Work Text:
Joining Mando’s crew (which couldn’t really be considered a crew since you were the only member) had definitely been an interesting choice.
You had met the bounty hunter on Corellia months back, when he had walked into your crummy little shop with a little green baby and asked your help with some repairs on his ship. Someone had recommended you as the “best mechanic on the planet” apparently, and though you didn’t think the title was deserved, the Razor Crest was definitely…a challenge. And you loved challenges.
The Mandalorian had taken a look at your determined expression as you walked around the ship, taking notes of things that needed to be fixed and mumbling under your breath about how this ship was really due for some help, and offered you a job. You were quick to accept, always having wanted to travel.
He wasn’t a man of many words, but things were still…comfortable between the two of you. Like you didn’t need too many words to express what you were both thinking. Even under all that heavy beskar, it had become easy for you to read him. To everyone else, he was a statue.
Sure it got lonely sometimes, sitting on board with the kid and waiting for him to come back from a hunt, and sure sometimes you absolutely hated whatever planets you went to (Tatooine being an utter nightmare) but you wouldn’t trade it for the world.
The fact that somewhere over those months spend on board you had fallen in love with him probably influenced that, but that’s another matter.
“Where we heading off to today?” You asked as you climbed into the cockpit, rubbing sleep from your eyes. You had woken up just as the Crest’s engines turned on, and you held on to the ladder for a moment to stabilize yourself as Mando lifted the ship off of the surface of Coruscant.
“Last quarry is on Tatooine,” Mando says simply, flipping some switches on the dashboard as you take a seat, wrinkling your nose at the thought of all that…all that sand. The kid turns to you, babbling in his little baby talk as he reaches towards you, and you lift him out of his carrier and into your lap. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yeah, thanks. Did you get any?” His silence is enough of an answer, and you sigh. “You really have to sleep eventually, Mando.”
“I’m not tired. Besides, you barely slept this week, you need it more than I do.”
You roll your eyes at the Mandalorian’s stubborness. “Just promise that when we’ve got the quarry all locked up and we’re heading back to Nevarro you’ll get SOME sleep.”
Silence for a moment, and you can hear his breathing through the helmet’s modulator before he turns his head slightly towards you over his shoulder. “Promise, cyar’ika.”
He turns back to face the endless expanse of stars as he punches into hyperdrive, and you just smile, leaning your head back against the headrest of your seat. You make a mental note to ask him one of these days what cyar’ika means.
But then again, you’ll probably forget to ask. You always do.
+++
Sand flies up as the Crest sets down on the surface of Tatooine, and you wrinkle your nose, watching the wind blow the cloud of sand away, into the breeze. “God I fucking hate this place.”
“This should be an easy one, so you can stay on the ship with the kid,” Mando calls over his shoulder as he rifles through his armory, picking out a blaster and slipping it into his holster. “If I’m not back in 24 hours-”
“-I’ll com you,” you finish, having memorized his usual speech. He walks over to you, bending down to scratch the kid’s ears before picking him up and placing him in your arms.
“Good girl. And if something goes wrong?”
“I- I com you and fly the ship to a rendesvouz point.” You really hated how two words from him could turn you into a stuttering mess.
“Perfect. Now you,” he looks down at the kid, who smiles at his dad, head tilted to the side. “Be nice to your buir, no funny business.”
The kid just babbles and Mando rubs his head, nodding at you before getting off of the ship. On an impulse, you call after him. “Mando!” He stops in his tracks, turning to look at you. “What does buir mean?”
He seems taken aback, probably having expected you to have just wished him good luck or told him that he had forgotten something on board. “I’ll tell you when I get back.”
+++
The next eight hours are pretty standard. Play with the kid, put him to sleep, fix up some things around the Crest while he sleeps, clean out the hull because somehow there’s already sand there, feed the kid when he wakes up, repeat. “Miss your dad, huh?” You ask, noticing how he keeps staring towards the door Mando had walked out of. “Yeah, me too, kid.”
