You still don't know why Mando insisted on you wearing the armor so you could sit-in, well stand-in, the strategy room with Vizsla, the Armorer, Lika, Bo-Katan, and him. Everything he wants you to "sense" from Bo-Katan are things you could tell him from the other side of the cosmos.
Yes, she's untrustworthy.
Yes, she's plotting something.
Yes, she most likely will betray him to try to reclaim the Darksaber.
And yes, she will not welcome the Tribe on Mandalore.
She's shrouded in the Dark Side. It's not a veil of complete evil, since she does genuinely care about the well-being of her home-world, but her ideas about the future of Mandalore are not exactly in line with what Mando may want. She believes the Tribe will be a threat to Mandalorian society; you can easily sense her trepidation over their religious beliefs.
Right now, you are extremely grateful for the helmet hiding your annoyed expression as she drones on and on about her plan to defeat the Empire. Every chance she gets, she takes an insulting dig at the Tribe's Creed. She doesn't even bother doing it very subtlety, might you add. She's spouting off some bantha shit about "waiting to challenge Mando to a fair duel after the war is over" when you snort out loud. You don't even need the Force to be able to smell her lie. She's probably going to stab Mando in the neck the very second they are on the battlefield together. Hell, it'll probably be when he has his back turned to her. You don't trust her to even bother with honor. Desperation changes everyone's values.
She turns to face you, "Mandalorians can come together and form a strong society once the Empire is defeated, but the Darksaber is the only way to truly unite us. Dueling for the weapon now will only create a divide."
"That, and you don't stand a chance in a fair fight against the Mand'alor," you mutter bitterly.
She stares at you with a glimmer of rage in her green eyes.
Oh, and how do you know she is glaring at you? Because she took her kriffing helmet off as soon as she stepped onto the moon's surface. It's like she purposefully removed it the first chance she got, just so she could flaunt showing face while wearing Mandalorian armor around the Tribe.
You could feel the immediate wave of anger and distrust from the other three Mandalorians when she slid off her helm unnecessarily before marching through the compound towards the strategy center. It would've shown a tiny amount of diplomacy to keep her helmet on for more than ten seconds, but obviously, she feels like she has a point to prove.
"Rally Master armor. Haven't seen a set since before the Clone Wars," she says coldly to you.
You nod silently as she measures you from the other side of the room.
If she only knew how easy it would be for you to slice her head off with your lightsaber.
"No Clan?" She presses with an insidious smile.
You shake your head, but refuse to engage in any more verbal dialogue with her. You can't let her know how much she gets under your skin, or rather, beskar right now.
Seemingly satisfied by your lack of response, she turns back towards Mando, "I've asked a mutual friend of ours to help defend the planet. I am sure she will be pleased to see you again."
Mutual friend?
Mando straightens up with interest, "Ahsoka Tano?"
Bo-Katan smiles, an almost genuine grin for the first time since arriving, "She's helped me fight for Mandalore before. We could use a Jedi's abilities."
Oh karking Hutt-spawning, mud-scuffer, Stars.
Why did it have to be Ahsoka Tano?
"Between the fleet your Tribe has commandeered and the ships my Night Owls' have, I think we will make quick work of the Empire."
Bo continues laying out the details of the battle plan, but you barely hear anything said during the rest of the conversation. All you can focus on is the fact that you have to face another ghost from your past.
Ahsoka Tano.
Another happy reunion coming your way. She'll sense your presence immediately; there would be no disguising your identity from a Force wielder as powerful as her. More pressing is the fact that she might try to kill you the moment she lays eyes on you. You can't predict how much she's changed since you last saw her. Mando told you he and Grogu crossed paths with her, and that she went at him pretty ferociously right off the bat. What's to say she won't give you the same greeting. Hell, you didn't think their acquaintanceship would mean you would see her again. You figured she would stay far away from all these Mandalorian affairs, especially since she told Mando she was looking for some high profile Imp warlord.
"Tomorrow then. We will reconvene at these coordinates," Lika says, nterrupting your deep thoughts.
You look between the five Mandalorians wrapping up the meeting and parting ways. You wonder what kriffing reckless plan you just became a part of as you follow Mando out of the room to watch as the Armorer and Lika escort Bo back to her ship. It's almost surreal to be standing here among so many Mandalorians while they plan a full-scale rebellion against the Empire. Never in your life did you think this would be where you ended up. All you can think about is how much you wish your beroya was here, and how the only reason she isn't is because of that red-haired woman walking away from you. Your nostrils flare in your helmet at the idea of having to cooperate with Bo-Katan and you make yourself swallow the bubble of anger rising in your throat.
Kriff her.
You spin on your heel and stomp through the hallways towards the training facility in the back of the compound. Every muscle in your body is tense with frustration and if you don't release your emotions soon, you might explode at some inopportune moment. You take stock of the two pairs of heavy boots accompanying you to your destination, but you don't bother sparing the men a glance.
Once you're in the empty space, you pull your saber out from underneath the leather kilt on your waist and ignite the blade. When I am focused I control my power. You strike invisible opponents left and right as you work on the aggressive form of lightsaber combat you were taught as a girl.
Juyo. It's unpredictable, fast, and deadly. A style perfectly compatible with your energy.
The swoosh of your bronze blade soothes the rush of emotion bursting through your veins. You count your positions and forms as you go:
One; ready.
Two; block.
Three; strike.
Four; block.
Five; strike.
Six; disarm.
Seven; strike.
Eight; repeat.
Peace is attainable, but only through Darkness.
You keep going and going until your arms are so sore they barely can hold your blade up at all. Slumping down onto the floor, you pant from the exertion of training in all the armor. It's much more tiring to lug around the extra weight, no wonder Mando is so strong.
