He heard Tulata's voice as she asked him to wait. She was anxious, but he just assured her and promised her to be careful and not too hard on the other man. But some things had to be made clear and being not too hard meant in his case that you would kill the Zabrak then and there. After all the man gave the impression to be able to uphold, even against him. At least for some time.

Of course she had been right when she pointed out that they still needed every helping hand and the pilot. Him hurting her father wouldn't be the best way to ensure her further help if needed.

He had watched his way to move as the warrior from Ossus was walking before him and came to a halt in the middle of the ring. When Tulata was finally done with her lecturing he sauntered carelessly into the ring and only stopped when he was almost within reaching distance.

He was being measured, just as he had catalogued the other man. He was several pounds heavier, a fact that he would use. He might be underestimated when it came to his agility, he would exploit that too.

When they exchanged their first punches he wanted to test the Zabrak's reflexes and stamina: Had living on Ossus made him weak, that was the question. What the lighter man missed in power he made up with his fast blocks and returns. He couldn't believe his luck when he landed a jarring punch into the man's lower ribs in an unprotected moment.

He didn't want to give the Zabrak any time to recover as the man staggered away from him and set after him to grab him again. The man had strength and this move was new to him, so he fell for it and he fell hard. He made a rough guess that only his own weight had saved him from falling from an even higher point, as the man didn't lift him all the way. Just enough to be able to swipe through below him.

He couldn't get a hold on him or he would have tried to take the Ossus warrior down with him. Thus he was just able to scramble back to his feet after he had got some wind back. But the pants of the Zabrak sounded off, he had got him well with his hook to the ribs.

He could have done without getting thrown, but otherwise he was enjoying himself. Finally someone that made sparring worth and not only for a short round before they gave up. They had always given up too quickly for his taste, the only exception had been the beroya'e, Tharam and Din. They both had some mean moves thanks to one or the other cantina brawl on their hunts.

He had to be more careful in his approach or he would get to know another trick which he could do without. But he made sure to put even more power into his punches, now, if only he could get closer and a grip the still lithe man.

His wish to win over the Ossus warrior was still present but something lingered. With each jolting jab or kick he took or barely avoided his respect grew. He would have liked to continue, but the man hadn't read his lure.

He blocked the hook, countered, was blocked and used his chance. He grabbed the black suit and, with a wide side step, brought himself to the same height. He crocked his arm and with another fast step he was standing flush at his back.

He would have liked to dominate him in a more honourable way. But as soon as he would have clasped his hands together there would be no escape from his chokehold, surrender or pass out were the options left for the Zabrak.

He felt his helmet getting yanked forward and then the level of his whole body was changed. His eyes widened, the Zabrak was letting himself fall. He grunted as the impact jolted his neck and a pained grunt escaped the modulation of his helmet. But his brain registered the anguished sound that came from the other warrior.

Stemming against the pull which the black warrior exerted was his only chance of not losing his footing again. Thus he felt the impact of the fists punching against his collarbones the more. He had to move up and away before … but he couldn't, the man had coiled up and used his thighs for his own chokehold

Breaking away, it was his only chance. He straightened, halfway, the Zabrak was a deadweight, so he let go. He heard the muffled yell when they both went down in a crash: It must have been the man's shoulder, but he didn't loosen his hold.

Even with his strength he couldn't undo the grip. He had to or pass out. The more his vision narrowed to more he relied on his hearing. His own panting came heavy and heaving deep from his chest. The other man's pants came shallow, ragged, in an anguished way – he was lying on the very shoulder that had connected with his helmet.

The hold would break if the man rolled and he already felt the shift, the leg's tremble increased, their hold weakened. He tapped twice, quick in succession. There was no honour in upholding when his opponent couldn't continue. He was right in his assumption, the man didn't move to sit up, he kept lying on his back.

He mustered him, the shoulder looked off, something was wrong with it. Tulata seemed to know too. But it was the warrior's reply and not her comment that made him laugh. He liked the Zabrak's sense of humour.

He steadied himself on a knee and held his hand out. The black one took it and he helped him to a sitting position. He got a nod in return when he indicated with a nod towards the man's shoulder: "Let's patch you up."

The Zabrak pulled his right glove off and fingered along his collarbone. He winced but after an inhale he chuckled: "You give the old saying a completely new meaning."

He didn't get him: "What do you mean?"

The chuckle grew louder: "Ori'buyce, kih'kovid. Yours is a striking argument."

When Tulata also giggled he shrugged. He would never admit it though.

He instantly felt relieved when he felt her squeeze on his hand. Breathing became easier for him and the pressure of her head high on his back was something he could concentrate on. When she asked for permission he was not really sure what she meant, but gave his consent nevertheless. He soaked up the warmth of her body that aligned with his. And before he knew it he had drifted off to slumber again.

When he woke he heard a tiny hitch in her breath. Quietly he gave her hand a calm squeeze. And the calmness continued. There was nothing rushed in the way they got up. The peace in him didn't lessen as he helped with the salve and as he sat next to her.

The tranquillity stayed when offered the contact of their hands and she did seek it. Something had changed in her. Even when she pointed him towards the shelf with the wrecked armours to get her a set of fresh clothing she kept this new found calmness. Maybe his hopes weren't that unwarranted.

