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“What about this one?” There is a projected image of a planet in front of them, with a number of large cities identified with blinking lights.
The kid points, reaching out to touch the glowing image.
“Hmm, too many people,” Din says, pressing a button to rotate the map. “We need to lay low a little longer, just until we hear back from Greef about those trackers.”
“Ba.”
Looking down at the kid in his lap, Din raises an eyebrow beneath his helmet. “Huh.”
It’s the closest the kid has come to an actual word in the months they have been travelling together. Most of his vocalisations are coos or laughter or shrieks and Din had wondered more than once just how much the kid understood when he spoke.
The comms burst to life has they near the planet and Din returns his attention to the task of piloting the ship. He can figure out what ‘ba’ means later.
Ba as it turns out, is everything.
“Ba.” The loth cat bounds away before the kid can pull its tail.
“Ba.” The kid bangs his spoon against the counter while Din waits for his dinner to cool.
“Ba.” The insistent tugging on his pant leg draws Din’s attention down.
It’s not any easier to understand than his previous cooing, but it’s a start.
*
“They want our help dealing with a couple of raiders.” Din says, taking a seat beside the fire. “They can’t pay a lot, but we’re heading out that way anyway. What do you think kid?”
“No.” Din snatches the frog out of Grogu’s hands before the kid can put it in his mouth. “No, we don’t eat frogs.”
The kid looks down at his empty hands and then up at Din. “No.”
“That’s right, kiddo. Here,” Din hands over the cup of soup he’d mixed together from a ration bar and some water. “Eat.”
Looking at the soup and then up at Din, Grogu sits very suddenly in the dirt, his small hands balled into fists.
“No.”
“It’s good.” Pushing the cup closer to Grogu, Din makes a show of lifting the edge of his helmet and taking a long sip of his own soup. “See. Yum.”
“No.” The kid turns his head away, his long ears going flat—a sure sign of an impending tantrum if Din doesn’t get this under control soon.
With a long sigh, Din lets his head tip back against the tree he’s sitting against, his helmet thunking softly against the bark. He’s never felt more out of his depth than when he’s trying to get Grogu to eat something he just doesn’t want to eat. He is a bounty hunter; he has fought dangerous creatures but so far nothing has compared to a grumpy child.
Another frog jumps into their little campsite—the whole swampy planet is teaming with them—and Grogu perks up.
“Fine, eat your frogs,” Din says, making a shooing motion with his hand. “Just don’t come crying to me if they make you sick.”
*
“Dada.” The kid clambers up onto the Mandalorian’s knee, reaching for the container in his hands. Din fumbles, snatching it up before it drops, but spilling half the contents all over the floor.
“What did you say?”
“Dada.” The kid tugs on his sleeves, smiling his happy gummy smile. “Dadadada.”
“Who taught you that?” They’d stopped on Nevarro a few days ago, to deliver the latest bounties Din had captured. The kid was learning new words at an exponential rate and Din wouldn’t put it past Cara to teach Grogu that specific one.
It’s not the one Din would have taught him, not that he has any plans to teaching Grogu the other word anyway. His attachment to the kid is already… problematic, especially when he knows eventually, he’ll have to give the kid up. There’s no other choice, he needs to be with his people.
Din reaches for an old rag, dropping it on the floor and using his foot to sweep it through the puddle, holding the container out of reach from the kid who is staring at it with hungry eyes.
“This isn’t for eating,” he warns, scooping the kid up and standing so he can finish putting everything away one-handed before taking the kid to the galley. “Here.”
He hands the kid a stick of dried meat and puts him down on the counter. For a while there is silence but for the soft hum of the engines and the kid’s happy munching noises.
They’ve been travelling together for almost a year with no sign of any Jedi’s. No sign that there is anyone else out there to take the kid, to train him, raise him… love him. Din’s not going to stop searching, but perhaps, for the meantime, the word is okay.
“You know,” he says, slowly, testing out each word as it passes his lips. “You can call me buir, if- if you want. It, uh- mean’s the same thing.”
Grogu watches him, still gnawing on the treat, but his eyes are bright with curiosity.
“Can you say-”
“Buir!”
The word is mangled around the half-eaten stick, but it’s unmistakable.
“Yeah,” Din let’s out a breath. “Good job kiddo.”