Chapter Text
You had known your share of discomfort before you met the Mandalorian. You had been a drifter, flotsam and jetsam drifting between the Outer to Mid Rim, after your village had been destroyed by a band of raiders. You'd done odd jobs, minor repairs, hell, you'd babysat for families more than once. You had no objection to hard labor, and asked very little in terms of pay from your employers. Mando paid you well, better than you would have dared to suggest, to repair and do routine maintenance on his gunship. And normally, you didn't exactly expect good company. But this; this deafening silence, for weeks on end? This was something you had never experienced. It wasn't exactly uncomfortable- or at least, that wasn't the right term for it. There was no tension between you and Mando, no reason either of you should be angry with each other, but… there was also no reason why you should interact. At least, not apart from boredom… There wasn't even a droid to talk to or a datapad. But you didn't want to break the silence first.
You allowed yourself to sing aloud in the onboard 'fresher whenever you used it, telling yourself the ultrasonic hum of the unit would cover the noise enough that it wouldn't annoy your fellow traveler. It wasn't that he was cold. He had really been rather considerate, preparing a portion for you of whatever ration was available whenever he made his own. He would seal himself in the cockpit to eat, which you assumed had to do with his Creed. He always nodded his thanks when he noticed you'd fixed something onboard, and occasionally he would leave small gifts in the common space for you after stopping at a port with a market; at Mos Eisley, most recently, he had brought you a small, handwoven bracelet. It was a natural brown colour, adorned with blue glass beads. Nothing expensive, but it'd made you smile, and you wore it often now.
After a sonic shower about six weeks into your time aboard, you dressed and wandered to the kitchenette to see if there were any of those little blue cookies from Nevarro left. You quietly hummed the tune of the song you'd been singing. It had been stuck in your head for days.
"That song." you nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound of the modulated voice.
"Oh! I'm so sorry, I didn't realize you could hear me," you apologized as you whirled around.
The Mandalorian was standing in the short passageway between the cargo hold and the cockpit. His stance was off from his usual, confident swagger, but you couldn't place how.
"It was… nice. Thank you," he said, his voice softer than you had heard before. Before you could respond, he nodded at you and disappeared again towards the cockpit. You blinked to yourself for a minute, then smiled and made your way back to your quarters. You forgot about your snack.
After that, you started to sing aloud, albeit quietly, whenever the mood struck you. Mando didn't often compliment you, but he had yet to ask you to stop, so. You continued. You soon ran out of repairs to make to the actual ship, so you busied yourself with repairing commlinks and other little things, but the bounty hunter didn't have many gadgets around; at least, not apart from his weapons, but you weren't about to touch those. You worried you would run out of ways to make yourself useful, and wanted to thank Mando for his kindness before you left. So, on a stop to Navarro to drop off bounties and collect pucks, you told Mando that you would be back, and headed to the bazaar with the credits that Mando insisted you not use for food. You purchased a number of materials, nothing flashy, but you hoped it would do.
You weren't a seamstress, by any means, but you knew how to mend things and make simple articles. And Mando's cape could do with a replacement. You worked on it whenever you couldn't find something else to do, usually finding a song to sing as you did. Your stitches were clumsy at first, your sewing skills rusty with disuse. They improved. The material was a black bantha-wool, coarse, but soft, warm, and, above all, durable. It took you longer than you would've liked to finish, but you were proud of the result. It was more of a cloak than a cape, long enough that if he closed it at the front, it would conceal his armor, and had a hood that would cast a shadow over his helmet. The one embellishment you had added was the small clasp, which was silver with a blue glass inlay that reminded you of the bracelet from Tatooine. You folded it carefully, smoothing out the wrinkles that were a natural result of manual sewing, and left it in a prominent place for Mando to find.
He didn't take it. You didn't understand why. You knew he had seen it, it had stayed there for almost three standard day cycles. You sighed, chewing your lip.
Dank farrik.
You grabbed the garment, walked to the end of the corridor, and knocked on the door to the cockpit. After a moment, the door slid open.
"Is everything okay?" His voice broke over the words, and it startled you. You couldn't be sure if it was just the modulator that filtered his speech, or if he had been crying. He was facing front, staring out into the stars that streaked past.
"Y-yeah, I just… wondered why you hadn't taken this," you explained, holding up the article in question. He turned to look, and his helmet tilted.
"That's… for me?" He sounded confused by the notion, as though he had never received a gift before. You smiled warmly and nodded.
"I… I noticed your cape was looking a little rough… n-not that there's anything wrong with that-" you felt unexpectedly flustered, not wanting him to think you had been judging him. "Anyways, I just thought… there's not much left for me to repair onboard, and… I wanted to make sure you're warm when you need to be. It has a hood, and you can wear it up over your shoulders in case you need to be less… shiny… anyways, it's yours, and I can fix your old one with the leftover fabric if you want-" you were cut off as he suddenly stood, taking the cloak from you with both hands, like it was precious.
"This is very kind of you," he remarked, his voice taking on the same soft quality it had the first time he'd complimented your singing. "I'm… sorry, that I haven't been very good company. You must be lonely." You shrugged.
"I don't mind so much. You've been much kinder than a lot of people I've met, even if you're not the chatty type," you chuckled darkly, thinking of a few of the more unsavory hosts you'd had. He cocked his head at that.
"What do you mean?" He asked. You waved him off.
"Don't worry about it, just some guys who thought they were entitled to more than just my handiwork, if you know what I mean." Your statement hung in the air uncomfortably, and you blushed.
Just as you were about to turn to leave, Mando put a hand on your shoulder, broadcasting his movements, so as not to spook you.
"I'll kill them for you," he offered, all softness gone from his tone. You could tell that he was serious, and you knew that should have scared you. But, for some reason, it made you feel... special. You shook your head regardless.
"They're not worth the effort. Besides, I don't even know their names. But… I appreciate the offer, Mando."
After that conversation, Mando started leaving the cockpit door open unless he was eating or resting. You sometimes took your sewing projects in there while you sat, looking out into hyperspace. The two of you still didn't chat, but you started to greet each other in the "mornings", and you could almost fool yourself into thinking that his gaze lingered on you a fraction longer than before. He started telling you when he was leaving for hunts, and how long he thought he'd be gone. You fell into a comfortable rhythm.
Until the holo transmission arrived.