Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first time Cara had been in a Mandalorian covert she had been pretty freaked out, to say the least. Her friend was half-dead, they were on the run from a horde of imps, and the sewer tunnel they entered had been piled with helmets like severed heads. She was a little nervous on this, the second time, as well but for very different reasons.

“Are you sure they’ll let me in?” she asked.

“Yes,” her friend said solidly. Would it kill him to elaborate on something for once in his life?

“I don’t need to cover my face?”

“No. That’s required only of those who have sworn the Creed.” She watched his helmet bob as he descended the stairs slightly in front of her. He seemed about as relaxed as he ever did, as far as she could tell. The kid was quiet in the bag slung at his hip.

A different mission had brought them to this isolated planet. The New Republic had reached out to Cara and she had contacted Mando for his help. But when they happened upon the information that a covert was located on-planet, he had insisted on searching it out.

They’d completed her task for the New Republic first, and he had operated with the same efficiency as ever. But Cara had been able to tell somehow that he was just itching to be done with it and find his people.

So here they were, walking down a nondescript set of stone stairs that curved into shadows. The wooden door at the bottom, though dingy and unassuming, was sturdy. Mando turned the knob and the door opened. He glanced behind Cara to the stairs before slipping inside. She followed.

They stood in a small, shadowy room. There were some crates pushed against the walls, and Cara got the suspicion they were there only for decoration. Camouflage. There was a metal door set in the opposite wall. He crossed the room and knocked on it.

After a brief moment of silence a voice answered from the other side. They called out something in a language Cara didn’t know. Mando answered back in the same tongue. There were sounds of metal shifting and clanking from what Cara assumed was a series of locks being disengaged. Then the door slid open.

Two Mandalorians stood on the other side. They nodded to Mando and then looked over to her. One’s helmet tilted in a way she read as confusion. “This is a friend of mine,” Mando said, gesturing to her with his head.

“We don’t get many non-Mandalorians here,” the shorter guard said. Their helmet was painted mostly blue. “Do you vouch for her?”

“Yes,” her friend answered without hesitation. She found it surprisingly touching.

“Then, welcome,” the guard said, and both nodded to her. They stepped aside to let them through the door. “Take the first right, and then a left. You’ll see the archway.” Mando thanked them, and Cara nodded back as she crossed the threshold.

There was a dimly-lit stone hallway beyond them. Like the stairs outside, this place seemed old and worn but well-maintained. Mando strode forward ahead of her. Cara wouldn’t go so far as to say he was rushing, but there was a quickness to his step. The faint sound of distant conversation grew louder as they moved down the hallways.

They came upon an archway just as the guard had indicated. The faded cloth hanging across it had likely once been red. The bustling sounds of overlapping voices were much clearer here, just on the other side of that curtain. Mando held it aside for her to pass through, and then ducked in behind her.

Up until this point, Cara could have counted the number of Mandos she’d met on one hand. Well, maybe two hands if she included the guards at the front. But now she stood looking at a small metal-clad crowd, some gathered in clumps to talk, others moving through on some errand or another. The familiar shapes of armor and helmet were everywhere, though some of the people had their helmets tucked under their arms as they talked. Was her friend’s way of living the norm for Mandalorians, or was Bo-Katan’s?

Mando moved easily through them, his head sweeping back and forth as he looked around. Cara drew far more attention. Heads turned to follow her, but at least the looks she saw on exposed faces were curious and not hostile. She nodded to some as she passed, and that seemed to do it. Most inclined their heads back and then returned to their business.

The room they were in seemed to be a large antechamber of sorts, with various other tunnels branching off from along its walls. It was being used as a communal space, and people flowed steadily in and out of the adjoining halls.

Cara caught up to Mando near the back of the room. He’d stopped walking, but his head was still turning to scan the space. “What are you looking for?” she asked.

“Anyone I recognize.”

“From Nevarro?”

He nodded.

Cara was reminded again of their flight through the sewers. The tall pile of helmets his people would never have removed alive. The Armorer stating obliquely that some of them may have escaped off-world. What had happened to Alderaan was a delicate scab in Cara’s mind: it bled every time she touched it. So she hadn’t brought the loss of his Covert up with him, just as he didn’t mention Alderaan with her. They weren’t that sort of people.

