Chapter Text
By the time she found him, she was wet, exhausted, and in a profoundly bad mood.
Coruscant stretched endlessly around her in layers of neon and smoke, the lower levels glowing sickly beneath the constant rain. She’d spent three days following rumours, tracing fragments of stories through smugglers, mechanics, bounty hunters, and one very drunk information broker who’d insisted the Mandalorian had died twice already.
And yet somehow she’d still found him.
That alone irritated her enough to keep going.
From across the crowded street, she watched him move through the market with the kind of awareness that never truly relaxed. Even surrounded by noise and bodies, he tracked everything. Exits. Hands. Distances. Threats.
The armor made him impossible to miss.
Beskar caught the neon in flashes of lights as he walked, broad-shouldered and imposing in a way that turned heads even on Coruscant. A small green child peeked occasionally from the satchel against his side, ears twitching beneath the folds of his cloak.
The child, she thought immediately, was significantly less intimidating.
The Mandalorian disappeared into a narrower side street without looking back.
An invitation?
Or a trap?
Possibly both. She followed anyway.
Rainwater dripped steadily from overhead pipes as she stepped into the alley after him. The noise of the main street dulled behind her almost instantly.
The Mandalorian stood several feet ahead now, still as a statue.
Waiting.
For a moment neither of them spoke.
Then, through the modulator of his helmet, came a low voice roughened into something even deeper by static.
“You’ve been following me.”
Maker, that voice.
Calm. Controlled. The kind of voice that sounded like it belonged in dark rooms and bad decisions.
She folded her arms loosely instead of reaching for the saber at her hip.
“You noticed.”
“I noticed six districts ago.” There was no arrogance in it. Just fact.
She found herself oddly amused by that.
The visor remained fixed on her.
Assessing everything.
She could feel it almost physically, the weight of his attention moving over every detail, her stance, the lightsaber, the lack of visible fear.
Most men found Force users unsettling.
Most Force users enjoyed that, including her.
“You’re looking for a Jedi,” she said finally.
The silence that followed sharpened instantly.
Not surprise, protectiveness maybe?
The child shifted faintly against him beneath the cloak, and she felt the Mandalorian’s entire posture tighten around that small movement before he answered.
“That information’s outdated.”
There it was.
Annoyance flickered through her immediately.
Three days. Three days navigating this awful planet for nothing.
“You could’ve mentioned that sooner,” she muttered.
“You didn’t ask sooner.”
That almost made her laugh.
The modulator flattened his tone, but she could still hear it underneath. Dry, restrained, annoyingly self-assured.
She stepped a little closer into the weak alley light, enough to properly see the worn edges of his armor.
Not decorative then.
The child peered curiously out from beneath the cloak now, enormous eyes fixed directly on her.
And instantly, despite herself, her expression softened.
“Oh,” she said quietly. “Hello there.”
The Mandalorian noticed.
She knew he noticed because his shoulders shifted almost imperceptibly, attention narrowing further.
Definitely protective. Good, she thinks.
The child blinked at her once before making a tiny questioning sound.
Something warm tugged unexpectedly in her chest.
“You are very small.” she informed him seriously.
The child cooed in response.
Behind the helmet, the Mandalorian remained unreadable.
“You came all this way for a reason Jedi,” he said. “Why?”
She looked back at him.
Rain slid cold down the back of her neck, though she barely noticed anymore.
How much did she want to say? Not much frankly.
Certainly not:
I’m being hunted across the galaxy by the man I once thought I’d spend my life with.
Instead, she shrugged lightly.
“I heard there was a Force-sensitive child traveling with a Mandalorian. Thought maybe I could help.”
“You’re offering to train him.”
“No.” She glanced back toward the child again. “I’m offering to teach him how not to accidentally throw someone through a wall when he gets emotional.”
Silence.
Then he scoffs “You don’t sound like a Jedi.”
This time she did laugh softly.
“No,” she agreed. “I suppose I don’t anymore.”
The Mandalorian stared at her for so long she began to wonder if he planned on speaking again at all.
Rain drummed steadily against the metal above them, water collecting in shallow rivers along the alley floor. Somewhere nearby, machinery groaned through the walls of the city.
