State of Grace || The Mandalorian

6 • Buckle Up

On day four of recovery, Din asked for permission to bathe himself in the guest refresher. You thought he'd never ask. There were several instances where you considered making a comment about his questionable personal hygiene, but decided against it. He probably didn't have time to bathe daily, which meant showers were a luxury. Being wounded made showering even more important.

To convince him not to put his filthy flight suit back on after he was clean, you used the excuse of needing to repair the tear in the side of it. Surprisingly, it worked and you soon found yourself picking out an outfit for him from your wardrobe.

Banx gives you a judgmental look from his armchair throne as you keep the child occupied in the living room. He still wasn't sure what to think of Din. You'd be lying if you said you weren't at least a tad bit excited to see what Din looked like in civilian clothes.

Soon enough, Din's voice carries softly down the hall as he calls your name. He must be wondering where you've gone. You smile and bring the child into your lap.

"Do you need help?" You call back, trying your best to stifle a snicker.

"Yes..." was his reluctant reply.

Leaving the child to play in the living room, you make your way down the hall and turn into the guest bedroom. The problem is pretty obvious: Din doesn't know how to button a shirt. Also, the shirt you've given him fits in some places, but not in others. His shoulders were much broader than yours, which made things a bit tight.

Still, the outfit was perfect even with his helmet. You could actually see the shape of his body without it being hidden under layers of cloth and armor. He stood about the same height as you—maybe half an inch shorter—and was far more muscular. Not that you weren't muscular, though. Just not on the same level as him.

"I've never done this before." He admits as you approach, grateful that you couldn't see the embarrassment in his expression.

"That's okay. Here, let me help." You say, gently guiding his hands away from the shirt so you could button it up for him. Once you reach the top and leave a little breathing room near his neck, you adjust his collar as well. "There. How's that feel?"

He brushes his hand down the front of the shirt, then lifts his gaze to meet yours.

"Good. T-Thank you." His voice quivers ever so slightly as he speaks and he quickly clears his throat to play it off, but you notice it before he's able to.

You tilt your head and frown a bit. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." He abruptly answers, then looks away.

Before you can press him for the truth, there's a knock on your front door. Din tenses, his hand instinctively reaching for the blaster on his hip that wasn't there.

"It's okay." You reassure him. "It's probably someone who needs help."

He stares for a moment, then slowly relaxes his arm. He'd forgotten that you were a doctor and that other people may show up looking for medical treatment. The thought of having strangers in the house made him nervous, but he wouldn't let anything happen to you or the child.

"Where's the kid?" He asks.

"In the living room." You gesture over your shoulder with your thumb. "You can grab him and go hang out somewhere while I take care of this, if you want."

He nods and brushes your shoulder as he steps around you. The touch awakens little butterflies in your stomach, but you ignore the feeling and head to the front door.

You recognize the mother and son standing on the front porch. The boy has a nasty cut on his forearm with red streaks of blood spilling from it. It doesn't look that bad. Nothing a few stitches can't fix.