Chapter 46: Partners

"How do I look?"

Battling the sudden onset of extreme nerves, Isabet tersely responded to Carth before she could stop herself. "For the thousandth time, you look fine, Republic," she mumbled. "You're meeting my brother, not entering a beauty pageant." The Mandalorian quickly realized how rude and unsupportive the comment was; wanting to show how much she truly cared for the man beside her, she backtracked. "But if you were entering one…" She jerked their joined hands, halting Carth before ruffling his all-too-tidy hair and unbuttoning the top clasp of his shirt, revealing a wealth of tightly coiled hair. "… I'd bet every credit to my name on you wowing the judges," she encouraged, pecking his cheek before opening the door to the cantina.

Unlike other cantinas Carth had visited throughout his 38 years, this cantina had been all-but overrun by Mandalorians he had undoubtedly battled at some point during the War. It was nowhere near a comfortable environment for the veteran pilot, yet his partner seemed right at home.

The general scanned the smoky room packed with muscle-bound mercenaries and scantily clad joy-girls before a voice called from the bar. "Izzy! Oh, gods, you look amazing!"

Isabet spun around, eyes bright. "Nez?!" she exclaimed, running to and embracing the dark-haired woman with all her might. "Mesh'la runi!" she cried out in Mando'a, cupping the woman's cheeks. "Havelock didn't tell me you were going to be here!"

"I wanted to surprise you," Nez grinned in return, oblivious to Carth's presence. "C'mon! We grabbed a table in the back." She grasped Isabet's hand and led her through the maze of tables. Although Carth had not been invited to join, he followed the merrily chattering women, albeit from a respectable distance. Nez was a tall woman matching Isabet's substantial height. Her hawkish nose, tan skin, and dark, deep-set eyes alerted him the two were not related by blood, though Isabet and Nez spoke to one another as if they were long-lost sisters. The heartwarming sight momentarily eased his discomfort and brought a smile to his face.

In the corner of the darkened alcove to which Nez had guided them stood a hulking man with auburn hair. He bore a resemblance to Isabet and her fallen brother, Callum, albeit an even taller, more muscular, and hairier version. Much, much hairier. "If it isn't my favorite sister, little Dizzy Izzy," he teased, his voice even more thunderous than Carth could have ever anticipated.

The siblings fervently embraced one another; Havelock lifted Isabet with ease, as if she were nothing more than a feather. "I'm your only sister, Havs," she responded, grinning wide as he lowered her feet to the floor. "But I thought we agreed to retire that nickname?"

The cheer brought about by the clan reunion was short-lived, however, interrupted by a mercenary with white-blonde hair at a nearby table. "Perhaps she prefers her more widely-known nickname?" the hired gun growled. "But I imagine 'widowmaker' lost some of its appeal once she made herself a widow," he noted before hocking a wad of spit near Havelock's boots.

The atmosphere of the room shifted; all became tense, including the Caderas. The siblings ended their embrace, each turning to face the unwelcomed commenter. "Tinn," Isabet icily greeted the man, her voice low and biting. "I wish I could say it's nice to run into a member of Clan Saxon, but what's the point in bullshitting?"

"Shouldn't you be off doin' Clan Fett's dirty work like the bitch-boy you are?" Havelock added, prompting Tinn's tablemates to leap off their stools.

Hands lifted and extended wide, Nez attempted to quell the impending fisticuffs, stepping between her fellow Mandalorians. "All of you: knock it off," she ordered before shepherding Isabet and her brother to their booth despite Tinn's continued goading. "Kaysh mirsh solus," she insulted Tinn in a volume that could only be heard by the Caderas. "He's not worth our time or energy. We don't get to see you often, Izzy, and I'm not gonna let the likes of Tinn Saxon ruin what time we do have with you." The peacemaking woman shimmied into the curved booth, tugging Isabet alongside her.

Sensing the longer he waited to announce his presence, the more awkward it would be, but knowing he could not simply follow Isabet into the booth without a proper introduction, Carth cleared his throat.

Still irked by Tinn's intrusion, Havelock glanced at Carth through his eye's corner before dismissively grunting. "We're not looking for work. Go bother some other table, buttercup."