You never worried about Mando coming back. You knew he always would, for the kid. And maybe you, but that could just be wishful thinking. It was what happened out on his hunts that worried you. He was the best fighter, the best killer that you had ever seen, but there were still times he hobbled into the Crest, some new injury rendering him barely able to stand, brushing off all your attempts to help. The Mandalorian wasn’t a man to admit he needed help easily and sometimes you wanted to slap him upside the helmet and force him to accept your help.
He made himselff out to be your protector, the kid’s protector, but apparently he couldn’t get it through his head that should something happen to him, you both would be helpless.
You sighed, rubbing the kid’s ears and climbing back up into the cockpit. The navcomp had been acting up on your last hunt, might as well have it fixed before Mando came back. It was useless to sit around worrying about him. He hired you for a reason, and pacing the ship’s hull waiting for him to come back was not part of the job description.
Sometimes you wondered what you were to the masked man. You might be better at reading him than most, but that didn’t make him an open book. You hoped after all this time jetting around the galaxy together, you would at least be…an accomplice? a friend? He trusted you enough to leave you with his ship and his kid, but at the end of the day you’d still think about if you were just…a necessity. A hire. Someone he needed. And that kind of hurt.
Because honestly, even if he didn’t pay you- a generous 10% of his commissions that you had insisted was too much, you didn’t need much money- you would probably still stick around.
fuck, stop thinking about him, you berate yourself, opening a small panel on the dashboard and taking a look at the mess of wires inside of it. Even if Mando did only see you as…a necessity, sitting around and moping about that wasn’t going to change anything.
You were deep in concentration when through the glass, you saw something in your peripheral vision. Thinking it was just Mando, you continued your work. This was a bit early, he had only been gone for less than ten hours. You pulled back from the dashboard, and that’s when you realized something was off.
That wasn’t Mando. It was a bounty hunter, but it was definitely not Mando. It was a bounty hunter with a blaster in one hand and a fob in another, and they had that blaster raised as they approached the Crest.
“Shit-” your heart was beating through your throat as you dropped to the floor of the cockpit, hiding from sight. The kid- wait, how did the kid get into the cockpit, oh nevermind that- cocked his head at you, looking like he didn’t understand what was happening. Or maybe he did, you didn’t know. “Uh, everything’s gonna be okay,” you say, though it sounds like you’re just trying to convince yourself. Lifting your wrist to your mouth, you speak. “Mando?”
Crackly silence for a second, and then Mando’s modulated voice comes through the comm. “Cyare? What’s wrong?”
“There’s- someone’s near the ship, I think they’re a bounty hunter. They have a fob and a blaster-” you trail off as you hear a metallic thud near the back of the ship. “Shit- I uh, I think they’re trying to get on board.”
“Fuck- okay, can you get to the armory?” Get to the armory? You doubt you could even get off the floor. “Cyare.” His voice is gentle, but there’s a firmness in it. “Listen. If they’re not on the ship yet, get to the armory. Grab a blaster and lock yourself and the kid in the cockpit. I’m coming to you, okay?”
“O-Okay.” Swallowing, you climb to your feet and though your entire body is shaking, you make it down the ladder. You can hear scratching against the hatch, as if someone’s trying to force it open from the inside. “Mando, they’re trying to get through the hatch.”
“I know, cyar’ika, just- just keep talking to me, I’m coming as fast as I can.”
Another deep breath. You unlock the armory, grabbing the first blaster you see. Mando had been teaching you, and you were still not that great, but should whoever your intruder is get into the cockpit, you were pretty sure you could land a shot.
Your heart feels like it’s going to jump out of your throat as you hear the hatch begin to open.
“Cyar’ika?” Mando’s voice comes over the com again, but you can barely hear him over the adrenaline rush as you bolt back to the cockpit, hearing the soft thud of boots on metal. Whoever they were, they were on board.
