Chapter Text
Din couldn’t understand the feeling.
It remained beneath his armor like the slight hum of a ship’s engine; so slight, yet impossible to ignore. An unusual unease that took place in his chest, a type of discomfort that isn’t there because of bounties, blaster fire, or the pressure of a challenging purpose. It was a distraction, a force that was strong enough to pull him out of his famous concentration. For someone who lived by the nature of discipline and principles, it was unsettling.
And no matter how much he thought about it, he couldn’t put a name to it.
After everything that had happened, Din and Grogu had been living quietly in their house on the outskirts of Nevarro, away from the bustle of the town, taking a well-earned break from the life of imperial hunting. Their small house had suffered quite the damage during the recent events, including a section of the roof that now stood completely open to the sky. Repairing it had become the first priority.
Not long after, Colonel Ward officially transferred ownership of the newly restored Razor Crest to Din as a thank-you for his service. Naturally, one of the first things on his mind was modifying it. The Crest was functional, but it wasn’t his yet. Not truly. He wanted to strip away unnecessary safety restrictions, remove dead weight, and modify every system until it felt like the original ship he had lost. The way it was meant to be. With the house already under repair, he figured he might as well deal with the ship at the same time.
One afternoon, Din found himself walking through the center of Nevarro with Grogu perched at his left shoulder. The spot on Din’s chest, where he used to hold Grogu close in his arms against his armor, was empty now that the Child had grown older and found a new spot to travel and stay close to him. The city had changed a great deal since the days when it had been little more than a rough bounty hunter outpost. New businesses lined the streets, and among them, a small mechanic workshop caught his attention. Your workshop.
A large sign hung above the entrance, advertising everything from speeder maintenance to full starship servicing. Exactly the kind of place Din had been looking for. The shop was new. He was fairly confident it hadn’t been there long.
Din had been living on Nevarro for a while now, and despite his isolated nature, it wouldn’t hurt to get to know some of the locals. Especially newcomers like you. A mechanic with a workshop was someone he might need today or many times in the future.
As he stepped inside, Din moved at his usual measured pace, taking in the workshop around him. The air held the familiar scent of machine oil, heated metal, and fuel. Tools and spare parts were neatly arranged across workbenches, while disassembled engines and ship parts occupied nearly every available space. His gaze eventually settled on you. You stood with your back to him, completely absorbed in your work. A welding mask covered your face, bright sparks flashing occasionally from the welding torch in your hand as you worked on a damaged piece. The workshop echoed with the sounds of machinery, power tools, and the hum of equipment, drowning out any noise The Mandalorian made as he entered. For a moment, he simply watched. You seemed focused. Comfortable in the chaos around you. When you finally paused to check your work, Din took the opportunity to speak.
“Hello.” His voice cut through the noise of the workshop.
You hardened slightly at the unexpected greeting, clearly not having noticed someone enter. Turning toward the sound, you lifted the welding mask from your face and looked at the armored stranger standing near the entrance. The beskar caught the workshop lights, making him impossible to mistake for anyone else.
“Hello- hi.” You quickly set the welding torch aside and lifted the mask completely off your head.
“Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in. How can I help you?”
The Mandalorian stepped closer, his boots echoing softly against the workshop floor “I’m looking for some maintenance on my ship,” he said. “A Razor Crest.”
Your eyebrows lifted slightly. That wasn’t a model you heard about every day.
“It’s an original,” he continued. “I’d like to make some modifications.”
“A Razor Crest?” you repeated, surprised. “I thought most of those disappeared a long time ago.”
“They did.”
The simple answer left little room for questions.
You glanced toward the door, curiosity immediately piqued. “Well, now I have to see it.”
“Actually…” He paused. “The ship isn’t here.”
You looked back at him.
“I live on the other side of Nevarro. That’s where the Crest is.”
Din shifted his weight slightly. “I’d prefer not to leave it in a public hangar while the work is being done.”
The explanation was reasonable enough.
“A lot of the modifications require access to the ship for several days,” he continued. “If you’re willing to come to my property and work there, I’ll cover the transportation and pay extra for your time.”
You blinked. That wasn’t a request you received very often. Most customers dropped their ships off at a hangar and disappeared until the work was done. The idea of making daily visits to a customer’s private garage wasn’t exactly standard procedure. For a moment, you considered it. The Mandalorian was essentially inviting you onto his property every day for the next week. A normal person might have found that strange. Then again, this wasn’t exactly a normal customer. It was The Mandalorian.
You have heard of his reputation. You had heard the stories. Stories about a Mandalorian and his small green companion helping free Nevarro from the Imperial remnants that had taken over the town like a dark cloud. The scene had spread far beyond the planet itself. That was one of the reasons you eventually chose to move here. A town without Imperials was a rare thing these days. No Imperials meant no chaos. And honestly, if he wanted to cause problems, he probably wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of offering additional credits first. Besides, his reasoning made sense. The Razor Crest wasn’t exactly an ordinary ship. Leaving it unattended in a public hangar wasn’t something you would be looking forward to either.
