Chapter Text
You had woken up in a bad mood.
There was no way around it, so you sighed and swung your feet over the edge of your bunk, slid them into your worn Bantha leather boots, and stretched your arms upwards as much as you could in your confined quarters. The cantina down the road had been rowdy throughout the short Tatooine night, and the sounds of blasters and shouts had kept you wide awake. It wasn’t an unusual phenomenon, but today it irritated you more than usual.
You wiped your hands on your pants- you had just woken up, but there was already grime on them. There was always oil and grease and miscellaneous crap from the worn down ships that pulled into your shipyard, collapsing on the landing pad with heaving sighs. It was your speciality- reviving lost causes, piecing together something from nothing, getting coins tossed your way for your thrift and ingenuity. You had become a talented mechanic in the past years, and you had come to accept the grime that sat under your fingernails, caked into the creases of your palms.
You pressed the heels of your hands into your eye sockets, attempting to alleviate the thumping of your head in your fatigue. The suns were already climbing in the pale blue sky, the heat already oppressive. It was going to be a long day, and you weren’t ready for it. Another day, crawling under the hull of some ship, doing what you did best. You could already feel the sweat trickling down between your shoulder blades, staining your shirt.
Yes, you were in a bad mood. The heat had killed any gentleness you had left.
Your day got worse when a derelict gunship collapsed its way onto your landing pad in the early afternoon. You heaved a sigh and tipped your head upwards, closing your eyes in a gesture of defeat. Maker, how you wanted to crawl back into your bunk and pretend that nothing had happened. How you would love to take a day to yourself, to not have to scrap a living together by your grimy fingertips, to take a moment to rest and relax and pretend you weren’t on this planet of sand and hell.
Still, you rolled your shoulders back and turned to the droids beside you. You waved your hand and they darted towards the ship, beginning to service it and assess damages. You turned towards the Razor Crest, noting how it was practically falling apart at the seams. You weren’t surprised, the ship’s model itself was old, but this one had seen more than its fair share of wear and tear, you would wager. You never concerned yourself with the particulars of a ship, you just cared whether or not you would get paid for it.
The sand and the heat had killed any gentleness you had left.
You turned back to the speeder engine that sat in front of you, toying around with cables, attempting to bring it back to life so that you could sell it at the market for a credit or two. You didn’t even notice the figure leaving the hull of the ship, slinking into the slim shadows of the landing pad and surrounding vicinity, the shadows growing more scarce as the two suns rose in the sky. You probably should’ve greeted the inhabitant of the ship, seeing as you needed them to pay to stay on your landing dock, but your sour mood kept you from wanting to interact with anyone. Besides, whoever had landed on your dock would have to come back and collect their ship eventually. And then, you would collect.
“Stars above,” you cursed as the speeder engine shocked your fingers. The troublesome thing refused to cooperate with you, and you kicked it with your foot in frustration, attempting to refrain from tearing out your hair.
And then, a tug on your pant leg.
Your eyebrows knitted together, the corners of your mouth pulling down into a deep frown. You cast your gaze downwards, locking eyes with a… well… you don’t know exactly what it was, exactly. Some sort of green bug with absurdly large ears and black eyes the size of tennis balls looked up at you expectantly, cooing softly. Your confusion must have been written over your face, and you didn’t even notice yourself crouching down and picking the… thing up into your arms, fingering the coarse brown burlap cloak it was swaddled in.
“Well then…” you allowed yourself a sigh, “what could you possibly be?”
The creature cocked its head to the side, inspecting you as closely as you were inspecting it. It cooed softly, reaching a tiny, three-fingered hand forward and grabbing a piece of your hair. Your irritation thawed slightly. This... whatever it was, was slightly cute. You rested the thing on your hip and removed your hair from its grasp, swaying from one foot to the other in a subconscious instinct to soothe and comfort.
“Where did you come from?”
The thing’s ears’ pricked, and his oblong head turned. You followed his gaze, and were shocked at the sight that met you.
You had never seen one, of course, but you had heard the legends. Your mother referred to them like a sort of bogeyman, a monster that would grab you in the night and whisk you away, never to be seen again. If there had been a drop of moisture on your body- other than your sweat- your mouth would have gone dry at the sight of him. Oh, yes, you had heard the legends of the Mandalorians.
