Aay'han (The Mandalorian, M) - 3/3

[Garnet]

I meant to cross-post this story as I was tossing it up on tumblr, but I'm terrible at checking the forum. The story is complete but I guess I'll still try to space it out in its original installments so it doesn't combine posts in a weird fashion (I don't know if the forum software still does that but I do remember it being a pain in the ass). Some of the formatting already looks like it got a liiittle botched, but I can live with it. 

Anyway, this fixation isn't going anywhere I guess! Have some sick Mando processing his emotions. Although I have to warn for MAJOR SPOILERS for all of Season 2.  Okay? Okay. 

 

---

 

She found the Mandalorian down near the cargo hold, tucked onto a bench seat with his arms folded and helmet tipped against the wall. She thought the slumped position might suggest that he was already dozing, but as she dropped off the ladder, his head turned to her in wordless acknowledgment. Her gaze softened. 

“Hey,” she greeted the familiar, mirror-black facade of his visor.

“Hey.”

Cara leaned a shoulder to the ladder, not yet making a move to approach.

“How are you holding up?”

Mando was silent for a moment, as if deciding how to answer the question. At length, he settled on lifting a gloved hand and rocking the flat of it side to side. 

Yeah, about that good.

Cara had some experience with shell shock. She knew that it was in the quiet spaces afterwards when grief and loss truly started to roll in like thunderclouds. 

She’d been through some weird shit with Mando before, but didn’t yet know how he was going to process all this. Mando probably didn’t know, himself. 

“You want to talk about it?” She made a vague gesture. “I mean… any of it?” There had been a lot.

Comfort through words wasn’t her strong suit. She could show solidarity, she could cover someone’s back and pick up any slack they needed until they got their feet back under them, no questions asked. The Mandalorian wasn’t just physically exhausted and hanging on by a last thin thread of stress, though. He’d also been gutted emotionally, and that was a far more onerous thing to come back from. 

Mando drew a long, deep breath, then let it out again with a tempered sigh. He at least seemed to consider the offer, though Cara was unsurprised when he shook his head and rubbed a thumb across the edge of his thigh plate. “Not really.” 

Fair enough. She doubted she would have wanted to, either, were she in his position. Her heart still clenched to hear it, because of course he was going to be like this. Of course there was nothing she could do. She was better at solving problems with a blaster.

Cara gave him a nod that she hoped was understanding. 

“Sure. I’ll let you be, then,” she said. She turned back towards the ladder, but paused when Mando suddenly sat up and forward. “

Wait...!”

Her surprise at his urgency must have shown on her face, because he forced himself to relax backwards again. His arms opened across his lap, but hands remained fisted with a slight, embarrassed tension.

“I… wouldn’t mind the company,” he started. “If you’re offering.”

Ah. Cara stepped back down off the ledge. “I am offering,” she agreed firmly, lest he feel the need to fumble through an explanation. None needed, really -- he didn’t want to talk, wasn’t ready to process, but he didn’t want to be alone, either.

She got that.

“Shove over,” Cara instructed, ranging up into his space. Mando looked up at her with a confused tilt of his helm. He seemed to get the idea when she nudged him with a knee back towards the wall, and then plopped down on the bench beside him. “Normally I’d offer to spar you or something, instead. Work off some stuff? But I’m running on fumes. I don’t even want to think about when the last time you slept was.”

“Neither do I,” Mando acknowledged, with a whisper of his usual dry humor. “And I don’t want to fight.” A nap seemed to be amenable, though. He scooted back and let her settle them both into some kind of serviceable arrangement of limbs, even lifting his arm to permit her ducking beneath it. “Afraid I’m not the most comfortable place to bed down.” 

Cara shrugged against him, trying to mind his shoulderplate without digging her own into the spot between it and his cuirass. The beskar might be clunky and unyielding -- Mandalorians really weren’t meant for cuddling. She’d certainly caught desperate snatches of sleep in worse conditions, though. Cramped into a tight drop bay, shoulder to shoulder with her unit and unable to lean more than an inch in any direction. Huddled up in some backwater fen on Endor, in the freezing muck and soaked through to her bones. She was sure that Mando had endured similar scenarios.

“You’re not, but Fennec was busy.”

That earned her an exhale that wasn’t quite a laugh, but that she’d come to interpret as Mando’s version of a tired smile. That was something, at least.

His arm settled around her, stretched against her side and hip as she leaned into him. “This alright?”

Cara tilted her head to rest in a careful cradle against his armor. This was a friendlier position than they usually adopted, but logistics aside, she didn’t mind it. Mando was always respectful, and sometimes it was nice to just be physically close to another person when you weren’t trying to either brawl or be intimate with them.

“Yeah. Cozy, even. Get some shut-eye, alright?” 

Mando sniffed softly, then released some of the tension that he’d been holding in his posture until she was settled. “Alright.” After a hesitating beat, he even tilted to rest his helm gently against her in turn. Maybe it was a little intimate, after all.

They were both too aching and overtaxed, too singed by blasterfire, too filthy with dried sweat and blood to really care. Propped together like that in a soldier’s slump, it took not long at all to drop off into an exhausted sleep. 

She couldn’t actually say how long they were out. Forty minutes? A couple of hours? When Cara jerked awake some time later, a hand automatically reaching for her holster, she could sense in her hindbrain that the ship was still hurtling through hyperspace. She relaxed marginally, remembering her surroundings. 

Right. Being ferried across the galaxy by a couple of the most ominous mercs she’d ever met, a wrecked Imperial Cruiser and a whole load of bantha shit behind them. More of it to look forward to ahead. More immediately, a Mandalorian at her literal back, shifting with enough erratic movement to suggest that he’d been the one to stir her.

“Mando,” she grumbled, squinting. Her head felt foggy and tight, like she really could have used another few REM cycles before attempting consciousness.  She considered giving him an elbow for it. “What…?” 

She both felt and heard him draw a shuddery breath, chest expanding against her, and back-checked to see his head turned and a glove hovering near the edge of his helm. Kriff, what was he… was he weeping? Was this the moment he’d finally chosen to break apart? 

A second later, he jostled them both with the miserable, shaking violence of a suppressed sneeze. 

“-- KNXHHht!”

Cara relaxed against him, despite the hard shudder. Okay, that… that she could deal with. Even patted his knee in silent appreciation for not making her calculate how to handle her friend having a complete meltdown, justified as it would have been. 

“Scared me for a second,” she said, without bothering to further clarify.

Mando straightened up as much as their position allowed, a sniffle crackling over his vocoder. “Sorry,” he rasped. “I… h-hh…!” He guttered and hitched, voice warping as he tried to power through it. “I… --HH!” It wasn’t happening. 

“-- ih’KXHHghht!”

He still ducked determinedly away from her, despite the protective shield of his helmet and the fact that he was curbing them as much as he could. A soft groan trailed after that one. Cara winced.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he sighed, when he’d recovered from the brute impact. “I was fighting it, but…” 

Of course he was. Because Mando was exactly the kind of person to sit there in tortured silence, resisting a tickle in his nose for who knew how long, just to avoid disturbing her. It was Cara’s turn to sigh. 

“You’re good,” she assured, but there was no going back to their temporary repose now. Instead, she straightened up, rolled her shoulder loose, and worked a few cricks from her spine. “Plus, I probably drooled on your armor, so we’re even.” Her upper back gave a satisfying crunch. “Did you sleep any?”

“Some,” Mando agreed. Not enough, but some. 

She nodded, then reached up to punch the com button to whoever was on the flight deck. “Hey, how long until we’re planetside?”

After a beat, Fennec’s voice buzzed back over the com. “We’re exiting hyperspace soon. Should be a little under an hour.”

Cara mentally recalculated their flight path. They hadn’t been out too long, then. “Thanks.”

The line stayed open for a moment longer, but the conversation between her and Fett was too low and piecemeal to pick out. When she returned, it was with some caution. “We could use a refuel. Are we safe to do so on Nevarro?”

Cara’s brows arched. If someone had asked her a week ago whether she was interested in having Boba Fett and Fennec Shand anywhere within ten parsecs of her city, she would have laughed them out of the room. Now, though, she let a corner of her mouth quirk for a different reason. “Sure. I’ll put in a good word with the local authorities.”

Fennec gave a soft snort of amusement herself. “Appreciated,” she said, and despite the perpetual slyness of her tone, she sounded genuine. The feed cut out. 

Cara looked back to her companion, who was still sniffling in occasional increments and obviously struggling with the temptation to touch his face. “Will you stay?”

Mando glanced up in vague surprise. “On Nevarro?” 

Cara shrugged. “I don’t know what your plans are.”

Mando was silent for a long enough stretch that she suspected he might be retreating back into broody contemplation altogether. Eventually, however, he shook his head. “To be honest, I hadn’t thought that far ahead. Getting the kid to safety was the first priority.”

Ah. He hadn’t entirely banked on making it out of the confrontation alive. And yet, here they were. 

“Just for a while, then. I know Greef and I would be happy to have you.” 

Logically, she knew that Mando probably had at least a dozen or more places across the galaxy where he could hole up and lick his wounds. Hideouts where he could decide what he wanted to do and who he wanted to be now that his primary objective was completed. Maybe have that crisis of identity that he kept pushing off. 

Hell, she’d known Boba Fett for all of a few days, but Cara was already convinced that the grizzled old hunter was going to adopt the guy if given the first little inkling that Mando needed that kind of support in his life. 

On a more personal and emotional level, he was her friend, and she wanted to keep him in her sights until she was sure he’d be alright. 

Mando sniffled and swung his legs off the bench, once she’d given him some space. “Mm, I think there’s still probably plenty of people on Nevarro who wouldn’t be happy to have me.”

Cara gave him a crooked smirk. “See, again. That’s where this whole Marshal gig is really paying off.” 

Mando seemed to need another lengthy pause for consideration. “I’ll...think about it,” he conceded at last, then climbed wearily to his feet. 

“Excuse me,” he muttered, retreating a few steps away from her and facing the corner. 

Cara watched in bewilderment for a moment, before realizing that he’d fished a presumably clean-ish scrap of cloth from a belt pouch. Mando turned his back to lift the helm a few inches, but quickly pressed the makeshift handkerchief in place to make up the difference.

