indebted. [din djarin x reader]

plan.

That theory is proved completely true when there's a knock on your window. On your kriffing window. You spin around; and, sure enough, there he is, just outside with a bundle in his arms. The moment you take to let a look of utter confusion spread over your face must be too long for him because he knocks again. It's only then that you walk over to open the window.

"Really?" is the one word you offer him once the window is open.

"You have cameras out front," he explains, stepping over into your room.

So, now you have a fugitive in your bedroom. A fugitive and a baby and no idea what to do with either. It sounds like the start of a bad joke. There's a silence in which you wish he would just tell you what to do, but you're both (presumably) too preoccupied with how ridiculous the situation is to say anything. He's just staring at you, and you're just staring back.

Who knows how long you would stand like that? If the baby hadn't started crying, it might've been a long while.

"Is he okay?" you ask, laying your hand gently over the baby's blanket and peering at him. He's a funny-looking guy. All green with ears that look like someone put him through a taffy puller. His eyes are squeezed shut, and mucus is running down from his nose into his mouth.

Mando looks down at the baby. "I don't know..." he admits quietly. "They were doing... tests on him."

For a second, all you can do is stare, horrified. Tests? On a baby? Once again, you're forced to wonder what kind of people Karga associates with. "Well, maybe he's just hungry," you suggest, as you gently scoop the baby out of Mando's arms and start towards the kitchen. "Can he eat solids?"

"I don't—" Mando starts the minute the baby leaves his arms. In his moment of hesitation, it clicks that Mando doesn't want anyone but him holding the kid whose cries have become whimpers as he looks up at you with huge, black eyes. Mando has worse separation anxiety than the baby. Before you can react, he recovers and answers, "Yes."

You nod (hopefully reassuringly; he seems like he could use it), and lead him to the kitchen. Within moments, the baby is sitting on the counter, slobbering happily on a piece of jerky from the pantry. It's just as you thought: the little guy needed some food. When he makes some happy baby noises, you laugh softly at him and poke his belly.

"There you go, stinker," you mutter to him as you scrunch your nose.

It's only after the kid takes his attention off of you that you remember Mando standing there. He's staring at you with his head just tilted enough to indicate confusion. Or so you think. Sometimes you like to believe you're getting better at reading him. Other times, like this, you can't be sure. Still, you feel it's better to answer what you're assuming is his unasked question anyway. If only because it fills the silence.

You clear your throat. "Um," you begin, "before Karga, I was a nanny for this rich family's kids for a couple of years." That's why you know what to do with kids. That's why taking care of a kid like this fills you with sad, old nostalgia.

But he doesn't ask about it, and that's a relief. It's only been a couple of months. You're not ready to talk about it yet. Instead, he reaches over to the kid and rubs the tip of his ear between his fingers. It's a gentleness you never expected from him. One you honestly didn't know he was capable of. But then, maybe he had the same thought about you.

"So," you begin, breaking the silence. "What's your plan?"

"Get the kid to my ship," Mando answers. "Leave the planet."

You stare at him, waiting for any elaboration. "Come on," you scoff. "That's not a plan, that's a goal. You need a plan, Mando."

"I'll have to take a page from your book and make it up as I go," he decides, reminding you of your first strategy to get a year of debt off your shoulders. "I don't have time. This was already a last-minute decision." Mando inclines his head toward the kid who is still blissfully unaware of the intensity of the conversation. As you look at the baby, he turns his wide-eyed gaze to the bag of jerky in your hand and reaches for it expectantly. With a sigh, you pick him up and give him another piece, holding him close to you as he eats as if that's somehow going to keep him safe from the chaos that's waiting for him just outside your door.