You hear the blaster fire before you feel it. A majority of your body is in the cockpit, and you plant your hands on the floor and begin to hoist your legs up when you hear the characteristic sound of blaster fire. It’s like your entire body flinches before you feel the shot land in your thigh. “Shit!” You cuss, the pain causing you to almost slip, but you catch yourself and manage to scramble up into the cockpit.
“Cyar’ika, what’s happening?”
“Got- got shot, I’m fine. In the cockpit.”
“Whoever you are!” Your assailant’s voice resonates through the ship, as do their steps as they walk closer to the cockpit. “Whoever you are, I don’t want to hurt you. Direct me to the Mandalorian and the child, and you can walk out of this alive.”
A plan begins to formulate in your head. “Mando?” You whisper over the comms. “How long until you get here?”
“I just need a few more minutes, I’m almost there.”
“Okay. Look, I have a plan, but I need to turn the com off for a second.”
“Cyare-” You turn it off. God, he’s probably going to kill you later.
“Trust me on this, kiddo,” you whisper to the baby before putting him in his carrier and closing it.
“Hey!” You call out. “So- I give you Mando and the kid, and I can leave?”
“I’ll even give you bacta for that blaster shot.” You crawl over to the cockpit hatch, stretching out in front of it and grabbing your blaster. “Where is the Mandalorian?” You can just make out the tip of their boots.
“He’s coming. But I can give you the child.”
“Perfect, now why don’t you come down here with the little thing.”
“No,” you swallow, holding the blaster out. Aim, fire, follow through, Mando’s words run through your head. “Come here, close enough that I can see you. I’ll drop the kid down the hatch and lock it behind him. Those are my terms.”
Silence for a minute. “And if I don’t agree?”
“Then you can wait until Mando gets back and deal with him instead.”
Another silent moment. Your blaster wound throbs with pain. “Alright. Alright, I’m coming.”
They walk closer. Come on, come on, come on, just a bit-
There.
Two eyes widen behind a black mask as they meet the business end of your blaster, and you get off a shot. It lands right above their chest, near their shoulder. “SHIT!” They howl and you’re about to shoot again, but they scoot back, too far for you to get a safe shot. “You bitch!”
You hear their blaster but this time you’re faster and the plasma meets the metal hatch of the cockpit as you lock it shut. “Come on Mando” you plead under your breath, staring up at the ceiling of the Crest as whoever’s after you begins pounding on the hatch. “Please, Mando, please…”
+++
Mando cusses as you turn the com off, his fists clenching as he accelerates the speeder bike. When he had you and the kid back safe, he was really gonna let you have it for that.
His heart is pounding so fast he thinks someone could hear it even under all his beskar, and under his helmet, his face is morphed into one of absolute worry. He can’t imagine- doesn’t want to imagine what he’ll do if he loses you, loses the kid.
But he knows what he’d do. He knows he’d chase down whoever took you, whoever hurt you, as far as it took, through thousands of planets and star systems, until he caught them and made them pay.
But even if he knows what he’ll do, he doesn’t want to imagine a world where he’d have to do it.
The truth is, he cares about you more than he should. At first, you were someone who helped out with the kid, with the Crest, but it didn’t take long for you to become- his partner, and then sooner than he would have expected, you had squirmed past all his armor and made a place for yourself in his heart. He loved you, and that terrified him. Love wasn’t something he imagined he could have, such was the life he had carved out for himself. So he continued to hide his feelings, too scared that revealing them would ruin things, make you leave. Because really, who would want a life with a Mandalorian? Who would want to love someone who won’t even show them their face?
The Razor Crest comes into view and he tries giving his com another try, but it’s silence again on the other side. He all but jumps off of the speeder bike, and it collides with a dull thud against the side of the Crest. He’ll apologize to Peli for the dent it leaves in the bike later. His heart drops as he hears a blaster go off. He hears yelling.
Steeling himself, the Mandalorian grabs his blaster and enters his ship. “Get away from them,” he says, drawing the hunter’s attention back to him.