"Buttercup's with me," Isabet announced with a sigh, moving to stand once more and positioning herself beside the pilot. "Carth, this is my brother, Havelock, and his partner, Nez Detta, the spectacular woman who would be his riduur if he'd just buck up and propose already," she ribbed, winking at the lithe woman seated comfortably in the booth. "Havelock. Nez. This is Commander Carth Onasi. He's the Republic soldier from Kashyyyk I told you about. He worked with Cal to save me when Dral betrayed us and he fought for my spot on the ship he's piloting. He's been good to me. Better than good, if I'm being honest." For the first time since their meeting on Kashyyyk months ago, Carth noted Isabet displaying telltale signs of fear; she sucked in a breath and clutched his hand with her clammy one before completing her introduction. "He's… he's my partner."

All those close enough to hear the exchange fell eerily silent, staring at Carth with a range of expressions, none of which were positive. Evidently floored by the revelation of their illicit involvement, Havelock stroked his impressive beard before wiping his expressionless face. For a moment, Carth considered saying something to end the unbearable quiet, though he couldn't think of any words capable of alleviating the discomfort of the situation.

Mercifully, Nez broke through the group's mutual stupor, her eyes darting back-and-forth between Havelock and Carth. "Carth Onasi," she repeated slowly, clearly unsure of what to say next, "it's… ah… well, it's… umm… nice to -"

"Partner?" Tinn questioned from the next table, indignant. "Partner in what?"

"In life, dipshit," Isabet defensively shot back. "And if memory serves me right, I never asked for your opinion. Or any of your opinions," she scolded, glaring at the patrons who had turned their attention to the exchange. "This conversation is between me and my clan."

While the other cantina-goers heeded Isabet's warning to stay out of her affairs, Tinn ignored her and began self-righteous grandstanding. "You've lay with this scum? Tarnished your clan's name even more? I've heard of you, Onasi," he badgered the couple, rising and menacingly edging closer to Carth in a bid to intimidate him. "We've all heard of you. Just because you're a decent pilot and soldier by Republic standards doesn't mean you hold a candle to even the least in our ranks. You're no Mandalorian."

"No, but he certainly acts like one between the sheets, which, if the rumors are true, is more than you can say," Isabet countered before narrowing her eyes. "Did you ever get that little issue of yours figured out?"

The indecent claim caught Carth and most of the patrons by surprise; he was absolutely certain his face had surpassed red and gone straight to purple. The scathing quip, however, seemed to take the pressure off himself and Isabet: Nez let out a bark of laughter before covering her mouth, trying to suppress her amusement. Havelock, too, smirked, though his congenial expression quickly morphed into one of malice when Tinn snarled. "The gods were merciful to have killed off your parents before they saw their only daughter defiling hersel-"

Before Tinn could finish his tirade, both Caderas delivered knockout blows; Havelock coldcocked Tinn's temple, while Isabet struck him with a swift uppercut to the chin. "Anyone else interested in runnin' their trap?" Havelock gruffly questioned the stunned patrons, fists balled. When all — including Tinn's subdued tablemates — turned their attention back to their refreshments and resumed their conversations, Havelock and Isabet moved to sit on either side of Nez.

Neither sibling, nor Nez, nor any of the other patrons seemed to pay Tinn's limp body sprawled on the grimy floor any mind. And so, in spite of his instincts, Carth artfully stepped over the Mandalorian and slipped into the booth beside Isabet. "I fucking hate that guy," the Caderas grumbled in unison, each massaging their bruising knuckles before turning their attention to the matter at hand.

"Do you have the ID signature you promised?" Isabet asked. "As much as I'd like to stay and chat, we're on a tight schedule."

"Sure do. No one'll know the difference between your Ebon Hawk and an Alderaanian freighter transporting medical supplies," Havelock replied, twirling a disc between his colossal fingers before slamming it on the table and covering it with his hand. "But since you've got a new man in your life, I wanna get to know him before handing over the goods." When Isabet let out an overly dramatic groan, Havelock set his elbow upon the tabletop and leaned closer to his kin. "You can spare a couple minutes for me, Dizzy," he sternly reminded his sibling before zeroing in on Carth. "Unless you've got a problem breaking bread with 'filthy Mandos,' Onasi…"

"Not at all," Carth swiftly assured Havelock, trying to gain the Mandalorian's favor before realizing what he'd said. "I mean, you're not… I… I've never used that term and wouldn't allow men under my command to use slurs. I've… ah… I've actually been looking forward to meeting you."

