've always wanted and never got."

"You are my family," Rey says, the word falling from her mouth like a prayer.

"Yeah," says Dyn, looking up at them. "We are a family!"

Mando doesn't correct them this time.

"But we're not whole," he says, looking at Rey. "And you said yourself, it's not enough."

Rey's gaze meets his, and she nods. Her eyes are soft and sad and still shining. "I wish it were."

"Nah," Mando scoffs, even though he wishes it too. "If we were enough, you'd never strike out on your own. Everybody's gotta follow that restlessness inside them to find their own path. So, kid, what's yours? Doesn't sound like it'll be fugitive recovery."

A slow, reluctant, relieved sort of grin stretches over her face and a breathy little laugh escapes her. "No...it doesn't."

Some of the tension eases.

He cocks an eyebrow at her.

She shrugs. "I don't know. I won't accept Griff's offer, but what should I do instead? Just go back to the garage?"

"Whatever you want. These people you left behind in Seattle, do they still keep in touch with you?"

"Some have, yeah," Rey says.

"And this boy?"

"Um..." she draws her bottom lip between her teeth, brow furrowing a little. "No. He's...silent."

"Do you have feelings for him?" he asks, even though he already knows the answer based on the way she was talking about him earlier.

"I think I might have more than just feelings." She almost whispers it, like the confessions scares her.

Mando's brow shoots up in surprise. Good grief, her first time out on her own as an adult and she manages to get herself a whole complete life?

"Are you in love with him?"

She exhales shakily. "It doesn't make sense. Can it happen that fast?"

"I am the wrong person to ask about that," Mando chortles incredulously. Because he definitely is. He's never been in love like that. Maybe if he had, Rey would have grown up with a mother. But no. Cara Dune is the closest thing he has to a romantic attachment, but he's perfectly content with what they have. "But someone once told me that falling in love isn't an event that happens to you. It's a choice you make over and over again. Like, mutual respect and wanting the best for each other. That sort of thing. Too cheesy?"

"No." She smiles tentatively. Fleetingly. "I miss him. And I — I tried to text him, but he didn't answer. I don't know if he can forgive me. So it might not matter what I feel. His mother, she's the woman Dyn was talking about before, she came a few days ago. She talked to me. She said he's finally taking control over his life. I'm happy for him. I want him to be happy. But...I wish I could talk to him."

"Rey," Mando says abruptly. "Do you want to go back to Seattle?"

Her head jerks up and her eyes widen. "What do you mean?"

"Move there. Permanently."

"What? What would I do there?"

"Get your job back. The one you actually like. Be with your friends. Make something happen with this boy. Get him to talk to you again."

She stares at him for a long minute, her face more open and alive, even in surprise, than he's seen it in weeks.

"Yes," she gasps. "Yes, I want to go back. But — I don't want to leave either of you."

"No, no, don't worry about that," he says dismissively. "I've been restless anyway. We've been in the same spot for too long, and you know how I feel about that. Dyn needs to experience something else. So we'll take you there. We'll all go."

"Mando, are you serious?" She extricates herself from Dyn and stands up.

He laughs gruffly. "Sure, kid, of course. For too long it's been about me and where I want to go. You're an adult now. It's time you get a chance to helm our family's ship. Take us to a new destination."

"Where are we going?" Dyn asks, perking up.

Rey is crying all over again, and this time she flings herself into Mando's chest. His reaction is immediate and instinctual, wrapping her up in the kind of hug he should have given her years ago, when she was still a kid.

"You can live with us," he says quietly, "or you can live with your friends. Either way, we'll stay nearby. We're staying with you."

"Hey, where are we going?" Dyn cries, louder and more insistent.

"We're gonna move, buddy," Mando tells him. "We're finding a new place to live. A new school for you."

"Oh, okay!" Dyn jumps off the bench too. "When are we going? Right now?"

Rey pulls out of the hug and fumbles for her phone. "I gotta tell Jannah and Rose."

"And what about the boy?" Mando asks.

Color rises in Rey's cheeks, but she winces too. "I told you, he's ignoring me."

Mando decides not to opine on this any further. He just shrugs instead and looks at Dyn. "We'll go in a few days. We gotta get some things in order. So maybe a week, or two."

Rey finishes sending her messages and puts her phone away again. She picks up Dyn in a squeezy-tight hug. Her smile is radiant, the way Mando has never seen it.

"Did you hear, Dan? We're a family," she whispers.

"Yeah," Dyn agrees, as if it's obvious. "I know."

Her gaze flits to Mando. He chuckles and gives her a brief nod. "You win. We are."

Rey laughs. The autumn wind sweeps away the sound and scatters it across the mountains.

A/N: Poor Mando. He resisted me on this one. He didn't want to open up. But I'm back from my trip! The updates will speed up now, from here until the end. We're getting so close! Also there will probably some bonus chapters (like those Ben POV ones and maybe some epilogue-type updates, we'll see.) I'll work on the next chapter today to post either tomorrow or the day after, and then another update at the end of the week!