But the cracks in that scab were opening as she watched her friend search the crowd for someone familiar. How vividly she remembered those first terrible weeks after news of the destruction, everyone striving desperately to make contact with someone they knew from home, hoping against hope that your loved ones had happened to be off-planet…

Her heart was beginning to thud in her chest. Cara forced herself to breathe. She couldn’t let herself go down that path. Thinking about it now changed nothing. Do something productive. Help him look. Get out of your head.

“How will we recognize them if--” she started to ask, and then a young voice called:

“Beroya!” Mando’s head snapped towards the sound. A cluster of children scampered out of one of the nearby hallways. The one in front waved enthusiastically. The helmet perched atop their head looked too big for their narrow shoulders.

Mando dropped down to one knee as the little gaggle surrounded him. Some of the kids wore helmets and some did not. The only one who wore a helmet in that clear Mandalorian style was the tallest and gangliest of the bunch. Most of the kids talked excitedly, their chatter overlapping. One small girl held silently to the edge of Mando’s cloak.

“ --our beroya from our old Covert!”

“--you bring us anything?”

“--never believe what’s happened--”

“--take off their helmets but my--”

“Hang on, hang on,” Mando said firmly, and the chatter died down. Cara’s head was spinning a bit. “How many of the young ones from the Nevarro covert got out?”

“All of us,” answered the gangly one.

Cara saw Mando’s frame relax. “Good,” he said, and his voice was thick with emotion through his vocoder. “And adults?”

“Some of them are here too,” the youth answered again. “I forget how many exactly. They’re around somewhere.” He shrugged.

“Thank you,” Mando said, as earnestly as always. “And I see you’ve sworn the Creed.” He held out a hand for the young teenager to grasp in a firm shake. The kid’s chest and shoulders puffed with pride. So that must be why he had the official Mandalorian helmet, unlike the other kids.

“Did you bring us anything?” a younger child asked. They tugged at the elbow of Mando’s sleeve.

“Not this time.” He shook his head. “But I did bring some people for you to meet.” He shifted around the bag at his hip and carefully removed the child, who had been taking everything in with silent interest. He perched the kid on his knee. “This is my foundling.” He gestured to Cara. “And this is my friend, Cara.”

Some of the kids gathered around the child to greet him and exclaim over his cuteness. The kid seemed to enjoy the attention. His ears twitched excitedly. The other children pivoted towards Cara, and before she knew it she was surrounded by a noisy waist-high flock.

“Do you wish you had Mandalorian armor?” one asked with bald curiosity.

“Yeah, how do you protect your head?”

“Is that a tattoo? Can I get one?”

“Are you and our beroya best friends? That’s Zek, and he’s my best friend.”

Cara was overwhelmed. “Uh…” she started.

A hulking figure emerged from one of the hallways. They stood at least a head taller than nearly all the other Mandalorians present. Their broad armor was painted mostly in dark blue. Mando’s visor ratcheted towards them, and she saw some of the tension return to his frame. He stood, holding the child in his arms. The silent little girl still clung to his cloak.

“I think you’re bombarding our guest,” the giant Mandalorian said to the children, a hint of humor in his voice. “Let her get her bearings. Go off and play. There will be time for questions later.”

There were some whines of protest from the kids, but they allowed themselves to be shooed away. Some of them waved goodbye to Mando’s kid, who waved back with one of his tiny green hands. The scrawny teen in the official helmet very gently extricated the solemn little girl from Mando’s cloak and led her away by the hand.

Cara breathed in relief. She nodded to the Mandalorian in thanks, and he inclined his head back. Then his visor turned back to Mando, who was standing very still. The child was held in his arms facing outwards. The baby made one of his gurgly noises up at the stranger.

“So this is the foundling?” the Mandalorian asked. He reached a large gloved hand slowly towards the kid. The child wrapped his little claws around one finger and studied it, cooing.

One quick nod of Mando’s head. “That’s right.” He was still holding himself extremely still. Oh, there was some sort of history between these two, Cara could smell it. The only other time she’d seen Mando motionless in this particular way--as if he were being pulled into orbit around another person yet was one sudden noise away from bolting--had been on Sorgan with Omera.

The tall Mando leaned in close, his voice lowering. Cara glanced away, acting as if she were studying the room and definitely not eavesdropping. “I never got a chance to apologize,” she heard him say.

She saw her friend shake his head in her peripheral vision. His voice was quiet. “--more than made up for it by helping me escape Nevarro with the kid, risking the whole Covert…”

“All of us knew the risk. We would have done it for anyone to help a foundling, and you would have too. But I let my anger get the best of me again, and for that I am sorry. I never should have tried to remove your helmet--”

Cara was still doing her best to feign deafness, but felt her eyebrows jump in surprise. She could only imagine the sort of insult trying to remove another Mandalorian’s helmet would be. What had he done to piss this guy off?