Still, he said nothing.
She shifted her weight slightly.
“Well?”
The helmet tilted a fraction.
“Well what?”
The modulator distorted his voice just enough to smooth the edges of it, but not enough to hide the low roughness underneath. She could understand now why people found Mandalorians intimidating. It wasn’t just the armor.
It was the stillness.
Most people moved constantly without realizing it. Adjusting themselves. Fidgeting. Performing emotion.
He didn’t.
“You’ve spent the last several minutes looking at me like you’re deciding whether I’m a threat.”
“You carry a lightsaber.”
“So?”
“So,” he repeated evenly, “that usually means threat.”
A smile tugged briefly at the corner of her mouth.
“Careful, Mandalorian. You’re starting to sound judgmental.”
“I’m just being cautious.”
“Mm. Much sexier word.”
The silence that followed was immediate and absolute.
Beneath the helmet, she could practically feel his confusion at the direction of the conversation.
The child made a tiny chirping sound, as if equally curious about what she’d say next.
She glanced down at him instead.
“You,” she informed him quietly, “are very cute. Your guardian, unfortunately, has the personality of a closed door.”
The Mandalorian crossed his arms.
Beskar shifted softly beneath leather and fabric.
“You talk too much.”
Something dangerously close to amusement brushed against the edges of his presence before disappearing again so quickly she almost thought she imagined it.
Almost.
She shouldn’t have been trying to read him at all. The Force moved strangely around him, quieter than most people, shielded somehow beneath all that beskar and discipline. So difficult to grasp.
Which, annoyingly, only made her more curious.
“You still haven’t explained why you tracked me down,” he said, "Or how."
His tone had changed slightly.
More serious now.
She exhaled slowly, glancing back toward the crowded street beyond the alley before answering.
“I’m not looking for trouble.”
“That’s not an answer either.”
“No,” she admitted. “It isn’t.”
For a moment she considered lying. It would’ve been easier. Safer. But something about the way he stood there, guarded but patient, made dishonesty feel strangely unnecessary.
“There’s someone looking for me,” she said finally.
The Mandalorian went completely still.
Not visibly. Most people wouldn’t notice it.
But she did.
“I only take jobs from the New Republic now.”
“No. that's not-" The word came out sharper than intended, she cuts herself off, looking away briefly, jaw tightening before she relaxed it again.
“It’s… complicated.”
The visor remained fixed on her.
She could feel the weight of his attention even through the damn helmet.
After a pause, his voice came quieter this time.
“He’s like you then. A Jedi.”
Not a question.
She blinked once.
“How did you know it was a he?”
“You touched your lightsaber when you mentioned him.” Avoiding her actual question.
Her fingers immediately fell away from the hilt at her side that she didn't even realise she had reached for.
Annoying.
“You notice too much.”
“That’s how I stay alive.”
She huffed a quiet laugh through her nose.
There was a beat of silence before she spoke again, softer now.
“We left the Order together a few years ago.”
The words felt strange aloud. Old and bruised around the edges.
“We thought…” She stopped herself briefly, gaze unfocusing somewhere beyond the alley walls. “We thought wanting more than that life made us brave.”
The Mandalorian didn’t interrupt.
“I think he believed leaving would make him free,” she continued quietly. “Turns out it just made him angry.”
Rainwater slid from a pipe overhead between them.
For the first time since approaching him, exhaustion pressed visibly into her posture.
Not weakness, just tiredness that had settled deep into the bones.
“He doesn’t want me back,” she said quietly. “He wants me trapped beside him until I become as angry as he is.”
The child made another small sound then, almost sympathetic.
Her expression softened instantly as she looked down toward him again.
“See?” she murmured. “At least someone here likes me.”
“He doesn’t know you.”
The words should’ve sounded cold.
Instead, through the low static hum of the modulator, they landed strangely careful.
Her eyes lifted back to the visor.
“And you do?”
The question lingered there between them.
Not flirtation, not yet at least. But something quieter.
The Mandalorian didn’t answer her question immediately.