The other hunter raises their blaster almost immediately. “No can do, Mando. See, I was only here for you and the kid, but your little bitch just had to shoot me in the fucking arm!” They grit through their teeth, scoffing. “So now, here’s how I see it. I get you and the kid back to Gideon, and maybe I’ll just keep her to myself. Seems pretty enough.”
Under the helmet, Mando sees red, and his jaw clenches as he fills with rage. “If you so much as touch her, I’ll break every bone in your body.” It comes out even more threatening when the modulator makes it sound as if he’s completely calm. “You can put the blaster down and leave now.”
The hunter’s eyes flicker from Mando to the blaster in his gloved hand, and Mando can see some sort of resolve in his eyes.
He sees the hunter’s finger go for the trigger of his own blaster and fires without hesitation.
Two blaster shots go off. One hits the wall of the Crest behind Mando, the other grazes the hunter in the side. “Fuck!” They cuss and drops their blaster, charging Mando and knocking him to the ground. “Look, let’s make this easy for both of us-”
Mando punches him in the jaw, shoving them off of him and going for his blaster, but the hunter kicks it away, and it skitters across the floor of the Crest and out of sight. Mando groans as the hunter kicks him in the side, reaching his leg out and sweeping their feet out from underneath them. They hit the ground with a thud and scramble back. Mando sees what they’re going for- their blaster. But before he can stop them, they grab it and aim it at his head. “Sorry about this, Mando-”
A blaster shot goes off and Mando flinches, his eyes shut, but he feels nothing. He hears a soft thud and opens his eyes.
The hunter is dead, eyes vacant and wide, and a blaster burn in their back. Mando looks up and his eyes meet yours. You’re standing right by the ladder of the cockpit and your eyes are wide, gripping the blaster so tight that your knuckles are going white. You’re leaning against the wall of the Crest and he sees the wound on your leg.
He gets up quickly, pushing past the dead hunter, and gets to you just as you start to shake. “Hey, it’s okay,” he tries to calm you down, taking the blaster from your hands and blocking your view of the dead body. You wrap your arms around him tightly, shaking like a leaf, and he hopes you can’t feel his heartbeat through the beskar.
“I- I’m sorry for turning the coms off, I just- I had this plan to try to get him close enough to hit him, and I had to act like I was giving him the kid and I knew you would freak out and- and…I- I killed him, didn’t I?”
You’ve seen him take people down before. You’ve seen him kill before. But doing it yourself was something you weren’t ready for. Mando sighs, and wraps his arms around you, resting his chin on your head. “You did what you had to do, cyar’ika.” He’s not sure what to say to make you feel better. He’s killed too many people to remember what his first felt like, but even then, he’s sure your situations wouldn’t be comparable. “Are you okay?”
“He got a shot in my leg, but it’s okay. The kid’s in his carrier in the cockpit. Are you- he didn’t hurt you, right?”
“No,” Mando shakes his head softly, beginning to calm down. But he can feel your breathing speed up. “It’s okay, everything’s okay,”
“I killed him.”
“You saved me. Me, and the kid, and yourself. You did what you had to do, say it back to me.”
“I did- what I had to do.” He can tell you don’t fully believe it, maybe it’ll be days until you do.
“Okay. Go lay on the bunk, rest your leg. I’m gonna take care of it, and then I’ll patch you up.”
“What about the quarry?”
“I’ll take care of it, cyare.” He steers you towards the bunk and helps you hoist your leg up. The kid waddles over towards both of you, and you’re too exhausted to wonder how he keeps getting up and down the cockpit ladder. Mando scoops him up and places him in your lap. “I’ll be back,” he straightens, then sees your eyes directed on the body in the Crest’s hull.
“Hey,” his touch is gentle as he lifts one gloved hand to cup your chin, turning you to look up at him. “It’s okay. You did good.”
You offer him a weak smile and a nod, and Mando swears he feels you leaning into his touch.