She’d gotten… a pretty decent glimpse of him back on the Imperial Cruiser -- they all had. Cara knew that had been for the kid and not anyone else, though, so she still skittered her gaze respectfully away. 

She rose as well, while Mando gave his nose a churlish rub through the cloth. “Sure,” she said, then moved towards the ledge and ladder that led back up towards the upper decks. She could give him his privacy for this, and for any soul searching that he wanted to do before they docked. “I’m going to see what the others need.” 

Probably nothing, but Fett and Shand had grown on her as well. What a merry skrogging band of misfits they’d turned out to be. The Slave I was not designed as a passenger ship, not even close, but there was space enough to allow for another in the cockpit. Cara strapped herself into the available seat, as Fennec cocked a look back at her.

“Enjoy your beauty sleep?”

“I sure did. Can’t you tell?” Cara tossed back, lifting her jaw with a flicker of friendly defiance.  

Fennec gave her a narrow grin, then turned back to flick a few switches on the console before her. 

“Brace yourself, we’re jumping back to normal space shortly.” 

“Fantastic,” Cara groaned. She was no stranger to travel through the hyperlanes, had spent most of her military career and a good portion of it afterwards jumping planet to planet. Fett’s ship was a gyroscopic nightmare, however. Even with the artificial gravity as a stabilizer, she was going to be walking like a drunkard for an hour once they landed. 

At least it was quiet, and it was fast. Time would tell what kind of marks they’d any or all them had painted on their backs, from this, and it paid to be a little bit discreet in their getaway. Not everyone was inclined to repossess an Imperial ship and go, what, re-take a planet? Good luck to Bo-Katan and her cohorts, Cara thought. She was looking forward to a shower. 

Tendrils of starlight blurred and slowed through the transparisteel, providing a strange disparity with the lurch and shudder, the abrupt drop that came from plunging back out of hyperspace. Cara was briefly distracted from the swooping of her stomach by a clattering crash from below deck and the muffled curse that followed. Something in Mando’a, if Boba Fett’s low chuckle was any indication. 

Ah, oops. Probably could have given their other passenger some more explicit warning about the jump. By then, however, the dome of Nevarro’s silvery atmosphere was manifesting through the viewports, and she felt an odd twinge at the sight. Curious. 

When was the last time she’d truly thought of anywhere as home?

She stashed any strange sentiment for now, as they maneuvered their way down into one of the city’s smaller spaceports. For a city that had once been crawling with bounty hunters, even a heavily modified Firespray wasn’t wholly out of place, and Cara had enough clearances that they could have used the main transport lanes. Still, their ride seemed more comfortable with some discretion. 

Mando joined her and Fett at the bottom of the boarding ramp, as Fennec slipped off to make arrangements for refueling and repairs. Cara hadn’t brought much gear with her, so it took little time to sling her one bag full of weapons and disembark. Mando was more or less limited to what he had on his person, with the loss of the Razor Crest. 

“Staying on, or are we dropping you here?” Boba Fett’s helmet tilted towards him, his colored paint providing a matte contrast to Mando’s shining beskar. Neither without their scuffs and scorchmarks, however. 

“Here for now, I think. Need to recoup.” Mando rasped, sounding like the last of his energy reserves had depleted, or the volcanic atmosphere was already getting to him. As if timed for emphasis, a soft, shaky breath curled through his vocoder, and he stepped away. His armor glinted even in the muted Nevarro suns as he ducked aside into another cringing sneeze. 

“--hihhgh-....NXXT! uh.” 

Mando made to shake it off as he had before, though there was a drag in his movements as he straightened. Cara bit her tongue to waylay any unbidden comments because oh, she had them, but she liked Mando just enough to not risk embarrassing him in front of Fett.

It was to her wide-eyed surprise, then, that Boba tossed him a nod first. “Bless you.”  

“Thank you.” Mando sniffed, but seemed to take no shame with the attention. He did, however, take a hesitant step towards Fett once he’d recovered himself. Head ducked, Mando offered a forearm. “And for the rest of it.” He tilted his helm towards the bounty hunter’s docked ship for emphasis. “I… can’t thank you enough.”

Boba accepted the gesture after only a second’s pause to register it, like it was something no one had offered him in some time. They clacked their vambraces together, and he tipped his head in some ritual that Cara observed from her distance but didn’t quite connect with. “We’ll be in touch before departure. Save your hearts and flowers for then,” he said gruffly, but not without kindness.  

Perhaps to detract from the attention that two individuals in full beskar would beget, Fett reached to disengage his visor once they’d stepped back. Whether he considered himself Mandalorian or not, the man had the dubious pleasure of being one who looked meaner without his helmet than with it. 

Cara met his level stare next with her own unwavering gaze. She studied his patchwork of twisted skin and seamed eyes until she received a nod in turn.

“Listen to this woman,” he instructed, tapping his helm against Mando’s breastplate with a dull clang. “And stay out of trouble.”

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive,” Mando grumbled.

They both watched him go, until his scarred pate had disappeared amidst the drifting port crowds. Heavy with resignation, Mando finally turned back to her. She beckoned him to follow and he fell obediently into step beside and slightly behind.

“You okay?” Cara squinted back at him as she angled towards the main thoroughfare.

“I’m fine,” Mando replied, sharply enough that Cara had to tamp down on the immediate compulsion to give as good as she got. Not something she’d historically restrained herself from, but she put up an appeasing palm like the beacon of kriffing diplomacy she was.

“Easy, quickdraw. I know you don’t want to talk about your feelings. I meant all of…” She gestured loosely to her own face, circling around the bridge of her nose. “This. You’re sneezing.” 

“Oh,” Mando sighed. Cara took the sheepish drop of his helm for apology and faced forward as they wove through the streets. “That’s… fine too. I just have a cold.” 

At the seemingly straightforward admission of it, Cara’s head swiveled right back around to peer at him. She needn’t necessarily look where she was going. A few months of hard work had established her position here in the city, such that most people gave her a respectful berth. Then again, she’d also enjoyed that when she’d been a merc, mostly due to her sheer physical presence. Keeping company with a Mandalorian in full beskar didn’t hurt.

“You’re sick?” She frowned. “Since when?”

“Mm,” Mando made an indistinct noise that thrummed softly through his helmet’s audio. “I’m not sure. I started feeling a little off after Morak.” 

“Morak? Mando, that was days ago.” 

He nodded, then trailed a step or two behind, slowing until he was at a stand-still just off the main flow of traffic. A hurried Rodian still managed to nearly collide with him, and started up an agitated gargle. After a second glance between the Mandalorian and the Marshal, however, they clearly thought the better of it and hustled on.

Cara ignored the frazzled merchant, and stepped in with a frown as her companion seemed to scan up past the profiles of crowded buildings, and into the filmy-bright sky. “...Mando?”

A second later, his chest expanded sharply beneath its battered plate, and she edged back  again in realization. Dank farrik, she was fine with not being able to read Mando’s expressions, for the visor. He emoted well enough even in his subdued body language to make up for it. She was still learning to read the imminent signs of ‘I have to sneeze’, though. 

“hih-KHGHhhxtt!!” 

The force of it staggered him slightly, such that Cara was almost compelled to reach out and steady him. Mando found his balance on his own, however, just in time for another ratcheting inhale. 

“--IhNKHXHHT!” 

If he wasn’t so clearly used to the inconvenience of sneezing inside a helmet, Cara would have worried more about brain damage. It still didn’t sound pleasant, but Mando drew a slow, slogging sniffle afterwards that warped through his mic, and took the hits as he always did: with a sigh. 

“Sorry,” he exhaled. Cara started to rethink her concerns about his integrity as she detected a slight list in his movements, swaying on his feet where he was usually firmly planted. “It was. Days ago. Seems to have settled in nicely, now.” 

Cara centered herself with a slow breath of her own. “Yeah, bud. It sure does seem that way.”

What in the entire karking galaxy was she going to do with him?

She reached out to give his arm a light tug, first, and nodded over a shoulder. “Come on. We’re going back to my place right now.”

 

 

Edited January 29, 2021 by Garblin

[angora48]

Love it! The other Mandalorian fic you posted was so good, so I'm looking forward to more (and with sick Mando this time, not just sneeze Mando!) You capture Cara and Mando's relationship so well, really close despite neither being all that "open" as people. I also like the ways that Mando's helmet forces you to describe how he's feeling through his body language and tone of voice rather than through his facial expression. Thanks for posting this - excited for more!

Also, I like your interpretation of how Mando would react to having a cold: not bringing it up unprompted, but not denying it when asked either. Just sort of wearily getting on with it, that's Mando all over.

[Garnet]

@angora48 What a nice comment, I read it more than once. Thank you so much! I agree, there is something attractive about the no-fuss, resigned-to-their-fate response to having a cold, isn't there? Also, I'm glad that their relationship reads okay. I strive to make Cara protective without being smothering or motherly, because she is... not that, haha. But very fond of each other, for sure.

Anyway, here's the next part!

 

---

The Mandalorian hesitated, despite her encouragement. “Back to… Cara, you don’t have to put me up.”

She eyed him dubiously. “What, you’d rather stay with Greef? Suit yourself, but I figured you’d want me to run interference on that, before he corners you for all the details.”

More specifically, she knew that Karga would ask about the kid. It came from a good place --  Greef had grown plenty fond of that little womp rat despite their dubious start. She doubted that Mando was really up to spilling his guts to a former employer, though, any more than he was to her. He seemed to be considering something similar, gauging by the uncertain shift of his weight, the slow creak of his gloves as he flexed and relaxed his hands. 

“No, not Greef. I just…” He trailed off, then glanced back down the city streets with a sniffle whispering through his vocoder. 

Cara bit back the frustration she could feel simmering under her skin because what, exactly, had been his plan? Pointing out that his ship was gone and his enclave long evacuated would be salt in the wound, but she didn’t think she could stand the lone, wounded gunslinger thing just now. She crossed her arms.

“I’ve got a spare room, if you’re worried about privacy. About me…” She motioned to his helmet. “Seeing. Anything.” About him feeling raw and ill and vulnerable in her home. “You can lay low, recover a little.”