"Nervous?" Havelock quizzed with a devilish leer. "There's no need. My little sister must be real sweet on you if she's introducing you to the clan," he mischievously grinned at Isabet, his tone thick with brotherly love. "We usually just find out about her burc'jags, so for her to just come out and introduce you as her partner? That's quite the change. Y'know, come to think of it, I've only officially met two of 'em, not including you, of course. Her shitbag of a husband," he spit near Tinn's face for emphasis, "and -"

"Havelock," a stone-faced Isabet interrupted, tight-lipped. "Enough."

"What? I'm just making conversation and gettin' to know the commander," he shrugged, feigning innocence as he lit a cigarra and positioned it between his teeth. "So, Onasi: this the first time you've dipped your toes in the Mandalorian pool, or do you have a habit of stickin' your pecker in places it shouldn't be?"

Visibly embarrassed by her longtime love's crass questioning, Nez closed her eyes and noisily exhaled. "Gods, Havelock," she rasped, sinking deeper into the booth. "Way to ease the poor sap into it…"

Isabet scoffed and wagged her head in disapproval. She knew Havelock was bound to interrogate Carth once he learned of their newfound connection, but she had not anticipated just how direct her brother would be. The general knew better than to try talking him off his warpath, however. Shielding Carth from the inquiries would be perceived as a sign of weakness, and so, she simply rested her hand atop his knee, supportive yet apologetic.

Before Carth could respond to what he knew was just the start of his grilling, Havelock called to the barkeep. "Krix, we're gonna be here a while. A round of jumas for the table and…" He paused, breaking his focus on Carth to glance at Isabet. "Think your boytoy can handle a little tiingilar?"

Eyes glowing with the fierce determination Carth knew all too well, Isabet folded her arms across her chest. "Anything you can do, he can do better," she declared, confident and defiant. Her protective instincts and blind desire to prove Carth's worthiness, however, spiraled. "Krix, make it a double."

"Huh," Havelock sniggered. "In that case, let's make it a triple."

"Why stop there?" Isabet challenged, snatching a cigarra from Havelock's pack. "Make it a quad. Your pansy-ass can't even handle that, Havs."

Increasingly uneasy, Carth murmured to Isabet, who seemed blissfully unaware of his trepidation. "What, uh… what are you signing me up for? What's tiingilar?"

"It's a Mandalorian dish," Nez responded as she began absentmindedly braiding her hair into a neat plait, indifferent to the siblings' rivalry as she had grown accustomed to the competitive nature of the Caderas. "I think you Republic lovers call it 'casserole'. We love it and I bet you will, too," she said with a disarming grin. "It's delicious."

"And spicy," Havelock cautioned, pronounced brows knowingly arched. "Think you can handle the heat, Onasi?"

"Republic can handle anything you throw at him," Isabet answered on his behalf, though Carth quickly tried to escape the deathtrap.

"Izz," he whispered, "I don't know if this is such a good idea. I've eaten nothing but rations for the past few years and spicy food usually doesn't agree with me."

"You'll be fine," Isabet dismissed his concerns as she shoved a spoon into his hand, though Carth was certain she had not actually listened to his word of warning. "Just eat…"

After his emotional farewell to Shefali, Penn needed a moment of privacy; a time to be fully alone with his thoughts before embarking upon the final — and undoubtedly most taxing — leg of their journey. He aimlessly wandered Iziz's winding streets until his weary feet threatened to give way and now, with the city firmly within night's grasp, he returned to the bay in which the Ebon Hawk was docked… or at least, it should have been docked.

The space where Carth landed the freighter not a day prior was now empty. Teams of Czerka employees and medical personnel milled about, speaking in hushed tones as body bags were carted from the scene. Adding to his confusion, Bastila, Jolee, Canderous, Juhani, and HK-47 were huddled together, each focused on their communication devices. The Mandalorian was the first to notice Penn drawing near. "Finally," he groused, throwing a hand in the air in a show of frustration, "at least we tracked one of 'em down. Where the hell've you been, Slim?"

