Author's Note
(Edited 4/21/23)
Hello, again, my friends, we are back for another chapter and I have to say, this is one of my favorites. This is one of those chapters that mostly wrote itself instead of me writing it. I started it off intending to write just some wholesome fluff and the characters were like, hey, I wanna say stuff.
And stuff gets said.
Go onward and enjoy!
Trust
Okay, so Mahin may be getting a little…too comfortable with the Force again. She keeps finding excuses to use it. That piece of equipment is too heavy for her to lift on her own. That tool fell beyond her reach. The kid is fast asleep and, really, the easiest way to move him without risk of waking him is to…float him to his hammock.
And Mando. She tries not to worry about him when he goes out on his hunts. Really, she does. But it gets hard on days like this. Rain whips around in the savage wind outside the enclosed safety of the Razor Crest. Mahin imagines the weather feels cold and biting, the kind of wet that seeps through the layers of clothes and skin and bone until it soaks into the soul. Until it feels like you'll never feel warmth again.
And Mando is out in that. And Mahin worries about him, more than usual since the rain and the winds strong enough to bend the trees make things even more difficult and dangerous. And so, she reaches out for him in the Force. Unconsciously, mostly. She barely notices until she finds his presence in the Force and then he's there, right there at the edges of her mind, his little warmth safe and unhurt and steadily growing closer.
He's okay. The Force tells her he's okay. And still on his way back. It feels like he won't be too much longer, though. She sets down the piece of tech she was fiddling with and wipes her hands on her coveralls. The kid stands at her feet looking up at her curiously. "What do you say, kid?" she says as she makes her way to the section of wall in the hold with the compacted kitchen. The child waddles after her on his little legs. "Want to help me make dinner?"
Mahin loves the kitchen on the Razor Crest. With everything put away, it looks like just a flat wall with random seams and divots in the metal. But push at the right place and a stovetop slides out. Pull at the right seam and a platform pulls out that can be used as a table for cutting or kneading or mixing. Right now, though, she places the child on top so he can stay nearby and watch as she cooks.
He doesn't really help with the cooking but he does love to watch.
She gets a pot on the stovetop, pulls out ingredients from their food crate, and sets to work on making some soup. Clam chowder, she decides, one of her favorites and sure to warm Mando up.
The soup is still simmering on the stove when the rear ramp begins to descend. Mahin stirs the soup one more time, grabs up the kid, and retreats to her room. Mando doesn't like the bounties to see them if they can help it. Not all of them are necessarily going to be put to death when they get to where they're going. The fewer people who see the child, the better.
She listens from the doorway just out of sight to the familiar sounds of feet stomping up the ramp. The grumbling and bribery of the bounty, this time speaking Rodian. The clang of the carbonite freezer opening and then, a moment later, the hiss and stillness as the bounty gets frozen into a slab.
"What in all the galaxy is that wonderful smell?" Mando asks in the following silence.
Mahin chuckles as she returns to her place at the stove and places the kid back on his table. "Clam chowder soup," she answers, checking on the food real quick before giving Mando a onceover.
He is completely soaked, just as she thought. Water drips off of his cloak and armor to ping against the grating. The fabric of his clothes has turned dark and uncomfortably clingy. His shoulders droop low like the beskar pulls at his limbs heavier than normal.
He looks utterly miserable. She doesn't have to see his face to know that.
"Go take a shower," she tells him softly, a sympathetic chill running down her spine. "I'll get us into hyperspace and food will be ready by the time you're done."
Mando simply nods without a word, trudging towards his bunk with an exhausted shuffle.
Din stands in the doorway, steam billowing out from the open refresher behind him. He's damp, still, but the chill of that planet has loosened its claws from his body. The dry long-sleeved shirt, pants, and socks help.
He leaves the armor off for now. And the cloak. And the cowl. And the gloves. And the boots. He's only been this dressed-down in front of Mahin a handful of times. He never could have imagined this before she came aboard—taking his armor off, willingly, in front of someone else. But over the past several months with her, it just gets easier and easier.
Din wants it more and more. To be close to her. To not have that barrier between them.
She hums softly as she ladles the steaming soup into bowls. Din doesn't think she's always aware of it when she hums. Sometimes she only does it for a few moments, a few notes of a song that Din barely recalls from his own childhood, or an echo of a melody they heard at a cantina earlier that day. There and then gone, but lingering in Din's mind.
He never really cared about music one way or another. But now, he's never known anything so calming. The struggles and frustrations of the day, of tracking the bounty through that horrendous weather, seem to melt away with the melody of her voice. It pushes him forward, giving him back a little of his energy so he can pull out one of the crates from the netting securing it to the wall, giving them a place to sit.
