Work Text:
A Perfect Night
The Mandalorian was a perceptive man. He was always cautious and observant, ever a watchful eye. His tendency for people-watching gave him advantages over others as he learned to read nuanced body language. And there were many things that he noticed about Corin.
The way his hair falls in his eyes as he eats. Or the way he musses at it when he wakes up and is still groggy from sleep.
How he chews at his bottom lip while he concentrates on cleaning his weapons or armor. The way he tended to favor his left side to take pressure off the deep healing wound across his abdomen, and the subsequent muscle aches in his shoulder that he tries to subtly rub away when he thinks no one is looking.
How his nose crinkles when he smiles or laughs. The way his eyes soften whenever he watches over the child. The way he steals glances at the Mandalorian and quickly turns away.
The ruthless defensive fighting style he was developing as he finally shrugged off the shackles of his Stormtrooper training and adapted to his new life on the run.
The way sunlight always made his skin glow golden, and moonlight brighten his eyes.
So he definitely didn't stare as Corin sat across from him at their makeshift campfire that evening, slowly turning the spit that held their dinner: a large rodent of some kind that he had hunted earlier in the day. Their fuel and provisions were running low and the closest town on this planet was through dense humid forest, so the two men had decided it would be wiser to hunker down for the night and head out in the morning.
"When I was young my father worked in the strategic planning division on board a star destroyer. Said everything in life always came down to luck." Corin broke the silence of contemplative twilight as he stared into the flames.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, that everything was either good luck or bad luck, and that luck can turn on a coin and either screw you over or grant you a blessing." Corin absently poked at the crackling firewood with a stick as he spoke before returning to rotate the meat.
"Hm." the Mandalorian shifted the child on his lap, who was entirely transfixed by the dancing flames. He had never been one to believe in luck or other metaphysical forces that drove people.
"And so far, I think I've had pretty good luck."
The admission sounded innocuous at first but the Mandalorian tilted his head minutely in question when Corin's words sunk in. He's no fool, but words have never been his strong suit. There was a deeper meaning at play here.
"What with you and the kid and everything. I would've died at the hands of those mercenaries if you hadn't saved my life. And all the other times too, the bandits with the Trooper helmet collections, all of it. You took me out of a life of apathy and showed me that there's more to it than following orders and surviving. You don't have to do the things you do for me but I'm grateful that you choose to anyway. I could be dropped off at any planet and yet you still let me tag along. What I'm trying to say is...thank you."
the Mandalorian sat up straighter, careful not to jostle the child. He hadn't expected that.
"You're welcome." The words came out stilted, awkward.
"Well, I guess that's all I really had to say. Just, thanks." Corin smiled and shrugged, the embers flicking pure gold across his features. the Mandalorian sat back, appraising his companion, and if his eyes lingered for too long on the soft slopes of Corin's mouth then no one was the wiser.
"I'm not 'letting you tag along'," he added when that phrase in particular stood out to him. "You're now a crucial part of the crew."
"Oh?" Corin was...surprised? Why was he surprised?
"More weapons is better than less." The justification sounded empty but it was true nonetheless. The fact that his companion was easy on the eyes was only a bonus, nothing more.
"That's true. Then in a way, I was good luck for you too. Right?"
"Right." He smiled behind the helmet as Corin slid the meat off the spit stick onto a tray and began to divide it into portions. He handed over two plates, one with larger cuts for the Mandalorian and one in small chunks for the child. He set his own plate to the side and balanced the other on his knee while the child grabbed at the meat and happily began chowing down. Corin made up his own plate and began to tuck in as well, knowing that the Mandalorian would wait until he's alone to eat his portion.
"You know how I told you that wilderness training was the only class I really paid attention to at the Academy? My uncle was an avid camper and trophy hunter. Took my father and I on hunting trips whenever he got time off. He stopped when I got accepted into the Academy but I still remember most of what he taught me. That's why it was too easy to bag this guy," he pointed his knife at the half-carved rodent roast before shoveling another forkful in his mouth. Earlier he had started the fire and jury-rigged a spit in record time as the Mandalorian made minor repairs to the RazorCrest, then only asked for the Mandalorian to stoke the fire while he was off hunting. He grabbed a blaster from the Mandalorian's weapons cache and promised that they'd have supper by sundown. The Mandalorian had protested this, of course, but Corin assured him that he knew what he was doing. And he did. Within an hour Corin had returned to camp with the rodent carcass in tow, along with a handful of wild herbs and roots he identified as safe to consume. He expertly skinned the animal and the pelt was hung to dry across one of the RazorCrest's hydraulic hatch struts. The Mandalorian was colored impressed by the man's competent ability to brave the wild.
"Maybe that gave me a leg-up on other Troopers but I didn't care. I always scored pretty well in marksmanship." Corin shrugged again and speared a roasted purple root with his fork.
"Don't undersell yourself. You're a damn good marksman. For a Stormtrooper." The compliment came easy to him. He had never doubted Corin's skill. Only his sanity or lack of self-preservation.
"You know why that stupid rumor exists? The guns jam like crazy!" Corin laughed between bites. "And the helmet HUD glitches in battle mode so the crosshairs skew almost constantly. Not that the Empire would ever admit it. But galactic-scale mass production plus cutting costs wherever possible equals subpar products every time."
"The armor too," the Mandalorian added. He sent up a quick prayer of thanks that his helmet HUD never glitched.
