A tensed quietness had engulfed the ship. Only occasional whimpers of the youngest ones, who were scared of the thundering sounds as the hail hit the ship's hull, broke the silence of the adults. If they talked at all, then in hushed voices, and the scraps of conversation he caught circled around the whereabouts of their pilot, his daughter

He watched Tharam enter the cockpit, but shortly afterwards he came back, resolve in his step as he went to his cabin. When he came out again he had dressed in his thickest cloak and Dargak knew what the younger man was up to. He went to the cabin where his spares were and copied him. With the cloak reserved for colder climates he came back to see the brave being intercepted by the heavy infantry. With a few steps he was at his side and offered his help, much to the annoyance of the dark blue warrior.

The hatch had barely opened when the Nevarro brave started to run towards the shuttle. Almost head over heels he slithered on the ice-covered ground into the shuttle and furiously tore at the speeder bike to get it out of the way. Only then he was sure that the dark form behind the vehicle was his daughter, flattened out on the seats.

He was relieved when he saw her come to a stand with the help of Tharam. The young man was doing a good job as she was unsteadily clinging to his shoulders, and he caught her in her stumble, anchoring her against him.

A wry smile spread under his helmet as the grumpy blue warrior also sped forward to join his tribe member. Of course he couldn't just help without a sly comment. After all, this man could be amusing, but also capable in his actions. Begrudgingly he had to acknowledge his strength, he had lifted her as if she weighted nothing and Tharam had helped her to find a hold in the huge man's neckcloth.

He didn't wait at the hatch, but made haste to open the door to his quarters and to mention the burdened man over. Then he watched the bearings of the green-blue warrior. He seemed tense as his visor never left the man in front of him. He clearly saw the dark gloves clench until the leather creaked. What he wondered was, if only worry made the young brave so tense.

As Tharam passed him he laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, smug in the way he stopped the warrior dead in his tracks: "Ready for unlacing her shoes again? Just imagine that I just gave you a wink."

It took a minute before the younger man tore his gaze from where she was being laid down on the bed and to look at the man addressing him: "What?"

"Back on Ossus, you helped unlacing her boots, as … ," he tried to help Tharam to remember.

"I-I'm sorry, I don't remember. I …" Dargak stopped him with a wave of his hand.

"Never mind, just help me again. Hey, vod, could you get the healer, please?" He took the grumble for a yes and pulled Tharam with him into the cabin after the heavy infantry had left.

At least this time Tharam hadn't lost his wits and knew what he was doing. Thus it didn't take him ages to get off her boots. Dargak had just to point at the protectors along her legs while he got her pauldrons and cuirass loose. When he unlatched her helmet and pulled it off he swore softly. Her sweaty face had an unhealthy colour and her teeth were chattering.

"Get the gaid on her back out, Tharam," he reached under her arms and placed his hands on her shoulder blades as he lifted her upper body up. He had deliberately used the warrior's name thus ensuring his complete attention. And he was quick to comply and laid it together with the flak vest onto the gathering heap of black armour. Each man then worked off one of the vambraces.

He was just unbuttoning the flight suit as he saw the green-blue retreat. He caught him just as the warrior was about to vanish through the door: "Where do you think you are going, Tharam? I can't get this wet, clinging thing off her. I'll lift her. Once again, like before, get the suit off her."

Stiffly the younger man walked over and quietly did as was expected of him. Just as his hands fell to his side again Dargak had to prompt him once more: "Roll up her undershirt, then we don't have to move her again."

Tharam started peeling the totally soaked , tight fabric upwards, but a hissed yelp of pain stopped him. Dargak could feel her hands suddenly digging into the biceps of his arms: "Wait. Just cut it open on the back." She could do with a shift less as long as it spared her the pain.

The Nevarro brave pulled out his knife and started his work. In no time the fabric was cut through and Dargak lowered her onto the sheet again. Her shivering intensified as he peeled off the ruined shift. He glanced at her chest and abdomen and thankfully noted not obvious change there and he was sure it didn't look any different under her breast band. But her side exposed to the weather showed some nasty bruises.

"The towels there, get them, Tharam. Good. Now rub her arms. Get her blood circulating." Again the intentional use of the warrior's name. Both men clenched their teeth at the whimpers of pain that their combined effort drew from her purplish lips. The armour had protected much, but not all and ugly bruising swellings and welts where her skin had split covered her arms near her elbows and supraspinatus muscle.

He let Tharam continue on her arms as he undid the rest of the fastenings of her flight suit. He was working fast and wriggled his hands inside around her hips and lifted them off the bed: "Tharam. Quick please, trousers off."