With a cough, he pulls back. “Rest for a bit, I’ll take care of it.”
+++
You lie back in the bunk, blocking the hull from your view, and sit the kid on your stomach. It’s silent, the only noises being a few dull thuds and thunks from what you can assume is Mando getting rid of the-
“Pull yourself together,” you sigh, slinking an arm over your eyes. “He kills people for a living and you’re panicking over this.” Opening your eyes, you see the kid staring at you. “He thinks I’m pathetic, doesn’t he?”
He reaches forward and grabs your nose with his tiny hand.
The sun has moved lower into the sky by the time Mando walks back on board, brushing sand from his armor. He grabs one of the bacta kits and sits on the edge of the bunk. “Let me see your leg,” The bunk is cramped, and you’re not sure how to maneuver this so you just sort of twist your body so that the side of your leg with the blaster wound is exposed to him. Apparently this is insufficient, because Mando gently grabs your ankle and pulls you closer so that your leg is resting over his own. “I’ll grab you some new pants tomorrow,” he says as he cuts away the fabric around the wound, most of it singed from the blaster. “Until then, you can wear something of mine.”
“Thanks,” You can’t really think of anything else to say. He tosses aside the fabric scraps and opens the bacta, spreading it over your leg. “Shit,” you groan, your head falling forward.
“Does it hurt?” Mando tenses, and with your leg on his lap, you can feel how stiff he is. He stops his action, lifting his hand off of you.
“No,” you shake your head. “Just feels good.” He nods and continues. It’s silent for the most part, Mando’s warm hand a sharp contrast to the cool bacta as he spreads it over your thigh. “Mando, what about the quarry?”
“I didn’t find them, I’ll go looking again tomorrow.”
“No, no, I’m fine, and there’s still light, you should go.”
“Cyar’ika. It’s almost nightfall, and I don’t- don’t wanna leave you and the kid alone.” He grabs some bandage and wraps your leg up gently. “That should be enough. You’ll feel better in the morning.” He stands up. “You can take the bed, I’ll sleep in the cockpit-”
“-Mando.” You cut him off by reaching forward, grabbing his ungloved hand. It sends a jolt through your spine, the feeling of his skin against yours, the warmth and the rough calluses on his fingers. For so long, you had only felt the leather of his gloves and the beskar of his armor. “You take the bunk, you haven’t slept in ages.”
“You got shot,” he says simply, as if his insomnia is trivial compared to that.
“Yes, and you fixed me up and I’ll be good as new tomorrow. Don’t give me that sleeping in the cockpit bull, Mando, we both know that you don’t actually sleep up there.”
He just stares at you, a challenging silence washing over you both, and you cock your head to the side, shooting him a look of “you can try arguing, but i’ll argue right back”
In between both of you, the kid begins to chew on Mando’s glove.
Mando breaks the silence first. “What if we- what if we both take the bunk?”
That wasn’t entirely what you were expecting. You lose all of your bravado, blinking at him as your brain tries to process the words that just left his mouth. “I-”
“Not if you don’t want to,” He’s quick to backpedal, reading your silence as discomfort. “It was stupid, sorry-”
“No!” You cut him off, hoping that whatever filter that helmet puts over his vision hides your flushed face- oh shit, what if he’s using the heat signature thing now. “It’s fine, actually, I’m fine with it.”
“Okay,” Mando lifts the kid up, placing him into the little hammock above the bunk. The events of the day, and also just how exhausted you both seem, seems to have tired the kid out and his big eyes flutter closed within moments.
Which leaves you and Mando. You shuffle to one side of the bunk, trying to take up as little place as possible, since Mando isn’t really- well, the smallest person. He awkwardly lumbers into the mattress, and even with you both trying your best to take up as little space as possible, there’s still barely any room between the two of you.