Mahin hands him two of the bowls, then grabs up the third bowl and the kid. With the kid sitting between them, the three of them share a meal together, sipping at soup with spoons. Soup is the easiest meal for Din to eat while still keeping the helmet on. He barely has to lift it up in order to get the spoon to his mouth, so he feels comfortable enough to eat in front of others.
Well, at least in front of them. Mahin still keeps her eyes averted and, somehow, she's taught the kid not to look his way too much while eating as well. Din's never quite sure how much the kid actually understands when he talks to him, but the child and Mahin have a way of understanding each other that seems so natural. Easy. Effortless. It's been that way since Mahin joined them.
Her very presence feels like magic sometimes. Or maybe he's the one frozen in carbonite for a change, making all of this some kind of dream.
They finish eating and Mahin gathers their dishes up, the kid giving an all-mighty yawn when she takes his bowl from him. Mahin and Din laugh, Mahin taking the dishes to the pull-out sink to clean while Din gathers up the kid in his arms.
The child nuzzles his face against Din's chest. Din smiles, pressing a hand to the back of the child's head as he carries the kid over to the bunk. He falls fast asleep by the time Din gently lays him down in the hammock.
Din just stands there for a few moments. Watching the child. The kid looks happy, he thinks. Or at least content. Din thinks about it every day, how the child might have been treated before. At the kind of hardships and cruelty the child may have suffered through already at such a young age.
Well, young is relative when it comes to the kid. Still, Din thinks the kid might be doing alright now. That Din might be doing something right.
But he definitely isn't doing it alone.
"So, now that the bottomless stomach is asleep, can I interest you in a little dessert?" Mahin asks.
Din shuts the bunk and turns to see Mahin dig out two pieces of food wrapped in plastic from the food crate. He takes one from her, unwrapping the saran wrap to reveal a slice of moist bread. But it's not plain bread. It has a softer texture and a sweet scent that wafts up through the bottom of Din's helmet. "Is that...banana?" he asks.
"Yep. Banana bread. I finished making it while you were gone." She sits down on the crate again facing the back of the ship. "You ever have it before?"
"No, never." He sits with his back to her, waiting a moment before slipping the helmet off. Cool, fresh air brushes over his face. He took it off in the refresher but it feels different out here in the hold. Out in the open. That trickle of relief it brings loosens his shoulders, followed by a slight tightening at having the helmet off in front of someone else. It's still difficult to be comfortable with all this. One wrong move could ruin everything. It wouldn't be anyone's fault, just…it's a risk.
But he trusts her.
"I've had banana," he says, "but not banana bread."
Her breath hitches. He barely catches the sound without the helmet, but he's learned to listen for it. It happens every time he takes the helmet off and speaks without the modulator for the first time. His voice doesn't sound that different to Din's ears, but maybe that's just him.
He thought she would be used to his voice like this by now, though. It still seems to take her by surprise. Din...thinks it's a good sign.
She gives a little cough before saying, "Well, I, uh, I think you'll like it."
Din breaks off a piece of the bread and sticks it in his mouth for a bite. The sweet taste surprises a strangled moan out of him that sounds nothing like him at all.
Mahin laughs. "That good, huh?"
"This is easily the best thing I've ever eaten," he mumbles around more bread.
"You say that about all of my cooking."
"And it's true. I don't know how you top yourself every time."
"It's easy to do when you were eating nothing but prepackaged slag before I came along."
"I don't know how I survived," he jokes, but in all seriousness, he really doesn't. He doesn't know how he got by without her before.
He doesn't know where this is going. He doesn't know what's going to happen. Din's been trying to just feel his way through this—through his life—for so long. Since before taking that bounty from the Imps, really. And it all feels like a fumbling mess. But two things are very clear to him.
One, he's going to get the kid someplace safe. Someplace where the kid can grow up happy.
And two, Din trusts Mahin more than anyone. Maybe even more than his own covert. She is one of the best things to ever happen to him. His light on the path when he's fumbling and worried and unsure what to do.
A sudden urge builds up in Din's chest. An urge he's felt before. Has acted on before. But it would be different this time if he did it now.
Din balls up the empty saran wrap and sets it aside, shifting on the crate nervously. "Mahin, I…I want to try something. But you have to promise not to look, alright?"
"Of course," Mahin says, confusion coloring her voice. Because, of course she won't look. She's already promised not to look. They both know that. But they can both also hear the hesitation in his voice.
"I'll do whatever you need, Mando," she continues softly. Full of understanding. Full of warmth. "Even if that means wearing a blindfold. Would that help?"
