Chapter Text
Once, when you were a child and still had your sight, you had fallen from a window of a second story and broke your arm in a horrible way. It had taken months to heal, the bones having nearly shattered on impact. It still sometimes ached in the cold, as if the injury hadn’t completely healed and the delicate bones of your right limb were trying to knit themselves together again. You doubted the veracity of the feeling, because feelings are so very often wrong , but having the chip removed from your body and the lost feeling it left behind was truer than anything else you’d ever felt.
It was as if the tiny bit of wiring and metal had held a part of you inside it, rather than the other way around. Once it was removed and the small incision was closed, you felt bereft. You expected the opposite, and as you listened to tools clinking quietly and the wind whistling outside the tent, melancholy threatened to overtake you.
Freedom came at the price of abandoning the familiar. You could not ( would not) be ungrateful, but there was something to be said for being anchored, for knowing what would come next. Now you were left floating and unsure of the future, and you blinked away a small tear.
Kuiil, the abrupt but not unkind Uganaught with steady hands, had not said much during the short duration of the procedure. There was no pain, and you barely felt him work, even when he made the incision at the base of your neck. But what he did say left you softened and comforted.
“I worked three human lifetimes to free myself from servitude,” he said, resting one hand on your shoulder as you kept your head bowed forward. You didn’t feel as if you were placing your life in someone’s hands. In fact, seated on the stool with your hair pulled forward on either side of your face, you thought of your mother, braiding your hair by the fire when you were a girl. “It is not an easy path.”
Your mouth felt dry. “There are others who have known more cruelty than me.”
Entire races and clans had been subjected to atrocities, and you felt suddenly small and undeserving of the kindness being performed. Why were you chosen, out of a cantina full of others who were subjected to unkindness? You had been the only slave, but you could not think of a good enough reason the Mandalorian would ask for you.
“Suffering does not judge its hosts,” Kuiil said, turning your shoulder so you were angled better as he worked. “The pain of another does not diminish your own.”
You had nothing to say to that, and you sat in humble silence. Something told you he had that effect on people. He placed a small bandage at the back of your neck, and when he deemed it finished, you gently pushed your hair back over both shoulders. Yes, that odd feeling was there, in your head, like you’d lost something important and couldn’t quite remember what it was.
Turning on the stool, you inclined your head down, only barely able to make out the shape of your new acquaintance. “Thank you, Kuiil. I owe you a great debt for this.”
“You do not. I have spoken.”
A gentle frown changed your otherwise placid features, but you were distracted by a quiet baritone asking from under a helmet, “How do you feel?”
The question, and the presence of the Mandalorian, startled you. You had not thought he was inside the tent, having retrieved a crate of some kind and moving outside into the night air. But now, he seemed very close, and you considered the question, unsure how to form a response.
“Lighter,” you finally said, deciding it to be the closest to the truth.
“That thing doesn’t have a tracking code on it, right?” the Mandalorian asked, his voice directed towards the Uganaught. You went to touch the back of your neck where the bandage lay, stiff and thick with gauze, but a leather glove caught your hand and pushed it back down.
It surprised you so much your mouth dropped open.
“It no longer receives a signal. It is an old model of transmitter,” Kuiil said, coming back towards you and pressing the small glass and wire bit into your hand. “They were outlawed, but not impossible to find.”
Your fingers turned the small implant over, frowning more in curiosity.
“Are you now looking for two homes? A second clan to locate?” Kuiil asked, moving around the tent once more. Did he get visitors often, out in what felt like the middle of nowhere? “One for the child and one for your companion?”
You slipped the dead transmitter into your pocket and let your hands rest in your lap, perking up at the mention of the child.
“What child?”
There is a long sigh of annoyance from the Mandalorian who now leans against the work bench you sit beside. “No. Just the one. She is going to care for the child on my ship.”
As if choosing now to be the most opportune time, a docile coo floated into the tent, and you recognized such a sound. What you weren’t expecting was such a small shadow-so tiny , it didn’t even reach your knee!-to waddle up to you and fall against your leg. Your heart squeezed painfully, and you looked down to try and make out more of it in the dim lighting of the tent, reaching out a hand.