You crossed your arms and thought for another second before accepting his offer “Alright.”
Din tilted his helmet slightly. “Alright?”
“I’ll do it.” A small smile appeared on your face.
“I’ll happily accept the extra credits in exchange for moving my tools across Nevarro every morning.”
The tension in Din’s shoulders eased slightly. “Good.”
The two of you spent the next several minutes discussing the modifications. You pulled up schematics on a datapad and went through different system layouts while calculating the cost on a small credit calculator. Din listened, occasionally pointing out a preference or asking a question, but he found his attention drifting more often than it should.
While you were busy entering numbers into the credit calculator, the small green child finally decided he’d had enough of sitting quietly on The Mandalorian’s shoulder. One moment he was sat beside the Mandalorian. Next, he had climbed onto your counter. The small green child was surprisingly quick. You glanced up from the calculator and immediately spotted him. A smile found its way onto your face before you could stop it. The green child was happily inspecting a bunch of spare components left behind from another customer’s ship, carefully picking up small pieces and examining them with intense concentration.
As Din noticed what was happening, he stepped forward. “Grogu, n-”
“That’s alright.” You cut him off without looking away from the little creature. A quiet laugh escaped you as Grogu continued his investigation of the parts.
“He’s very sweet.”
Grogu looked up at the sound of your voice. His ears perked.
Din’s protest died somewhere behind his helmet. Instead, he watched as the Child seemed perfectly content where he was. “…He usually gets into trouble.”
The comment made you laugh again. “Well, he’s not causing any trouble right now.”
You returned your attention to the calculator while Grogu continued sorting ship parts, looking as though he were carrying out a very important inspection of his own.
The Mandalorian remained silent.
You found yourself wondering about the little green creature. You’d seen him around Nevarro before, usually accompanying the Mandalorian, but you’d never actually asked who; or what it was. His son? His apprentice? A very unusual pet? You weren’t sure. And judging by the Mandalorian’s reputation for privacy, you weren’t about to ask. So you kept your curiosity to yourself. Still, now and then your gaze drifted back toward Grogu. The large brown eyes. The oversized ears. The tiny hands are carefully turning a durasteel bolt over and over. A ridiculous thought suddenly crossed your mind.
Stars, imagine if that’s what the Mandalorian looks like under the helmet. You nearly laughed at yourself.
The image was absurd. Somehow your brain immediately attempted to picture an adult version of this green little child wearing Beskar armor and moving his way across the galaxy collecting bounties. You quickly shoved the thought away before it could develop any further. Definitely not something you needed to be thinking about right now.
Across the counter, The Mandalorian watched the exchange in silence.
He caught himself watching you. Not in the way he would study a target or evaluate a client. Just… watching. The way your brow furrowed when you concentrated. The way your hands moved confidently across the datapad. The small smile that appeared whenever you solved a problem. He wasn’t entirely sure why. Before he could stop himself, a question left his mouth.
“Are you new here?”
You looked up from the datapad and smiled. “No. I moved here a while ago.” You leaned back against the workbench. “The shop actually isn’t mine. The owner is an old guy who can barely take care of himself these days, so he lets me run the place while he stays home and complains about everything.”
A small laugh escaped you.
“I used to work maintenance at the spaceport, servicing. Things got a little messy there and… well, it was time to leave.” You paused. “Stars, I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.” You shook your head with an embarrassed smile. “It’s not like you care. You’re just a customer.”
A brief silence settled between you. For some reason, Din didn’t mind it.
You cleared your throat and turned the datapad around so he could see the final price. “That’ll be twelve thousand credits. Parts, labor, calibration, and transportation included.”
Din glanced at the number. The price was fair. More than fair, actually. He reached for a credit chip and held it out. “Here.”
Your eyes widened. “Oh- no, no.” You immediately pushed his hand back toward him. “We don’t take payment in advance. You pay when the work is done. It’s a work policy.”
You pointed toward a faded sign hanging behind the counter.
PAYMENTS ARE DUE AFTER COMPLETION OF WORK. NO EXCEPTIONS.
Din looked at the sign. Then back at you. Most mechanics he’d dealt with throughout the galaxy would have happily taken the credits immediately. Some would’ve demanded a deposit before touching the ship. But somehow, you seemed trustworthy. And against all sense, he realized he trusted you too.
“Alright,” he said, sliding the credit chip away. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll send you the coordinates through your commlink.” The words left his mouth before he could think about them.
You simply nodded. “See you tomorrow.”
Din turned and headed for the door.
You watched the way the Mandalorian left your shop as the little green child on his shoulder turned his head toward you, raised a small hand, and gave you a tiny wave. You smiled softly and gave him a small wave in return, watched the two of them slowly blend in among the people of Nevarro.