If the Mandalorian is surprised to see her making the morning meal for herself, he doesn't say anything - not wishing for a repeat of last night. He manages to hold his tongue even as he watches her rapidly slice through a piece of jogan fruit, the sharp knife sliding nearer and nearer to her exposed fingertips...
"It's called proprioception. I know where my fingers are and I won't cut them. I promise you can breathe now," she teases across the countertop.
He lets out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding. Though the knife does come dangerously close to her fingers several times, she always pulls back at just the right moment. And then she's gathering up the fruit slices and putting them over two bowls of some kind of cooked grain.
It is surprising enough to see the child of a high ranking Imperial officer prepare food for herself, and he certainly hadn't been expecting her to make food for him as well. He offers up a bewildered thanks when she sets the bowl in front of him before starting in on her own.
"You should go ahead and eat it before the fruit gets hot and becomes way too sweet."
This is true, and he is pretty hungry at this point, only having eaten one of his own protein packs the evening before.
"I'll just - " he starts, before picking up the bowl and heading towards his bunk.
"There's no need to be so formal. For the foreseeable future we might as well get used to living in each other's pockets." Amira seems far more accepting of their arrangement in the light of day, but she's clearly misreading his retreat.
"I cannot remove my helmet in front of another living being. This is the way."
An expression of comprehension flickers over her face, followed by one of confusion. But her questions will keep until after he eats. By the time the door closes behind him and his helmet is off, the jorgan is already warm and sickly sweet.
"Even though I can't see your face?"
It never gets easier to explain to others that the Mandalorian code is their religion - they don't go seeking out loopholes. A blind Mandalorian is a dead Mandalorian, so the inability to see has never factored in. And as he currently has a private bunk where he can take his meals, and a fresher that locks, it is not a question that needs an immediate answer. So he says nothing.
"Do Mandalorians count plants as living beings?" It's not one of the usual questions, but it's much easier to answer.
"They are not sentient."
"Some are." The edges of her lips just barely quirk up, as if she could tell him the names and origins of a dozen such plants right now.
"When I run into one I'll let you know."
Her head tilts slightly to the side as she ponders again. He allows himself to make another study of the girl in the brighter lights of the apartment. Her hair is still pulled back in loose braids, though slightly neater than the night before. Her features look just as soft under stronger lights, though somehow he missed the faint line of freckles that run across her nose and cheeks before. Her straight brows are knitted slightly as she thinks. He's already starting to adjust to monitoring her expression rather than her eyeline to tell when she's considering him.
"Droids aren't living beings." Is what she finally comes up with.
"I wouldn't trust a droid as far as you could throw one." He's thankful Amira doesn't seem to own even so much as a mouse droid.
"So you wouldn't ever remove your helmet in front of a droid?"
"No."
She considers this answer for a long time too. "I think I understand. It is not about being seen, it is about being without your armor."
And with that the questions cease, far sooner than with most. He thinks to himself she might actually understand, with how hard she works to shield herself from any perception of vulnerability. She wears her stubbornness and independence like a suit of armor, one she has no wish to set aside even with him here to look out for her. Perhaps even because he is here.
The Mandalorian notices a subtle change in her demeanor when Marshal Gideon enters the apartment shortly after their morning meal.
"There is a doctor here to see you today. I have already taken the liberty of cancelling your lesson in the city so you can meet with him." He announces.
The Mandalorian sees a flash of annoyance cross Amira's face before it settles into a more placid expression.
"I wish you had let me know earlier so I could talk to Master Pav myself." It's a far gentler rebuke than any she's given him thus far, but all teasing is gone from her voice.
"I am informing you now."
She seems to take his curt response in stride. "When will I see the doctor?"
"He is already in my office, we will go see him now."
"Yes, Uncle." She goes to walk out the door on her own.
"Your health is important to me, Amira." He reminds her as she passes him.
The Mandalorian follows them, uncertain what else to do. He watches as the Marshal's hand hovers carefully at Amira's back, without quite making contact.