She watched him carefully, or tried to. The helmet made it impossible to tell where exactly his attention rested, but she could feel it all the same, steady, assessing, unreadable in a way that should’ve been frustrating and somehow wasn’t.
Finally, his voice came through the modulator again, low and rough around the edges.
“No. But he wants to.”
She looked down instinctively toward the child peering out from the satchel. Large dark eyes blinked back at her with complete trust already shining there, which honestly felt irresponsible on his part.
“You should work on your survival instincts,” she told him softly.
The child chirped in response, tiny ears twitching.
“He likes you,” the Mandalorian said, sounding faintly displeased about it.
“That makes one of you.”
“You think I don’t?”
His voice dipped lower when he said it, quieter beneath the static hum of the modulator, and she hated the way her stomach tightened unexpectedly at the sound. Dangerous. Not him exactly but her reaction to him.
She folded her arms instead.
“I think you’re suspicious of me. Which is fair considering I tracked you through half the city carrying a lightsaber.”
“You’re not denying being dangerous.”
“Oh, I’m definitely dangerous.”
The visor tilted slightly. She was starting to realize that was the closest thing she was going to get to visible reactions from him.
Most men she’d met since leaving the Order either found confidence intimidating or irresistible. The Mandalorian seemed determined to treat it like a logistical inconvenience.
“You still haven’t explained why you came to me specifically,” he said.
“The Mandalorian with the Force-sensitive child seemed like a good place to start.”
“For what?”
She hesitated this time, gaze drifting briefly toward the rain-slick street beyond the alley.
“I need to be difficult to find for a while. The extra firepower wouldn't hurt either.”
“That sounds temporary.”
“It is temporary.”
“You planning on leaving once he stops hunting you?”
She looked back at him then, properly this time. The armor. The blasters. The impossible stillness of him beneath the rain.
“Yes,” she answered.
The word came easily enough, but something in his posture shifted anyway before he turned his attention briefly toward the street behind her, instinctively checking exits again.
Always checking exits.
The child made another soft sound and reached one tiny hand toward her. Before she could stop herself, she let the Force brush gently outward toward him warm curiosity, bright affection, a name carried instinctively beneath it.
Grogu.
Her expression softened immediately.
“Well,” she murmured, “Grogu apparently disagrees on that bit.”
The Mandalorian went perfectly still.
“You know his name.”
She glanced back up at him, unable to stop the slight smile pulling at her mouth.
“He told me.”
The visor remained fixed on her.
“Why would he do that?”
“You’re right,” she said lightly. “Much more likely that I guessed.”
Grogu chirped happily at the sound of his name and reached toward her again with considerably more confidence now.
The Mandalorian adjusted the satchel before the child could launch himself directly onto the wet alley floor.
“You joke about the Force a lot,” he observed.
“I spent most of my life around people who treated it like a funeral ceremony.” She shrugged slightly. “I prefer reality.”
“And what’s reality?”
“That emotions exist whether anyone likes it or not.”
The answer came easily, instinctively. She watched the Mandalorian carefully after she said it, catching the near-imperceptible tension that settled through his shoulders.
Interesting.
“You think the Jedi are wrong.”
“I think they’re terrified,” she corrected softly. “Terrified people will feel something they can’t control, so they spend their lives pretending they don’t feel anything at all.”
Rain drummed harder overhead.
For a moment neither of them spoke.
Then, quieter this time, he asked, “Is that why you left?”
The question caught her off guard. Not because he asked it, but because of how carefully he did. No judgment. No suspicion. Just quiet curiosity roughened into something deeper by the modulator.
She looked away briefly.
“We left because we were in love,” she admitted. “Or at least I thought we were.”
The Mandalorian stayed silent.
“He used to talk about freedom constantly,” she continued, watching neon ripple through the puddles at their feet. “About how the Jedi wanted obedience instead of honesty. I agreed with him about that part. I still do.”
“And the rest?”
A humourless smile touched her mouth.
“The rest turned out to be significantly uglier once we actually had freedom.”
Grogu made a soft unhappy noise from the satchel.
Her expression softened instantly as she looked toward him again.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” she murmured. “Bit heavy for a first meeting.”