But you had never anticipated how tall a Mandalorian would be. How broad he would be. The shine of his metal in the Tatooine suns was almost blinding, and there was something overbearing about his presence. His spine was impossibly straight, his shoulders squared, a blaster swung over his back and resting between his shoulder blades. And yes, there was the ubiquitous helmet, the sign of his people, the trademark of his reputation and creed. You didn’t know much about the Mandalorian lore, but you knew enough to know the importance of his helmet.
“Let go of my kid.”
The voice came through a raspy modulator, low and deep and threatening. Even now you noted one of his gloved hands resting on his blaster, a warning sign to you.
“Your kid?” you raised your eyebrows, your gaze flicking back and forth from the thing in your arms back to the armored man in front of you. Your hands gripped tighter around the kid, afraid to let him go and hand him over to a complete stranger. “There’s not much of a family resemblance.”
Silence. You had hoped for at least a laugh, a huff of breath that would acknowledge your joke. Your jaw ticked, your bad mood had returned. You sensed that the man in front of you was ready for a confrontation, and you simply weren’t in the mood for it.
“What do you think, kid?” you turned back to the little green monster in your arms. “Is this your dad?”
The kid turned to you and cooed, reaching his little arms out towards the large man in the shining Beskar standing in front of you. He shifted in your grasp, leaning towards him.
“Well then,” you said, taking a step forward towards the Mandalorian, “I guess that’s the confirmation I need.” The figure reached forwards and took the creature from you, holding it close to his metal-clad chest.
You rested back, shifting your weight onto your back foot, watching the Mandalorian cradle the green gremlin close, shifting into the same movement you had previously adopted, swaying the kid back and forth.
“This your ship?” you ask, gesturing towards the hunk of metal in your pad.
The Mandalorian glanced over his shoulder. “Yes,” he said warily, as if he was exhausted by the sentiment.
“It’s a shock you landed at all,” you said sarcastically, resting a hand on your hip. “It’s five credits a day to dock here.”
“That’s fine.” The response was short, curt, filtered through the modulator. “Won’t be here long.”
You brushed past him into the loading bay, aware of your momentary proximity to him but refusing to shirk under his presence. It was impossible to know for sure, but you swore you felt his eyes boring into you from behind the helmet. You walked around the ship, inspecting it carefully. You pressed a finger to your lips, thinking.
“Your hyperdrive is on the brink of giving out,” you concluded finally.
“And how would you know?” Stars, even through the modulator his disdain was palpable. “You haven’t even seen the controls inside.”
You turned around to face him as he strode back towards his ship, the ammo belt around his waist clinking against his hip. He still held the kid in his arms, close to him like a prized possession he was afraid to lose.
“You can tell from the wear on the outer wings,” you said smugly, turning your nose up to him, looking into what you thought were his eyes.... Well, at least where you at least thought his eyes would be. “Let me guess, every time you try to make a jump, you need to give it two or three goes before it finally makes the leap. And it shudders the whole time.”
Silence.
You chose to take his silence as a confirmation, although he hadn’t been all too talkative with you so far.
“It’s not surprising,” you said, finally, “I’ve seen all sorts of junk come through these parts, and I’ve always been able to repair it.”
“It’s not junk.”
“Listen,” you said, crossing your arms, eyebrows narrowing. “You can call it whatever you want. I know it when I see it. So, I’ll tell you what.”
The Mandalorian fell silent again, staring at you and waiting for you to continue. You were not uncomfortable with silence; having lived on your own for several years at this point, you would say that you were rather used to silence. But there was something about his interactions, his way of conversing, that made you feel that he expected you to fill his silence with something of your own.
“I’ll fix your ship,” you offered.
“Don’t have the credits,” he said brusquely, dismissively, his tone cold.
You rolled your eyes. “You don’t have the credits yet,” you clarified for him. In your irritation, you grew bolder, more daring. You didn’t want to talk to him, you just wanted him out of your hair so you could tune out the world and fiddle with machine parts. “Mandalorians don’t just joyride from planet to planet,” you mused. “I imagine that whenever you finish your business here, you’ll have the credits to pay me. It’s not like you’d be able to fly away from this loading dock, anyways. Either way, you’ll have to square up.”