Their relationship is a strange one. The Marshal obviously seems concerned with his niece, or whatever she is - enough to worry about her health and safety. And she seems to let him, in a way he hadn't expected based on the little he knows of her so far. But if her stubbornness seems a little more subdued around her guardian, so is the easy familiarity he sensed in her this morning. The walk to the Marshal's office is mostly a silent one.
The Mandalorian waits outside the office until the appointment is finished, not having been given any clear dismissal. The doctor leaves first, with Gideon brusquely thanking him for coming all this way. Behind them, Amira sits slightly paler in one of the office chairs, but she stands easily and turns down any offers of assistance. When she finds him at the doorway she simply tells him she is going back to the garden, and he follows her as she seems to expect him to.
Once outside she seems to gain back a little of her color. She's wearing that soft smile again, wandering around the stone path pointing out some of the plants she can identify from touch and scent alone: the sourcane reeds, which are edible but not particularly tasty, the spindle fern which curls up on itself when touched no matter how lightly, and the plom blooms which fell from the small trees that litter the courtyard.
But she doesn't say anything more about this morning's visit. Guild rules discourage him asking too many questions about a client, but knowing any potential vulnerabilities is critical to performing his job. He can't think of any polite way to get the information he needs.
"Are you sick?" He finally asks, but she just shakes her head at his blunt question.
"No, it's nothing like that. It was just a routine medical exam - blood tests, reflexes, things like that."
"Then why not just - " He stops himself, realizing he's asked too much already with his first question.
She finishes the question for him. "Why not just do it here, during a scheduled appointment? My Uncle doesn't trust the doctors here, so he brought in someone from the outside. It's a bit of a theme lately."
She laughs a little weakly at that, and he still worries she's not entirely ok. Seeming to sense this question at the tip of his tongue, she answers him again. "I'm fine, really. Just a little tired - I probably should have eaten something after he did the blood tests."
"We should go back to your rooms then."
"Or there's a loquat tree right above us. You could pull me down one of the fruits."
The Mandalorian looks up and sure enough there are several clusters of small yellowish fruits above them. Though the lowest branches have already been picked clean, in all likelihood by Amira herself, his added height means he can reach those that she can not.
The fruit feels delicate in his hand, and he accidentally crushes the first piece in his grasp. Apparently Amira hears him shaking the sticky remnants from his gloved hand because her shoulders are shaking with silent laughter beside him. He's much more careful with the second piece, and succeeds in placing the intact fruit into her waiting hands. Despite the delicacy of the fruit's flesh, she manages to eat it without making nearly the mess he made just trying to hold it. She holds out her hand for another piece and he gives it to her without question. She really does look better for having eaten the fruit, though perhaps some of that is from laughing at him.
"You should have a piece too. I can turn away or go on the other side of the trees if you need me to." She kindly offers the third fruit back to him.
"Maybe another time." He already has plenty covering the leather of his gloves and he's not sure he wants to risk the rest of his clothing today. And he finds he wants her to have the fruit, strangely preferring the delighted look on her face to having some of his own.
The next day an ion storm keeps them from going out to the courtyard, and they're forced to spend the day trapped in her small apartment. He takes the opportunity to catalog his weapons and make some small modifications to his armor while she works her way through a surprising number of sound disks - some music, and also a significant number of audio histories of the galaxy and its inhabitants. Through this he learns that her mother was formerly a Minority Party Representative in the Senate, though she never mentions from where, and he learns that Amira apparently knows even more about diplomacy than she knows about botany. He observes it in how she speaks so courteously but noncommittally with her uncle, though she is far more direct with him.
Still, he is slowly becoming used to the close quarters and the lack of silence with so little else to fill their time. Amira's botanical commentary is pleasant enough, and there is a surprising lack of Imperial censorship in her history disks, though he notices there's very little mention of the Outer Rim planets. He doesn't add much by way of conversation himself, but he does mention this data gap to her.
"Maybe you could tell me about Mandalore, then?"