To give her more time to rest he offered to bring her caff and something to eat. Although she grumbled a bit at first he was able to convince her. Maybe it was the way he wagged his helmet at her with a snicker. Maybe it was because she did understand that he wanted to spend more private time with her.

When he came back with the tray and food for two, her eyes lit up in realisation. He stepped back towards the door and waited for her nod to lock the mechanism. When he positioned the chairs back to back she took place in the one facing more the door.

He sat and pulled off his helmet which he placed on the floor next to his chair. He enjoyed the experience of their small meal and he hoped the feeling was mutual. Sure, there was still the lingering feeling of novelty, but they were alone and he trusted her.

More than once their hands or arms brushed against each other in their closeness, but neither shrank back. And when they had finished he rested his hand on the table, within her reach. When she placed her palm in his he tentatively asked: "Good? Fine with you?"

For short moment his heart sank when she didn't answer, but then he felt her head rest back against his neck and he leaned in, feeling the relaxing calmness return.

After the heavy infantry had helped him up he was able to make the way to the med bay without support. He tried to step as lightly as possible. The constant agitated mumble of the healer next to him didn't make treatment by her something he looked forward to.

The result might not have been completely to his liking – getting injured had definitely not been his plan – but in the end the overall outcome counted. Both men had earned the other's respect and from there they could start to work together, instead of against each other.

When he had lowered himself on the stool her command came pointedly: "Strip." She was also a force to be reckoned.

He bit his tongue to not quip back, not with the heavy infantry lurking in the door frame. Their truce was too tender yet. Getting the cuirass off was cumbersome and neither of the Nevarro tribe members made a move to help him. It was their little punishment for his antics.

He groused that he had to undo the flak vest too. But he would definitely not strip his whole upper half – oh well, yes he would, she made it clear. Her jabbing finger came dangerously close to his shoulder as she raged down on him.

He gave the blue helmet an exaggerated sigh, but was only answered with a deep belly laugh. The darn Nevarro brave enjoyed that it was not him she got her first wrath off on.

Some words came repeatedly – stupid, childlike, no good example, careless, irresponsible – and some more. He sighed while he stripped down to his undershirt. Slowly he got the notion that the healer did it on purpose, but what for?

An ointment and a sling to rest his arm in, no Bacta – not for this foolishness – and keeping it still for several weeks. He could have done that himself. He only hoped that the blue warrior would also get his fair share which would wipe the hearable smirk off his face.

When he left the med bay he was stopped short by the green-eyed boy who scrutinized him thoroughly. He let go of a sigh – not another scolding.

"Why are you hurt?"

He ran his hand over this shoulder: "Your heavy infantry and I sparred. He is a strong warrior."

"Who won?"

"Errmm …" He was not sure and looked back at the bulky man for help.

Astonishingly he did get help. The huge man came over and knelt before the boy: "Both and none. It wouldn't have been honourable to continue as he was hurt."

He had his answer. Inside the rough demeanour the heavy infantry hid consideration and perceptiveness. But there was not much time to reflect. On the one hand there was boy who was pulling at his good hand and on the other hand there was the healer who called the heavy infantry to her.

He was lead outside and around the ship by the boy. Within calling distance he could make out Bril with his riduur and the other younglings. The adults were keeping them busy with playing and training stances.

He nodded at Bril and only when the other man addressed him by his name he answered likewise. The other maroon helmet swivelled between him and her husband: "Maybe you should tell her, would be less awkward for both of us."

That way he got to know Fina too. She was a bit shy but all in all less reserved in her behaviour. Her curiosity about his very being was obvious. And while they were talking slowly the younglings drew closer too.

He chose a rock to sit on and asked rather politely and explicitly everyone present if it were ok to remove his helmet. There was no real opposition, just an agitated mumble among the older ones. He was challenging everything they had been taught, and as some were just old enough to soon swear the Creed he could guess about their turmoil of seeing an adult Mandalorian willingly take his helmet off.

Before he actually did remove his helmet he explained they way of his tribe. Slowly he was drawing everyone closer with his story. Just the boy with the green eyes hadn't had to be lured in, he had come to sit next to him in the boulder right away.

He told them all he know about Iridonia and Dathomir and how his home world had fared in the last war and the wars before, about the time when the Empire had taken over and how they were connected to the Old Republic, even about the Mandalorian conquest thousands of years ago.

When he reached up to unclasp he pointed out the different design of his helmet and why they were needed due to him being a Zabrak.

"I have touched them and they don't hurt," the small boy blurted out. It earned him chuckles from the adults and gasps from the other younglings. Jus the smallest were unaffected.

"Ready? No one scared anymore?" He just wanted to make sure. Then he finally did open the helmet and slid it off. They boy's hand was instantly at his neck, pulling at his dreadlocks to get them out from under his neckscarf and suit.

His shoulder cracked under the movement and he was reminded why the healer had said to keep his arm still.

He had to answer a lot of questions and bear a lot of touching. But the behaviour of the green eyed boy had prepared him. All of a sudden all the young ones were more than intrigued. He endured everything with a proud posture and a lopsided grin.