Mando shook his head again. “Consider it forgotten. I understand.”

They were already standing quite near, heads angled together in private conversation despite the crowded room. Cara watched from the corner of her eye as the blue Mandalorian closed the distance a half-step further. The child was held close between their two armored chests, the only buffer of space between them. His little wrinkled head was bent upward, watching the two Mandalorians with the same curiosity Cara felt.

“Thank you,” the big one said, so softly she barely heard it. Then he leaned his head down until the foreheads of their helmets touched. There was the gentle clink of metal on metal. They held it for a long moment. She thought she saw her friend release a sigh, but it was hard to tell under the armor.

It was a surprisingly tender, intimate gesture. Mando so rarely let anyone but the child enter his personal space. Cara’s cheeks felt a bit warm, as though she had walked in on two people kissing. Finally the taller one lifted his head and stepped back again. Mando’s helmet tilted back down. She hadn’t even realized he had angled his own face up into the gesture.

“How many of the adults escaped?” Mando asked, voice still barely loud enough for her to hear.

“Nineteen,” the big one answered. “They’ll be pleased to see you.”

Mando said something that Cara didn’t catch.

“I told you, we all knew what it meant to protect the foundling. This is the Way.”

“This is the Way,” Mando responded. It seemed to bolster something in him. The blue one clapped him on the shoulder and they shifted apart, the moment ending and turning casual.

“We’ve been rude,” the big Mando said, hand opening towards Cara. His voice was louder, meant for her to hear. “Introduce me to your friend.”

Mando stepped back over to her, and the other followed. The baby blinked happily at her from Mando’s arms. “This is Cara Dune,” he said. “She’s a very capable warrior.” She got the sense that he had just paid her another great compliment in that understated way of his.

She and the huge blue Mandalorian shared a firm handshake. Damn, he seemed even bigger up close. “And what do I call you?” she asked, when it became clear that no one was handing out a name in return. These people truly knew how to make secrecy a way of life.

She could hear the smile in his voice. “Call me Paz.”

Chapter Text

Paz led them deeper into the network of tunnels. “Hey, what was that word the kids called you? Baro--?” she asked as they walked.

“Beroya,” Mando answered. “It means ‘bounty hunter.’”

Paz was slightly ahead of them as they walked, leading the way. He angled his head back towards Cara. “Din was one of the main providers for our Covert on Nevarro. He brought back credits for the necessities we weren’t able to produce ourselves. And sometimes he picked up an extra treat for the young ones.” There was that smile in his voice again. The child’s head perked at the sound of treats.

It felt very odd to hear her friend’s name spoken so casually. Moff Gideon had wielded it like a weapon. Mando had told it to her as he thought he was dying, a scrap of proof to take to other Mandalorians for aid. The Armorer had used it casually enough, though her voice alone imbued everything she said with gravity. Cara had kept meaning to ask him if it was okay to use his name, and then managed to continue putting it off until too much time had passed.

“Greef said you were expensive to hire for jobs. That’s why?”

He nodded. “That, plus fuel and supplies.”

Cara was reminded of the erstwhile Razor Crest and how it had usually been in such sorry condition. Pieces of his life were beginning to make more sense. She thought about trying to support a small community on her modest New Republic salary and shuddered.

Paz pointed out different areas to them as they passed: kitchens, dormitories, training rooms, and so on. And every so often they stopped to greet someone. Cara didn’t know how they recognized each other: despite the slight differences in design or paint colors the various helmets blurred together in her mind. Yet somehow other Mandalorians would rush over to Mando and greet him with familiarity, or she would watch the perk in his body language as he spied someone he knew and moved to intercept them.

Some of them clasped arms with him, others gave him excited slaps on the shoulder, a few did the same solemn helmet-tap that Paz had done. Cara got quite a few respectful nods and more than one enthusiastic handshake.

She could practically see the weight dropping from her friend’s shoulders as he was reunited with his clan. They seemed to bear him no ill will for the events that had occured on Nevarro. And he even let many of them hold the child, his usual overprotectiveness absent here.