“You shouldn’t call him that.”
She blinked, glancing back at the Mandalorian.
“What? Sweetheart?”
“He’ll get attached.”
The answer came too quickly.
And there it was again that strange tension every time attachment entered the conversation.
She tilted her head slightly, studying the unreadable visor.
“You say that like it's a bad thing"
The alley fell quiet again except for the rain.
She watched him carefully after that last comment, curious whether he’d answer or retreat back into silence. For a few seconds he did neither. He simply stood there beneath the fractured neon glow, broad and unreadable while water slid steadily from the edges of his armor.
“Sometimes it is.”
There was enough certainty in the answer to make something tighten unexpectedly in her chest.
Not ideology.
Before she could decide whether to push further, Grogu leaned farther out of the satchel with an impatient little sound, tiny hand stretching insistently toward her.
She laughed softly. “You are unbelievably persistent.”
“He usually gets what he wants.”
“Clearly."
The Mandalorian adjusted the satchel again, though more carefully now, like he already knew resistance was becoming pointless. Grogu immediately made another demanding noise.
“Oh, no,” she told him. “You don’t even know me.”
Grogu blinked at her, deeply unconvinced.
The Mandalorian was quiet for a moment before speaking.
“You can take him.”
She stepped closer cautiously, suddenly far too aware of how large he actually was up close. The armor made him broad enough already, but proximity revealed the rest of it, the heat trapped beneath beskar despite the cold rain, the way he instinctively angled himself between her and the open street even while allowing her near Grogu.
Protective by habit.
Carefully, she slid her hands beneath the child as Grogu climbed eagerly into her arms. The moment she settled him against her hip, he relaxed completely, tiny claws gripping lightly at her jacket while he studied her face with open curiosity.
“Well,” she murmured, smoothing a hand gently over one green ear, “that’s probably a worrying lack of survival instincts.”
Grogu chirped in clear disagreement.
The Mandalorian watched silently. Not tense exactly.
Observant. Like he was measuring how naturally she held the child, how instinctively Grogu responded to her in return.
“You understand more than people think, don’t you?” she asked Grogu softly.
The child blinked once.
Then pointed directly at the Mandalorian.
She followed the gesture, confused for half a second before Grogu made an impatient sound and pointed again with more emphasis this time.
A laugh escaped her before she could stop it.
“Oh, of course he understands you.”
Grogu chirped proudly.
The Mandalorian shifted slightly. “He thinks he’s helping.”
“He is helping.” She glanced back at Grogu. “Very fierce. Terrifying, actually.”
Grogu looked pleased with himself.
“You shouldn’t encourage him,” the Mandalorian said, though the rough edge of his voice had softened slightly beneath the modulator.
“He already decided he likes me. I don’t think either of us had much say in it.”
The visor remained fixed on her for a second too long at that.
She became suddenly aware of how close they were standing now. Close enough to notice details she shouldn’t have been noticing. The worn leather at his gloves. The scrape along one shoulder plate. The deep timbre of his voice humming through static every time he spoke.
Dangerous territory.
She stepped back slightly before her brain could become any more embarrassing about it.
“You know,” she said lightly, “for someone so suspicious of attachment, you seem remarkably attached to each other.”
The Mandalorian folded his arms.
“He’s my son.”
The answer came immediately. No hesitation this time. Something warm flickered unexpectedly through her chest at the quiet certainty in his voice.
Grogu looked smug about it too.
“Well,” she murmured, “that explains the attitude.”
Grogu chirped loudly in protest.
“I’m sorry,” she corrected solemnly. “Your father’s attitude, not yours.”
For the first time since she’d met him, she heard it clearly, the faintest huff of amusement through the modulator before the Mandalorian suppressed it almost instantly.
Grogu seemed pleased by the reaction too, turning immediately toward the Mandalorian with an expression suspiciously close to triumph.
“You laughed,” she said softly.
“I didn’t.”
“You absolutely did.”
Grogu chirped in agreement.
Traitorous little thing.