The Mandalorian cocked his head and took a step towards you. He paused, your breath hitching in your throat. You didn’t think much of threatening a customer, even if he was a Mandalorian. Stars, half the time you ever got paid was if you leveraged threats. This was the world you knew. It was harsh and unforgiving, but you had learned to scrape by. Nobody gets anything for free, no matter how much Beskar he’s wearing.
The Mandalorian continued to step towards you, until he towered over you, his form blocking the suns, giving you relief in his shade. His helmet hung mere inches from yours, and he exhaled slowly, painfully. Your eyes darted from his helmet to his broad shoulders, the width of his hands grasped around the kid. Maker… was his proximity turning you on?
“And what if I tell you to fuck off?” he asked, his voice low and threatening. “What if I just shoot you right here, rid Tatooine of another crooked mechanic?”
You moved closer to him, although you doubted that was even possible. He smelled tangy and musky, like old sweat, and you imagine you do too. His hands gripped around the baby, and you recognized his weakness. Before he could react, you pulled the blaster from your hip, pressing it against his throat, the soft spot of flesh in between where his helmet ended and his chest plate began.
“Your mistake is assuming I wouldn’t shoot first,” you said cooly. “Of assuming I wouldn’t shoot in front of the kid.”
You took several steps back out of his range and tucked the blaster back into the waistband of your pants. You lifted your hands up to him. “No, Mandalorian, I think you and I understand each other just fine. I’ll fix your ship, you’ll pay me, and whenever you retrieve what it is you came here for, you’ll be able to jump to hyperspace with less hassle.”
“And you’ll watch the kid.”
You restrained yourself from dropping your jaw open and your eyes narrow. Stars above, you just had your blaster pressed against his throat, and now he was going to leave his kid with you? You were never that keen on children, anyways, but it seemed that the little green gremlin was quickly working its way into the deal.
“That’s not part of my job.”
“It is now,” he said gruffly, his modulator thinly hiding his annoyance. “Might as well get my money’s worth out of it.” He pressed the kid into your arms, and you tried to disguise your quickly worsening mood at the idea of babysitting.
“Yeah, well, my rates just went up,” you said to him.
“Fine,” he replied. “But if anything happens to that kid, I won’t hesitate to shoot you like the Tatooine scum you are.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” you sneered, hoisting the kid onto your hip. Maker, how had this day gone from bad to worse? Now you were saddled with a decrepit ship and a useless, tottering green… well, you still weren’t sure what he was, but you were sure that he was only going to be a nuisance. And his father… father, or guardian? Whatever he was, he had only gotten under your skin since the minute he opened his mouth behind that damn helmet of his. No, both of them were more trouble than they were worth, that much was certain.
You saw how the Mandalorian lingered in the doorway of the ship hangar, pausing, his gaze seemingly directed at the kid in your arms. Your bad mood fractured for a small moment. A moment was all you needed.
“I’ll keep it safe, Mandalorian,” you said finally. “The ship and the kid.”
He nodded slowly, confirming. “I’ll be back in a few days to collect him. I expect the repairs will be done by then.”
“And I expect you’ll have your quarry by then.”
The Mandalorian paused, his posture stiffening. He seemed to forget that this was Tatooine, and bounty hunting was a way of life here. It had never occurred to him that you had been surrounded by his ilk all your life, that you knew a hunter when you saw one. And judging by the amount of Beskar he wore, you imagined he would bring in a quarry for a hefty reward. Certainly enough to pay for some ship repairs and a few days of babysitting.
Without another word, the Mandalorian pivoted on his heel, marching his way out of your hangar and onto the crowded streets of Mos Eisley. You watched him go, his cape swaying behind him, until he faded into the crowd. Your gaze then moved to the creature resting on your hip, his mouth opening and closing, gurgling sounds emerging in a tiny voice.
“Come on,” you said, finally. “Let’s get you out of the heat. Tell me, can you hold a glow-rod? I’ll make you useful, yet.”