Instead of replying to Canderous' question regarding his whereabouts, Penn tilted his head toward the empty bay. "What's going on? Where's the Hawk? And where are the others?"

The crew shot one another harried glances before Bastila stepped forward to relay the worrisome news. "Canderous and Juhani returned from their excursion at the port to find the dock workers had been ambushed by an unknown militant force and the Ebon Hawk had gone missing. Stolen, I presume, as I cannot envision the two events being unrelated. For the past half-hour, we've been working to contact you and the others. Carth and Isabet both have their communication devices on and are within range, but neither have responded to our transmissions."

Canderous fumed at the thought. "If that Republic-loving twat does anything to her…"

Juhani rested a calming hand upon his forearm. "Carth is a noble man. He would never lay a hand on the she-Mandalorian in anger, nor would he allow her to come to harm. You know this," she reasoned, though her words of comfort only seemed to rile him further.

Canderous continued detailing the ways in which he would disembowel Carth, though the sound of Penn's blood rushing behind his ears drowned out the Mandalorian's threats. Although he, too, was concerned for Carth and Isabet's safety, he was far more concerned about the crew member for whom he felt most responsible. "Where's Mission?" he inquired.

Staying true to her oath to be honest no matter how unsavory the truth might be, Bastila reluctantly answered on behalf of the group. "We… we don't know. Her comlink is either switched off or out-of-range. Based on the timeline we've managed to piece together… we believe Mission and T3-M4 may have been on the ship when it was stolen…"

Boiling with barely-repressed rage, Penn ran his tongue across his teeth before addressing the droid who hadn't followed orders. "HK, why weren't you on the ship? I've told you that when there isn't an adult onboard, it's your job to look after the Hawk unless I say otherwise."

"Self-defense: Master, was it not you who instructed me to listen to meatbags other than yourself? I was not on the ship because I was following instructions from the blue meatbag child," HK-47 explained. "Statement: After I completed my cargo-unloading duties as assigned by the female meatbag with whom you routinely press your slimy, mucus-covered lips, the blue meatbag child requested I gather meiloorun fruit before our departure." Equally embarrassed that the 'private' moments they once shared were not only being brought to light, but also being described in such a grotesque manner, both Penn and Bastila let out sighs of frustration as HK-47 continued. "Commentary: Neither the blue meatbag child nor my less-capable droid counterpart add to our overall defense capabilities. The best and most efficient course of action is to locate the paranoid meatbag pilot and the aggressive female meatbag, commandeer a new ship, and leave the weak ones to fend for themselves."

The crew members in attendance cringed the instant the horrific, tactless suggestion exited HK-47's vocabulator; Canderous rammed his elbow against the droid's chassis and shook his head in disgust.

Fully aware of just how much Penn adored Mission, Bastila considered reaching out to touch her former lover's hands as they began quaking with anger, though she decided against it when he addressed the droid in an acidic voice.

"For your own good, I'm going to act like you didn't say that," Penn growled, more irritable than usual on account of HK-47 calling undue attention to the carnal aspects of his shattered relationship with Bastila, Mission's disappearance, and his still-unfolding identity crisis. Wishing to regain his dwindling sense of calm in order to plot a logical course of action, Penn took a moment to collect himself before laying out a plan. "Since we're missing half the crew, we're going to split into groups of two instead of our usual three so we can cover more ground."

"The Cathar's with me," Canderous decided, sliding his trusted blaster rifle free of his back holster. "Hani and I'll get the job done."

Since Penn had already intended to pair the unlikely friends, he nodded. Given his irritation toward HK-47, Penn knew he should not travel with the droid, lest it end up in a scrap heap. And, when combined with his mixed emotions about spending one-on-one time with Bastila, there was only one crewmate Penn was amenable to partnering with. "Alright. Jolee, that means you're with m-"

"The droid," Jolee unceremoniously interrupted. His atypical bout of insubordination captured the attention of all, including a suddenly wide-eyed Bastila. "AK-47, or H2O, or whatever its name is."