"No, I…that's not necessary. I trust you, Mahin. Really. I do."
"I know that. But I also understand that this isn't really about trust. It's about decades of training and instinct. It's okay if you're not altogether ready to be without the helmet while around me. I'm not offended or anything. Stuff like this," she pauses, and when she speaks again, her voice sounds hoarser, "it…it takes time. And it's not something you can force."
Din's fingers curl around the edges of the crate. He gets where she's coming from. There's plenty that Mahin isn't ready to share yet either. And Din doesn't push. Because she's right. It is about more than just trust. It's about overcoming a whole tangle of past experiences that involve more negatives than positives when it comes to other people. It isn't easily undone, no matter how much they want it to be, and it's going to take time.
And there's no shame in taking time. In taking small steps on their way to that place of true trust that they both want to be in.
Small steps. Small steps Din can do.
"You really alright with a blindfold?" Din asks.
"If that's what you need, then yes. I just want you to be comfortable. And, really, it's the smart thing to do. You never know what may happen. I would never, ever look at you without the helmet on purpose. But something could happen to startle me or whatever and then my eyes could open on instinct and…yeah." He feels her shrug behind him, their backs brushing together. "I'd rather be safe than sorry."
"Alright. Sit tight for a second." Din heads for the bunk. As quietly as possible, he opens the door, grabs his cloak, and closes it up again before he disturbs the kid. He then grabs a knife from the weapons cabinet. In one swift movement, he cuts off a length of fabric from the bottom of the cloak.
Mahin jumps slightly at the sound of tearing cloth. "Is that…did you just tear something up to make a blindfold?"
"It's just my cloak," Din says offhandedly as he closes up the cabinet again. "No big deal."
"Mando," she sighs, "you didn't need to ruin your cloak for this. I have some cloth we could have used."
"I'm not tying one of your oil-stained rags around your head, Mahin."
"Fine. But you're giving me your cloak so I can fix it later."
"What, are you going to sew the strip back on or something?" Din chuckles.
"No, but I can at least even out the hem and keep the fabric from fraying further."
Din steps up behind her. Mahin instantly straightens and stills, waiting. He moves slowly. Giving her time to pull back. To change her mind if she wants. But she stays completely immobile as Din gently ties the cloth around her eyes. He makes the knot secure but not too tight, careful that none of her hair snags. "Does that feel alright?"
"Yeah, it feels fine. Comfortable." She tugs at the fabric a bit so it spreads a little further down her cheekbones. "And I can't see anything at all."
"Okay." Din hesitates for only a second longer and then he sits down behind Mahin again. Only, this time, he doesn't sit facing away from her. He faces her back, right behind her.
Right behind her. And he shifts forward to get even closer.
He maneuvers his legs so that Mahin sits between them. She goes rigid as her breath hitches again in surprise. Din stops. Giving her a chance to protest. To move away. But she doesn't. So Din keeps going. He slips his arms around her waist, drawing her back against his chest. He tilts his head to nuzzle against her hair, that little space behind her ear, and then he tucks his face against her neck and just….
Holds on.
Mahin's heart hammers to the beat of a rampaging bantha. Loud and uncontrollable in the darkness of her covered eyes. Maker, so loud. Surely Mando can hear it. He's close enough to. His front is practically plastered against her back, hardly a breath of space between them.
They've been this close before, entangled together in the dead of night when the nightmares claw in too deep for one of them to handle alone, but it's never been quite like this before. Never quite like this.
He feels so warm, curled against her back. Legs bracketing her hips with their thighs pressed together. Arms encircling her waist to hold her impossibly tight. But never too tight. Never tight enough to hurt. And then his face—kriff, his naked, open face—pressing against her bare neck in a way that feels so incredibly intimate. Not because of how close they sit or even the bare skin against bare skin in what is so close to a kiss to her neck. No, it's because of his bare face. Uncovered. Vulnerable. It's the way Mando risks everything to be this close to her.
"Mando," she chokes out around the sudden tightness in her throat, not even sure what she's going to say but needing to say something, "I—"
"Djarin."
The rampaging bantha suddenly stills.
Djarin.
A simple name. A simple word. But she knows Mando wouldn't say something so simple at a time like this. That this name can't just be any name. "What?"
"Din Djarin." His arms squeeze tighter around her, tucking his face a little bit closer with that vulnerability surging around him. "My name is Din Djarin. Din being my family name. That's how they did it on my birth planet. Family first. Self last."
Mahin places her hands atop his forearms, fingers digging into the sleeves of his shirt to pull him closer to her. To hug him back any way she can. She leans her head against his, ignoring the way the blindfold grows damp over her eyes.