When he rose he knew she was standing more or less in his back. He looked at the black helmet with the red visor and shrug to the Zabrak: "My turn I guess." A grin tore at his mouth when he let his helmet hang in an imitation of the healer's brother.

It definitely made everyone present laugh, everyone knew who he was referring to. On his way towards their compartment he chuckled as he wondered what would await him.

He didn't get far. His healer was standing in the door and curling her finger at him. Sure he would follow this command. He was only with one foot over the threshold when she pulled him in and turned off the light.

She shove him back, using his weight to press the door shut: "You had me scared witless." Her helmet clanged on the floor.

"Good to know that you care:" He fumbled blindly to lock the door then his helmet followed. It was in the way she plucked at his armour and in the way she kissed him feverishly, she let him know that this time she would be the demanding and passionate one.

When had wagged his helmet from one side to the other she couldn't help but join in in his snicker. She didn't exactly know what he had in mind but he had come back with the food and the caff. At the sight of the two mugs it dawn on her. It became even more obvious when he asked quietly for permission to lock the door. An when he placed the chairs so they could sit back to back it was more than clear.

She felt the curiosity rise in her. She had felt his face in her hand, had cupped his cheek, had trailed a thumb along his cheek and had let her little finger outline the side of his straight nose. But other than that she had no clue.

She hated how glimpses of Denx stole into her imagination. She didn't want them to compare, she couldn't allow it. When the time came he shouldn't be a substitute for what she had lost. He deserved more. She hoped that one day she could look at this man without remembering the other. Something ached in her when she admitted to herself that she would have to let him go or leave if this never happened.

The brush of his arm against hers gave her a giddy feeling. What was this feeling, it seemed so familiar yet long forgotten. And when she saw his hand lying, waiting with his palm open to receive her, it was on instinct that she placed hers in his. The same instinct which had her seek more contact by leaning her head back and feeling the warmth spreading from his neck.

They had spent some time like this, resting and relaxing, getting comfortable with the closeness. When he leant his head back some long strands of his unruly hair tickled the skin of forehead. She hummed softly as she let go of a deep inhale.

She was still sunken into this feeling of calmness that she didn't realize that he lifted her hand. Only when she felt his breath warm against her skin she opened her eyes. Her only reaction she was capable of was swallowing once, hard as his lips placed a soft kiss on a knuckle.

She had forgotten about the bandage and couldn't remember if she had lost it on her ride through the storm or if it had been taken off. But her brain didn't have any time to work properly as a second kiss was placed on the next knuckle. He was working his way through all four before he replaced their hands back where they had lain on the table.

Her blood was suddenly singing in hear ears and she felt a heatwave rolling from her head to her chest. She had to remind herself – he had said that he would be waiting, but he hadn't said that he would keep still. A smile slowly played at the corner of her lips. She had to admit that she somehow liked his act of devotion and even bravery, maybe it came from all the calmness around them.

She was unsure how to break this moment of silence, but she had to know as well as the others. When she stirred he immediately loosened his grip on her hand. She waited until she heard the familiar sound of the helmet's closing system only then she stood up.

When she turned the green-blue helmet gave again the wagging sign and she could imagine a very smug grin hiding beneath it. He got the tray and after he had taken it to the kitchen area they started their search for the others.

The ship was quiet, so they would probably be outside. They had to look around a bit before they saw the group of children and three adults. The maroon couple and the children had gathered around her father. She assumed that he was very likely entertaining them with a story, just like he had when she was still small.

But then she saw what he was up to, he was removing his helmet and much to her surprise the younglings didn't run away screaming. As she drew closer the saw something white around the back of his neck. And with each step she could detect better how rigidly still he held his left side.

When she looked at the warrior next to her she only got a shrug as answer. Of course he only knew as much as she did. The next wonder she was able to make out was a small boy whose eyes were hefted without faltering on her father. The old charmer had already found a fanboy, she had to chuckle.

But not too loudly, not too full of mirth. She still had to keep her composure as a suspicion made itself known. With her out he might have gone and fought Big Blue and as it seemed not with an overall favourable outcome for himself.

When she came to a stand in front of him she crossed her arms in front of her chest and just nodded at, what she could plainly see now, his arm in a sling.

She knew that apologetic grin and what was to come: "At least now everything is clear."

"Uh-hu, and how long does it take?" She felt the anger rising in her at how stupid he could be.

He shrugged: "About four weeks."

She shook her head and sighed: "Six more likely." Looking around all the children she had an idea: "You just got appointed to caretaker."

Mando'a

Beroya'e: bounty hunters
Ori'buyce, kih'kovid. - "All helmet, no head." (Mandalorian insult for someone with an overdeveloped sense of authority.)
riduur: wife, husband, partner

Extra note:

I'd like to thank all those who read, comments are very much appreciated as every writer I thrive in them. For those who'd also be interested in a songlist this story can also be found (same title, same ID, only difference: as the story continues (so far for chapter 28: /works/25332616 spicy extracts and continuations of scenes of intimacy) on AO3: /works/24452008/chapters/59006740