"Yes!" The joyful sound of Corin's laughter was like a balm to the Mandalorian's heart.
"Why are you talking so much?" The blunt question wasn't meant to be rude or accusatory; simply curious. He had never known the man to be so talkative, despite his jovial attitude. Now that they were sat down to eat (well, Corin and the child, at least) he was suddenly full of conversation.
"Am I?" Corin asked bashfully and took another bite to slow himself down. "I'm sorry. Do you want me to stop?"
"No. If you wish to speak, then continue."
"Okay," he absently pushed around some herbs with his fork before continuing. "Mealtime and late-night were often the only free social times we had so the canteen was the absolute hub of conversation and scuttlebutt. I guess I got used to talking a lot during meals. We also had a rotation schedule of what squadron would cook each week and I always looked forward to my squad's week. A change of pace, learning new skills. Although not all squads were good cooks, mind you! Oh, you could hear the complaints about Lamda Squadron's cooking before they even reported in to the kitchen!" Corin laughed at his own joke but stopped when the Mandalorian didn't laugh along. The inexpressive helmet was canted to the side in a clear picture of confusion. Or perhaps another emotion entirely, but Corin couldn't discern that.
"What? Did you think we just sat around eating ration packets for months on end? Now that would be cruelty beyond the Empire's power!"
Their conversation dwindled as twilight gave way to night. The stars unfurled in unknown constellations and patterns that Corin could only barely recognize. The two moons and their smaller satellites glowed brightly as the fire smoldered low. A warm breeze danced through the forest behind their little encampment and blew the smoke and embers off into the night air. In short, Corin thought it was a perfect night.
Having finished its meal, the child now began to stir; nuzzling deeper into the Mandalorian's lap and flicking its ears contentedly. The two men looked at each other then down at the precious bundle of swaddling. Corin smiled.
"Sleepy?" The Mandalorian ran a gloved finger across a soft green ear and scooped the child up in his arms. Corin watched in wonder as the bounty hunter began to slowly rock the child. He knew the man was affectionate towards the child but he had never been so openly willing to show that tenderness in front of Corin.
And then he began to sing.
From what little Corin has heard of the Mandalorian's language, this song sounded nothing like it. Similarly beautiful in its novelty as Corin only ever learned Basic, but definitely not the same language. Perhaps his culture has a different dialect for songs?
Corin leaned back and listened, closing his eyes to the field of stars spread above them. The Mandalorian's voice was soft and deep, intoning here and there to perhaps emphasize certain phrases of the song. Even through the subtle vocal filter of the helmet, Corin could hear the obvious smile in his voice and the love he felt for the child. When the song was done and the child was fast asleep in the Mandalorian's arms, Corin sat up.
"That's a beautiful lullaby. Is it from your people?" He made sure to keep his voice low so as to not wake the child. The Mandalorian looked down at the at the child and it snuffled in its sleep before settling once more.
"No, and yes. It's not a song in Mando'a, but it is my first language. My mother would sing it to me as a boy. Before…" he trailed off.
Before droids taller than buildings descend and rained hellfire upon his sleepy town. Before chaos, explosions, and fear gripped his heart, too young to process what was happening but old enough to remember. Remember the fear. Remember how he sang the lullaby to himself, shivering in terror and tucked up in that dark cellar, before a gloved hand and a blue beskar helmet reached out to him.
"...It's always been a source of comfort to me." He finally concluded.
"I think it works beautifully." Corin stood up from his spot and stretched, and the Mandalorian definitely did not fixate on the strip of skin that showed at his hips when his shirt raised up with his arms. Corin walked around the dying bonfire and reached out for the child.
"I'll set him down to bed. I'm ready to pass out." He yawned as the Mandalorian gently relinquished the child into Corin's awaiting arms. "You can eat now. I'll be in the ship." The Mandalorian nodded.
"Goodnight," he called to Corin's retreating back.
"Night," he responded.
The Mandalorian waited until he couldn't hear Corin's footsteps any longer, then lifted the helmet off his head and set it down on the grass beside him. He rubbed a hand across his face and dropped his head back to look up at the stars. How had Corin wormed his way into his heart so easily? He hadn't sung that lullaby since he was a Foundling in need of comfort on cold, quiet nights. And yet he had felt the need to share it with him and the child.
The song described a great but foolish warrior who fell in love with a river. He would visit the river every day and drink in her cold water, hunt and bless the fish she provided him, bathe himself in her clear and clean rapids. But when the winter came the river froze over and the warrior could not drink nor fish nor bathe from her. He curses the river for spurning him and wanders elsewhere for love. When the warrior returns in springtime he finds the river now polluted by the power plant that had been built on the shore in his absence, and all the fish and clear water she had provided was gone. He curses himself for his foolishness and refusal to defend what he loves when times became tough. The lullaby was a moral, and one he had always taken to heart: defend what you love at all costs, for love is rare and pure.
He picked up his plate of meat and tucked in. While no longer hot from the fire the meat was tender and savory, the herbs and roots that Corin had found complimented well with the otherwise gamey texture. He smiled. He had planned to eat a ration packet and be done with it, but Corin had gone out and hunted for them with no protest. Happily, even.
And Corin really wasn't a bad cook.
Maybe he'll be able to learn how to make more than reheated ration packets.
Maybe with a little luck.