Mando shook his head slightly, but his hands had fisted with his own exasperation. The stress and exhaustion had worn them both thin. They were each of them making the conscious effort not to snap at one another, to try and reach some point of clarity and understanding before tempers frayed completely apart.

“It’s not that. I just…” He stalled again, testing her patience, then drew another bleary sniffle and dropped his voice. “You’ve stuck your neck out for me and the kid plenty, the past few days. I don’t want to burden you.”

Cara blinked. She slowly, slowly let a tiny and half-disbelieving smirk crimp her expression.

“And you think that after all that…” She swept an arm behind her, indicative of the parade of increasingly wild stakes that the past few days had indeed been. 

Even with Nevarro starting to shape up, even with her position as it was, she wasn’t about to go announcing in public that they’d been breaking into Imperial bases, taking over a Moff’s personal star cruiser, busting war criminals out of prison and colluding with Jedi all within the past seventy-two hours. Seemed a bit stupid. 

Mando was being a bit stupid, too, but at least he was easy to forgive.

“You think that after all that, I’m going to draw the line at you crashing on my couch?”

Mando was quiet for a long moment, processing what she hoped was the absurdity of the situation. It seemed to finally register when his shoulders and helm both dipped with defeat. Another sigh waned out of him. 

“... in my defense, I am very tired.” 

She reached for his gloves and gave them both a slight squeeze in her own. “You’re sick, too, so I’m gonna give you a pass on being a stubborn dumbass here. But only if you do actually promise to come crash on my couch.” 

He nodded without quite lifting his head. Her own concern reflected back at her, warped by his dark visor. “Appreciate it.” 

“Good. Let’s go, then.” 

With his protests firmly annulled, Mando didn’t seem to take any actual, lingering umbrage with falling back into step with her. He followed like a dog at the heel, quiet but faithful as he let Cara lead the way through the city. 

Mando wasn’t a fantastic conversationalist even in good health, of course. Even when he wasn’t experiencing the increasingly frequent need to sniffle, or holding back a cough into a tight, bottled sound in his chest. The symptoms were starting to trickle out of him gradually, compounding the slow onset misery of it all. If he hadn’t been so blunt with his own admission earlier, Cara wouldn’t have needed to guess at his situation for long. 

Karga would be irritated that she didn’t rendezvous with him first, but Cara was prepared to take the fall for that. Let him grumble. Mando’s sad, flagging little noises only stoked her own sense of urgency about getting his guy into a proper bed, first priority.

Second priority was definitely her and that shower, though. 

Her home on Nevarro might be a modest apartment, to someone else with her rank and title. Greef had more than once nudged her to upgrade, move closer to the Upper Ring and spread out a little. Cara herself didn’t see the point. She wasn’t out to impress the scum she rounded up on a regular basis with material wealth or superfluity. She hadn’t grown up with it on Alderaan, didn’t experience a lick of it as a soldier, and as a hired gun she’d dumped what she made right back into gear, women and liquor. Living the dream. 

As Marshal, she’d certainly cleaned her own act up considerably, but she was still inclined to the lifestyle of three hots and a cot. She doubted that Mando deviated much from that, himself.

“It’s not exactly the Crest,” she said, as she punched in her security codes and let herself inside, with her companion trailing slowly behind. “But make yourself comfortable.” She frowned and looked back over one shoulder. Kriff, probably shouldn’t have mentioned the guy’s blown-apart ship.. “I’m… still sorry about her, by the way.”

“Me too,” Mando agreed, his soft rasp already sounding more graveled than usual, but that was more the oncoming cold than his bottomed out mood. He cleared his throat and scanned their surroundings, clocking the layout along with potential access points and exits. Even half-dead on his feet and fading fast, it was still a force of habit. Cara knew, because she did the same thing in any new location. Secure the perimeter first, before you relaxed. 

“Well. Welcome? There’s… uh…” She set her gear down nearby, and spread her arms. Clean quarters had been drilled into her from her military days, and apart from a bit of requisite clutter, the place was in the same decent state she’d left it in before gallivanting off to the Karthan Chop Fields. “Den and kitchen, there. I was kidding about the couch, but I do have a spare room. I just need to clear some stuff out of it, then you can…” She trailed off, when it became clear that he was not even close to paying attention.

At least she could see the sneeze manifesting this time, telegraphed in the way that he’d turned himself away, head tipping slowly back and shoulders moving with an escalating series of breaths. Just when she expected him to duck into one of his wildly suppressed spasms, however, Mando seemed to just… glitch out. Like a holo display on the fritz, but rendered right in front of her in full beskar and frustration. A high, shivering sound skipped through his modulator, and a hand hovering open near his chest twitched with desire. 

“H-hh… hh… hh!” 

Ah. Stuck, then. 

Try as he might, the Mandalorian’s scattered hitching seemed unable to trip the actual trigger he needed into some kind, any kind of relief. He couldn’t even touch his own face, like this, in an effort to either dissuade or encourage the sensation. Cara imagined it was like being held hostage by his own prickling sinuses and determined creed. 

Well. Not that determined, she noted, thinking back to the light cruiser. There were clearly some exceptions creeping through the cracks in his armor. A headcold wasn’t one of them, though. 

Eventually, the tension bled back out of him with a wavering but unsatisfied exhale. Cara wasn’t sure if that was better or worse than throttling another sneeze back into his throat. She winced with sympathy about the same.

“Lost it?” 

He nodded blearily. The helmet’s mic picked up the slight click of his throat as he swallowed, followed by another scraping sniff. “Yeah,” he agreed, voice sounding occluded and flat. “Happens a lot, when I’ve got a cold.”

“I think that would drive me crazy.”

“It’s… aggravating,” Mando admitted. He sounded more defeated than angry about it, but Cara tried for a bit of gentle teasing nonetheless.

“Just don’t snap and start using my stuff for target practice, huh?” 

She earned a huff for her efforts, weak but acknowledging.

“I won’t. Usually just isolate myself until it passes, so I can…” He motioned to his helmet. She nodded. 

“Point taken. I’m gonna see about getting you set up.” 

She turned from him, intending to let her guest roam the apartment’s common spaces, sort himself however he needed to. As soon as she started towards the back hall, however, she heard him draw another quivery breath. Cara glanced back instinctively, which she was… going to have to work on, if she wanted him to feel comfortable removing his helm or any of his armor in her home. 

Instead of another stall-out of wanting gasps, however, she was greeted to the… arguably more worrying sight of Mando pitching abruptly forward, sneezing with a ferocity that completely superseded his usual attempts at containment.

“--ihd’TSZSSCHHH-shoo!” 

The audio distorted sharply through his modulator, lending a tinny quality to an already wet and decidedly irritated-sounding sneeze. 

The helmet spared her any of the unpleasant visuals, but Cara read her friend’s distress clearly in the way that his fingertips hovered near its edge, registering the fact that he had definitely, definitely just sneezed right into his beskar. She would have laughed, if he’d seemed any less mortified. 

“... bless you?” 

It was a bit of an old-fashioned saying, but Mando was an old-fashioned guy, and he had seemed to appreciate it when Fett offered the same phrase, earlier. 

It wasn’t quite enough to patch his current dignity back together, but he still moved his head in a tiny nod of appreciation, then croaked: “Can I use your ‘fresher?” 

“Of course. It’s just through…” She tilted a gesture past her, then stepped back as he swept by. Even in full armor, Mando was surprisingly light on his feet, but he still gave the impression of someone slowly bleeding out as he disappeared into the first modicum of privacy he’d had since the ship.

Cara sighed. 

Another helplessly wet “--ih’TSSCHH-shoo!” sounded from behind the ‘fresher door, once it had slid shut. Another soon followed, and then the wrenching “--IHHSHh-szsschoo!” of a fourth, until it seemed that Mando was working himself into a good and proper sneezing jag. 

There wasn’t anything she could do for that, except hope that he didn’t pass out in the process. 

In the meantime, she ducked into the extra room that she largely used for storage and a half-assed version of a home office. Data pads, spare weaponry, and the like. Her own reserves of energy were still dwindling, even after the brief nap on Fett’s ship, but she bolstered the last of them to shove some crates out of the way and haul down an extra bed pallet that folded up into a recessed space in the wall.

She didn’t often have the occasion for company, at least not of the kind that wasn’t occupying her own bed. The place had come with the unexpected amenity, though, and it was cozy enough once made up. Still probably an improvement over the cramped bunk she’d seen him curl into, on the Razor Crest. 

From the general direction of the ‘fresher, she could hear the tap turn on, and her companion’s fit seemed to have abated. She finished herding together her spare set of bedding, and reset the door lock code. She’d have to remember to give Mando full security permissions tomorrow. For now, the place was as safe and comfortable as she could make it. 

The extra weapons lockers she kept stashed in this room didn’t hurt, although nothing in there would quite compare to Mando’s most recent and most unwanted acquisition. She thought about the current, reluctant owner of the darksaber struggling to blow his nose in her tiny ‘fresher, and had to choke back a laugh.

Finally, her company’s distinctive silhouette filled the doorway once more, having cleaned and replaced his helm along with whatever other temporary maintenance he needed. Cara looked up from fixing the bed. 

“Hi,” she greeted.

His head ducked. “Hey.” He sniffled, but sounded less waterlogged and tragic than before the time out in the ‘fresher. “I’m… sorry about that. I’m going to sound ugly for a bit.” 

Cara shook her head. If she couldn’t expressly do anything to make him feel better, she could at least play off the symptoms that he couldn’t help. Keep him from feeling like he was under some kind of lens, maybe. 

“Don’t apologize. I’m prepared to listen to whatever disgusting noises you’re inclined to make, for as long as you need to make them.”

Mando tilted his head, and if Cara couldn’t see his wry smile, she could at least sense it in that subtle helmet gesture. 

“Thanks,” he deadpanned, so there was still, reassuringly, a little Mando in there. “That’s very comforting.”

She shrugged and tossed the other pillow at him. He caught it and squished the foam in his gloves. 

“What can I say? True friendship. Although,” she said, and plopped down onto the edge of the bed, watching as he set the pillow aside and began to unhitch some of his gear. She’d retreat to her own quarters before he started in on the beskar, but it seemed a process to even get that far.  “I was just thinking how ridiculous it is that you kicked Gideon’s ass with, what, the sniffles?”

