"What did your covert typically do with children?" Omera asked.
The Mandalorian said, "Wrench." She passed him the wrench. He finished tightening whatever it was that needed tightening and then handed her back the tool with a sigh. "They stayed hidden. We had dedicated caretakers, usually parents, in charge of teaching and keeping them safe."
Omera stood up and brushed off her pants (she found them more practical than her normal skirt in the confines of the ship). "So, not usually secreting them away in cubbies when company comes by?" She was trying for lighthearted, but she knew it fell flat the moment the words left her lips. Rubbing her wrist over her eyes, she said, "Sorry. That came out wrong."
The Mandalorian gave no reply. He stood, grabbed the tool box, and brushed past her to put it away.
The atmosphere of the ship had been tense in the day or so since taking on the other bounty hunters. Winta seemed two words from breaking into tears at any given moment, the Mandalorian was tense, Omera herself felt generally upset, and the child wasn't even trying to play, just sitting next to Winta with his ears drooped down.
"Hey," she said, turning and pinching some of the extra fabric of his sleeve. He stopped but didn't turn to look at her, so she tugged the fabric she held until he did. She gave a gentle smile. "Let's go somewhere green, okay? Get everyone out of the ship for a while."
She saw his chest rise and fall with a very deep breath before he nodded once and strode off.
She let the smile fall from her face and leaned back against the metal wall of the small hallway. Winta's words kept running through her head. I want to go home . She felt…was there a word for this feeling? Homesick, but just for safety? She wrapped her arms around herself. It felt like she was a little refugee kid again, confused and wanting to go back to a place that didn't exist anymore.
She could leave. She could take Winta and they could leave this ship and it's passengers behind forever. She and the Mandalorian had made no promises to each other, after all. It was a silent agreement, one she knew he would release her from without a word of protest.
What had she expected from joining him? She didn't know. The reality of living on this ship was…a lot. A lot more than she hadn't expected.
Tears were forcing their way out of the corners of her eyes and she brushed them away. She didn't want to cry. But…it had been a while since she let herself cry. And everyone else was busy…sniffing, she gave in to the confusion that felt like it was swallowing her whole and slid down the wall, hiding her face against her knees and letting the tears come.
She was surprised when a hand fell on her shoulder and looked up to see the Mandalorian kneeling in front of her. "Sorry," she said, her voice cracking, "sorry, I just…"
To her surprise, the Mandalorian pulled off his gloves.
His hands were…well, hands. Larger than hers, a bit paler than hers, with thin scars on nearly every inch of skin.
She blinked up at him in shock and felt his hands slowly rise up to cup her face, his thumbs brushing away her tears. He was warm and tender and gentle and she found herself crying again. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry." She wasn't sure why she was apologizing, but this had always been the hardest part of relationships for her, this vulnerability. Maybe it was a result of growing up as a refugee or maybe it was just a part of her personality. But she hated this feeling, talking about what scared her or what she wasn't okay with. Being weak. It seemed ungrateful, almost. Especially now, to her Mandalorian, who always seemed brave. But she wanted to understand this man and have him understand her. "I was so frightened," she whispered. "I felt helpless. I hated it."
The Mandalorian tilted his head forward and rested the brow of his helmet against her forehead. She took a shaky breath and closed her eyes, just sitting with him in the little hallway.
It was a very quiet moment, so quiet that she could hear…
...well, him. Talking too softly for his helmet's mic to pick up, too softly for her to understand what he was saying. It might not even have been Basic. It had the cadence of a prayer, she thought, and she wondered if the Mandalorian religion had prayers or if this was all him.
"I was afraid," he whispered at last, this time loud enough to be understood. "So afraid. I've never...had anything to lose like this. Like you and Winta and the kid." His hands pulled her face a bit closer. "I can't...I—I don't…"
She reached out and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close. He moved his arms to hold her against him, one hand caught in her hair and the other around her shoulders.
As she tucked her face into his cloak-covered neck, she had a terrible moment of longing for there to be no armor between them, to be pressed against him and not beskar. To feel his warmth, his softness and roughness. She took that feeling and reminded it that this man was a Mandalorian, that he had the right to choose what he wore and when.
But...he'd taken the gloves off…
Maybe someday. But not now.
Now, even though nothing had really been fixed…she felt like things would be alright.
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…hi. I hope you've had a good year since the last update 😁 let me know if you like the little chapter! We're almost done with this story!