The child was not human, you knew immediately. Two small hands with only three fingers on each took hold of your pointer and middle digits, squeezing gently and gurgling happily at the attention. You waited, letting the baby tug your hand and sniff your palm. He had big eyes, you thought, when he pressed his face into your hand, and a small nose. It was when you reached down with your other hand to pick him up that you noticed something else.
“Oh my,” you laughed, touching two large petal shaped ears. They perked up and down as you stroked them, and he cooed again if trying to tell you he appreciated the doting. You found yourself smiling at the sweet noises the baby made, patting at your robes and nuzzling against your arm.
“It is a good choice,” Kuiil finally said. You’d almost forgotten that he and the Mandalorian were even there. “Now you won’t be remiss when you leave him alone. As you are often wont to do.”
Another long sigh forced its way through the modulator, and you frowned, looking up towards the sound. “You leave your son alone? That’s very unwise.”
The Mandalorian grunts sharply, “Tell me about it.”
You sense a story-or perhaps more than a few-behind the words, but the child trills up at you, tugging your hair playfully.
“Don’t do that,” the Mandalorian scolds with a huff, sounding more concerned than annoyed. You suspect he’s never cared for a child before.
“He’s only a baby. He just wants to play,” you say patiently, leaning down until your brow brushes the top of his fuzzy head. It tickles against your skin, and you smile when he burbles curiously, brushing your cheeks with tiny fists grasping bits of your hair. “What is his name?”
There’s a definitive pause before the Mandalorian says, “He hasn’t got one.”
“Oh,” you murmur, lifting him up more securely in your arms. Some cultures did not name their young when they were born, you knew. Was that...a Mandalorian edict? You were interested, but it felt too personal to ask such a thing. The child is still touching your chin and jaw, fascinated with you. “I have not cared for children in some time,” you confess, frowning softly. “Though it’s not exactly something you forget.”
Kuiil has turned away, because he sounds farther than you remembered. “In your life, before now?”
You think to the large estate you served on, before the cantina owner bought you. “Human children, yes,” you admitted, inclining your head towards the child. You could swaddle babies, feed them and keep them happy-it felt so easy, back then, when you had more to smile about. Now, you felt the child you held was the reason for your smile, and it gave you an odd sense of vertigo, holding such innocence against your chest. “I doubt there’s many inconsistencies.”
“Just try to keep him away from frogs,” the child’s guardian muttered, making you raise an eyebrow.
“It is a good choice,” Kuiil repeated, moving dishes and rattling cups. His voice was so reassuring, and even though you weren’t entirely sure what he was referring to, you knew him to be true. It reminded you of the kind smile of an older woman with silver hair, more elegant than the moon that you had left behind. “Now he will never be alone.”
It made you wonder, much later, who he was truly speaking of.
“Come on, let’s go for a little walk,” you tell the baby, feeling restless and confused after your procedure. You are thankful neither man chose to follow, because your throat is growing a bit sore from talking. Or perhaps it’s just tight from swallowing down so much feeling .
You follow the sounds of animals, your pace lazy and purposeless. The child coos with content, and you tilt your head when he begins to wriggle at the sound of frogs nearby. You had not expected to be given employment, to be of use . As dizzying as your liberation left you, this new purpose gave you a stronger spine. You stood taller, your hands sure once again.
This you knew how to do. To be kind, to care for someone. This you were good at.
Had the Mandalorian known that? You frown in thought, shifting the child to your side before slipping your hand into the pocket of your robe. The trigger he’d given you sat heavy in your palm now, connected to nothing and no one. You glanced down at the child, who you could sense staring up at you.
Dropping the small device, you bring your heel down hard, breaking it against the dusty earth. It shattered with a satisfying crack, and you swayed the baby in your arms gently. “I knew a baby as sweet as you, once,” you tell him softly, turning your path closer to the sounds of animals. There were snorts and tired grunts, and you wondered what they could be. Some kind of cattle, perhaps. “But that was a long time ago.”
Your boot bumped the edge of a pen, and you reached out with your hand to follow the perimeter of it. The baby in your memory had not lived to see its first year, sickly and weak, and you hug the child a little closer. The sadness you had felt, been nearly sick with it, had found you crying into the lap of your own guardian.