Less than twenty adult survivors of his Covert, and yet somehow Cara felt the reunions took a long time. With each person who greeted them, some sour feeling grew in her stomach. She watched a Mandalorian with red stripes on her armor playfully wiggle the baby’s clawed hand in greeting, and was hit with a rush of irritation. More than irritation, even. Maybe anger. That sour feeling was climbing from her stomach into her chest.

What is going on with me? Her mission had been a success, they were safe, Mando had found his people again: she should have been in a good mood. And yet for some reason she wasn’t.

She made herself sit back and take stock for a moment. Her eyes rested on the floor as she thought. An image sprang to her mind. Sitting across from her cousin on Coruscant, the two of them trying and failing to make conversation as untouched cups of tea cooled in front of them. Each consumed with their own worry, their own grief, their splash of shared blood not enough to help them weather it together.

As each sick and sleepless day passed, the solidifying truth: no one else had made it. The dreadful knowledge that this woman, practically a stranger, was the only family she had left in the galaxy. Their unceremonious parting as they each realized the other was hardly more than a reminder of what they’d lost.

Jealousy. It was jealousy. How often had she imagined this scenario for herself? That somehow her mother or grandpa or girlfriend had been spirited away from disaster, would open the door of a home on some new planet and run out to greet her? That she could hold her loved ones close again?

She closed her eyes and breathed through her nose. She willed the tears at the corners of her eyes to retreat. Cara, you mudscuffer. Be happy for your friend. She didn’t want those cracks in her mind to reopen. She didn’t want to go down that path again.

“Are you okay?” Mando asked. She opened her eyes. He was standing in front of her. Behind him Paz was holding the child and talking to another Mandalorian. She hadn’t even heard him approach.

She inhaled deeply. “Yeah.” She tried to sound casual. “Just tired, I think.”

The slightest tilt of his helmet gave her the impression he wasn’t convinced. “We can rest here for the night. Or we can leave for Nevarro now.”

He was giving her an out. He would leave if she made the call, and would ask her no questions about it.

Part of her chafed to run from this, but was that what she really wanted? No, she was bigger than that. She couldn’t tug her friend away from the exact situation she had longed for herself more than anything.

She took another breath. “No, we’re in no rush. We can crash here tonight.”

He was silent for a long moment. Studying her, maybe. Finally he gave a nod. “We’ll leave in the morning,” he said, and it sounded like reassurance.

One night. She could be happy for her friend for one night. She had the rest of her life to mourn.

***

The Armorer from Nevarro had apparently made it here as well, and Mando slipped off to go speak with her. Cara sat along the wall of one of the communal rooms with Paz, watching the child scamper around happily with some of the other kids. He was sometimes greeted by others passing by, and she was still treated to more than a few curious looks. Or at the very least, helmets turned in her direction that she assumed were curious looks.

“You’re drawing quite a bit of interest,” Paz commented, echoing her thoughts. “I see at least two people right now who look like they’re waiting for me to walk away so they have an excuse to speak with you.”

“Speak with me about what?” Cara asked. She thought it came out sounding a little too defensive.

His helmet angled. “I think to invite you under their armor.”

Cara turned to him in surprise, and a chuckle burst out of her throat. “Oh! Well...that’s flattering.” Her eyes swept the room but all she saw was a sea of blank helmets.

“I can leave, if you want,” he offered.

“No, that’s okay. Uh, maybe later.” She could feel the twinges of a flustered smile on her face. “Tell me if this is rude but, how do you tell? Everyone looks so…”

“You find us hard to tell apart,” Paz said evenly. He didn’t seem offended as far as she could tell. “Many do. The ways we customize our armor are the most obvious indicators to outsiders. But when you live as we do, you recognize that there is more to reading a person than just their face. No two people have the same voice, the same gait or gestures, the build of their body or the way they hold themselves. You can probably already discern a friend’s footsteps from a stranger’s, can you not?”

She cocked her head. She hadn’t really thought of it, but it was true. She could tell whether it was Greef or Mythrol walking down the hall just by the sounds. She could sense Mando’s particular presence at her back during a mission. “You’re right. I guess it just takes practice.”

He nodded and she took a beat. “Speaking of, it seems like you and Ma--, uh, Din, know each other well.” Damn it, Dune, that was awkward.

If Paz thought it was awkward she caught no indication. “I’ve known him since he was first brought to us as a foundling. We trained together in the Fighting Corps. We both survived the Great Purge and ended up on Nevarro. Our Covert operated out of Nevarro for many years but I saw him infrequently since he was so often out hunting.”