She comes over to the counter where he's attempting to reinforce a weak point in his greaves. He searches for any sign of teasing, but there is none to be found. She's apparently just as curious about his world as she is about everything else. And yet his tongue feels heavy with the effort to even begin to describe the homeworld of his people. He's hit once again with the weight of working for those that subjugated his people, even though it means bringing back much needed resources to his clan, and even if he is merely protecting one insignifiant girl. He may not be aiding the Empire, but he's certainly not fighting it.
"Our history isn't one of politics, it's one of wars and battles. We tell our history through the great warriors, their losses and victories."
She doesn't seem the least bit discouraged by this description. "I don't mind."
"It wouldn't make much sense to you. You've never experienced a war." He tries again.
"We're in a war right now."
She's not wrong, but they both know that's not what he meant. "You've never had to fight one."
"So teach me how."
"How to what?"
"How to fight."
"You planning to join the war?" Just this morning he watched her rescue a scavenger beetle from a cleaning droid and tuck it safely into one of her living room plants. He can't imagine she's anything but a pacifist.
"No, but I could learn to defend myself. Then you and my uncle wouldn't need to worry about me so much."
The Mandalorian isn't certain if teaching this girl how to fight will make his job easier or harder. He thinks perhaps a little of both, but there's not much else to do trapped inside her apartment like this. So he agrees to show her.
"So are you going to teach me how to fire a blaster then?" The sides of her mouth twitch upwards in a way that lets him know she's joking even though her voice never betrays her.
"Would you even know where to shoot?"
She seems to seriously consider this, "if the other person was really close."
"In close quarters blasters are mostly useless. I think we should start you with some hand to hand lessons. For your own safety."
"And for yours?" She's not even trying to hide her grin at this point. "I am at a pretty big disadvantage though, maybe I should be given some kind of weapon at least?"
"We'll save the weapons training for another day." He's still adjusting to the idea that she won't hurt herself in the kitchen or with her gardening shears, he's not about to add a vibroblade to the list of his worries. And she needs to learn the basics first.
"Size isn't always an advantage," he adds. "A larger opponent may be slower, or too reliant on their size so they can be outwitted." He thinks back to Amira racing through tight corridors, and the low beam that had nearly taken him out as he pursued her. Her size can definitely work in her favor. "And your other senses can be just as useful in a hand to hand fight as sight would be."
She seems to consider this, and he starts thinking how to teach her without her being able to watch him. They're just going to have to get right into it, it seems. "Why don't we start with how to throw a punch."
He moves the small table in the living area out of the way to free up some room, before guiding Amira to stand in the center of the space. She seems more open to taking his lead than usual, which he takes as a good sign that she's willing to learn this. She offers her hand up patiently as he teaches her to close it into a fist - thumb tucked appropriately outside her curled fingers and facing downwards. He holds his gloved palms out for her to strike, moving to catch the arc of her fist before she throws herself too far forward.
It takes several dozen tries before she is able to ground herself and strike at his palm with any kind of force, but then he ups the ante by circling her, seeing if she can seek out the target of his gloves first while he is speaking to her and then only through the listening for his movements and the sound of his breath. She does fairly well when he's talking to her, but shortly after he goes silent she overextends and hits his bracer instead.
"Ouch!" She's whipping her hand back and tucking it under her arm with a pained look across her face.
"Let me see."
She reluctantly brings out her hand and he takes it carefully within his own to inspect it. She doesn't react to him gently uncurling her fingers so it's nothing too bad, perhaps a little light bruising. Her hand is so small in his own, but it remains steady in his grasp. He hands it back to her and begins tugging off the armor from his arms and chest.
"We'll work up to fighting an armored opponent, but no point in breaking your delicate fingers tonight. Just don't aim too high. The nose, jaw, and neck are all vulnerable points but not if your opponent is wearing a helmet." It won't be pleasant for either of them if she knocks into his. He tries not to think about how ridiculous it is this whole idea is. She's still in her dress, first of all, though she doesn't seem to care about her nice clothes. And he's not entirely sure why he's teaching a daughter of the Empire to fight, except that he suspects she's not so much destined to join the Imperial war machine as she is to be a magnet for trouble whenever he's not around.