You hum as you walk, a gentle sway that hits the beat of the melody you sing wordlessly. The baby slows his wriggling even as the frogs chirp into the night air, and by the time you’ve rounded the animal pen, you’re holding a deeply sleeping infant.
Bootsteps crunch at the rocky terrain as they approach you, and you tilt your head up towards the Mandalorian. Footfalls were easy identifiers for you, nearly as unique as a fingerprint. “Kuiil has made you some food,” he says, his modulator making his words seem even more hushed. He takes a few more steps, and you feel leather gloves gently slipping around the baby’s tiny form, lifting him from your arms.
There’s a sudden chill where he’d cuddled into your embrace, and you let your arms drop to your sides. “That’s very kind of him.”
“He likes you.” The words are said with a small amount of wonder, and you bow your head, following him as he turns toward the Uganaught’s tent.
“I like him, too.”
The Mandalorian lets you pass him, but you don’t miss the way he murmurs with a softened pride, “Everyone does.”
You realize, then, that you were not speaking of Kuiil, and you can’t help but blush.
The food is humble, warm, and filling, and even though you had slept on the ship, you feel your eyes begin to grow heavy. The Uganaught and Mandalorian speak quietly about upgrades and repairs his ship requires, and you stand and carefully gather your dishes, taking them to the counter. It only takes you a moment to find a sink to clean them in, hands smoothing over different canisters and utensils. When you are finished, you’re aware the conversation behind you has stopped.
“Where is the child?” you ask, returning to your seat.
As an answer, you feel your employer shift across from you until something gently bumps your arm. You blink, holding a hand out to tentatively find a smooth surface, dome in shape and floating beside you. Kuiil shows you how to open the pram manually, should the child’s guardian be away, and explains how it’s programmed to his communicator to follow.
You touch the closed lid of the pram, wondering how on earth it all came to be. “You said you’re looking for the child’s family. So you are not…?”
There’s a frigid silence across the table for a beat, but then you hear a sharp thump and answering grunt. When he spoke, the warrior’s voice was low and guarded. “By creed, until it is of age or reunited with its own kind, it is in my care.”
There’s an ache in your chest when he speaks, not from the words themselves, but the tone is that of a father. You can remember your own, speaking that way once, a mixture of valiance and fear that came with loving someone so deeply.
Kuiil began to tell you the story of how he came upon the Mandalorian, his search as a bounty hunter for the asset that he came to protect. It sounded like a story, something someone would make up to entertain small children near a fireside, and you were just as captivated by it as a little one would be.
But a yawn that you tried to force down brought the tale to an abrupt end.
“You must rest,” the Uganaught told you sternly, standing from the table.
A frown curved your face, and you grumbled, “I slept already-”
“Show her to the cot in the back, since you have nothing else to do,” Kuiil threw over his shoulder to the seated warrior, and you had to fight a smile at the answering grunt. The Mandalorian was not used to being bossed about, that much was obvious, but it was both amusing and endearing to see him follow orders from the Uganaught so succinctly.
A gentle shift of armor and fabric brought him to your side, and you stood up and followed the few paces deeper into the tent where it was nearly black with darkness. You reached out a hand, hoping to find something stable to tell you where you were.
“To your right.”
You sat down gently, finding the mattress less comfortable than the bunk on the ship. Though, you weren’t sure you could call that one comfortable either. Your body was quickly sinking into exhaustion, though, and you moved until you lay back, folding your hands primly. You’d assumed at that point that your employer had removed himself, but then you heard a deep sigh as he plopped down beside the cot on the ground.
“W-What are you doing?”
There was a pause before he answered with a tired mutter. “I’m going to sleep.”
You turned onto your side, gauging where he lay on the floor just beside the cot. You tilted your head over the side, wishing you could make out his shape. “Don’t you want a pillow? Or a blanket?”
“Go to sleep.”
“But where’s the baby?”
“Sleeping.” He sounded more tired than you felt, but he somehow still managed to work a bit of irritation into his tone.
“I mean-”
There was a louder, gruffer sigh this time. “If he wakes up, you’ll know. Now be quiet.”