Mando spoke as if each word cost him credits. Cara appreciated that Paz wasn’t the same. It would have taken minutes of very pointed questions to get the same amount of information out of her friend. “What was he like as a kid?” she asked. Her mouth quirked as she imagined a miniature version of that silver armor.

“Very quiet and very serious,” Paz answered.

“Hm, so nothing’s changed,” Cara quipped, and Paz laughed. It was an exuberant laugh, visor tilted back, one gauntleted hand thunking against his leg.

“Ah, he used to be even more so, if you can believe it. He didn’t speak for a year after he arrived. And he trained so diligently he was permitted to swear the Creed a bit earlier than most.”

“He didn’t talk for a year?”

One large blue pauldron lifted in a shrug. “It happens with some of the foundlings. Like that little one. “ He pointed out the tiny girl from before, who had clung silently to Mando’s cape. She was watching two Mandalorians play sabacc with her shirt collar held in her mouth.

“Oh.” Cara felt a pang in her heart. Better to move into safer territory. “So you were both foundlings together, in the Fighting Corps? You’ve been friends a long time.”

“We both trained in the Corps, yes. But I’m not a foundling. My family has been Mandalorian for generations. And Din and I have often been close, but not always. Usually because I let my temper get the better of me.”

I never should have tried to remove your helmet, she’d heard him say not long ago. She’d been right to assume these two had history together, and part of her itched to find out more. She’d probably never get this kind of opportunity again. She would die of old age before getting the juicy details out of M--Din.

Her mouth was opening to ask another question when the Mandalorian himself stole back into the room. He sat down beside her and Paz, visor angled towards where his child was playing with the other kids.

“You’re just in time,” Paz told him. “I was just telling Cara all of your most embarrassing stories.” Cara smirked.

That silver helmet turned towards them ever so slightly. “Careful. I could do the same for you.”

“I was just about to tell her about the prank in the officers’ mess--” Paz taunted.

“That was all your fault.”

Cara snorted with laughter. She’d never heard Mando sound petulant before.

Her friend was saved further teasing by the announcement that food was ready. Cara was shocked that it was apparently already evening. There was very little natural light in this maze-like Covert.

Their system reminded her quite a bit of her time as a trooper, as everyone lined up to get bowls of food doled out in the kitchens. But rather than crowd into a noisy mess hall, the Mandalorians dispersed to their own locations. Mando exchanged a quick word with Paz before leading Cara down another hallway. He carried a bowl in each hand and the child toddled along at his ankles.

Their destination was an empty room in one of the retrofitted dormitory halls. There was a real door leading in from the hall. Inside was a small vestibule with two curtained doorways on either end. There was a stack of bedrolls and blankets piled neatly against one wall. “This was unoccupied,” Mando said. He unfurled a bedroll for the child to sit on, then handed him one of the bowls and a spoon. “We can sleep here tonight then be on our way in the morning.”

Cara sat down with her own food. She watched the kid valiantly try to maneuver the spoon in his tiny claws. “That’s fine,” she said, and felt more like it really was. That itch was still under her skin: the grief she was trying not to let bubble up. But it was bearable now.

“I appreciate it,” he said. Then he gestured to one of the curtained doorways. “I’ll be just in here.” He slipped through. Cara heard shuffling, then a gentle clunk of something metal being placed on the floor.

“Can you hear us?” Cara called to him. She took a bite. She wasn’t sure what the food was, but it was spicy. She liked it. The kid gurgled something at her, his cheeks full.

“Yes.” A pause. “I’m sure much of this is not what you’re used to.” The quality of his voice was different without his helmet on, even with the curtain still muffling it slightly. The kid cocked his head towards the sound, big ears twitching.

There was maybe an implicit question there, but Cara chose to bypass it. She took another bite. “Is it nice being back?”

“Yes,” he said again. His voice was strained with emotion. “Many more escaped Nevarro than I had even hoped.”

Cara could feel how her stomach wanted to curdle with envy again. Her fingers tightened around her bowl and spoon. She made herself breathe and continued eating. The child cooed at her. She looked up to see him gazing at her with those big fathomless eyes.

She managed a smile at him. “Eat your dinner before it gets cold,” she said. He blinked once at her, slowly, before diving back into his meal.

It was quiet but for the clinking of utensils. Cara thought about all the times she’d scarfed down food shoulder-to-shoulder with other soldiers, swapping dirty jokes and laughing. She thought about family dinners around the table just for a moment before locking that one away again. “Isn’t this lonely?” she blurted out. The kid glanced up in surprise.