"You don't know what you are asking of me," Tharam's voice sounded odd, strained and nervous.

"We have no time to be squeamish. Hurry!" He turned his head to look at the sound of teeth grinding together. The green-blue helmet was dipped low, just focusing on the still clothed parts of her legs as he tug her trousers lower and finally off. The same ugly patterns as on her arms could be seen on her legs where only padding and suit had been.

Just as Tharam was about to turn and leave again he grabbed the upper edge of his cuirass and pulled him close: "I will ask even more of you, Tharam. Off with the armour."

"Wha … But it already is …, " he didn't give him anymore time and reached for the clasping of the coloured cuirass.

"Yours, di'kut! I need you as heating pad. NOW!" When he compared the two of them, his daughter and the young warrior, he couldn't decide who was running more shivers at that moment.

Under his breath he grumbled: "You won't ask me as her buir to do that on my own. After all it is you who is after her."

With a constant grumbling Tharam's hands clawed numbly at his armour the healer came in. In her hand was a jar with a greenish slave: "Not Bacta, but as effective."

He nodded his thanks: "Get his blankets from the other cabin. He's staying here." There was no need to explain to the healer, she immediately knew what he meant and came back shortly after to spread out the blankets. While he started applying the ointment on her upper limbs, the healer used one of the towels to rub her legs dry.

Tharam was still fiddling off his protectors when she turned to him: "Come here, khi'vod. No need to feel uncomfortable. I've got an idea."

He had shortly paused at her words. It was new to him that these two were related and he guessed even by blood. But he was pleased that the healer was not opposed to his idea as he watched her helping her brother to peel down the upper half of his flight suit, then she reached round him, and rolled it up. She used the long sleeves to sling them round his form and secured them around his waist. Then she yanked out his undershirt and helped him out of it: "Remember those cold nights in winter, you always kept me warm."

"Uh-hu," his grumbling was only shortly interrupted.

"Now there, crawl over and keep her from the cold wall," she turned and guided him back to the bed where the trembling form lay. Then she turned to Dargak: "You, too."

He was glad for her aid in coaxing Tharam to help with warming her up and just shrugged, it hadn't been his plan, but the healer was right. Warmth on both sides should ensure that she warmed the quicker. He undressed the same way as Tharam, the Beskar off and the top half of his suit wrung around his hips when he saw both other helmets trimmed on him.

He could image their faces and chuckled as he looked down his exposed chest. Black tattoos trailing down his red skin, following and intersecting the lines of his muscles: "First undressed Zabrak, huh?"

Both helmets nodded, but only the healer spoke: "It is quite impressive."

He heard the amused snort coming from the healer which made him chuckle more as he carefully lowered himself next to the ice cold body. She had curled herself up for more warmth and he almost flinched as her freezing back instinctively moved to find the heat of his chest.

Just before the healer covered them up with the available blankets he cast a glimpse over to Tharam who also lay on his side, stiff as a board. Her shins were pressed against his thighs. But then the man moved and took her hands in his, moving them against his chest. It made him smile, maybe his quickly formed plan was not ruined.

As time drew on he felt more and more uncomfortable under the coverings. With his increased body heat he had started to sweat, but at last her shudders had stopped and her even breathing told him that she had fallen asleep. There even came soft modulated snores from the other side of her.

He lifted his head to see that she had turned in her sleep. Moving slowly he untangled her ankles from his and eased himself out. As he made sure that both were still covered he could make out the tightly curled up bodies. She was lying on Tharam's arm which he had clasped around her in an embrace. Also his other arm was wrapped around her, keeping her close to his chest. This was something, he told himself, that he could get used to seeing also when they were awake.

He placed the jar with the ointment within easy reach and left quietly. The whole ship was quiet and he listened, the quietness stretched to the outside, the hail had stopped. For an easy look outside he went to the cockpit and sat down. The clouded moons provided only small illumination, soft rain washed down the front screen. He settled into the cockpit and let sleep claim him back.

He was angry at Paz for having deprived him of his task of carrying her. Sure it was easier for the heavy infantry, but he would have been able to manage as well. Despite knowing that she was only half aware of being carried and despite having placed her arm himself, he hated how she gripped the thick fabric of the neckcloth.

He wondered what it would feel like to carry her freezing body and to lay her on the mattress. He was too much in his thoughts when Dargak addressed him, he felt dumb for not getting immediately what her father wanted him to assist with, but it was obvious that she needed to get out of the icy wet clothes.

