First time writing a modern AU story. Hope you enjoy!

-RM

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"Clear."

The voice crackled through the mic in Din Djarin's ear, and he repeated it back seconds later after sweeping yet another lounge area. If he had thought the yacht ostentatious on their approach his opinion was only solidified as they silently scoured the vessel. He exited the room, his partner close behind, nerves humming and ears tuned to the muffled sounds of running feet and hand-to-hand combat coming from the levels below them as guards rushed to hold off the rest of his team. If they knew what they would be facing, the smart ones would surrender on the spot. They were chosen for this work for a reason, and hell hath no fury like that which would be released on anyone who stood in their way.

The corridor was dimly lit, making NVGs unnecessary, but also making Din nervous at the shadows that cloaked the area. The only thing harder to find on this kriffing boat than their targets was a lightswitch. He tightened his grip on his rifle as they reached the end of the hall without incident and were just about to turn the corner when Kuiil tapped his shoulder twice. Din spared a glance over his shoulder at the older man just long enough to catch his gesture to head left and nodded. Though quiet and somewhat prone to ambiguous statements, his partner had a mind like a steel trap and could memorize schematics and maps with a single look, making him their pathfinder and directing Din where they needed to go. They paused just before turning the corner, backs to opposite walls and facing each other. Din raised a questioning brow, checking in on him and receiving a thumbs-up in return. Just before they swung around into the next hallway his earpiece crackled to life once again.

"Targets located. Pawns neutralized."

Din keyed his mic. "Copy. Moving in on the king. Standby." With a nod to Kuiil they flipped around the corner, back to back, prepared for any guards who might be patrolling. The passage was clear, but a man chose that moment to emerge from a room, catching a right hook from Din's fist as he did so that rendered him unconscious immediately. Kuiil let his rifle hang from the strap on his shoulder, hog-tied the guard with zip ties then drug him back into the room he had just come from, snagging the man's pistol before closing the door. He nodded once to Din and they continued forward.

Suddenly a door flew open a few yards down and a gun and half a face appeared, firing wildly at them. They threw themselves back down the intersecting hallway, but not before a grunt came from Kuiil and he staggered to the ground.

Footsteps thundered away from them and Din knelt to check his friend only to have his hands waved away. "Fine. Got… me… in the vest. Go, Djar. Stop him... I have spoken."

Amazing how three words had the power to separate Din from his partner. Kuiil's trump card for any and all arguments, a sure sign you had no chance of changing his mind.

He thundered after his target, all attempts at stealth abandoned in determination to catch this monster. He careened around the corner onto the walkway that ran along the starboard railing of the boat, his target's stocky frame and dark hair coming into view. He raised his rifle and fired a warning shot, splintering the wood just above his head.

"Gideon!" he shouted. "Stop now or the next one has your name on it." Alive, if you can. As much as he hated sparing this scum he had his orders. They needed him to locate the other members of his network.

He was surprised- and instantly a hundred times more wary- when the man actually complied, slowing to a stop, his shoulders sagging. "Hands up and turn to face me." A beat passed before his hands appeared and he slowly turned. Hatred unfurled in Din's gut at the sight of the man he had chased, tracked, and memorized the face of for more than six months. He'd never understand the greed and moral depravity that compelled men like this to think buying and selling flesh was acceptable. Especially when their "merchandise" was kids. Santiago Gideon was one of the worst, Din's bosses estimating he had made somewhere in the hundreds of millions of dollars from his human trafficking. It would be his great pleasure to knock that down to a big fat zero.

"Drop the gun and kick it over to me." The pimp hesitated. "Now!" The pistol hit the floor and was kicked over to Din, who kicked it further behind him. He tossed a pair of handcuffs onto the wood at the other man's feet. "Cuff yourself." He wasn't getting within striking distance of the man until he was restrained. Gideon bent down and made like he was picking up the cuffs but instead his hand went to his ankle, and Din caught a flash of metal a split second before a second smaller gun appeared in his hand. Acting purely on instinct he lashed out with his left foot before the man could even straighten, catching his wrist and sending the weapon flying. Gideon snarled, holding his wrist for only a second before snatching a knife from somewhere on his belt. Din let his rifle fall to his side, hanging from the strap over his shoulder, and stepped into a ready position, waiting for the other man to make the first move. The sound of heavy boots and shouted orders reverberated throughout the yacht; within minutes the upper deck would be swarming with law enforcement.