“What?” came from behind the awning.

“Eating alone all the time.” She jabbed her spoon back into her bowl with too much force.

There were sounds like he was shifting his weight. “Family or clan members are permitted to show their faces to one another. They eat together.”

“I thought the kid was your clan,” she called back. The child burbled.

“He is.” No other sounds came from behind the curtain. So the kid had seen his face? They’d shared meals together, just the two of them? But I’m here, she realized. So she was sitting on the floor with a baby, and her friend was alone in a room.

There it was again, rearing its head. She set her bowl down, appetite gone. She prided herself on being steady, cool-headed in a crisis. She hated the way her emotions were yanking her around today.

More shuffling sounds. Metal briefly scraping across the stone floor. Then Mando pushed the curtain aside and stepped back into the room. His helmet was in place again. He sat on the bedroll next to his kid, across from Cara. His visor was pointed in her direction. She had the sense of being studied intently.

“Non-Mandalorians can become members of a clan,” he stated. “You’re not required to swear the Creed. But you’re expected to look out for your clan members and aid other Mandalorians should they need it. In turn other Mandalorians will help you if they can. You can participate in our traditions and be given our burial rites.”

Well, that was an interesting bit of cultural information but-- “Wait, do you mean the general ‘you’ or do you mean me?” Her mouth was slightly open in shock.

She heard the gentle huff of laughter through the helmet. “I mean you, Cara.”

Her mind reeled. “This isn’t marriage, is it?” If he was proposing then they had both wildly misinterpreted their relationship. Shit, and he was her ride home.

Another laugh filtered through his vocoder. “No. But it is family.”

Family. Her pulse pounded in her temples. Cara thought of her cousin, off somewhere in the galaxy. She thought of a favorite recipe her mother had taught her as a kid. She imagined the child helping to roll out the dough. She tried to imagine Mando removing his helmet, the three of them gathered around her small kitchen table on Nevarro.

She felt a watery lump in her throat. Nothing could give her back everyone and everything she had lost. But here, suddenly, was an opportunity to build something new.

“Why?” she found herself asking. Her voice came out smaller than usual.

His head tilted slightly. “I...have lost my family and my home many times.” He seemed to be considering his words carefully. Cara watched his gloved fingers curl. “When the child was taken I nearly lost him again. You helped me get him back. When I gave you my armor on Morak, I felt no hesitation.”

She could feel the discomfort oozing off of him. They really were two womp-rats from the same emotionally-constipated litter. He continued.

“I trust you. And respect you. And I realized when we rescued the child that I...want the people I care about to know their value.

You don’t need to decide now. Think about it, and say no if you want. But know that I have considered this for a while, and I have never offered it to anyone else.”

Her eyes were misty with tears. She glanced away from his visor and blinked rapidly. The child toddled into her peripheral vision and leaned against her leg. His big ears wiggled and his clawed fingers tapped her knee.

Her friend rested a hand delicately, instinctively, on the back of the baby’s head, and for a moment the three of them were connected by touch. Three links in a chain. Cara could feel the tension in the air as her friend waited for her to respond in some way. The child’s small weight was solid against her knee. Although they were just three people sitting on the floor of a mostly-empty room, and the galaxy was vast and uncaring, in this small pocket of the universe she was wanted.

Alderaan was gone. It was dust in the cold vacuum of space. But in this moment she felt warm in a way she thought she never would again.

“I’m...honored.” Her voice was thick, and she swallowed heavily. She made herself look back up into the dark strip of his visor. “I accept.”

Mando was still for just a moment. He picked up the kid and set him gently in her lap. Then he leaned in close, and carefully pressed the forehead of his helmet to her own. Her eyes closed. The metal was cool against her skin.

“Cara Dune,” he said with solemn reverence. “Welcome to our Clan.”

***

Cara had tearfully laughed as she thought about how she had avoided even asking to call him his name, and Din had laughed too once she managed to explain. They were family now. Yes, she could call him Din. The kid’s name was Grogu. And no, he hadn’t picked it out, a Jedi had told it to him.

That brought up a lot of questions, of course, along with all the others she now had. Was Din her brother? Did that make Grogu her nephew? Did Mandalorians even use terms like that to describe clan relationships, or something else entirely?