He peeled off her boots and even her feet felt like ice. A quick glance told him that her father was working on the protective metal on her upper body and basically he wouldn't have needed his hint to work off the Beskar on her thighs.

His lips tightened to a thin line of worry as he saw her face – pale, purplish lips, hair plastered to her scalp and eyes closed tight – and the sound of her teeth rattling without pause.

He told himself that it was just logical that she should rest as comfortably as possible and that therefore all Beskar had to be removed, but with her vambraces off he thought everything in his power had been done. The rest was up to her father and his sister, and to the pilot herself. Quietly he turned and made for the door when the Zabrak's voice stopped him.

It is just logical, just logical. The wet fabric would keep her body from gaining back the life-sustaining warmth, just logical. Inwardly he groaned in bitter agony as he was still not allowed to leave. He really didn't want to see her, like that, halfway undressed. The tight shift didn't budge, and he almost flinched back as he realized that he was actually giving her pain, as he wasn't able to get it over her sore side.

It was just logical to cut it open, just logical. He didn't want to think of another occasion which might want him to tear or cut the fabric off of her. Carefully he held the fabric away from her skin as his knife cut the shift open.

The towel was big enough and was gratefully covering her half up as he worked on her arms. Each of her sounds of distress made him want to say sorry, yet he knew it was necessary, even essential.

But it didn't stop there. Of course it didn't, it was just logical. He had to let Dargak know that this was no easy task for him. This man didn't know at all what he was asking of him. As if her pain was not enough torment for him, he didn't want to see her half naked before him.

Yes, it was logical, but it was not right. He wondered where is sister was, had Paz not told her, had he forgotten? This time anger at the circumstance had him hang his helmet low, that and that way he could focus on those parts of her legs still covered by the suit. His work was done, he was turning around and leaving.

But he didn't get far. There was force behind the pull. It reminded him of Nevarro, she had used the same move, fingers dug in between flak vest and cuirass. Just much more force now which pulled him towards the chest of the tall Zabrak, cuirasses almost clinking together.

Off with – JUST – the armour – LOGICAL – Yours –– NOT – Heating pad – RIGHT. He felt insulted when her father said that he was after her, but his commanding tone, his own logic and her needs did not leave much space to not comply.

And when his sister came in, his hope rose while he fumbled at his gear. An irrational part of his brain whispered to him that she could take his place. But he was wrong, she did not even offer. Quite to the contrary. Although she was helpful and tried to make him feel at ease – he hated her in this moment.

When his sister bossed the Zabrak around, too, it gave him a small satisfaction as he squeezed himself between the wall and her trembling curled up form. Somehow he envied the Zabrak's confidence as he nonchalantly dressed down the same way he had. His breath caught though as the tall man peeled off his undershirt. Broad chest and rippling muscles of his red skin adorned by black tattoos which more than pronounced his features. He marvelled at how it had even been possible to not have been bested by him in their sparring on Ossus.

His sister was more relaxed, he guessed that she did comparisons of her own. Quickly he discarded the thought, this was nothing he wanted to think of. It was better to find a comfortable yet uncompromising way for him to lie and to still be able to transport some of his body heat to her.

Her legs had found a way to his already, they felt so cold even through the fabric of his trousers. He reached for her hands, covering them in his. It would not be enough, so he gently pulled them against his chest. Only the coverings now placed over them kept him from getting gooseflesh, but it didn't keep the shivers running along his spine, they came for a different reason.

This was the second time they shared a bed. The first time had been of her volition and need for comfort, but this second time – just logical. It became his mantra. He concentrated on feeling if her limbs warmed to his touch. And when they finally did he felt himself getting more and more drowsy.

When he woke he felt his hair clung to his head under the helmet. He became aware of the heaviness of the coverings and a thin sheet of sweat seemed to cover his whole body. His chest felt much warmer than his back. His whole left arm felt completely numb. It was as if he couldn't feel his fingers at all. But that was not true. He could feel the warmth of her skin and the even heaving of her chest, as his stunned fingers ghosted over her side along her ribs.

Mentally he tried out to envision the position they were lying in. She had turned in their sleep, her back was pressed against his chest. His arm, which she lay on, was curled around her. His other arm was trapped between her arms. He could feel the softness of her cheek and her breath brushing along his thumb. She was using it as a pillow. And there was more warmth and plush softness along his arm, it cushioned him and despite the fabric covering it he could feel the heat of her skin beneath.

The swallow he took had his Adam's apple bob up and down as he became only too aware that he was cushioned by her breasts and that actually his trailing fingers were brushing against its underside. This was no longer logical and he tried to squirm away without waking her.