Mando chuckled quietly, as the jet pack joined the beskar spear. The darksaber itself was tucked away safe on his belt, for all that he didn’t seem to actually want it on his person at all. 

“Gideon’s one thing. If I never have to see another one of those Dark Troopers, though…” 

Cara hummed in agreement as he loosened his bandolier and set it aside in a great coil of scuffed leather. 

“You want first crack at the sonic?” She nodded past him, towards the ‘fresher he’d just emerged from. 

Mando cleared his throat and paused, primed to peel his gloves off but not quite committed yet. For some reason, that bit of his covering seemed almost as personal as his helmet. Cara took the cue and rose back to her feet. 

“You take it,” he said. “I’d… just like to be unconscious for a while.”

“Fair enough,” she agreed. “I need to meet Greef tomorrow morning, but I’ll be back in the afternoon. I’ll leave the security codes for the place. You need anything else, in the meantime?”

His helmet moved to the negative. “This is fine. More than fine. Thank you, Cara.”

She looked back at him for a moment, tired and ill and seeming resigned to his aloneness even in her own apartments. She wondered if he’d gotten used to sleeping with the kid in his little cargo net hammock, in his cramped quarters on his busted ship. If he missed it.

With a heavy sigh, she stepped back in. “Okay, let me just… get this out of my system.” 

Mando’s head came up, cautious, but he didn’t protest beyond a low grunt when she ducked in to hug him. Really and properly hug him, even with his armor and her own and all of their weapons jangling together and her hair brushing over his pauldrons. There wasn’t much give to him, like this, but he was reassuringly solid and warm. Mando slowly folded his arms back around her in turn. 

She held on like that for a moment, listening to his soft breathing through the modulation, then gave his back plate a brisk, fond slap with her palm and stepped away. 

“Get some rest, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Mando nodded slowly, looking wobbly and almost punch-drunk in the wake of the physical contact. His voice, however, had taken on a reassuring note of warmth. 

“Yeah, you too. Goodnight.” 

---

Once she’d finally closed her eyes to catch more than a quick cat nap, back on solid ground and not hurtling through the rhythms of interplanetary travel, Cara slept like the dead. That was no great surprise.

By the time she’d clawed herself back awake the next morning, tipped off by two alarms and twice as many comlinks beeping for her attention, she felt both physically refreshed and yet wildly out of synch with the world. Kriffing space lag. 

In her trip to the ‘fresher, she hovered for a moment outside of Mando’s temporary quarters. She was pleased to detect only a faint snore from within. Good. Let the poor man sleep for a week, if he wanted to. 

She did freeze briefly, in the midst of strapping on her kit for the day, when a muffled but desperately itchy-sounding sneeze erupted from the general direction of the spare room.

“--hh’IZSCHHishSHH!” 

Cara waited for a moment, poised to see if he was going to emerge and if she needed to duck her gaze hastily away for the occasion. Just in case. After a brief string of poorly stifled coughs, however, there was silence enough to suggest that her guest had probably just rolled over and gone back to sleep. 

It had been a while since she’d kept close living quarters with someone else. How unexpectedly strange and yet reassuring to pick up on all the little mundane sounds and motions of another person existing in a common space. 

Maybe she needed to get a pet tooka or something, once Mando left.

---

The debrief with Karga went about as expected. Greef immediately pushed her to go and fetch her ailing charge, but Cara put her boot down on the matter.

“Give him some space, old man. He’s been through a lot.” 

Greef threw out an arm, his robes sweeping to dramatic effect. “We’ve worked together for years! And shouldn’t I know if the city’s suddenly crawling with high-priority ISP targets?”

Cara grimaced. “Ah, about that. You, uh, happen to notice that beat-to-shit old Firespray docked in the port?” 

Karga narrowed his eyes.  “The what.”

“I… may have agreed to give Boba Fett and Fennec Shand safe passage through the city for a while.”

Greef’s expression was genuinely something she wished that she could capture and hang on a wall in her office. “Dank farrik, Dune! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

She shrugged. “You… might want to sit down for the rest of it?”

For all of his grumbling, however, Greef was a good sport about everything else. Disappointed that the kid hadn’t returned with them, though, as she’d anticipated. That expression wasn’t one for her office. 

When they finally wrapped up, the meeting had eaten most of her morning. Greef was good about keeping on top of open cases while she’d been gone, and fortunately there hadn’t been any insurgencies or large-scale property damage in her absence. Just the usual petty crimes and complaints, most of which didn’t need the legwork done same-day. She collected a few datapads from the station to take home with her, because she didn’t relish leaving Mando for too long.

Not that he couldn’t take care of himself, but if she’d had a protective streak for the guy before, the last few days had seen it grow by klicks. 

On the way back, she detoured briefly to one of the city’s many open markets. As reputation and infrastructure improved, so too did Nevarro’s trade ports. It was a treat, now,  to access all kinds of goods, services, and technology that they hadn’t enjoyed months ago. She’d even met a woman selling Dantooinian sphere-fruits and Eclessis figs last week. 

Her pantry at home had been… rather bare, before she’d left. Cara was used to surviving on bar meals and freeze dried rations, and suspected that Mando ate much of the same. Fresh produce and proteins seemed a good idea while he was in a bad way, however, so she spent a few credits and a portion of her time browsing the stalls. She could manage a broth that wouldn’t kill either of them, she was pretty sure.

With her bag filled and pocket a little lighter, she made her way back to her neighborhood, hoping that nothing more catastrophic than a few sneezing fits had occurred in her absence. Her front door was just in sight, reassuringly intact, when an abrupt sense that she was being followed snaked up her spine like an icy stripe of paranoia. 

Cara spun, a hand already flying to her blaster, only to find one already leveled at her. It was only the familiar facade of red and green beskar that kept her from shooting straight from the hip. Cara swore sharply and dropped her hand away.

“Kriff, Fett. Can’t you say hello like a normal skrogging person?”

With a low chuckle, the bounty hunter’s own weapon lowered. A twitch of his head seemed to manifest Fennec from somewhere just behind him, equally armed but not quite at the ready. Cara was not for a moment fooled. The sharpshooter had probably had her in her sights long before Cara became aware of their presence. 

“Just testing your reflexes, Marshal,” she smiled. 

“Great, fine. Sharp as ever. It’s not a fantastic look for you two to be lurking around my doorstep, though.” 

Boba inclined his helmet towards her. “Better invite us in, then.” 

She liked him well enough, despite everything, but Cara was acutely aware of a subtle aura of menace, at all times, that she didn’t experience with Mando. Still, she rolled her eyes and shouldered her sack of goods. 

“Come on.” 

She entered her security code and let the pair of them in behind her, half-expecting to already find her houseguest waiting with his own weapon drawn. Because that was apparently how they all greeted one another. 

He wasn’t, but a light had been left on in the ‘fresher, and one of his weapons was laid out and partially disassembled on a nearby table, like he’d been in the process of cleaning or repairing it. Clearly he’d been up and about at some point, and there were no signs of a struggle or otherwise abrupt egress. Probably he’d just ducked back into the privacy of temporary quarters once he’d heard her coming. 

“Look alive, Mando!” She called out down the hall. “I brought more guests.” 

There was no immediate response, which was… a bit concerning. Cara set the satchel from the market aside. Before she could actually move to go check on him, however, Boba put up an assuaging hand. 

“He’s fine. Got him on my HUD,” he said. Cara realized after a moment that he meant the helmet, which he had yet to remove, and for good reason. “Excuse us.”

Apparently that meant he and the Mandalorian, as Boba turned to prowl off down the hall. Cara snorted at the audacity, but couldn’t imagine what she’d say to stop him, even if she wanted to. 

“Does he always act like that?” She wondered aside to Fennec, when the door to the spare room had slid open just long enough to permit Boba entry. It snapped shut again as soon as he’d stepped inside.

“What, like he owns the place?” Fennec sounded amused. At Cara’s flat look of agreement, her smirk turned into an actual laugh. “More or less. It’s one of his better qualities.” 

“Not sure I want to learn about the worse ones,” Cara said, as she shucked some of her kit and moved into her small kitchen. She was satisfied to see that Fennec followed suit and unslung her rifle. “Drink?”

“Please.” 

“I’ve got water, caf, and alcohol.” 

Fennec’s eyes glittered. “Oh, the booze. Definitely.”

Stars. Fett might be a bit of a trip, sometimes, but she really liked this woman. 

“Wait here,” Cara chuckled, and detoured for the good stuff -- the private reserve she kept in her own quarters. 

As she passed by Mando’s door, she heard the faint notes of a conversation taking place. She lingered for a moment, but couldn’t eavesdrop if she wanted to. Any of the words she could pick out were in Mando’a. It sounded friendly, though, if a bit somber. She moved on and tried not to think about the weird and sudden twinge of jealousy the moment incited. Really, of all people, Boba Fett’s was the shoulder that Mando wanted to cry on? 

Cara stowed the feeling, because it wasn’t her business to tell her friend how to heal.  

She returned to the kitchen with a bottle of Maldovean Burtalle, and found Fennec peeking unashamedly into the bag from the market. 

“What are you making?” She wondered, glancing up at Cara.

“I’m not sure,” she admitted, as she fetched down a couple of glasses and poured them each a shot. “Mando’s sick.” If it was any kind of secret, it wouldn’t be for long. 

“Oh,” Fennec said thoughtfully. She considered what Cara had purchased and hummed. “Soup, then, right?”

“I guess so.” She clinked her glass against Fennec’s, and smiled when the sniper knocked hers back with practiced ease. 

“Wow,” Fennec breathed afterwards, hoarse yet pleased. She picked up the bottle, squinting at the label. “Nice year.” 

Cara smirked and refilled the glasses. “The job does come with some perks.” After downing the second round, she raised her brows to see Fennec peel off her gloves and turn back her sleeves. Her wrists and forearms were lovely, even bearing a few thread-thin scars.

“I’ll help you. With the soup.”

Cara blinked, surprised and a bit touched. “Oh. Sure. You cook?” 