The Mandalorian reached out then, one gloved hand settling briefly against Grogu’s back as though steadying him. The gesture looked instinctive, familiar enough to make something ache unexpectedly in her chest. Not dramatic. Not performative. Just habit. The kind built slowly over time.
She looked away before the feeling could settle too deeply.
“So,” she said after a moment, shifting Grogu slightly higher on her hip, “what exactly happens now?”
“What do you mean?”
“You confirmed the Jedi information was outdated. I confirmed I’m being hunted by a psychopathic ex.” She glanced between him and Grogu. “Feels like we should acknowledge we’ve reached a conversational crossroads.”
The visor tilted slightly toward the crowded street beyond the alley.
“You planning on staying on Coruscant?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Good.”
The answer came fast enough to make her laugh softly.
“You really don’t like me much yet.”
“I don’t know you.”
“Mm. There’s that charming personality again.”
The Mandalorian ignored that.
“You said he was looking for you.”
“Yes.” She sighs out.
“He knows where you are?”
“Not exactly.” She hesitated briefly. “But he’s very good at finding people.”
The modulator hummed quietly as the Mandalorian considered that.
“And you think he’ll keep looking.”
“I know he will.”
The Mandalorian looked toward the street again, thinking.
She studied him while he did.
Even standing motionless, he carried tension like it had rooted itself into muscle memory years ago. Vigilance sat naturally on him. So did solitude.
He looked like a man accustomed to leaving before anyone asked him to stay.
Finally, his voice broke through the rain again.
“I’m leaving Coruscant tonight.”
Her eyebrows lifted slightly. “That sounds suspiciously like an invitation.”
“It’s temporary transport.”
“Ah.” She nodded solemnly. “Very different.”
“You need to be difficult to track for a while. The ship’s secure.”
She stared at him for a second.
Then another.
“You’re offering to help me?”
“You’re useful.”
The answer came immediately, dry enough this time that she almost smiled.
“And here I was hoping you’d become emotionally attached already.”
The visor fixed on her.
“You talk too much.”
“That’s twice now. Starting to think you just like saying it.”
Grogu chirped happily like he agreed.
The Mandalorian glanced briefly down at his son before returning his attention to her.
“He trusts you.”
The words landed differently coming from him.
More significant somehow.
She looked down at Grogu, fingers absently smoothing over one green ear while the child leaned comfortably against her shoulder.
Children had always trusted her easily. Maybe because she never spoke to them like they were fragile things waiting to become weapons.
“You should know,” she said eventually, quieter now, “that if he finds me, things could become complicated.”
“It already sounds complicated.”
A humourless smile crossed her face.
“That’s one word for it.”
Something in her expression must have shifted then, because the Mandalorian’s posture sharpened slightly beneath the armor.
“He hurt you.”
Not a question.
Her gaze flicked away instinctively toward the rain-dark street.
“Yes.”
The word came quieter than she intended.
For a second neither of them spoke.
The rain fell harder overhead, neon reflecting in fractured colors across the wet alley floor.
Then she exhaled slowly and handed Grogu carefully back toward him. The child made a soft protesting sound but allowed himself to be transferred into his father’s arms with visible reluctance.
The Mandalorian settled him securely against his side with practiced ease.
For a moment she watched the movement before looking away again. Dangerously domestic thought. Absolutely not.
“Well,” she said lightly, stepping back toward the mouth of the alley, “temporary transport it is then. Does temporary transport have a name?"
Silence
Then he says, “Mando.”
She stared at him for half a second before laughing softly.
“That cannot genuinely be what people call you.”
“It is.”
“Cruel,” she murmured. “Someone should’ve helped you.”
The visor tilted slightly. “You have a name?”
“I do.”
“You planning on sharing it?”
“Eventually,” she said lightly. “If you survive my personality.”
Another tiny pause.
Then he motioned once toward the street beyond the alley.
“Come on.”
She blinked.
“That’s it? No threatening speech? No conditions?”
“You need transport.”
“And you need someone who knows how to train your son.”
“You said you weren’t a Jedi anymore.”
A smile touched her mouth as she followed him out into the rain-soaked streets of Coruscant.
“No,” she agreed softly. “But i'm the best you've got.”