Unknown to you, his heart is beating just as fast as yours. You would love to just turn over, rest your head on the chestplate of his armor and let him wrap his arms around you, talking about his travels, the places he’s seen and people he’s met, to lull you to sleep. But having thoughts like that was dangerous, because having thoughts like that made it harder for you to not say “fuck it” and spill everything, an action which had the potential to ruin everything.
Mando’s thoughts weren’t too far off from yours. He wanted to reach over and hold you close, close enough that he could protect you from anything like what happened today. He wanted to take his gloves off and feel your skin against his, he wanted to know what your hands felt like inside of his own. And the one thing Mando hated himself most for? He wanted to feel your lips against his own.
“Are you okay?” He speaks quietly, because even though by the sound of your breathing, he has a good idea that you’re awake, he doesn’t want to risk waking you up if he’s wrong.
“Yeah,” your voice is just as soft as his, and he can feel the mattress shift as you squirm. “Just kinda hard to sleep, my leg…”
“Come here,” Mando shifts onto his back, and reaches over, pulling you closer and propping your bad leg over his lap. “Is that better?”
“Yeah,” you swallowed, trying to catch your breath. “Are you…I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“It’s fine, you’re not- you’re not making me uncomfortable,” You shook your head, relaxing in his hold. The beskar didn’t feel uncomfortable against your skin. Not like some sort of barrier between you and the man behind it. No, it had become too much of an extention of him to be a barrier.
“You know? I really thought you were gonna be fucking pissed with me.”
“Why?” Mando asks, tentatively wrapping his arm around your shoulder. You scoot closer to him.
“For turning my com off. When I did it, the first thing that came to mind was ‘mando’s gonna kill me later’”. You laughed softly. “Kinda funny how there was an intruder tryna kill me and that’s what I was worried about.”
“I was pissed,” Mando nodded. “I was on that stupid speeder bike and I kept thinking about how much I was gonna give you hell for that, but- I heard the shots, and I was too glad that you were safe to be mad. For a second I thought that I had lost you and it scared the shit out of me.”
You don’t say anything. You don’t say anything, but your hand raises and you hold Mando’s free hand in your own, sqeezing gently. “It’s okay,” you repeat. “The kid and I are okay. How could anyone hurt us with you around, Mando?”
But Mando wasn’t there today. He had left you and the kid, and both of you had almost gotten hurt. “Still, I- I don’t know what I’d do if you were hurt.”
“Look for a new mechanic,” you laugh, trying to make a joke.
“Cyare, you- you’re more than just a mechanic to me.” You tilt your head up to look at him, and Mando can see the reflection of his armor in your eyes.
“Mando?” Your heart beats faster as you stare directly into his visor, peering up at him with the futile hope that you might be able to see his eyes. You’ve always imagined him having brown eyes, but they could be green or blue, fucking yellow for all you knew. “What does that word mean?”
“Cyar’ika?” You nod. “It’s Mando’a, for…beloved.”
Oh. That hadn’t been what you were expecting at all. You had expected it to be a nickname, some term of endearment, but beloved? “Oh.” You wished you could have formed a more articulate thought, but your brain was going into override, all because of one little word. You weren’t just a mechanic to Mando. And you were more than a friend, apparently. Beloved. “So you, I-”
“Yes.” He swallows, very well aware that he could have potentially just ruined everything. “That’s what you- what you are to me. I’m sorry if I’ve overstepped, if you want to leave-”
“No!” You shake your head, slightly embarrassed with your volume. But you sit up slightly to face him, and your hand doesn’t leave his. “I- you’re not overstepping, Mando…” Maker, he just told you that he had feelings for you and you can’t stop fumbling over your words. “Cyar’ika. That’s what you are to me, as well.”
And you both sit there for a minute, staring at each other as you hang, suspended, in that strange space between expressing your feelings and actually…being something. Mando makes the first move, propping himself up on one elbow and reaching forward to cup your face, brushing his thumb gently across your cheekbone. “I don’t- I care about you, and I don’t want you to be stuck with this life.”
“What do you mean?” You murmur, your voice so soft that for a second you don’t think he heard you.