Unwilling to travel with anyone other than Jolee, Penn stood firm. "I was actually saying you're with m-"

"The big red one," the hermit cut in once more, testing Penn's worn patience. "Droid's not much of a conversationalist, but I'll make due."

Penn lowered his chin just a fraction, glaring at Jolee through narrowed eyes. "Jolee, might I have a word? In private," he said, teeth grit. "Now."

The two men walked just out of earshot. Before Penn could remind Jolee of his status as leader of the mission and chastise his public rebellion, however, the elder spoke. "The droid is with me, and that's final," he stated, earning a scowl from his former ward. "I don't want to travel with you."

Penn's lip snarled. "Don't want to travel with me? Since when? Need I remind you of a little place called the Shadowlands? You were so adamant about traveling with me then that you left your whole damn house behind and -"

"Yurt," Jolee corrected, earning a grunt of frustration from Penn. "I lived in a yurt."

"Yurt, fortress, hole in the ground, whatever," he shot back. "You're always itching to be around me, even on the ship. I can hardly walk to the refresher without you asking to come along. What's changed?" Before Jolee could respond to his questioning, Penn crossed his arms. "Unless…" He squinted. "Is this your little ploy to avoid talking about Ulic?"

"Maybe," Jolee cryptically replied, thumbing his chin before offering other potential reasons behind his decision. "Or maybe I don't want my hair to frizz in this humidity," he pondered aloud, rubbing his shiny scalp. "Or maybe I'm afraid to be alone with the person who decided to use my finger as a chew-toy when he was a rabid toddler, foaming at the mouth," Jolee prattled on, lifting a digit indented with scars consistent with tiny, poorly-spaced teeth as evidence, eliciting an eye roll from Penn. "Or maybe I have a flair for the romantic and want to see you make amends with the pretty girl you have a crush on so you'll stop moping around. You'll never know."

Bringing his complicated feelings for Bastila into the mix felt out-of-bounds, even for Jolee. Penn let out a puff of air, exasperated. "Dammit, Jolee," he breathlessly grumbled, glancing over his shoulder to ensure the Knight had not heard the elder's flippant remark. "I'm being serious."

"And who said I'm not?" Jolee questioned, silver brows cocked. "Squabbling or not, you kids are the best this ragtag crew has to offer. Aside from myself, of course, but this isn't about me. You and your lass have the best chance of finding Mission and that overweight glob of grease you call a companion. Besides, a man of my age shouldn't be trouncing around the jungle in the dead of night. I could fall and break a hip. Is that what you want? You want an old man to break his hip, do you? Hmm? Hmm?!"

Realizing Jolee had chosen this hill as one to die upon, Penn pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled deeply, unwilling to argue any longer as further effort would undoubtedly prove futile. "'Break a hip' my ass," Penn mumbled as he turned to return to the crew. "I hate you, old man."

In response, a beaming Jolee patted Penn's back. "The feeling is mutual, son," he responded, though both men knew there was neither malice nor truth behind their declarations of disdain. On the contrary, Penn had grown to care for Jolee more than he ever thought himself capable of upon their first meeting — or rather, reunion — on Kashyyyk months ago. And, despite his hatred for himself, his affection for the elder had only swelled since the reveal of his true identity. For his part, Jolee's love for Revan had never faltered, even when most deemed him forever lost to his depravity and wicked ways.

Suddenly anxious, Penn held his breath for a moment before addressing his troops, purposefully avoiding Bastila's curious yet concerned gaze. "Juhani and Canderous, scout the eastern jungles all the way to the ridge and circle back to the city through the north. Jolee and HK, search the city for Carth and Izzy. Once you've found them, break off into two groups and walk the perimeter of the Sky Ramp to see if any of you can find signs of the Hawk from that vantage point. Bastila…" Sealing off their bond yet again to ensure Bastila could not read his truest thoughts or feelings, Penn stared at the ground for several beats before meeting her equally-hesitant gaze. "You're heading west with me. We'll regroup here at daybreak. Let's move…"

Isabet rested her hand upon Carth's lower back, ushering him out of the cantina behind her brother and Nez. Even through the weighty cloth of his jacket, she could feel the dampness of his flesh, yet she paid it no mind as the group stepped into the night.