With a yell Gideon lunged, blade aimed at Din's midsection, but he sidestepped at the last second, catching the trafficker in the gut with a powerful kick. The air rushed from him and he staggered but maintained his footing, slashing wildly with the knife which Din avoided easily. His back now against the rail, Din prepared to spring toward the man and take him down once and for all, but before he could Gideon charged again. The moment they met almost seemed to move in slow motion but was really over in a split second: one hand seized the trafficker's wrist, driving the knife up and away from Din, the other pushing up and away against his shoulder. Suddenly Gideon was airborne, his momentum taking him over the side, and the last thing Din saw before the body sank below the inky water below was the knife sticking out of the man's chest, a look of anger and shock frozen on his swarthy face.

Din braced himself against the rail, adrenaline fading from his veins in a crash that almost made his knees go weak. That, and the fact he and Kuiil hadn't slept for almost 24 hours, fueled by coffee and persistence. Kuill. He pushed past his exhaustion and rushed back through the corridors, following the sound of law enforcement. He rounded the corner and slowed when he saw his partner sitting on the floor propped up by a wall and being attended to by a paramedic. He flashed Din a tired smile and an okay hand signal that contradicted the ugly black bruise already blooming over the lower right side of his ribcage. Din huffed a sigh in relief, leaning heavily against the wall and observing the chaos while he waited for their boss, Karga, to appear.

A noise over the commotion in the hallway caught his ear. It was soft and barely audible, but he recognized it instantly, having heard it countless times in his career, as crying. And it was coming from the room Gideon had ambushed them from. Palming his sidearm he turned and retraced his steps back, toeing the door open to what looked like a stateroom. Expensive furnishings filled the space, the carpet plush under his feet and expensive clothing visible through the half-open closet door. At first he assumed the crying was coming from among the rumpled blankets on the bed- he wished he could count the times he'd found a trafficker who had forced one of his victims into bed with him- but stepping further into the room he was shocked to find a crib shoved against one wall, and the largest pair of brown eyes he had ever seen peeking out at him through the slats. After clearing the en suite bath and walk-in closet he holstered his gun and slowly approached the crib. At the last second he yanked down the gaiter covering the lower half of his face and peeled off his tactical helmet, dropping it on the floor beside him.

His heart seized in his chest at the sight of the little boy in the crib: no more than two years old, with olive skin, unruly brown curls, and enormous tear-filled brown eyes.

"It's okay, pal. You're safe; no one's going to hurt you." Din leaned down hesitantly, moving slowly so as not to startle the child, and picked him up under the arms. He knew nothing about kids- he'd barely even passed the fake baby assignment for parenting class in high school- but the second he held the boy close, spindly arms wrapped instantly around his neck, legs locking around his waist, and the little face buried itself in the fabric around his neck. "Alright buddy, it's okay." He brushed a hand in a gentle circle over the tyke's back. "Let's get you out of here." Instinct took over, and Din stooped to pick up his helmet before striding from the room, the kid still clinging to him like a barnacle though the tears had finally subsided. He ignored the confused stares and startled looks as he wove through the halls of the yacht, skirting team members and local authorities, until he reached the gangway that led back to the private dock.

Police and ambulance lights bathed the area in red and blue, and Din reached solid ground just as local law enforcement led the group of children ranging in age from four to fourteen and all swaddled in blankets toward the waiting EMTs. His stomach turned at the thought of what they had gone through, but hopefully soon they would all be back home, or somewhere safe if home wasn't an option anymore. And based on his experience, sometimes that was unfortunately the case.

