For the Child, everyday with the Mandalorian was different. There was never any consistency, no way for him to predict what their blurry future would hold. It reminded the baby of when he was training at the Jedi Temple all those years ago, when his masters would try to teach the class to “learn to live in the moment.” More than anything from his past, the baby’s new, exciting and happier life was teaching him this lesson. 

Some days would go by very slowly, dragging on and on as if to test the Mandalorian’s patience on a bad day, and to perplex him on a good day, often inducing false hope that maybe time was playing tricks with the pair. Grogu remembered one slow day he and the Mandalorian spent exploring a little forest on Scarif, the most peaceful he had felt the Mandalorian in a long time. Other days would go by very quickly, sometimes neither the Mandalorian or Grogu being able to recall what had happened the entire day; he recalled the day before their tour of the forest on Scarif - it had been a difficult day for the Mandalorian, and after a continuous series of difficult days, the Child couldn’t feel anything but exhaustion from his father. To Grogu, the more fast-moving days were like time’s gift to save too many things from happening in the same moments. On those days, only one bad thing was enough for the Mandalorian to handle. Time was not generous today.     

If the Mandalorian was to put it into simple words, Grogu thought he would classify this day as a bad day. The Child and his father weren’t naive when it came to what they would expect wherever they went; they almost always encountered an issue of some kind that needed to be resolved right away, more often than not the Mandalorian being forced to leave the Child in a safe place as he went out to slay the danger. Today was the start of those days, and again Grogu felt the Mandalorian’s reluctance upon embarking on this strange mission. 

They were on Tatooine again, this time in a different part of the sandy planet, much to both Grogu and his friend’s dismay. This particular part of the planet wasn’t exactly safe, and the people living here weren’t very welcoming. But the Clan of Two was here for a job - well, at least one of them was here for a job. From what Grogu could understand, an old friend of the Mandalorian had requested for his help to clear their town of invaders in exchange for money, something that the Mandalorian really needed. 

“Well, kid,” the Mandalorian had told Grogu before they got off the Crest, “I have to do this job but at least I don’t have to like it.” 

Grogu could tell even now there were second thoughts. At least, the baby was having second thoughts. They walked through the narrow alleys, meandering through unpaved streets to get to a small, clay building. There was no door, and inside, there were almost no people. Grogu looked up at the Mandalorian from his pram and cooed nervously: “I don’t think this is a good idea,” was what the Child was relaying. The Mandalorian gave him a small reassuring nod before they both made their way into the largely deserted cantina. 

Inside, there was no person other than the bartender, an old, seemingly annoyed twi’lek, and a mysterious figure seated in the dark towards the back of the room. The only part of the person the Child could see was their hand, resting on the table a few inches away from a blaster. Grogu nervously looked over at the Mandalorian again, who appeared to be calm and collected. He had to be, especially now. 

“Mando,” a slimy female voice hissed at them. The figure came into the light to reveal a human face, and not a very kind one. Grogu felt tension between the Mandalorian and this old friend of his. There were more vengeful emotions arising from the mysterious woman than there were from the baby’s father, but the hatred on both sides was equal. Whoever she was, this “friend” wasn’t a friend any longer. 

The Mandalorian seated himself across from the woman, Grogu’s pram floating right beside him, almost touching the beskar armor. Grogu could see the woman more clearly now, though there wasn’t much to see. Her magistrate robes were clad in all black, down to the smallest embroidered detail. Her hair, dark cyan with an occasional strand of gold here and there, was styled unusually in spikes, a part of her hair grown out to form a braid that fell gracefully around her shoulder. 

“When I said come alone, I meant alone,” the woman sneered, shifting her cold, black eyes to the Child. The baby cooed, sinking deeper into his pram as if it would make him disappear entirely. The Mandalorian looked over at Grogu, then back at the woman. 

“He’s just a kid, Cla’ure.”

Cla’ure’s expression didn’t change, but she looked back at the Mandalorian, still holding the hatred and spitefulness Grogu felt in her from the very beginning. 

“Alright then, if you say so.”

A pause. Grogu could hear the faint buzzing of a fan in some distant corner of the catina. The bartender had disappeared as if this moment was not one to be intruded upon. He was probably right. 

The Mandalorian and Cla’ure exchanged no words for what felt like hours. Moments passed by in eerie silence, the tension building, the hatred intensifying. 

“Why am I here?” the Mandalorian finally broke the deathly silence. 