"Don't be a stranger, Dizzy," Havelock said to his sister, pulling her into his burly arms for one final hug. Nez and Isabet followed suit as Havelock turned his attention to Carth. "No man — Mandalorian-born or otherwise — will ever be good enough for my baby sister, but she's done a helluva lot worse than you. Keep doing right by her and I might be willing to give you a chance." To Isabet's delight, her brother flexed and positioned his forearm near her partner to engage in a traditional Mandalorian farewell and sign of mutual respect, though Carth seemed perplexed by the action. "Osik," he swore with a huff before extending his hand to Carth. "I forgot you Republic-lovers shake hands."

Despite her best efforts, Isabet could barely suppress her giddy grin at the sight of their camaraderie, however fleeting it may have been. "But if you ever hurt her, I'll make damn sure you eat your own teeth," Havelock threatened, squeezing Carth's hand until he heard an audible crunch. "Don't cross Clan Cadera."

Carth gave an unusually sluggish nod, his eyelids barely cracked. "I don't intend to," he replied, listless. "She's safe with me." And, with a final round of farewells, the couples parted ways.

The Ebon Hawk's odd pairing didn't walk far before Isabet tugged Carth into a shadowy alleyway on the opposite side of the cantina; she pinned him against the sandstone wall and planted a hot-blooded kiss upon his reddened, tingling lips. "You. Were. Perfect," Isabet murmured, her heart flooded with emotions she no longer thought herself capable of feeling. "You held your own with Havs and got a handshake at the end," she beamed with an excitable arch of her brows, hopeful about what this hurdle meant for their blossoming relationship. "That means he likes you, y'know."

Carth garbled out a seemingly-unrelated response. "Are they gone?" he inquired, before releasing an unseamly half-hiccup, half-burp.

Thanks to the fog of desire clouding her senses, Isabet paid no attention to the strange bodily noise. "I like to think you won over Cal before he passed, and you clearly won over Havelock, so that means Nairn, Daedalus, and Zebedee will be a cakewalk. Arioch might need a little more convincing, but we'll cross that bridge once we get there." A twinkle in her eye and a fire raging in her loin, she draped her arms around his neck and twined her fingers in his hair. "I hope you weren't planning on sleeping tonight," she purred, her teeth grazing his earlobe in a way that usually made him shiver with anticipation. "Oh, the things I'm gonna do to you once we're back on that rickety junk heap…"

Carth ignored her insinuation and dodged her incoming kiss. "Are they gone?" he repeated as his glazed eyes drifted to the main street, the desperation in his voice evident.

Confused and slightly annoyed by his lack of reciprocation, Isabet squinted. "Havs and Nez? Yeah, they went in the opposite direction. Why?" Before Isabet's question fully crossed her lips, Carth ducked beneath her arms and beelined to the cantina's nearby dumpster. He swung the lid open, stuck his head inside the receptacle, and began vomiting profusely. "Republic!" she hollered, rushing to his side as his whole frame shuddered. "What the hell's wrong?! Did someone slip something in your food?!"

Too busy spewing, Carth did not respond for several moments. "It's…" Lowering his head into the dumpster once more, he paused before blurting between heaves, "the tiingilar. I'm not good… With… Spicy food."

As her partner retched, Isabet sighed, wholly disappointed in herself. "Gods," she breathed, rubbing his trembling back in an attempt to soothe him, "I'm sorry, Carth. This is my fault. I'm a complete dumbass."

Once Carth had gained a semblance of control over his churning stomach, he wiped his mouth and plopped on the clay ground opposite the dumpster, legs extended. "You're not," he slurred, bordering on incoherent as he was completely spent, "a dumbass."

Isabet drew a canteen from her satchel and knelt before him. "No, I am," she protested, brushing wayward hairs off his forehead beaded with sweat. "Here, drink this." As Carth gargled and gulped the water, Isabet berated herself beneath her breath. "I'm a goddamned idiot and pushed you way too hard. I'm sorry."