“This. Me dragging you along all over the galaxy, to planets like this sandy shithole. Putting your life in danger…being in love with a man who can’t even show you his face.”
“Mando,” you remand him softly, putting your hand over the one that cups his face. “I don’t care. I don’t care that I’ve never seen your face, I’m in love with you. Who you are, not whatever you look like under that helmet. Hell, you could- you could have ears like the kids’, that wouldn’t change anything. And this- you’re not forcing me to be here. You’re not sticking me with anything, I want this. I chose this life with you and the kid and I’m not backing out. Especially not over a few days on fucking Tattooine.”
When Mando speaks, you can hear the emotion in his voice, even through the helmet. “Can you close your eyes?”
It takes you a minute to understand the question, and even when you’re shutting your eyes tight and you can feel Mando moving next to you, you still don’t understand what’s going on. Until you hear the soft hiss of his helmet being removed.
Oh. You think, as you feel the mattress sink a bit with the weight of the helmet as Mando sets it down. Oh, you think as you feel his hands sliding back to cup your face. Oh, is the only thought that you can muster when you feel the Mandalorian’s lips against your own.
The moment has rendered you understandably inarticulate.
You keep your eyes shut tight and lean into it, lean into him. His lips are so soft, a contradiction to his callused hands, and you lie back on the bunk, letting him move to hover over you. As if of their own accord, your hands float up to touch his own face, your fingers grazing over his stubbly cheeks and your thumbs running over his cheekbones. You dedicate the planes of his face to memory, the feeling of his lips. His hair is curly. Somehow that’s the stand-out thought.
“Din,” he pulls back when you’re both breathless, and you don’t understand what he’s saying until he continues. “Din Djarin, that’s my name.”
“Din,” you repeat it, testing the feeling of it as it rolls off your tongue. It’s simple, and yet it’s just so- him. The revelation of his name, taking his mask off, the entirety of it just overwhelms you, because he’s done the biggest show of trust that he knows. You know him now. Din Djarin. You like the sound of it. “Well, Din, just so we haven’t stumbled into some insane misunderstanding, there wouldn’t be any other meanings for cyar’ika, would there be?”
He laughs, and you love the sound of it. His voice, his laugh, untouched by the helmet’s modulator. “Actually, it has a couple others.”
“Oh.” Unexpected, but you vaguely remember him telling you that most words in Mando’a can have multiple meanings.
“Cyar’ika means beloved,” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Darling,” another kiss to your nose. “Sweetheart,” his lips find yours again. “All of which apply to you.”
Can you die of happiness? Is that possible? You could probably die right now and you’d be fine with it. Just as you lean in to kiss him again, you both tense up as you hear soft babbling. The kid’s awake.
You swear to god that that fucker just feeds off of your energy. You’re buzzing with it, after that unexpected confession and even more unexpected kiss, so of course the tiny gremlin decides now is a good time to wake up. You hear Din groan, and reach past you for his helmet. “Eyes closed for a second,” he reminds softly, and you nod, keeping them closed until you hear his helmet click into place.
Din sits up and grabs the baby from his little hammock, lying back down with him in his arms. You reach over to scratch the kids ears fondly. “Great timing, womp rat,” he grumbles, making you giggle.
Just then, you’re reminded of another question that you had. “Din?” He hums softly, reaching his free hand over to rub soft circles on your hip. “That word you used earlier, buir, what does that mean?”
“Oh. It um, it means mother.”
“Mother,” You can’t help the huge grin that crosses your face, scrunching your nose playfully at the kid before tilting up to smile at him. “I guess that makes us a clan of three, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Din pulls you closer, pressing his forehead to yours softly. You remember him telling you it was called a Keldabe kiss, though the only other time you had seen him do it was when he headbutted a Jawa who got too close to comfort. This one is different though. “It does, cyare.”
Things are going to be different now. But here, lying in this comfortable silence with Din and your kid, you think it’s going to be a good kind of different.