But then Paz had showed up knocking at the door, insisting they rejoin the others. When Din told him she had joined his clan, the giant Mandalorian gave her an excited punch on the arm that was sure to bruise. Cara’s mind was a whirlwind as she allowed herself to be shepherded back out into the communal space.

Someone started passing around cups and jugs of spotchka, and soon the air buzzed with the sounds of people relaxing at the end of a long day. Some things were the same everywhere, she supposed, still trying to find her balance again amidst the waves of her emotions. The other Mandalorians drank casually with their helmets off. The ones from Din’s tribe took sips with helmets carefully tilted back and then replaced. “Some small concessions are made for when one is in the Covert among other Mandalorians,” Paz explained to her. Including me? Am I technically a Mandalorian now?

More questions. But they could wait till tomorrow. For tonight Cara sat back and drank, and watched the kid--Grogu--play happily. She beat Din at arm-wrestling and lost to Paz, and turned down an offer to play some other game with a group of Mandalorians that involved throwing knives.

Eventually through her pleasant haze she saw Grogu climb into his father’s lap and fall asleep. “We should get some rest as well,” Din said. He stood and offered her a hand, and then she was drifting back through the halls as the noise of the crowd receded behind them. It felt peaceful to leave them behind, rather than lonely.

He led the way back to their borrowed rooms. Cara dragged some of the bedding into one of the side rooms for herself while Din situated Grogu in a little nest of blankets. From the doorway she whispered “goodnight” to him, and he said it softly back.

She collapsed onto her bedroll. It wasn’t the most comfortable place she’d ever slept, but it was far from the worst. She was pleasantly dizzy and warm from the alcohol, and a little glow of happiness was tentatively growing in her chest.

She rolled over and fell asleep.

Chapter Text

Cara woke up in what she assumed was the morning to a mild hangover and tiny claws tapping her cheek.

She cracked an eye open to see Grogu’s face filling her field of vision. He babbled to her, his hand still on her cheek. “Mornin’,” she managed. She carefully moved his hand away from her face, then sat up and cracked her neck.

He made a few more of his little noises at her before tottering over to the doorway. He slipped under the door hanging and vanished.

Well, that was her wake-up call. She stood and stretched. Then she neatly folded up her tangle of bedding. Some of those military habits never died.

Grogu was waiting for her in the modest anteroom, but Din wasn’t in sight. Maybe she was projecting, or maybe she was really getting better at reading the little guy’s body language, but she thought he looked hungry. She crouched next to him. “Hey, you want breakfast? I could eat.”

The look he gave her was clearly a hopeful yes. That made her smile. “Yeah, me too. Is your dad up? I don’t know if I can find my way back to the kitchens.” She stood again and moved to the other doorway. She was thinking about the fuzzy feeling the spotchka had left in her mouth and how good breakfast sounded, so she didn’t even think to knock before pulling back the curtain.

Din and Paz were curled together in a heap, sleeping peacefully. She must have been fast asleep last night because she hadn’t even heard him arrive. They were both still far more modestly dressed than most people: helmets in place, flightsuits fastened up to the neck, gloves, stockinged feet. But each had removed their armor and tidily stacked it to the side. Their legs were tangled together and one of Paz’s arms was slung over Din’s stomach.

The absence of the rest of the armor made their helmets look slightly too big in a way that she found endearing and a little goofy. Din looked much smaller and softer without the silhouette of his beskar. She could see his chest slowly rise and fall, Paz’s arm moving with it.

They looked so serene she almost hated to wake them. But a hungry squeak from the kid reminded her why she was here. And it wasn’t to invade her friend’s privacy. She stepped back and let the curtain drop, obscuring them from her view once again. She rapped on the doorframe with her knuckles. “Hey, are you in there?”

“Yeah,” came the groggy reply after a moment.

“The kid’s hungry.”

“We’ll be out.” She heard shuffling noises.

Cara smirked to herself. We. She turned back to Grogu as muted conversation and the clanking of beskar filtered out of the room. “Just a few more minutes,” she told him. His ears angled down in a pout. She smiled. “Don’t be dramatic.”

He leaned against her boot and raised his tiny arms up like he wanted to be lifted. “Uh, no, I don’t really…” But he gave an insistent whine.

So she reached down and gingerly picked up the kid. He was so small. He seemed very breakable. What if she squeezed him too tight and hurt him? She painstakingly arranged him in her arms the way she had seen Din do it, and he seemed just fine. “Well, I guess we are family now,” she told him, and he blinked up at her. Sometimes family meant occasionally holding a baby. She could do that.

