Title: Onboard Maintenance
Author: jordannamorgan
Fandom: The Mandalorian
Characters: Din Djarin and Grogu (a.k.a. “the kid”).
Setting/Spoilers: Postscript to Chapter Twelve: The Siege.
Rating: G.
Length: 1,312 words.
Summary: Din cleans up after the action on Nevarro.



As the newly repaired Razor Crest hurtled away from Nevarro, Din Djarin set the ship on autopilot, and turned to dealing with the little problem his piloting skills had wrought.

In hindsight, he really should have taken those cookies away from the kid before strapping him in. At the time he was in a hurry, thinking only of giving Cara and Greef support in their escape from the Imperial base. And besides… the kid ate live frogs. Perhaps Din couldn’t be blamed for not expecting that beskar-lined little stomach to have any sensitivities—but sugary sweets plus aerial maneuvers were clearly another matter.

All these months, and you’ve still barely learned a thing about looking after a child, he sighed internally.

The kid was sulky but quiet as Din picked him up and carried him below. Now that his stomach was emptied of the offending contents, at least he no longer seemed to be showing any discomfort. Din gave him a drink of water to wash any bad taste out of his mouth; then he carefully peeled the soiled garments off of him, and set to filling a small metal basin he used to bathe the foundling. Although he had preprogrammed the optimal water temperature for this some time ago, he still removed one glove to test it, ensuring that it was neither too hot nor too cool.

His other glove and his beskar vambraces followed. At least he had done this enough by now to know what was coming.

When the gloves came off, the kid pricked up his ears and watched Din’s hands more intently than usual. Perhaps it was understandable, as bath time was the only occasion when he saw or felt any part of his guardian’s bare skin. He always seemed to like the direct contact then… and Din had to admit, there was something pleasant about simply feeling the warmth of another life against his fingertips. Even the touch of his hands was an intimacy he had not shared with anyone else since the day his parents died.

“Come on, kid. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Bare-handed, Din carefully grasped the child beneath the arms and lifted him. The rarity of such contact made him acutely aware of the way little fingers curled over his thumbs, holding onto him in turn. Tiny blunt claws poked lightly against the surface of his skin, but did not scratch. Somehow, the kid also knew how to be gentle with the only soft inner parts that were ever exposed to him beneath his guardian’s tough shell.

Din eased the small green body into the basin, and was rewarded with a contented trill. The kid never cared to chase frogs into ponds, but he loved baths. Maybe on this subject he was actually sensible for once, and preferred warm, clean water over a pond’s tepid muck.

…The Mandalorian was not going to entertain the idea that it was about the physical contact instead.

He was quickly assured that the kid was indeed feeling better, as a round of eager splashing ensued. Soon drops of water were trailing freely down his cuirass and helmet, compelling him to wipe his visor. In the awkward beginning of their journey, there was a time when this unruly mischief would have annoyed him… but now, there was a comfort in seeing the kid’s happiness. The feeling was so unfamiliar that a part of Din still tensed every time, wary of inevitable deception, of the trap that anything so seemingly harmless and appealing must surely harbor in a treacherous galaxy. Even so, the sheer warmth of it had gradually drawn him closer, enticing him to let down his guard inch by cautious inch.

Smiling beneath beskar, he counterattacked against the kid’s splashes, lightly flicking water back at his giggling charge. In turn, the kid grabbed at his fingers and tried to wrestle them: playfully, clumsily, yet in much the same way he had seen Din physically take on so many enemies.

It was a sight that sparked a faint twinge in the warrior’s chest. Too often it was easy to think the kid had learned nothing from him, ignoring the simplest instructions even when they were for his safety; but while those oversized ears never listened to him well, those eyes were just as big. He was always watching and remembering, perhaps most of all in the moments when teaching him was the farthest thing from Din’s mind. He might not easily process what he was told in words, but he learned by observing the only person close enough to provide an example to him… for better, or for worse.

The kid was far too small and fragile to follow The Way of the Mandalore. Perhaps one of his species always would be. But even if he could… Din realized unsettlingly that he wouldn’t want him to. Whatever the kid had been through in his already-long life, he still had an innocence that Din would not want to see him lose.

It was better that his foundling should never be like him.

By now the kid had begun to wear himself out with his play, and was quieter. Din turned to bathing him properly then, gently massaging soap lather across wrinkled skin, and listened to his little throaty noises that were almost a purr of contentment. He was going to be drowsy soon, Din knew… and he might not be the only one, either.

Once satisfied that the kid was thoroughly clean, Din lifted him from the water and patted him dry with a cloth. He warmed a cup of mild broth that he expected would be easy on a recently-upset stomach, and while the kid slurped it—spilling a few greasy drops on himself in the process—Din washed his little garments in the basin.

By the time the clothes were heat-dried and the kid had received one more wiping-down, green ears and eyelids both were starting to droop. Din dressed him and placed him in his hammock to sleep off the day’s excitement. After one last check of the ship’s systems, he returned to find the kid had nodded off, and climbed into the bunk beneath to get a few hours’ rest himself.

Just as his thoughts were starting to fade, he heard and felt a soft thump at his feet. A moment later, a ball of warmth pressed against his side, snuggling into his shirt beneath the edge of his cuirass.

“…Okay,” he murmured, and reached down to tuck the corner of his cape over the kid’s body. Still absent his gloves, his hand lingered almost hesitantly—only to relax and stay there when tiny fingers grabbed on and clung. After a moment, without putting any thought into it, one of his own fingers began to lightly stroke the edge of a fuzzy ear.

As the soft breaths at his side gradually evened in repose, he remembered the kid’s laughter over his shoulder in the midst of a dogfight. He briefly wondered how anyone could find joy in such chaos; but before the thought had even completed itself, he realized that he understood after all.

This little being had turned his life upside down, obliterating the safe, familiar paths of order and distance he once knew—and he wouldn’t change that for anything. What he found on their journey together was something he’d never conceived of wanting, but now the thought of going back to a life without it felt unbearably empty. He didn’t even know a name for it, but he knew that to have it if only for a while was worth any price the future held.

His hand pressed a little more firmly against his foundling’s warmth, earning a faint sigh in return that filled his soul the way oxygen filled his lungs, and he smiled.

“Sweet dreams, kid.”

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2021 Jordanna Morgan