Carth hung his heavy head, his chin nearly touching his chest, as Isabet moved to sit beside him. Recalling her earlier words of encouragement and assertion that she didn't need her clan's approval to continue the relationship, Carth wearily voiced his observation. "So you do care about their approval."

"I… No, I… Republic, it's… it's complicated," she exhaled, pressing the base of her palms against her forehead. "I wasn't lying when I said I wasn't looking for their approval. I don't need their approval, but once we got there, I…" Isabet bit her lip, looking to the starry night skies overhead before speaking in a manner far more candid than she was accustomed to. "I got scared," she reluctantly admitted with a halfhearted shrug. "I knew they'd be a little rough, sure, but once we got there and I saw their reactions when I introduced you — everyone's reactions… I was afraid they'd treat you poorly enough that you'd just… leave…"

Surprised by Isabet's fear of losing her partner — a fear he was all too familiar with given his tragic past — Carth lifted his head and surveyed her through the corner of his eye. Isabet, however, misread his expression of empathy for pity.

Feeling self-conscious, she focused her sights on her outstretched legs and curled her toes within her boots. "It sounds stupid because it is stupid, but in the moment, I thought if I could just somehow prove to them you're as good as any of our men, they might give you a chance and not actively try to run you off." She stayed quiet a while longer, mindlessly splitting the ends of her braided hair before speaking. "And I was so damn scared of someone else running you off… that I went and did the job myself…"

Her miserable expression tore at Carth's heart. He rested his weary head against her shoulder, mentally cataloging her perfumed hair's sweet scent as he pulled her hand into his lap. "It'll take a lot more than a bowl of tiingilar and few naysayers to scare me away," he promised, lacing his fingers with hers. "I'm not going anywhere, gorgeous. Not by a longshot."

They sat as they were for a long while, each ignoring the periodic chirping of their comlinks before Isabet finally spoke. "Was meeting any of your other girlfriends' families as miserable of an experience as I've made this?"

"I've never met a more intimidating family, that's for damn sure," he teased, earning a snort of laughter from Isabet. While dodging questions of a personal nature had become ingrained in Carth's personality since his wife's passing, things with Isabet felt… different. With each passing day, he found himself wanting to be open with her; to lay his deepest wounds bare and share his greatest fears. To invite her to places few people had been. And so, he willingly answered her original question. "I met my wife's father long before I met her. We were both from Telos, so there weren't any real cultural differences or language barriers like there were tonight. There was a lot less pressure meeting Dol than meeting Havelock; I haven't been that nervous in years."

The refreshing honesty earned a sly grin from Isabet. "Oh? And how'd you meet your father-in-law?"

"Back when I was a boy — maybe 10 or thereabouts? — my parents were too busy fighting each other to notice I'd fallen in with the wrong crowd and was causing trouble around our settlement. Nothing all that terrible, mind you, but enough to catch the attention of the Telos Security Force. Dol caught me during one of his TSF patrols, but instead of sending me to the juvenile center as he should have, he took me under his wing. He's actually the one who convinced me to try my hand at flying and helped me prepare my application for the Republic's aviation academy once I got a little older. Dol became more of a father to me than my own father ever was. We grew closer and, eventually, he invited me to dinner with his family… and that's when I met Morgana. By the time we were teenagers, it was almost expected we'd end up together. She took a little convincing, but I eventually won her over," he recalled with the faintest of smiles. "The Grenns have always been in my life. They still are, even though Morgana is gone. They're the only family I have left."

The rare glimpse into Carth's past brought a warm smile to Isabet's face. "So it's safe to say your experience with Clan Cadera ranks well-below that one, eh, buttercup?" she chuckled, gently nudging his head with her own. "And the others?"

The grin brought about by the fond memories of Morgana and Isabet's harmless teasing disappeared. Visions of his wife's final moments — her blood-caked face, body mangled beyond repair, and the slow, agonizing fade of the light leaving her eyes — drifted into his subconscious. Morgana's death was one of the few memories in which he remembered every minute detail of her face, a fact which simultaneously maddened and haunted him. He mentally replayed Morgana's last words to him — her final requests and proclamation of undying love — before answering Isabet. "There… hasn't been anyone else," he hesitantly admitted, his cheeks and ears reddening despite himself. "Only my wife… and then…"

Isabet's cheeky smile vanished; she fell disconcertingly quiet as the reality of just how significant their union was in his life's story came into focus. "No one at all?" she softly asked, angling herself to look at him. "Just Morgana and… me?"