He was certainly right about that. You weren’t sure how long you’d been asleep, but it felt like an awfully long time. Your eyes fluttered open when you felt something tickling your hand, which hung off the side of the cot. Morning light seemed to wash the tent of the darkness from the night before, and you made out the tiny green creature looking up at you, holding your hand. He stood balanced on the chest plate of his softly snoring guardian. The baby cooed and bumped his head against your arm, and you found yourself smiling, cheek pressed to the edge of the cot.
“Hello,” you whisper, voice hoarse but feeling renewed. Sometime in the night, confusion and uncertainty disappeared and were replaced with an odd peace. You had a place now, a purpose, and it was tugging on your sleeve and gurgling happily.
Shifting as quietly as you could, you leaned down and picked the baby up, bringing him up onto the cot with you. Several thoughts fluttered through your mind as you woke, mostly wondering what to feed the little one currently crawling along your bed, puffing sweetly as he explored the space.
Once you were fully awake, you shifted on the cot just enough to step over the Mandalorian. You froze when his breathing hitched, afraid you’d woken him up. The floor couldn’t be comfortable, but as a warrior, you suspected sleep on the floor was probably better than none at all. You waited, listening for the sound of a stern reprimand, but instead, after another moment, his gentle breathing through the modulator had you relaxing.
Before you left, you reached for the blanket on the cot, tugging it until it fell over the armored guardian on the floor. You tiptoed with the baby through the tent, only bouncing him to make him giggle once you’d stepped outside. In the bright light of the day, you could roughly make out the animal pen where you could see movement.
“Good morning,” you called to Kuiil, making your way over. The Uganaught was throwing bushels over the fence, and you could make out the larger- much larger -animals on the other side crowding to get their fair share. “I think it’s time for his breakfast. He woke me up. May I help you?”
“The child is an early riser,” Kuiil said, throwing another bushel of all manner of plants over the fence. Each one was bound with twine and held various types of desert flora. It landed on the ground before being torn apart by one of the animals who chomped at the herbs and shrubs loudly. You set the baby down beside you before kneeling down and grabbing one of the many groupings, tossing it over. “Where is his father?”
“Still sleeping. He seemed like he might need it.”
“Growing slow in his old age,” Kuiil snorted, and you smiled at his chastisement, picking up another bushel. “But sleep in safety is the most restorative.”
You both worked in quiet for a while, the baby waddling over to lean against the fence just beside you to watch the large beasts eat. Kuiil described the blurrgs, even going on to tell you how he’d caught and tamed his first when he came to Avarla-7 to become a vapor farmer. By the time you were finished feeding the blurrg, you boasted a light sheen of sweat, and he sent you back to the tent with instructions on where to find bread and meat for the baby.
The little one toddled beside you, and you could feel his tiny claw holding onto the skirts of your robes. You measured your steps, making sure you didn’t pass him, and by the time you made it into the tent, the Mandalorian was awake.
Unfortunately, he seemed to have just woken up, because he spun around with such violence you gasped and stumbled back a step, overturning the baby. Immediately, the child fell over with a whimper.
“Oh, no, it’s alright,” you whispered, kneeling down quickly to gather him into your arms. The little noises he made as he tugged at your robe made your heart squeeze. “I’m sorry, please don’t cry.”
“I-Is he okay?” The worry in the Mandalorian’s voice touched you in a way you hadn’t experienced before, and when he stepped closer, you had to breathe through the shivery feeling climbing up your back to focus on the baby in your arms.
“I think so. Just startled,” you murmur, tracing the furrow on the child’s brow as he whimpered. You curved your index finger and bumped your knuckle against his mouth, smiling when he immediately began nibbling. “And hungry.”
“Oh.” The Mandalorian seemed to radiate determination, and he swung around as if on a mission.
You moved towards the table, sitting down gently, and gave soft directions where Kuiil said he kept the fresh bread and cured meat. You listened to the sounds of dishes and knives clanking about, and when the child’s guardian approached you, he set a plate by your elbow on the table.
“Look at that,” you coo to the baby, letting him sit upright in your lap. He was happy to feed himself, you found, and the sounds of his quiet munching eased your worry. Your fingers drifted over the plate, barely hovering over the food, and you incline your head. “This is a lot for such a little thing.”
“It’s for you, too,” he murmured, sitting across from you.