She didn’t mean to sound disbelieving, but it must have come through anyway, because Fennec laughed. It was just… she didn’t know Fennec’s whole background, though she certainly came with a reputation, and Cara had seen firsthand how well-earned it was. Knowing one’s way around a rifle and around a kitchen weren’t mutually exclusive, of course, but…

“I do. Keep it on the low, though, huh?”

Cara smiled, then tugged off her own gloves and got to unpacking the bag of supplies. “These lips are sealed.”

Fennec turned out to be very proficient in the kitchen, easy to work both with and around. Cara had thought so even back on Morak, but was pleased to see that their natural synchronicity in taking out Imperial cannons and sniping troopers also translated to chopping root veg and sauteeing aromatics. 

Fennec pointed out how to acid-marinate the side of quartuum meat in Cara’s cold storage so as to lessen the gaminess, and how to compliment it with copious amounts of pepper and garlic. The thick, fragrant scent of their efforts soon began to permeate her small apartment. All of that while they both got progressively tipsier, moving around one another with a clear perception for each others’ space. 

“Who taught you how to do this, anyway?” Cara wondered as they traded shots of Burtalle with prep tasks. She dipped to accept a spoonful of the simmer Fennec was working on, when she offered her a taste. Cara made an approving hum from low in her throat. It was more flavorful than anything she could have come up with, by far. 

“My father. Both of my parents, actually. They had a restaurant when I was a kid, back on Judhession.”

Cara gave her a look, not eager to pry but curious nonetheless when she was fed this tidbit of knowledge. “Judhession. The nice part?”

Fennec glanced back aslant. “No. Not the nice part.” 

Ah. Well, that said plenty. She supposed it made sense, for someone who had ended up holding her own working for some of the roughest crime syndicates in the galaxy. Fennec hadn’t come from an austere or wealthy upbringing and probably had, like the rest of them, carved out her own existence with sheer skill and ferocity.

Cara shrugged. “If it helps, my father raised nerfs.”

Fennec paused to process that information, then wrinkled her nose. “Oh. So you would have just eaten this quartuum raw, is what you’re saying…”

Cara threw a sliver of onion at her, just as a particularly wrenching sneeze erupted from the back room of her apartment.

“--hh’IH’TSZSHH-shoo!” 

It wasn’t the first of the afternoon, but even Fennec winced at the sound of it. Cara sighed, as another outburst followed, then another, each softer than the last. Must have been working up the initial one for a while, she guessed. 

“That sounds fun,” Fennec frowned, as she plucked the onion off her sleeve and tossed it in the sink. 

“Mm-hmm. Hope your business partner there doesn’t get it.” Cara reached across to give the stew a stir. “You should take some of this with you.”

Fennec seemed to be giving that some serious consideration, then shook her head. “I wouldn’t get him to eat it. Hypocritical bastard.”

At Cara’s inquisitive look, she sighed and touched a hand over her abdomen, where Cara knew a complicated system of cybernetics was housed. She’d glimpsed it briefly on Morak.

“When I was healing from this, I was in a bad way. Complete infusion nutrition, shitting into a bag. The pain was like nothing I’d felt before.”

Cara hesitated. She hadn’t truly thought about all of the hideous complications of Fennec’s injury, and she’d seen her share of wounds in the field. Taken them, too. For every desperate bacta patch she’d slapped on a fallen soldier, however, she usually didn’t see the most grievous ones again, and that was if they made it to medbay.

She glanced at the alcohol with a measure of guilt. “Should you even be drinking? I didn’t…”

Fennec snorted and waved her off. “It’s fine, I’m fine now. My point was that he took care of me, for all of that. No questions asked, all for some sorry-ass merc he found in the desert. It was ugly and messy and I’ll always be grateful for it.” 

Cara mulled that over, as she wiped down a cutting board. It was… sweet, in a way, and now she felt bad that she’d doubted any bit of Fett’s compassion, however guarded it came. 

“You think that’s a Mandalorian trait?”

Fennec looked up from the stew. “What is?”

“I don't know, between taking care of the wounded and the sick...” She thought briefly about Mando and the kid. “And the Foundlings?”

Fennec let out a long, slow breath through her nose, considering. “The less fortunate. It might be.” She shifted her weight. “I don’t know. I think… the Creed means a lot of different things, to different people.” She set the spoon that she’d been periodically sampling the broth with aside, and leaned her hips back against the counter. “Mandalorian or not, we all watch out for each other, don’t we?” 

Cara nodded. “I’m glad someone watched out for you.”

Fennec’s expression softened. “C’mere.” Her bare forefingers flicked, inviting. Cara went readily into the languid kiss that followed. 

She could have easily spent the rest of the afternoon like that, with Fennec nosing against her cheek and her clever fingers trailing over her back. She certainly leaned into the time they were allotted, pressing a series of promises to Fennec’s narrow collar. Cara had almost crept a hand up to snag around her braid when they both paused, attentive, at the sound of the door slicking open.

“Damn,” Cara sighed, straightening. Fennec, in her fashion, looked both amused and disappointed. She gave Cara’s a hip a quick squeeze, before they stepped apart.

“Next time, Dune.”

“I’m holding you to that.” 

They glanced up as Fett emerged, his helmet tucked neatly beneath the pin of one arm. Cara didn’t miss his brief, appreciative scenting of the common space. He roamed a cautious glance over both Cara and Fennec, then, but said nothing of how close they lingered to one another. Instead, he jerked his head towards the door.

“Headed back to the ship. You coming?”

Fennec smirked and sprawled back on her elbows against the counter. “I don’t know. I’m a little drunk, you might have to carry me.”

Fett curled his lip in a hard sneer. “Well. I’m not doing that.”

Cara glanced between them, bewildered and just a bit endeared by the odd humor they seemed to have fostered. 

Boba paced slowly towards her, in the meantime, and gave her a head-to-toe look. Cara had long become accustomed to that kind of subtle dressing-down, in the military. She tolerated it, but not without a wry sidelong glimpse of her own. 

“Mm,” Boba said finally. “Thanks for watching out for him.”

Cara blinked, thrown. “Sure.”

He didn’t linger in the moment, instead tilting a sharp, curled knuckle at Fennec. “And you. Don’t stay too long.”

She winked at him. “Yes, sir.”

Boba scoffed, then replaced his helm. He roamed past the kitchen and out the door, leaving Cara shaking her head in his wake.

She looked back at Fennec, who was already picking up her gloves. “You good? I can carry you back. If you want.”

Fennec grinned, looking over her bare and muscled arms. “Oh, I bet.” She tugged on a glove and flexed her fingers into its fit. “No, I’m okay. Remind me to tell you about the time I took out a Corellian sniper while hopped up on death sticks, though.”

Cara’s eyes widened, amused. “I absolutely will.” 

Fennec grinned, then stepped in to chuck a hand under her jaw and press a last, brief kiss in place. “Bye, Dune. Keep fighting the good fight, huh?”

She shouldered her rifle and was gone in the next moment, headed off to the next job, the next planet, the next system. Cara sighed. 

 

Edited January 26, 2021 by Garblin

[angora48]

7 hours ago, Garblin said:

“You think that after all that, I’m going to draw the line at you crashing on my couch?”

Mando was quiet for a long moment, processing what she hoped was the absurdity of the situation. It seemed to finally register when his shoulders and helm both dipped with defeat. Another sigh waned out of him. 

“... in my defense, I am very tired.” 

Ha! Loved that whole exchange.

Another fantastic update. You put in such vivid details: in the descriptions of Mando's cold, obviously, but also in setting the scenes and in Cara's interplay with/observations about the other characters (her and Fennic cooking together (among other things!) was awesome!) Great description of the "stuck" sneeze - poor Mando, can't even rub his nose.

I agree that it would be weird if Cara was too mothering. Like you said, that wouldn't fit her or their dynamic at all. Neither of them are all that demonstrative with their emotions, but they're completely there for one another and just GET each other. Not to mention, the kindest thing Cara can do for Mando right now is to give him his space, so he can sneeze in private with his helmet off - mothering is the last thing he needs! No, the way you write them is spot on. The "okay, just getting this out of the way" hug between them was sweet, with their armor clanging against each other.

[Wolfwings22]

I am absolutely loving this! I have been dreaming about a Mando story on here probably after the second episode of the first season was released. This is truly a dream come true and I love the way that you write each character’s personality. It truly aligns with how they acted in the show and I especially like the way that Cara wants Mando to be comfortable while still being a little apprehensive of what had happened and Mando’s comfort level. I cannot wait for the next update. Thank you so much for writing this!

[Garnet]

@angora48 - Aw, I'm so glad! I knew I wasn't going to get very plot-heavy in this piece so sometimes fleshing out scenes with other characters just living their lives keeps an ultimately horny fic from feeling so railroaded. It's also one of the things that I appreciate about the series: everyone's got their own storyline going on, for as often as they intersect. 

@Wolfwings22 - Yay, thank you! I remember really liking the first season, but something about the hellscape of 2020 and Season 2 really lit a fixation fire, and now I just live here. I'm glad that the characters read okay! Wanting to care about and take care of someone who... wants to be cared about and taken care of but neither of you are ANY good at it is such a weird vibe but I'm here for it. 

Anyway, that said, here's the last part! A little angst, a little schmoop. As you do. Thanks for reading!

 

---

 

Once Fennec and Fett had made their egress, Cara babysat the soup for another hour or so of simmering. Fennec had recommended longer, but that was about as far as her attention span lasted. It tasted just fine when she wolfed down a quick bowl of it. Better than fine, in fact. That sniper was a talented woman.

In that space of time, Mando hadn’t emerged from his quarters. She’d promised to give him his space, and tried to adhere to that by not pestering him first. His desire to recover trumped hers to hang out with her friend.

She did approach to offer the efforts of their afternoon, though, or meant to. When she hovered outside the door, there was silence from within. At a cautious “... Mando?” there was nothing, and the same when she repeated herself just a little louder.

He’d either gone back to sleep, or he was ignoring her. She couldn’t completely rule out the second option, but doubted it was coming from a disparaging place. Both possibilities ended up with her in the kitchen, packing up the soup for storage. It would reheat well. 

Cara usually spent her evenings dithering around with work or sometimes at the local cantinas. Some of the locals, themselves, were good company. She was pretty attached to the company she was keeping right now, though, however one-sided. 