His neck and chest growing uncomfortably warm, Carth stayed quiet, focusing on his suddenly-fidgety hands. "Before she died, my wife made me promise to be happy again — to find someone new when I was ready — but I… I never did. Tracking down Saul and chasing leads about Dustil became the only things that mattered to me; I dedicated myself to the fleet and never put effort into finding someone. Partly because I figured I would die trying to kill Saul, but mostly because I didn't think anyone could come close to making me feel the way she did…" Knowing the words bubbling in his throat tread precariously close to a declaration of love, Carth hesitated before choosing to honor his wife's memory by being brave and meeting Isabet's gaze. "… Until I found you."

Touched more deeply than he would ever know, Isabet slowly closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his. She lay her hand against his chest, taking comfort in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat before uttering the words that refused to stay bottled inside. "Ner kar'ta gar, ner cyare," she whispered in her mother tongue.

Carth sensed the words were ones he was not yet supposed to understand… Or perhaps they were words he was not yet ready to hear. Regardless of the truth, he quietly returned her affection by tenderly cupping her face, tracing his thumb up-and-down her cheek.

Even in their most reckless and impassioned moments, Carth always possessed the wherewithal to avoid the sizable scar extending from the corner of Isabet's lips to the base of her jaw. When his thumb absently skimmed across the sunken, jagged scar marring her otherwise flawless skin, however, he swiftly withdrew his hand. "Sorry," he apologized, shrinking away. "I -"

"It's part of me, Carth," she gently interrupted. "I'm not ashamed of it anymore." Once more, they sat in silence though this time, Isabet was hopelessly restless. The question of how she earned her scar — the mark deemed 'hideous' by many — was the one inquiry most men asked the instant they met Isabet. And yet, it was the one question Carth never asked. For years, the scar had served as a constant reminder of her life's darkest and most disastrous chapter; a chapter whose ugly, unvarnished truth she had never revealed to anyone, including members of her own clan. But tonight, after all Carth shared, Isabet resolved to be just as vulnerable as he. The Mandalorian swallowed hard before delving into territory she knew would forever alter the way Carth viewed her. "Are you going to ask, or what?"

He rapidly wagged his swimming head. "No. No. It's none of my business."

Carth desperately avoided eye contact, though the rest of his body language betrayed him. He was curious. "Gods help us if you're ever interrogated for information about this mission, Republic, 'cause you're a pitiful liar." She sharply inhaled before pulling the canteen from his loose grip and hoisting herself off the ground. "Stay there," Isabet instructed as she started padding up the alley. "I'll be back in a sec."

He straightened but a little. "Where are you going?"

"Back to the cantina. I'm gonna get some blue milk to calm your stomach and fill this up with more water. We need to get you rehydrated," she replied before taking a deep, centering breath. For the second time that evening, she displayed signs of fear, yet this was a distinctly different brand of fear — one riddled with pain, and sadness, and monumental regret. "And to get a bottle of gin for myself," she finally said, darkened eyes focused upon the ground. "I'm gonna need some more alcohol in me to talk about my scar… and Canderous."

A/N: Thanks for reading! This chapter came together MUCH faster than expected and I figured it didn't make sense to sit on it. So… Here's the second chapter of the month! I doubt this will happen again.

I thought it might be fun to incorporate Mando'a into the conversations since it reminded me of my own family and how we switch between languages from time-to-time. With the exception of the last phrase, I tried to choose words that could be deduced with context clues within the rest of the sentence (or use phrases we've already translated, like "kaysh mirsh solus"), but if you'd like to know exactly what they're saying, check out the "Mando'a Database" online (or ask me).

Isabet and Canderous' past together needs to come to light (at least, to Carth and you, the reader) before Korriban, so the next installment will focus on our resident Mandalorians. After that, we'll fully transition back to Penn and Bastila (and Mission!).

As always, any favs, follows, or reviews are appreciated. Until next time!