Chapter Text
He woke the following morning with the child curled up in the gap between his pauldron and his helmet. He could hear Greef talking in the kitchen and could smell something more substantial than a ration pack or rehydrated bread so it couldn’t be Cara cooking.
He’d had the dubious pleasure of her cooking on Sorgan. It wasn’t an experience he was keen to repeat.
With one hand on the child he carefully pushed himself upright and took stock. There were still a lot of aches and pains, but that was to be expected. Bruises didn’t vanish overnight, not like that slice in his leg had. His head felt better too, the headache and his stomach had settled and the fuzzy edge that had tainted the world had melted away. More importantly, his memories of the previous night were clear and the annoying ringing in his ears was gone.
Gently, he set the child back against the pillow and tucked the blanket more firmly around him, letting a finger brush gently against his ear in greeting.
Then, he tried standing.
A few muscles in his back immediately protested as he straightened and his ribs joined in when he tried to take a deeper breath.
“It’s a torn ligament in your back and three bruised ribs, if you were wondering.”
He glanced up to see Cara’s head hanging down from the hatch to the cockpit.
“Great,” he said after a moment of testing the movement of his limbs, nothing limited, just sore.
“We can leave some breakfast up here for you,” Cara offered after a moment, clearly enjoying herself, “that’s if you think you can manage the ladder, old man.”
“Don’t call me that,” he shot back instinctively, though lacking any real bite.
“Well,” Cara replied with a grin, “you’re sure moving like one right now.”
Helmet or no, there was no way she could misinterpret the look he was giving her. Sometimes he was disappointed that a glare couldn’t cause physical harm.
“When you two are quite finished,” Karga interrupted. “There’s some food ready.”
“Smells good, thank you,” he said and meant it, just as his stomach chose to remind him exactly how long it had been since he had last eaten. What with the firefight, the escape, then a whole twenty four hours spent hoping he didn’t in fact have serious brain injury and then another ten, if his HUD was to be believed, sleeping everything else off, food had fallen somewhat to the wayside.
None of this stopped the blood rushing to his cheeks at the rumble and he was extra glad that the helmet kept his face hidden.
“Kriff, just get yourself up here so you can eat something will you?” Cara said, swinging herself down and stepping aside.
The ladder was managable and when the hatch shut behind him and the sounds from below cut off, he slipped the helmet off and tucked in with gusto. It was good. Really good. He was suddenly glad the hatch cut off noise because it turned out Greef Karga really was a good cook and he was pretty sure that if she heard, Cara would hold some of the noises he was making over him indefinitely.
With a full meal and a night’s sleep behind him, he almost felt up for a fight again and he dropped down from the ladder perhaps a little harder than he should have done because gravity immediately reminded him that his back didn’t necessarily agree with his brain.
Not that his brain had emerged unscathed either. Cara had found some chalk and had written a list of words that he was struggling with on the back wall of the cockpit, along with the workarounds she’d created with him. So far he’d worked out that the issue was consistent across languages, those he couldn’t say in Basic he couldn’t say in Mando’a either. At least, from what he could tell, it wasn’t getting any worse and if anything else was going to develop then it would have by now.
He was going to keep trying to say them, of course, but he suspected he was going to have to learn to live with it.
The child had woken whilst he was eating and was settled happily in Cara’s arms, chewing on what looked like his amulet, which at least explained where that had gone.
“Better?” Cara asked.
“Much,” he replied, letting Greef take the empty plate away. “Thought you weren’t a baby person?”
“I’m not.” Cara shot him a look that dared him to argue. Instead, he let out a small huff of air.
“Make sure he doesn’t choke on that,” he said, and followed Greef into the kitchen before she could protest.
“So,” Greef said as he picked up a dry-cloth and wordlessly started wiping the dishes. “What is your plan now? You’re very welcome to stay, I could even get you back in the Guild if you wanted.”
“Thanks for the offer, but no,” he said, setting the last plate down with a sigh. “I’ve got something else I need to do.”
“The kid?” Karga asked and just shrugged with a little smile when he didn’t reply. “Well, you know where we are.” He reached for his belongings, propped up by the door and clearly packed earlier in the day. “I'm afraid that unless you need me, I’d better go and sort the rest of them out before they cause too much trouble."
“I understand,” he said, stepped back so Greef could get past and followed him as headed to the ramp controls, hit them release and took in deep breaths of Navarro air before stepping out of the Razor Crest.
“Are you sure you won’t stay for a little longer?” Greef asked, turning.
“I can’t,” he replied. “They’re not going to stop looking for him just because they lost a fight here and I won’t put anyone else at risk.”
Greef nodded, and then much to his surprise, held out a hand. “Well, in that case, it’s been an honour, Din Djarin.”
“Ret'urcye mhi, Greef Karga,” he replied and grasped the offered hand and shook.
With a small shake of his head at the Mando’a, Karga stepped back and away, giving the Razor Crest one last look before shouldering his pack and heading down the ramp towards the town.
Behind him, footsteps heralded the arrival of Cara.
“Here,” she said, offering him the child, “I think he wants you.”
He took the bundle, settling the child into the crook of his arm and couldn’t stop a small smile at the happy noise the baby made as it reached to brush a hand against his helmet.
A thunk beside him drew his attention away to Cara’s bag, resting by the door, her intent clear. He wasn't surprised. People like them got restless.
“You could come with us. If you wanted,” he offered after a moment, well aware of how much he had changed in so little time.
Her smile was soft, but sad as well, and he knew before she spoke that she was already set on leaving.
“I’ve got work to do here, Mando. But you never know, maybe one day…” she trailed off, trailing a hand against the door in affection.
“The offer is always open.”
“I know,” she said, reaching out to brush a finger over the child’s head. “Goodbye for now, little one.” Then, before he could work out what was happening, she had pulled him into a hug. “Are you sure you'll be alright?” she asked softly.
“Yeah,” he murmured.
“Then you take care of each other,” she said next to his ear, then there was the slightest of pressure against the side of his helmet and then she was pulling away, reaching for her bag.
“See you around, vod.”
“See you round, brother.”
Hyperspace felt very quiet. Their course was set for a small planet in the outer rim that looked like a good place to lie low for a bit. He hoped there would come a day when they wouldn’t have to run and hide, but until then, he had a responsibility to look after the little one.
He also had a ceremony to complete.
He double checked that the controls were all set correctly and then he turned his attention to the cooing bundle sat in his lap. Carefully, he turned the child around so that they were facing each other, and pulled the amulet away from its mouth.
The child titled its head at him with a quiet noise, curious, its hands reaching to brush against his gloves. The child. His child.
This was it; there was no turning back now.
“Ni kyr’tayl gai sa’ad, ad’ika.”
The words flowed freely, smoothly over his tongue and he almost sighed in relief. Whatever that hit had done to his brain, maybe it was not beyond repair.
The baby looked up at him, perhaps not understanding the words but something made him suspect that the little one understood the intent.
Then, his hands lifted to his helmet, lifted, lifted.
With a metallic clunk, he set the helmet down. The baby watched, head titling further to one side.
“Hello there little one,” he said, gently running one hand over his son’s ear. “It’s me, your buir.”
The child chirped happily at the sound of his voice and nodded as though in confirmation and held up his hands.
He knew what that meant by now and he scooped the little one up raising him so they were level with each other. When the child reached for his face he fought the urge to flinch back from his touch.
As tiny hands explored his features he closed his eyes against the overwhelming nature of it all and slowly tipped his head forward until his head touched the child’s.
“I will keep you safe, little one. Haat, ijaa, haa’it."