“Oh, for a whole book of reasons,” the hostile magistrate smirked. “You need the money, I need your skills, you need me and I need you.” At this, the Mandalorian tilted his helmet ever so slightly, questioning her. Cla’ure leaned forward across the small table, not ridding herself of the small, wicked smile fixed on her face. 

“But perhaps, the biggest reason,” she raised her eyebrows here, “is that you are here to finally get what you deserve.” 

Grogu again looked over at the Mandalorian, letting out a small, scared murmur, incoherently voicing his concerns. The Mandalorian didn’t move, keeping his focus fixed on Cla’ure. She, on the other hand, had again shifted her gaze to the Child. 

“A child?” she suddenly, and quite mockingly, exclaimed. “You think you’re capable of caring for a child? After everything you’ve done?” The woman laughed, her hollow sound echoing through the empty cantina. “This poor little creature doesn’t even have any idea who it’s become attached to.” Cla’ure brought her face extremely close to Grogu’s, studying him the same way the Imperial Client had studied him when the Mandalorian had, at first, turned the baby to him. That wasn’t a long time ago. 

“You’ve just made friends with the monster under your bed, kid,” she whispered to the little child. Grogu didn’t make a sound. 

“Cla’ure,” a stern voice spoke up. “You can call me whatever you want, but keep away from the Child.” Grogu sensed a hint of fear in his father’s voice. Fortunately, Cla’ure didn’t catch on. 

“Fine,” she bluntly stated, shrugging her shoulders and casually leaning back in her seat. The smile was still plastered onto her face. 

“Now tell me what you want from me.” The fear was replaced with infuriating anger. Grogu knew that if Cla’ure made just one more mistake, the Mandalorian would back out of the plan, or worse, leave her to fend for herself. 

Cla’ure let out a dull sigh before speaking. 

“My town is on the verge of capture by a group of mercenaries that rolled in a few weeks ago. They’ve been keen on taking all my people’s food and barging into their homes whenever they please to perform, what they call, “check-ups”, although I’d call it theft,” she murmured the last part. “I need your help to drive them out and keep them out.”

“That’s it?” the Mandalorian scoffed. “You called me all this way to scare away a bunch of pirates?”

“If they were pirates, I wouldn’t have set the payment that high,” Cla’ure snapped. She paused for a few seconds before adding quietly, “They’re Imperial.”

Imperial.

The word hit Grogu with a raging ocean of fear, almost paralyzing the Child. He felt anger, hatred, fear, all at once. Most of the baby’s life had been spent hiding from their evil hunt; to him, it seemed he was never able to steer clear of the Imperial attention, not even with his new home. What did they want? Were they looking for him? Were they looking for the Mandalorian? What if this was a trap? A thousand voices spoke up at once in the Child’s mind, questions he had no way of asking or getting answers to. He looked over at his companion, who had tensed up as well. Grogu could feel the same questions going through the Mandalorian’s mind. 

“Why are they here?” he inquired, still keeping the baby’s pram close to him. 

“I don’t know,” Cla’ure responded. “It seems for now they could be here just for control, but I haven’t found a reason on why they’d plan on taking over a skughole town like this.” 

The Mandalorian didn’t say anything. His fingers were tapping nervously on the surface of the table, his helmet turning slightly from time to time to look over at the Child. 

Grogu knew that taking on the Imperials would be risky, but his father needed the money. Without the money, there would be nowhere to go, for either of them. The baby turned to Cla’ure, who had her gaze fixed on the Mandalorian. The anger in her was less present, uncertainty now dominating her head. But she didn’t voice her emotions. 

“Mando,” she said sharply. The Mandalorian looked up suddenly, almost as if he’d been woken up. 

“Are you in?” 

Nothing. There wasn’t any indecisiveness the baby felt in his friend, but there was fear. Fear and confusion. Assumption of the worst that could happen; what was the worst that could happen? The Mandalorian looked over at the Child, holding his gaze on the baby. Finally, he spoke up.

“Alright. I’ll do it,” he sighed. 

“Good. I knew you wouldn’t back out,” Cla’ure dryly chuckled before acutely adding, “Just like the good old days, Mando.”

She then stood up from her seat, making her way to the doorway slowly and elegantly, her fingers brushing softly against the baby’s pram as she walked past the Mandalorian and the Child. Grogu felt malice overtake the magistrate once more.

“You have no idea what you just signed up for,” she smiled before exiting, leaving the cantina empty but for the Mandalorian and the baby.