His name. He's trusting her with his name. She knew they were growing close, that they very likely would get to this eventually, but it was always this fuzzy future in her mind. Foggy. Indistinct. Like trying to look at the stars through a nebula. She only kind of thought she'd be able to get to this, so long as she could stay off the Empire's radar long enough.
But a part of her always thought it'd get snatched away from her, stardust drifting away in the black.
Mahin lifts a shaking hand, reaching over her shoulder. Going slow. Mando—Djarin—lifts his face from her neck just enough to allow her fingers to stroke along the side of his face. Her fingers brush against scratchy stubble along his jaw, like he hasn't shaved for over a day or two. She allows her fingers to wander a bit more. He lets her. She finds more hair along his upper lip, a bit of a mustache, and she can't help but smile a little. He keeps a mustache even though no one but him can see it. She follows the line of his face up the bridge of his broad nose, along his brow hanging low over his eyes, and up to his hair. Kind of long, longer than she expected. Not shaved like she joked all those months ago. And kind of wavy. Would it be blonde? Black? Brown? She wonders at the specifics, but only briefly, because it doesn't matter.
He's beautiful to her blinded eyes.
"Nice to meet you, Din Djarin," she grins, twisting around. It's tricky without being able to see, but she doesn't need eyes to see Djarin. To feel him. The Force does the seeing for her, allowing her to find him and press their foreheads together as easily as if she could see right through the blindfold.
He shudders and says with a whisper, "Say it again."
Her smile grows. "Din Djarin."
He turns her more in his arms, until she sits sideways across his lap with her arms wrapped around his neck. His nose slides along hers and it's her turn to shudder. All she can do is feel. His legs beneath her. His chest pressed against her. His arms holding her like she's more precious than all the stars in the sky.
His lips, right there, brushing against hers as he breathes, "Again."
"Djarin," she whispers between them, barely audible, and then Djarin's lips are on hers.
The kiss is soft. Hesitant. Unsure. She realizes with a jolt that he's probably never done this before because it would require so, so much trust. A trust she's pretty sure he's never felt before. But he feels it now. For her.
It really is real, this thing between them. It's really real.
She cups his face between her hands, opening her mouth to deepen the kiss. A supernova ignites between them, filled with heat and teeth and the wet slide of his tongue against hers. Djarin moans beneath her, arms banding around her back to press her impossibly closer but there's still too much space between them. Still way too much space.
Mahin pulls back with a soft smack of their mouths, chest heaving as she struggles to drag in enough air to whisper, "Take me to bed, Djarin."
"Don't need to tell me twice, cyar'ika."
Mahin giggles as Djarin instantly picks her up, carrying her through the ship so she doesn't have to stumble around blindfolded. "Cyar'ika, huh? You finally going to tell me what that one means?"
Djarin doesn't say anything for a moment as he lays her down on her back. She recognizes the familiar plushness of her bed. He hovers over her, keeping his weight on his knees and forearms with their chests barely touching. "Sweetheart," he answers softly, his lips sliding along her jaw. "It means sweetheart."
Sweetheart. He's been calling her sweetheart for weeks now.
"So what does that make cyare, then?"
His mouth slides up to the shell of her ear. "Darling."
Mahin grips his shirt at his sides, dragging him down so she feels his weight on top of her. Keeping her from floating away with the strength of the happiness bursting in her chest. "Well, then, cyare." The sound of the Mando'a word curling around her lips like she's always known it makes Djarin press even closer until she doesn't know where she ends and he begins. "I think you better kiss me again."
She can feel his grin against her mouth and through the Force. "With pleasure, ner cyare."
Author's Note
Yeah, originally, this was just going to be hugs and to establish use of the blindhold to allow Din to take his helmet off around Mahin. I wasn't going to have Din tell her his name yet. Or them actually GETTING TOGETHER. But it happened.
And also, I've written several chapters ahead beyond this one, and can I just say WRITING "DIN" EVERY TIME INSTEAD OF "MANDO" WAS A DIFFICULT TRANSITION TO MAKE I CANNOT EVEN BEGIN TO EXPRESS. (Edit: and now it's "Djarin" instead of "Din" instead of "Mando" which is even worse.)
*cough*
But I digress.
Next chapter really is just a wallop of fluff, plus some slightly angsty introspection on Mahin's part as she contemplates her past and her secrets. Don't worry, you'll be getting Mahin's full back story in due time.
Hope you enjoyed, PLEASE REVIEW, and see you all next time!
Translations
Cyar'ika - sweetheart
Cyare - darling
Ner cyare - my darling