The datapads came with her to an impromptu work table in the kitchen, since Mando was occupying her equally impromptu office. An evening of working from home it was.

The wild black market network of Nevarro was a piece of work and a half by itself to untangle, with more than a few criminal rings and powerful families for her to dance around. Exacting the right kind of changes for the city that it needed meant playing into the local politics a bit. Mostly that was Greef’s game. Still, she had comlinks to send and background reports to read.

She was starting to lose focus on the task, by a couple hours in. Giving in to the temptation to rub her eyes, Cara paused when she caught a stirring of motion from their wincing corners. 

There was a strange man moving through her kitchen.

Cara sat up immediately and reached an instinctive hand for her blaster. She’d left it aside, however, because she’d already changed down to civilian clothes. It was just her and Mando here, and there was no reason to stay constantly side-armed. How in the entire galaxy, then, had this intruder…

Oh.

Recognition sank in, and she slumped back with a shaken sigh. Not just for the spike in her heart rate, but for the sight before her. 

He looked… different, from the previous little glimpses she’d snagged. Here and there, by accident and circumstance, she’d caught them. Even knowing that Din Djarin was a very ordinary man beneath the beskar didn’t quite prepare her for the full and unimpeded image of him trekking through her kitchen.

She found herself staring without meaning to.

Mando -- or Din or whoever had also paused in place, both of them poised like wild animals caught in the crosshairs. He made no immediate moves to turn away or hide his face. He also broke the standoff first, by slowly raising an empty glass he’d been carrying and tipping a nod towards her hydro dispenser. An explanation and a request. 

Cara nodded slowly, then snapped out of it and tore her gaze away with a raw twist of guilt. Kriff, he had to have known she was home, so why...

“I can go into the other room,” she offered, when he didn’t say anything, and she couldn’t stand her own tense confusion anymore.

She heard him flick the dispenser switch to cut off the tap. He cleared his throat quietly.

“... it’s alright,” he sniffled. “I don’t mind, if you look.”

Well. That was a change. 

Cautious, she let her attention trail gradually back. She would have respected Din’s specific rituals and creed forever, if he’d asked. Might not have understood them, but that wasn’t necessary for their friendship.

If given the choice, however, she was definitely going to kriffing look.

Just shy of middle aged, she guessed, and good-looking as he got there. Even if her own proclivities were generally towards women, she could also appreciate his handsome qualities: the hawkish, distinctive line of his nose, the sharply angled jaw, the way his eyes were soulfully deep in the gloom. 

The beskar was deceptive, because he wasn’t a large man. At present, he was dressed down to just the linen trousers and plain undershirt that he wore beneath his flight suit and flak jacket. Not quite slight, without his armor’s bulk, but leanly built and rigged with hard-won muscle. 

The deep, dreary pall of illness had definitely settled over him, though. He looked rumpled and worn-through, like he was currently feeling every year and every klick behind him. 

Cara absorbed this all by degrees, as she tracked back to his face and tried to guess at what was running through his head.

“Be honest with me, Djarin. Are you dying?” 

His brows creased for a moment of surprise — oh, those were expressive. The faintest huffed edge of laughter followed, and that combined with the visual set her even further off-kilter. Face of a stranger, voice of a friend.

“I’m not dying.” He sniffled and pressed the refilled glass of water to his center of his chest.  “Though I’m starting to feel like it.” 

Leaning back against the counter, he nudged a thumb against the inside corner of one eye. He sniffled once more for emphasis, though she didn’t need it to imagine his wretched sinus pressure. Could see it plainly on his face now, all for herself.

Cara nodded. She found herself searching his expression, which tripped the same uncanny feeling when she realized she wasn’t reading for the tilt of his helm or shoulders. This would take some getting used to.

“I’m just… re-evaluating some things.” 

“Sounds like you haven’t landed anywhere solid yet,” she said, still treading with care. She did slide out an extra chair from the table with a nudge from her foot, though, in a pointed gesture. 

After a moment of consideration, he pushed off the counter and slipped closed the distance, sinking into the proffered spot. A small win.

“No, not yet.” He wrapped both hands around the cool edges of the water glass, looking down into it. “But I trust you.” 

The weight of his statement was not lost on her and she was… kriff, terrible with words, but she wanted to bear down on that sentiment, wrap it under a protective arm and guard it with her life.

He already knew she’d do that for him, though. She hoped he knew. 

Instead, Cara nudged her hand across the table, turned up in silent request. He looked down at the gesture with apparent confusion until she gave her fingers a beckoning twitch, then he seemed to get the idea. He tucked his warm, weathered palm into hers and accepted the fierce squeeze she gave. 

Din’s gaze lingered for a moment, even after she’d let up on threatening to crack his knuckles. He looked nearly mesmerized. Cara smudged a thumb over the tendoned back of his hand, tracing an old, slightly rippled scar that looked like it had once been a burn. 

With a blink of realization, she looked back up.

“When was the last time someone touched you, skin to skin?”

Din’s own gaze dipped aside, like he wanted to duck behind the comfortable mask of his helm. He didn’t retract from their loose grip, though, the smudged whorls of his fingers twitching against hers. 

“Uh, before Grogu? It’s been… a long time.”

The first instance he’d used the kid’s name since they’d been separated, she noticed. Cara found her gaze roaming to the spot on his cheek where a claw had stroked with loving wonder.

Before she could consider broaching the subject further, Din sat back and slipped his palm from hers. A tiny snag in his breathing had her tensing, wary that the mood had shifted. He was only rummaging in a pocket of his trousers, however, expression creased up with a different kind of watery dismay.

“S-sorry, I think I need to…!” 

He managed to produce a crumpled handkerchief just as his hitching jag reached a crest, and pressed it desperately to his face.

“—hh’IH—TSZISSSCH!”

The sneeze jerked him forward over his own lap, narrowly missing the edge of the table. Cara reached to nudge the glass of water back a few inches, just in case, because he rarely seemed to get away with just one.

“—hhhih...!” Din held the pose for a prayerful second, chest filled and face scrunched into the handkerchief. She was nearly as invested as he was, for his sake, until at last the irritation seemed to hit a merciful peak.

“—ihdt’TISSCHH-hhuh!”

He gave a hasty, mending sniffle and nearly looked like he was gearing up for a third, but the moment passed with a sigh.

“Bless you,” Cara offered, then hesitated. She wasn’t out to embarrass the guy, except in the form of friendly ragging, but: “That’s turning into a whole production, huh?”

Din glanced at her over the edge of the handkerchief, a look that hedged between sheepish and resigned. He gave his nose a rough scrub with the cloth and lowered it again. “Always does, unfortunately.” 

“Yeah?”

That was curious. The Mandalorian had seemed a particularly resilient specimen to her, even when injured, cornered, and completely out of options. It worked with his understated nature. Knowing that the guy caught specifically bad colds was like some weird but intriguing friend lore that she wasn’t sure what to do with. 

Din sighed, but obliged her prying. He hovered a thumb and forefinger carefully over the prominent, curved bridge of his nose. 

“I broke it when I was younger,” he said. Looking now, Cara could see where it had been knocked out of joint and reset a little crooked. It added character. 

“Ever since, when I get sick, I...” He sighed and gave into temptation, knuckling those same fingers at the bridge fiercely as if to bully it into submission. A sharp, distinctive flurry of wrinkles snarled between his nose and brow, then relaxed. “It feels like I’m constantly righhh-h-hh…” His expression flickered, teased for a moment as if in perfect illustration, before calming again. “... right on the edge of a sneeze.” 

She didn’t know how much of that was hyperbole, but she blew out a sympathetic breath regardless. That.... would be exactly the sort of thing to happen to Din, nevermind. The bad cold curse made sense.

“That sucks. I had a few buddies who busted theirs,” she admitted. “Always figured I got lucky on that front, but never thought about the possible long-term consequences.” 

Din shrugged, his eyes heavy. “There are worse fates.” 

“I guess so,” Cara admitted. “Wish I could do something for you. Oh!” She slapped the table suddenly, making the datapads jitter. Din jumped a little as well. “Fennec made soup.”

He squinted at her, bemused and amused at once. “... she did?”

“It was my idea, but it’d be charitable to say that I helped.” She shrugged, a grin forming. “It’s pretty good. You want some?” 

Mando was smiling softly down into his furled arms, like he didn’t realize he was doing it. “I’m not... quite hungry yet. But I appreciate it.”  

“Suit yourself.” She watched him drift into his own thoughts a bit, still acclimating to the strange novelty of doing so face to face. Eventually, she bumped his knee under the table. “You have a good talk with Fett?”

Din sniffled and glanced up with tired surprise. “Oh. Yeah, I did.” He brought the handkerchief to his nose, giving it a fierce rub, and cleared his throat. “We’ve got some things in common.”

“Besides the obvious?” She made a motion towards her face, indicating the helmet despite its current absence. She took Din’s tiny smirk for agreement. “I don’t know. You’re better looking. Nicer, too.”

Din huffed quietly. 

“I wasn’t always. And Boba is just…” He sniffled, which might have triggered something, because he raised the handkerchief again and hovered it at the ready. “He’s a little rough around the — hh!” His voice began to warp, sounding wavering and weak as he tried to finish his train of thought before the sneeze struck. “... around the eh-... edges — ! ih’TISSZCH-shoo!”

It tumbled out nearly on top of his words, and was chased by the immediate draw of another breath. 

“—hih’SSZCHISH!”

He sat curled forward for a beat, nose pressed into the handkerchief, before a shaky gasp and a decisive “—hh’TSSCHHH!” seemed to satisfy it.

For now.

“Bless you,” Cara said gently. Then, less gently: “You good? That sounded like it knocked a few brain cells loose.”

It earned the desired laugh, however soft and croaky. 

“More than a few,” Din agreed, then tightened to give his nose a lengthy blow. He sighed when he was done, lowered the crumpled cloth, and looked generally defeated. “I’m good.”

Cara clicked her tongue.

“No offense, buddy, but you look like you barely slept at all.”