That surprised you, and you felt once more humbled by the kindness. A thought occurred to you, imagining his helmet and the creed he has sworn. “And have you eaten?” you ask, gently tearing off bites of the bread and eating them. He’d put butter on it, too, and it tasted sweet melting on your tongue.
“Yes.”
The three of you sit in comfortable silence, you eating bread and butter while the child eats what seem to be diced cubes of meat. A rather loud little belch signals he’s finished, and you cover your mouth to squash the giggle. You wonder if the Mandalorian smiles or laughs, if he watches the child with fondness.
He must , you decide, as he takes the plate away.
It is nearly midday by the time you give your goodbyes to Kuiil. The child sits, perched in his pram while the Uganaught pats his head between his ears. When he turns to you, you offer your hand and smile when he takes it.
“Thank you, for everything.” You aren’t sure when the tears pricked your eyes, but you blink them away as hard as you can so they won’t fall when you press a kiss to his cheek.
Kuiil shifts, squeezing your hand before patting it with his other. “Should you grow tired of this Mandalorian, you will always have a place here.”
The two males did not say anything to one another, but you didn’t miss the way the armored warrior inclined his head in deference to his friend. For they were friends, you knew now.
The warmth blooming in your breast left you glowing, even long after you departed towards the Razor Crest. It was a quiet walk, which you were grateful for, mulling over the events of the last day. You waited as the ramp lowered, the hatch opening on the ship, but the Mandalorian suddenly stopped you with a hand.
His other made a sweeping motion, and you could make out the dim outline of the pram being shuttled up the ramp. He turned to you, then, two fingers hooking on the belt slung around his hips that held weapons.
“Before we do this,” he says evenly, voice low and guarded. “I need to know something.”
Your eyebrows went up, heart doubling in pace. You clasped your hands in front of you, nodding once. “Alright.”
“Who are you loyal to?”
The question threw you, and you felt your mouth opening and closing as you grasped for something to say. The afternoon breeze ruffled his cape and your robe, and those were the only sounds in all the world, it seemed. When he didn’t qualify with anything, you shook your head.
“I don’t understand.”
He stepped closer, and you could see the gleam of the sun on his beskar chestplate. It wasn’t threatening, but it was intimidating. You couldn’t help it when you took a step backward. “Your accent betrays you,” the Mandalorian finally said after a long moment. “Kuiil noticed it, too. The way you speak...you’re gently bred. Educated. The planet you must have come from was full of the Empire.”
The pieces began to fall into place as his words nicked you. “Oh.”
He shifted, taking another step closer, but this time you didn’t back away. “I need to know the truth of you before I let you near the child.”
“I’ve already been near him,” you point out weakly.
“Alone.”
A sigh escapes you, and you nod. “Very well,” you murmur, thoughtful. You consider what to tell him, how to word the truth without garnering pity or suspicion. “My loyalty was bought when I was a child, as a slave to a household of an Imperial family. They...that is, there were no children.” When he said nothing, you flexed your fingers. “She could not…”
“So you are a foundling?”
You raised your eyes at the softness of his tone, surprised. “They killed my family,” you said, just as softly, trying to imagine your mother and father. Their faces were almost gone from your memory. “But I was young, taken to be a handmaiden for the Imperial’s wife. She wanted a daughter, more than a servant.”
The revelation didn’t seem to comfort him much, but you weren’t trying to do that. The truth is what he wanted, wasn’t it? You think for a long moment, whether or not to tell him everything. Was it necessary? Would he care ?
“The Empire has a bounty on me and the child,” he finally told you, tilting his head. “You should know that I will not hesitate to protect him, no matter the cost.”
His implication could not have been louder if he’d screamed it. Then again, you already understood your place and purpose if you were to board his ship, so it was easy to take in.
“You should know, then, that I would not stop you.” The wind blew a bit more, causing your hair to float over your shoulder. Your fingers flexed, and you dropped your hands to your sides. “I would not see another child fall into the hands of the Empire from bloodshed.”
The silence that fell between you was devoid of the previous tension. Before you can question if you’ve passed this test of his, you feel the leather clad fingers of his hand gently take one of your own, and you suck in a breath. “Careful,” he murmurs, stepping aside so you can follow him up the ramp. “It’s a steep walk up.”