So he goes back to circling her, allowing a few punches to get past his arms to strike at his chest and shoulders. She's slowly getting better at this, as he continues offering suggestions with each pass.
"Keep your profile as small as possible, present as few targets to your opponent as possible."
"Go for the area below the ribs, less protection there."
She pauses. "Won't I hurt you?"
"Not a chance."
He really ought to have known better than to give an opening like that. Her punches may not have much power behind them yet, but she purposefully overbalances herself and throws her entire weight into a hit at his stomach that he's left himself wide open to. It manages to send them both crashing to the ground, her shoulder slamming into his stomach and forcing out a pained grunt from him.
He looks down to where she's sprawled over him looking a little pained but also more than a little smug.
"That wasn't a smart move if you're trying to escape your attacker." He chides. He's a little impressed with the unexpected move, but she's already far too satisfied with herself for him to encourage her more.
"Who says I'm trying to escape?" She grins, shoulder still digging into his abdomen. But she doesn't weigh enough to keep him pinned.
"I'm not teaching you how to win a bar fight, I'm teaching you how to stay safe." It's easy enough to get them both back to standing, Amira is surprisingly pliant in her assumed victory.
"Do you know how to break away if someone grabs you?"
"Who's going to try and grab me when I have my very own Mandalorian shadow?" She smiles sweetly at him, and he huffs out what might be mistaken for a laugh but isn't quite. He bites back his amusement.
"I'm serious."
"Then show me," she challenges.
Still he's careful as his arms wrap around her from behind. His hold is firm but he's careful not to crush her. She tries to wiggle out of his grasp immediately, but all she manages to do is twist up the silky fabric of her dress. He simply tugs the fabric back into place so she doesn't tear anything while she's trying to escape.
The Mandalorian is surprised how easy it is to be gentle with her. He can't remember ever having held back like this in a fight or a sparring match - even as a foundling his teachers never went this easy on him. And he recognizes that Amira is not nearly so delicate as she seems, but still he has no desire to be rough with her. Even when she's challenging him like this.
"Bend your knees and bring your center of gravity down, that'll make it harder for your attacker to lift you up and it'll make it easier for you to slip out of their hold."
She wriggles down easily, and bends nearly in half around the arms at her waist. She's nearly tugging him down with her.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm trying to lift you on my back so I can flip you over?" She tries to explain as she keeps jerking forward in his grasp.
"I'm nearly twice your size, that's not going to happen."
"You said size didn't matter." She's short on breath now from forcing her stomach into his locked arms repeatedly.
"I said it wasn't always an advantage, not that you could flip me." He should really just release her, but he's afraid she'll just fling herself into the hard floor. "You're going to hurt yourself, yield."
"No."
"Yield!"
"No!"
His grip tightens, but it doesn't matter. Suddenly he's on the floor, sprawled out on his back and staring at the woman who looks almost as shocked as he feels.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" She drops to her knees at his side, hands fluttering as if she wants to make sure he's ok but not sure if she should touch him.
"Did I hurt you? I didn't mean to, I'm so sorry…" She continues apologizing.
He's fine, just a little surprised. He's had much worse than a quick topple over a small girl, but she looks terrified that she's really hurt him.
"You're not supposed to apologize to your attacker." He lets out a tight laugh, and he can see her panic dying down.
"You're also not supposed to break your bodyguard on the first day..." She smiles weakly down at him.
"Wouldn't want to do that too soon."
"No, that's definitely something you save for at least the third week." Her voice is lighter but he can see the tension that hasn't quite left her. "Are you sure you're not hurt?"
"I'm fine, I think my pride might even recover eventually."
That finally brings out a laugh from her, and he can see the relief that floods her. Her entire posture relaxes as she hits back on her heels, and her hands stop their worried fluttering to rest in her lap.
"Good, because I'd hate to have to break in a new bodyguard."
"I think you'd break any other bodyguard." He huffs out, sitting back up. "We should try some elbow strikes."
She grins once more. "I'm looking forward to it."