Din and Paz exited the other room, arrayed in their full beskar once again. Cara didn’t bother to hide her shit-eating grin as she said good morning. Din nodded, and Paz said good morning back. As they made their way down the halls, she tried to wiggle her eyebrows at Paz but couldn’t tell if he saw. Damn helmets.

Maybe she was being obnoxious, but she really couldn’t help herself. That sick anger from yesterday was gone, and this morning she was unusually giddy. She turned to Paz again as they waited in line for food. “So, how was last night?” she asked, trying to heavily lay on the insinuation.

“Good!” he said brightly. “I enjoyed beating you at arm-wrestling.”

She didn’t rise to the bait. “Not what I meant. Seems like you two--how did you put it yesterday-- got under each other's armor?”

Paz laughed his big loud laugh again. A sleepy-looking Mandalorian behind him sighed in annoyance. “Ah. We did remove our armor to sleep, so you’re right in a literal sense. But we don’t have that kind of relationship.”

“Oh,” Cara said. She wasn’t sure what else to say. Now she just felt awkward.

Paz could tell. He chuckled. “Don’t worry. For most others I think you would assume correctly. But Din has always been cast in his own mold.”

She looked over at her friend, her clan-mate, standing a little ways ahead of them with Grogu. Even amongst other Mandalorians his unpainted armor gleamed. The child was lovingly cradled in hands she had seen kill dozens of people.

“Yeah,” she said. “That’s very true.”

***

Back in the room, the three of them sat down together with their food. Grogu seemed perfectly happy to dig in, ears wiggling. But she could see the tension in how Din held himself. “No one but the child has seen me without my helmet since…” he trailed off.

“You know, there’s nothing you have to rush into,” Cara said, and felt almost surprised at her own words. Of course she’d been curious what he looked like. And yesterday she’d felt so alone and weirdly betrayed by the strictures of his Creed. But today it was different.

She continued. “We’re family now, right? I think we get to decide what that looks like. And maybe right now that looks like two people who eat breakfast back-to-back.”

The noise that escaped his helmet was part laugh, part sigh of relief. “That’s a good start,” he agreed.

So they sat propped up against one another’s backs, and she heard the faint hiss as his helmet disengaged. Out of the corner of her eye she saw it set on the floor. Grogu looked up, gave a noise of greeting to his dad’s face, and returned to his food.

Cara balanced her plate on her knees. She felt a wisp of Din’s hair brush her ear as he turned his head slightly towards her. “Do you have traditions?” he asked. For the first time his voice came to her without anything in the way. It was familiar, of course, but softer maybe. More vulnerable without the robotic layer his vocoder added.

“What sort of traditions?” she asked as she took a bite.

Another shift of his hair against her ear. It tickled. “Everything so far has been structured around my Creed. But what about the things that are important to you?”

She thought. That image came to mind again, of her family seated together around a table. Her mother’s recipe. Rolling dough out together with their hands. The red flowers she'd given to her girlfriend every Life Day.

The memories still hurt to think about. But she could feel how the bitter was maybe starting to be tinged with sweet. The slightest smile curled the corners of her mouth. “I can think of a few,” she answered.

***

Not all the ingredients were the same. Some were specific only to Alderaan, so she had to find substitutes that were close enough. She cried on her kitchen floor over a packet of some foreign spice. It was such a little thing that she almost felt silly. It was just one small, particular plant that no longer existed. That plant, and its flavor, the soil it grew in, all its growing neighbors, all gone.

But when Din and Grogu arrived she showed them how to roll out the dough like her mother had. Din was a quick learner, gauntlets off and sleeves rolled up. Grogu managed to cover himself, and by extension everyone else, in flour. Cara laughed as he placed a little white handprint on her cheek. She laughed harder at the handprints across Din’s helmet.

The three of them sat around her small table on Nevarro. The little red flower Grogu had given her sat in a cup of water in the center. Din set his helmet aside so they could eat their food together.

In the end, of course, the recipe wasn’t exactly the same as she remembered. It was good, but different. As her new family ate this version of her mother’s old cooking, she had that sense again of being just three links in a longer chain. Someone on Alderaan had learned how to make this food and passed that knowledge on. Her grandparents had taught this to her mother, her mother to her, and now she was sharing it with them. She felt her past bridging into her future, entwining in this sun-soaked present moment. And, for the first time in a long time, she felt she could move forward with it.