He nodded slowly and let his eyes sink shut. The furrow of his peaked brows lent him a few puppy-ish wrinkles that would have been sweet, if he didn’t look so disheartened. “It’s been spotty. I...” He started to go on but caught himself, looking uncertain. Cara gave an encouraging tilt of her head, until he sighed and glanced away. “I’ve been dreaming about him.” 

“The kid?”

He nodded. 

Cara took a careful breath, because okay. Now was finally, apparently the time to talk about this, and she did not want to kark it up. 

“Good dreams or bad dreams?” 

Din frowned. His thumb smudged a small bead of condensation on the water glass, then hastily gave his left nostril the same attention. Also where a tiny bead of moisture had been threatening. He sniffed.

“I’m not sure. They’re fuzzy, and sort of… dissipate as soon as I wake up.” He turned the glass slowly in his hands, made a sticky and disquieted sound in his throat. “But I remember that he was there. It’s confusing.” 

To jerk awake over and over, constantly reminded both of the kid’s absence and how increasingly awful he felt? Yeah, Cara could imagine. She tapped her fingers on the table in thought, mulling over how best to respond to that. 

“Maybe they’re not dreams?”

Din gave her a puzzled look, and she put up a hand in a plea for him to hear her out.

“I’m just spitballing, here, I don’t know anything about how all that wee-woo… Jedi… Force stuff works,” she said, wiggling her fingers a little for emphasis. Weird, intangible old magic. She’d call it nonsense if she hadn’t seen Skywalker tear through those troopers like a one-man army. 

“That makes two of us.”

“Right. Maybe the dreams are him trying to… talk to you? Let you know he’s okay?” 

Din looked back at her with an expression so stricken that she felt her heart drop and immediately tried to backtrack, do some damage control.

“Or uh… not that? Probably not. Kriff, forget I said anything,” she grimaced. She was no good at this, no matter how badly she wanted to be supportive of her friend. 

“No, no,” Din said quickly, which eased some of her panic. “I don’t know if you’re right, but I… I like that idea.” He swallowed. “I’m gonna hold onto it.” 

His throat flexed around another hard swallow, then another, until Cara suddenly realized that the hitch in his voice and the shine that his eyes had picked up had nothing to do with his cold. 

“Oh,” she said softly, feeling swept right back out of her element. “Mando…”

“Sorry,” he rasped, as he realized his own runaway emotions. He drew a wobbly breath and ducked into the cover of one hand. A thumb and forefinger pressed to his eyes, trying to smudge away the tears before they could collect and fall. “I’m sorry.”  

“Don’t be. Just tell me what you need,” she urged, helpless. Did she comfort him with touch, or would that be too overwhelming? Awkwardly look away and pretend nothing was happening? She had no idea what to do in this situation.

“I don’t know,” Din managed after another shaky sniffle, the usual whetted edge of his voice sounding raw and strained. His shoulders had curled in slightly, as if mantling over himself protectively.  Cara imagined that more than anything he was wishing for the armor to hide behind.

After a few choked moments like that, however, his breathing started to even out again. He’d managed to get a hold of himself before the dam truly burst, and Cara felt half-sorry about that too, because maybe the catharsis of a good cry would have been welcomed. Maybe he’d already had a couple, unbeknownst to her.

They both gave it a minute, letting him calm down as Cara’s concerned hackles relaxed. The mood settled. Finally, Din lowered the shield of his hand, sniffed, and gave a series of wet blinks. He looked back at her, seeming just as lost for what to say. 

“... you know it’s okay to be sad about the kid, right?” She said, after a long pause.

He shook his head by a tiny increment. “There’s… there’s nothing to be sad about. Grogu’s where he belongs.” He said it as though it was something he’d been repeating to himself since they’d said their goodbyes. “It’s just not with me.”

Stars, he really hadn’t been letting himself process this. No wonder he looked and felt so sick -- a heavy heart made everything worse.

“That doesn’t lessen your bond,” she said, and meant it. Anyone could, who’d spent more than a few minutes around the Mandalorian and the kid. “Species notwithstanding, he’s your son.”

Din threw a sudden glance at her, his eyes looking dark and wounded. “Cara,” he warned, with the click of another swallow.  “You can’t go saying things like that to me right now, or I really will fall apart on you.” 

Despite the edge of his worry, she could detect some of his wry humor trying to come through in the statement. She reflected back a small smile.

“Foundling, then. But I’m just stating the facts.” She leaned across the gap to initiate contact again, giving him time to withdraw if he wanted to. Din only watched with quiet interest as she laid a bare palm to his forearm, however. He felt very warm. “And for the record, I wouldn’t mind. Hell, you can cry on the floor of my sonic if you want to. I just want you to be okay.” 

He nodded a ginger sort of acceptance, and at last nudged his fingertips just over the edges of her own. A recognition, and a reply. “Well. Thank you.” 

Cara frowned at the touch of his hand, and drew hers back. She scooted her chair closer, then hovered the same palm near to his face. “Actually, can I…?” 

Din seemed to have no idea of her intentions, gauging by his guarded sidelong look. After a second, though, his chin dipped in a tiny nod. Trusting. His eyes fluttered closed a moment later, when she combed the dark fringe of hair off his brow. He was already threaded through with a few stress greys. 

Cara made a low, disapproving sound as her palm finally smoothed to bare skin, testing the heat radiating off of him. 

“I think you’ve got a fever, bud. Feels like you’re starting to cook.”

His eyes cracked open again, and though he’d leaned subtly into her touch at first, he sat back now. Blinked, as Cara’s hand dropped back to her lap. 

“Oh.” He sniffled and rubbed his eyes groggily on the hilt of one thumb, sighing. “I guess that tracks.”

“Mm,” Cara agreed. “Sit tight, I’m gonna get an actual scan on you.”

She rose to rummage through a junk drawer, while Din waited obediently at the table and muffled a few coughs into the handkerchief. He was starting to sound more congested, probably needed another good sneezing fit to evacuate some of it. For better or worse, that didn’t seem to be an immediate threat. 

She found a little handheld thermo a moment later, and passed it briefly over him. One polite beep, and Cara hummed at the readout. “Not too bad, but we should keep an eye on it. And I do think you should try and get some more rest.” 

Din nodded with a heavy resignation. 

Cara chewed at the inside of her lip for a moment, debating. She wasn’t keen on the idea of sending him back into his own quarters to sleep this off alone and in the midst of uncertain dreams. “Why don’t you come lie down with me? I’m about to turn in anyway, and my bed’s way more comfortable.”

He looked up with her with dazed surprise. “What? I can’t do that.”

Cara tipped her head to the side. “Why? I’m not trying to get into your pants, and I’m pretty sure the feeling’s mutual.”

“It is,” he assured her. “I just… don’t want to give you this.” He rubbed his nose, perhaps for emphasis or perhaps out of necessity. 

“Oh,” she huffed. “I don’t care about that. Plus I’ve been with you a few days, at this point. If I haven’t got it yet, I think we’re good.”

Din seemed to be giving that some consideration. Just in case, though, she shrugged and gave him an out.

“It’s fine if you’re not comfortable with it, my feelings won’t be hurt or anything. Just figured I’d offer.” 

He studied the crumpled handkerchief in his hand for a moment, obviously weighing the idea, then looked back up. “I think I’d like the company.” 

Cara smiled. “Good.” 

She went to fix up her personal living quarters a little, while Din went to refill the glass of water. Hopefully he was also mixing it with one the packets of electrolytes floating around her kitchen, as she’d instructed. 

Underwear, tossed into a drawer. No porn or toys left out and about. She was good, and ready to receive company when Din joined her a few minutes later. 

“Welcome,” she said. Din exhaled a soft laugh, as he set the water on a crate nearby and laid down in the spot she patted. 

“Thanks.” 

Cara cut the lights down to the filmy ambients, though she sat up for a bit while she took out her braidings by feel. Fortunately, she didn’t wear them as complicated as someone like Fennec or Koska did, so it wasn’t long before she could plop back and settle. She felt Din slowly shifting to get comfortable beside her. 

“Is this weird for you? I figured you’d bunked in close quarters, before, but I guess it was always with the beskar in the way.”

“It wasn’t… in the way, at the time,” Din said, after a pause to consider. Cara winced slightly at the correction -- okay, no need to insult the holy Mandalorian armor, got it. However, her companion also cleared his throat and added: “It is nice, though. To feel.” 

“That’s good,” Cara agreed. Although more comfortable than the fold-down pallet in the other room, her bed wasn’t large enough that they wouldn’t brush up against each other in the night. She was glad he wasn’t going to have a crisis over it. “Night, Mando.”

“Goodnight.” 

They slipped into their own meditative spaces, then, breathing and feeling in the dimness. It was only a few minutes like this, before she felt Din shift with a catching inhale. She’d already become used to his frequent, unintrusive little sniffles, but it was hard to ignore the sudden twinge of his body beside her as he sneezed 

“-- ihd’TSSCH-uh!” A sniff, then a sigh. “Sorry.”

“Bless you,” she murmured back, only because he’d bothered to comment.

“Thanks.”

He fell quiet again after that, and stayed there for a few minutes more. Soon enough, however, she sensed his breathing beginning to deepen, and his back curling away from her. 

“Hh… hh! ih…. tssCHT!” A gasp. “ihdt’TISSSZCH-shoo!”  He smothered a small series of coughs that the effort had dredged up, then finally relaxed. “Sorry.”

“Bless you,” she said again, frowning. 

This time, the peace lasted less than a few moments before… 

“-- hh’TSCHISSH!” 

A soft groan, as he shifted and she heard him scrubbing at his nose. “Haar’chak,” he muttered to himself. “Sorry.” 

Cara turned her head back towards him slightly. “Mando, if you apologize for every time you sneeze tonight, we might have a problem.” 

She heard the weak seesaw of his laughter. 

“Sorry,” he said, with enough tired cheek to suggest that he was doing it on purpose, now. “Just really -- snffh! Really itchy all of a sudden. I think you’re going to get annoyed, listening to me.” 

Cara yawned, then rolled over to thump an admonishing palm lightly against his back. “I think you shouldn’t put feelings in my head,” she chastised, even as she felt his lungs expand.

“hih-’TSZCHishh!” 

“Anyway,” she added, when she’d given him a moment to recover. “Trooper, remember? I can fall asleep to blasterfire.” 

