Summary: You have a cute conversation with the Child while you wait for Din to come back. When he does, he tells you that he loves you in Mando'a.
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"Gimme food, gimme gimme. Yummy yummy."
That's what you imagined the Child would say as he tugged on your trousers and pointed towards the cabinet filled with ration packs and parcels of soup.
"Feed me please," he would have repeated.
You crouched down, folding your left leg under the other so you could be closer to the little one's eye level. You chastised the green bean, "Hey, you already had something to eat."
Immediately, you regretted it. The Child formed his mouth into an innocent-looking pout before his big black eyes turned glassy. Then, his bottom lip trembled and tears welled up in the Child's eyes. They began dripping down his green cheeks, but you made no move to stop them.
Your lips curled into a frown, trying to evade those sad eyes. The green bean certainly had his ways of manipulation, but you'd lived with him long enough to learn when you should and shouldn't succumb to his cunning ways.
The Child continued to maintain eye contact with you—crying all the while—and gave a terrible screech once he realized that you weren't feeding him despite his dramatics.
"No, little monster." You checked the watch on your left wrist, reading 4:29, and said, "It's been exactly 17 minutes since you last ate, and you can't-"
You were cut off by another wail.
"Hey, come here," you patted your right thigh and continued, "I'm so sorry for making you cry."
The Child gave what you perceived as a "hmph" before waddling over to your lap, tears and all, plopping down with another silent huff. He took each of his chubby hands and wrapped all six fingers around your waist, laying his small head against your stomach.
You thought he was trying to hug you to death, so you chuckled as you stared down at the Child's fuzzy, green head. The sight was certainly a cute one—the Child angrily nuzzling the soft cotton of your shirt, hugging his anger out while the steady stream from his eyes turned into a trickle.
Smiling, you took your right arm and patted the Child on the back, "You can't eat too much, baby. You'll get indigestion and you wouldn't want to experience throwing up again, right?"
The Child shifted his position on your lap and brought his face out of its burial into your shirt. He looked up to meet your eyes and the glare the little monster gave you sent a message like: "I do not care. Gimme food, yummy yummy."
Because his grumpy pout was still there, you knew that the little monster was going to continue complaining about not being able to eat with tears and glares for a long while. It was ironic that he would choose to ignore the comment about throwing up because the last time the Child ate one of those poor frogs, his stomach faced the consequences.
Cleaning up chunks of a frog was not what you'd signed up for when you were hired to act as a full-time babysitter. After that incident, you were cautious about everything that went inside the Child's mouth.
Hours passed by—you stroking the Child's back and whispering apologies into his large ears while he slept on your lap—before the Mandalorian came home.
Your husband, Din Djarin.
The love of your life.
The moment you heard the door open and those clunky boots ring throughout the Razor Crest, you carefully picked up the slumbering baby—well more like a fifty-year-old—from your arms and gently set him inside his bassinet. You took a second to admire the peacefulness of the Child's expression, which was a noticeable difference compared to the tantrum that he had earlier.
After a light kiss to the Child's forehead, you closed the bassinet, the metal effectively blocking out any sounds that you and Din would make.
Double checking that it was closed, you walked away with a light bounce in your step. It was now ten past seven in the morning and you were excited to see your husband after four days of his absence. He had gone after a bounty in Nevarro and dropped the criminal off on the same planet.
Because the people who wanted the bounty lived in the same world as him, all that Din had to do was drug the dude and drop him off. The driving was the reason why Din had taken so long to return the bounty; motorcycles were not as fast as other modes of travel.
Usually, he would have just taken the Razor Crest and flown to the other side of the planet to drop the bounty off, but he didn't want to endanger the Child or your life. He, after all, was the Mandalorian that many people were after and didn't want to lead people that could harm you and his adopted son to the Razor Crest.
Din had taken off his helmet. Since you two were married, it wasn't against the creed for him to show his gorgeous face in front of you. "Maker, I missed you," he said as he walked towards your spot next to the Child's sound-proofed bassinet, "I missed you so kriffing much, cyar'ika [darling]."
You rushed to hug him, inhaling that rusty smell of blood and beskar while he did the same with your vanilla-scented conditioner and exhaustion from the Child's antics.
"I did too, Din, I love you so much."
"Kriff, cyar'ika [darling]. Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum [I love you]."