He slowly lifted his numb arm from her side and rested it against the sheet on the mattress, the sensation of thousands of prickling needles distracted him momentarily. Getting his hand away from her cheek and arms was more difficult. And his first light move drew a displeased moan from her, it was an incoherent mumble, but it made him stop.

Maybe if he just turned around, naturally, as if in sleep, he could free himself. He tried to imitate a mumble, pronouncing something that could mean got to turn and put his plan into action. He was halfway through and free when she somehow stretched next to him and started turning over.

Laying on his back with his arm free gave him the freedom of his numbed arm but it came at a higher prize which he hadn't accounted for. She was turning with him, shifting and moving as she came flush to his side. He squeezed his eyes shut as every cell of his skin registered her movements, as her head nestled against his trapezius muscle, as her hand caressed across his chest to find a rest against his clavicle and as her thigh lifted and brushed along his femoral muscles and came to a rest at his hip bone, engulfing his groin with the warmth she radiated.

A grunt of pleasure and displeasure escaped his helmet. She had to be able to hear his accelerating heartbeat. No matter how he breathed, she had to be able – either with her leg or her arm – to feel his increasing respiration. His brain ran through options, thinking about something distracting, before it would short-circuit.

The shuttle where he had found her – no, it reminded him of how she had lain there, how he had helped her up and how cold she had felt as she fell against him.

The way Paz had cradled and carried her – no, definitely not a good idea, too vivid the memory as he had imagined carrying herself and the tight feeling of – he was ready to admit it – jealousy.

The way the flight suit and shift had clung to her body – no, not thinking of her body, the very body which was coiling and pressing against him right now.

The balls of hail – balls no, definitely not a good idea, it made him too much aware of the coil deep in him, slowly forming where her leg was placed, the way how her warm, soft barely clothed chest pressed against his and her semi naked state.

The speeder half way pushed into the cockpit of the shuttle – push, no, not a safe idea at all, it made him want to roll his hips and push against her leg to let her feel the effect she had on him, to let her sense how she made him feel.

His pained thinking got distracted when she moaned and both, her arm and leg, shifted. His breathing froze as her hand ran down his chest and side to rest on his hipbone, as her leg brushed lower and along his crotch, resting on his thighs again.

When she stilled her movements he dared a few shallow and shaky breaths. But then her hand travelled again and he clawed at the sheets and his body all but arched as he felt her touch on him. His voice was a hoarse plea between clenched jaws: "No … p-please … don't. I-I'm … I'm not Denx."

He didn't know what tore him more. The truth making him admit that he was not the one she sought. The way she reacted when she had retreated as if stung and shuffled to the other edge of the bed or the way she stared at his deranged state.

This body ached at the loss and yearned for more. He couldn't stand to see her that way, to see her gaping at him as she did and he turned to the wall, curling up on himself: "I'm sorry that I'm not what you want and who long for."

His voice was still raw and he feared the modulator hadn't helped to hide his turmoil. The uproar in his chest felt like it ripped him apart and overrode his other physical sensations. He nudged his hands between his clenched thighs and strained to control himself, but again his body betrayed him and didn't help him to keep the tremors at bay. At her touch high against his spine something in his body sparked and he jerked. But she kept her hand there until he gradually relaxed the muscles in his back again.

It didn't help that he felt the mattress shift under her weight. His mind was playing tricks on him, making him think that she was getting up. It didn't make sense though, as he still felt the warmth of her palm between his shoulder blades.

More tricks of his wishful mind as he sensed the spot of warmth spread and hair which wasn't his tickle the skin at the nape of his neck. More tricks of his longing heart as warm breath whispered down along his spine.

Her voice was so low, just a murmur. It was no more than a husky breeze: "Time. Give me time."

There it was again this spark that sent gooseflesh all over his skin. The vocoder rattled with his panted exhales: "Gladly." Untangling one of his hands he moved it to his side and waited – and hoped.

The prickling tingle started at his fingers and moved further along each phalanx until he felt her interlaced fingers brush past his knuckles. His chest rose with a deep inhale and he blinked away a sudden blurriness: "When it is the time, I'll be there. No matter when or how long. I'll be there. Just let me know, gedet'ye"

There was a soft squeeze of his hand and it was enough of an answer.

Mando'a:

vod: mate, comrade
gaid: plate
buir: parent, father, mother
Di'kut: idiot, useless individual, waste of space (lit. someone who forgets to put their pants on)
khi'vod: little brother
gedet'ye: please