"Djarin!" He turned at the voice of his boss, spotting the dark-skinned man walking down the pier toward him, a spindly gray-haired officer behind him. "Good to see you in one piece."

"Thanks, Karga. Got a little hairy in a couple spots but we made it. Kuiil got one in the vest but he'll be fine. I haven't heard much from anyone else."

"Well you do have your hands full." His gaze dipped to the child and a fond smile tipped Karga's lips. Din's hand resumed its gentle rubbing on the kid's back, and he felt him relax against his shoulder.

"What about Gideon?" the officer cut in. C. Vanth, his nametag read. Din gave him a once-over, fighting a smirk at the boots he wore that when combined with the slight accent betrayed his southwestern origins.

"He went over the starboard side. He came at me with a knife; it happened so fast I didn't have a chance to try and catch him." An image flashed in his mind of the blade protruding from the trafficker's chest. "You won't have to worry about him getting away though; he took the knife with him." He pressed a finger into his own chest, not wanting to go into the gory details with little ears around. Both men nodded in understanding, Karga's shoulders dropping a bit at the lost possibility of information.

"And the child?"

Din shrugged. "Found him in the stateroom. Didn't seem right to leave him there." He mentally counted the kids he had seen walking toward the first responders; twelve, just like their intel had said. So where had this one come from? "Maybe one of the other kids knows who he is?"

"We can ask," Karga replied. "For now let's get you both checked out." Din nodded and followed the two men down the pier and up the steps that led to the top of the sea wall where their team medic was waiting.

"Good to see you back in one piece, Din Djarin," the willowy medic greeted him as he dropped onto a bench.

"Thanks, IG. Not for lack of trying though." As stoic as the paintings of the religious figure he was named for, Ignatius Greerson, or IG as he insisted on being called, didn't crack so much as a grin or give an eye roll at Din's attempt at a joke. Instead he blinked twice and reached for the kid. As soon as the second pair of hands touched him the child, who Din thought had drifted off to sleep, jerked and let out an ear-piercing shriek, breaking into hiccupping sobs and clinging all the tighter to Din. "Hey, hey, pal it's okay." he rubbed his hand over the kid's back and craned his neck back to try and make eye contact with the child. "IG is a friend of mine. He's going to look you over and make sure you're okay. I'll be right here, I promise."

It took several minutes and more reassurances but finally the cries tapered off, and the kid finally relented to sitting on the bench beside Din while IG completed his exam. He was surprisingly gentle with the boy, talking in soft tones as he listened to his heart and lungs and took other vitals. After a quick once-over for injuries the medic declared the boy healthy. By that time a woman dressed in a crimson suit with gold jewelry had made her way over to them. Din recognized a social worker when he saw one, having met probably at least a hundred of them over the span of his life.

"Mr. Djarin?" she finally asked, consulting the file in her hand. She had a serious look about her that managed not to be overly severe, with medium brown hair pulled back in a clip and eerily piercing amber eyes. He nodded his confirmation, the child sitting on his lap and slumped against his chest, already asleep. "My name is Amara. I'm with protective services. I've been assigned to look into the child's case and try to locate his family."

"So he's not Gideon's?"

She shook her head. "No one knows where he came from. None of the other children recognized him- most didn't even know he existed- and so far the police haven't found any identification in Mr. Gideon's paperwork. It may still surface, of course, but until that happens he'll need to be placed into a foster home."

Din shuddered at that word. His own memories were plagued by the year he'd spent in the system himself, and the last thing he ever wanted was for a child to be subjected to that. He looked down at the kid curled up in his lap, completely asleep in spite of the body armor worn by the stranger holding him. His mind flew a million miles a minute, skipping from his own past to just a few minutes ago when the kid had reacted so severely to being separated from Din, then to what his future might look like with the little tyke in it. He knew nothing about kids and even less about toddlers, but something deep inside of him broke at the thought of the little boy nestled against his chest being subjected to who-knew-what out there in the world by himself. He straightened his spine and met the social worker's eye.

"I'll take him."