“Fair enough,” he rasped. They lay like that for a moment, his breathing even but careful enough to suggest that he was just waiting on the next little prickle of irritation to manifest. It didn’t take long.

Cara kept her hand on his back as he sneezed again, then again, then finally took in a deep breath and half sat himself up with the force of a blistering third: “--isschh! --IHssch! … h’ihh’ISSCH-SCHOO!” 

He stayed propped up on an elbow long enough to clear his sinuses into the handkerchief. It took a few attempts and some gusto, and it would have been gross if Cara cared about that kind of thing, maybe. She didn’t, and fortunately the Mandalorian seemed so exhausted that he was over it as well. 

She was just pleased when he dropped back to bed afterwards and shamelessly bumped his shoulders and back right up against her. “Okay. I think that might have bought me some time.”

“Sounded like it,” Cara obliged with a chuckle, and curled a tattooed arm around him. Still pretty warm, and if they both woke plastered in sweat she’d call it a relief. For now, she wasn’t too worried. “This good?”

“Yeah,” his voice was soft and gritted, sick but familiar. “This is good.” 

Tucked together in this brief respite from the past few days, safe and content, they slept. 

[angora48]

UNNHHH, that was beautiful, love it! I like that, as soon as Cara sees Mando out of his beskar, she's not sure whether to think of him as Mando or Din Djarin, and I like that it's so weird for her to get a read on him by his actual facial expressions instead of his body language. I also love how tentative and cautious all her overtures of comfort are, especially anything involving physical touch. It's so practical of Cara but also considerate of her friend, to recognize how unused to touch Mando is and not wanting to overwhelm him with anything he's not ready for.

15 hours ago, Garblin said:

That was curious. The Mandalorian had seemed a particularly resilient specimen to her, even when injured, cornered, and completely out of options. It worked with his understated nature. Knowing that the guy caught specifically bad colds was like some weird but intriguing friend lore that she wasn’t sure what to do with. 

This bit was really good - I liked Mando's description of how having broken his nose affects his colds, and I love how you worded this part here.

And @Garblin, I think you and I are in the same boat Mandalorian-wise. I liked season 1 a lot, but somewhere in the midst of season 2/the mess of 2020, a switch flipped in my brain and it's like, "Oh, okay, I am IN this now!" Thanks so much for this story, as well as the earlier oneshot fic you posted. You're a great writer, and both these stories really scratch my sneezy Mando itch and give me all the understated friendship feels I love, with just that tiny dash of H/C. 😍

[March Hare]

On 1/26/2021 at 7:23 PM, Garblin said:

Mando seemed to just… glitch out. Like a holo display on the fritz, but rendered right in front of her in full beskar and frustration. A high, shivering sound skipped through his modulator, and a hand hovering open near his chest twitched with desire.

DAAAAAAAMN. Seriously. this is platinum.

(I thought I'd just jump right in with the thing. I admit I haven't yet gotten around to The Mandalorian, but it's on my list, and I just wanted to read the story you'd written and fangirl all over it like I do, if that's okay with you )

On 1/26/2021 at 7:23 PM, Garblin said:

“Lost it?” 

He nodded blearily. The helmet’s mic picked up the slight click of his throat as he swallowed, followed by another scraping sniff. “Yeah,” he agreed, voice sounding occluded and flat. “Happens a lot, when I’ve got a cold.” 

Oh, you do know how to bring it, don't you. Hook? Check. Line? Check. Sinker? Check.

On 1/26/2021 at 7:23 PM, Garblin said:

Mando nodded slowly, looking wobbly and almost punch-drunk in the wake of the physical contact. His voice, however, had taken on a reassuring note of warmth.

OH my sweet sweet everything.

On 1/26/2021 at 7:23 PM, Garblin said:

She entered her security code and let the pair of them in behind her, half-expecting to already find her houseguest waiting with his own weapon drawn. Because that was apparently how they all greeted one another.

Hehehehehe Oh the sass!

I love the entire Drunk Kitchen scene with Fennec and Cara, for real. That sort of thing is high on my list of favourites.

On 1/29/2021 at 2:29 AM, Garblin said:

“I can go into the other room,” she offered, when he didn’t say anything, and she couldn’t stand her own tense confusion anymore.

She heard him flick the dispenser switch to cut off the tap. He cleared his throat quietly.

“... it’s alright,” he sniffled. “I don’t mind, if you look.”

Ohh. I felt that. That's something, right there.

On 1/29/2021 at 2:29 AM, Garblin said:

If given the choice, however, she was definitely going to kriffing look.

Well, yeah.

On 1/29/2021 at 2:29 AM, Garblin said:

“I’m not dying.” He sniffled and pressed the refilled glass of water to his center of his chest.  “Though I’m starting to feel like it.” 

Leaning back against the counter, he nudged a thumb against the inside corner of one eye. He sniffled once more for emphasis, though she didn’t need it to imagine his wretched sinus pressure. Could see it plainly on his face now, all for herself.

Uuuuuu jeebus want want want ❤️

On 1/29/2021 at 2:29 AM, Garblin said:

The weight of his statement was not lost on her and she was… kriff, terrible with words, but she wanted to bear down on that sentiment, wrap it under a protective arm and guard it with her life.

I know EXACTLY what this feels like. I've been feeling this EXACT way about someone telling me this for the past couple months or so. Once again, you have put the ineffable but fundamental into words. I know of only two other people who are as good at that as you are - Dave Malloy and Stephen Sondheim.

On 1/29/2021 at 2:29 AM, Garblin said:

Knowing that the guy caught specifically bad colds was like some weird but intriguing friend lore that she wasn’t sure what to do with.

mmmmmmmmmmmyes

On 1/29/2021 at 2:29 AM, Garblin said:

Din frowned. His thumb smudged a small bead of condensation on the water glass, then hastily gave his left nostril the same attention. Also where a tiny bead of moisture had been threatening. He sniffed.

Wow. This is just gorgeous imagery. GORGEOUS.

On 1/29/2021 at 2:29 AM, Garblin said:

Din threw a sudden glance at her, his eyes looking dark and wounded. “Cara,” he warned, with the click of another swallow.  “You can’t go saying things like that to me right now, or I really will fall apart on you.” 

Ohhh man, and here I thought I had calluses on my heartstrings.

Yeah, you are still my favourite writer. Thank you for sharing this I'm sorry if I'm too gushy and all over the place, but I really loved this!

 

[Dusty15]

Oooooh yes this was so so lovely ❤️ I love the little broken nose tidbit. Such great details, as always

[ellwren]

This is fantastic! Thank you so much for writing and sharing this!

[snifflechick]

I've just finished both seasons of The Mandalorian, and I'm obsessed. 

I'll be honest, I came for Grogu, but didn't anticipate loving Din Djarin as much as I did, so I'm really excited to have read your fics

I do hope you write more in the future, but even if not, thanks so much for sharing this!

[FireFlower3013]

This is amazing! I absolutely loved it! You captured them so well! 

[Guest]

Wow, this was fantastic. I loved The Mandalorian and you've written all the characters so brilliantly. I really enjoyed all the descriptions of Mando's body language and how Cara interpreted it, and of course him having to try to stifle in the helmet. And then getting to play with the dissonance of actually seeing him (and what that must mean about his state of mind). All the humour in everyone's dialogue felt bang on and great. Mando being matter of fact about being ill felt really right as well, he's not the sort of guy to get too embarrassed or apologetic, but just quite fed up and demoralised. And Cara being awkward and protective but not smothering was perfect too. Thank you for posting!

[snuffles]

So I've been wanting to comment for a while now but I forgot my password, got locked out, forgot which accompanying email, got locked out, and finally got the right one!! But all that was worth it because I've been dying to comment on this. 

Like. Really. Very. Much. 

I had finally caved and jumped into the Mandalorian bandwagon. I watched it only for baby yoda but daaaaamn have I fallen hard for Mando. It's a bitter sweet pain as I write this that this story won't be canon. But nevertheless this is the perfect finale for my soul and something I desperately needed in my life. 

If I had to pick out just a single line out of all the beautiful gems, it would have to be:

 “That’s… fine too. I just have a cold.” 

Because OH MY MAN just a straight out admission from straight shooter and someone that just went through all... THAT... is just so spot on! 

All said, the personalities are so perfect I can see each smirk and each sigh in vivid pictures in my head. I've already read it through in full 7 times (I've counted) and I appreciate it more and more each time. I could pick out each and every line as a gem but then my reply would be simply a verbatim quote of your entire story. Which would be too long. 

So to sum up, I'm obsessed with how you weave the interactions of these characters in a way that blends so well with canon and still hits all. the. buttons. In my head this is a literal episode. 

[Nella]

Coming in literally two years later just to say how much I enjoyed this. Like the comments above me said, the characterizations are just so on point; I feel like this could fully happen in an episode. I'm really normally just here for, yknow, my dose of hot snz content, and this is genuinely the first time I've read and enjoyed a fic on the forum for its actual plot and characters as well, so big kudos. I have tried and failed to find this on tumblr sadly though :((

[ashes__]

Also hopping in, as I've somehow just now read this???? It's incredible! The writing, the characters, everything is phenomenal! I can picture it perfectly. Great work :)

[solitaire-au]

This story is to die for! 🤯 

I’ve always loved your stories Garnet, and you really nail the characters, especially Din and Cara, and their interactions are like something straight out of a canon script for an unfilmed episode.

Thank you so much for all your hard work!

[Garnet]

On 3/16/2023 at 10:10 AM, Nella said:

Coming in literally two years later just to say how much I enjoyed this. Like the comments above me said, the characterizations are just so on point; I feel like this could fully happen in an episode. I'm really normally just here for, yknow, my dose of hot snz content, and this is genuinely the first time I've read and enjoyed a fic on the forum for its actual plot and characters as well, so big kudos. I have tried and failed to find this on tumblr sadly though :((

You guys are so very sweet... I rarely check the forum now but it's nice to log in and still see people reading my older stories. Thank you for the comments! I wanted to reply to this one specifically to let you know that my fetish tumblr is dodecahedral, I post any writing over there annnd hopefully it's not skirting the forum privacy rules to say that? Anyway. Love you all ❤️