Vizsla speaks after your breathing evens out, "You put on a good show. Couldn't have done that for Bo-Katan? Or rather, to her?"
You laugh a deep, honest, belly laugh. Guess she wasn't only annoying you.
"I'm saving her for our Mand'alor."
Mando tilts his head at you but doesn't say anything, causing you to frown under your mask. Wrong thing to say? It was mostly a joke.
"For someone so against Mandalorian traditions, she sure is set on following a bunch of ancients rules about the Darksaber," Vizsla grumbles.
"She knows that if the people had a say in who their leader will be, that she wouldn't even make the list. Not after the last failed attempt to resist the Empire."
"I'd vote for you, even if you are a Dar'Jetti," Vizsla purrs as he leans down to lift you onto your feet. His hands stay planted on your hips far longer than necessary and you thank the Stars for the mask concealing the fluster painting your face. Kriff. He's so tall.
You chuckle and brush off his flirtatious move quickly when you spy Mando's hand resting on the blaster in his holster. He wouldn't kriffingshoot Vizsla for touching you… would he?
You don't care to find out.
"Well, Mandalorians, I should get some rest. We've got an Empire to destroy tomorrow."
"I need to speak to you," Mando growls, jumping on the opportunity to sweep you away from his vod's grasp.
Vizsla has the audacity to laugh when Mando assertively takes your elbow and pulls you into the hallway impatiently. Neither one of them seem very interested in hiding their little competition anymore. While it is mildly entertaining, you do wonder if it's going to fester into a more serious problem soon. You're not naive enough to believe they are jostling for your attention purely based on genuine affection or attraction. It's probably the challenge that's more enticing than the prize at this point.
Mando escorts you to the doorway of your quarters tacitly while you try to muster up the courage to mention Ahsoka Tano's name. You were hoping he would be the one to do it, but as usual, he leaves the ice-breaking to you. He had seen her in the Force vision back on Jedha, you know he did, but neither one of you had ever brought it up thinking it would remain a skeleton in your ship that didn't need to be discussed. Unfortunately, the Force isn't on your side these days and a conversation did need to be had. With her heroically stepping in to help liberate Mandalore, you needed to reconcile with her.
You lean against the door frame casually and rub the leather gloves on your hands together. You realize that at any point since leaving the meeting you could've taken off the helmet, but you subconsciously chose to keep it on. A small part of you felt like less of an outsider with it on.
"Is it going to be a problem?" Mando finally asks after an uncomfortable minute.
"I don't know," you admit quietly, "Ahsoka likes me just about as much as Bo does."
"You have a lot of enemies."
"I could probably use a cin vhetin."
"Yes."
"I'll try to sort things out with her. But I mean, I could always leave if things get out of hand. I don't want to be in the way." You hate the way your voice is filled with obvious uncertainty. A tiny part of you wonders if the Tribe even needed you now. Ahsoka is a strong Jedi. She is good. She's what a fractured society needs, not a Dark Jedi with a bloody past with the leading House of Mandalore.
Mando stills considerably at your words, "You made me a promise."
You exhale, "Ah yes, and Mando'ad draar digu."
He leans against the opposite side of the doorway and lets his helmet obviously examine you from boot to helmet. If you didn't know any better, you would almost think he is checking you out.
"I like you in beskar."
Your mouth runs dry and the sudden rush of blood to your ears is all you can hear for a moment while you try to compose yourself. This hardly seems like the appropriate time for him to say something so bold. Although, timing never seemed to be Mando and your strong suit.
"If I had known all it would've taken was a helmet for you notice me, I would've donned some beskar long ago," you laugh lightheartedly to push away your embarrassment with banter.
"Haat o'r an nuhune," he deadpans.
It takes you a minute to translate his words and you nearly wobble on your feet when you figure out what he said. Many a true word spoken in jest.
Karking hell. He is feeling confident to call you out so easily.
You straighten your posture as his helmet begins turning back and forth like he is checking around the halls. Tilting your helmet quizzically at him, you wonder what in the Stars he could be looking for-Oh!
Oh!
He's giving you a kelabe kiss.
Mando's helmet is pressed against your helmet. His arm is wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his chest hungrily.
"I especially like when you speak Mando'a," he murmurs lowly.
You close your eyes, enjoying the beautifully traditional expression of endearment he is sharing with you.
It's almost too much. Unexpected, yet immediately addicting. It's not even over, but you are already craving more. More of him.
Time stretches as you stand there together and you feel a swirl of agony building in your chest.
It's impossible to be closer to him physically, even spiritually due to the Creed, yet, you feel an unsettling distance too.
Maybe it's because the part of your heart that was crushed by him on Jedha never really recovered.
Trust has been rebuilt. Feelings rekindled. Attachment created.
But... the betrayal and the scars that followed are reminders of the fall-out that left you broken for months. You spent so long working on forgiving yourself for your part in it, you forgot to truly forgive him for his mistakes. And even though you know exactly how your heart feels about him, you don't know if you could, in good conscience, let this relationship become more. You know the storminess between the two of you is as unpredictable as walking the fine line between the Lightside and the Darkside. One moment you fall into a state of bliss and harmony, but the next moment it's a clash of hot tempers.
You break away from him and clear your throat gingerly. His hands rest heavily against your hips and you feel his grip tighten slightly as you let out a deep breath. You can sense how unsure he is, but you don't know how to vocalize the whirlwind of emotions swirling around in your head.
"Bo-Katan is going to try to kill you for the Darksaber. I can sense it," you say stoically, trying to refocus on the important task at hand.
Mando pushes the button on the panel next you your head, opening the door behind you.
He steps forward, driving you into the room to cage you against the inside wall with his arms.
"Well, at least I had your vote of confidence back there," he lowers his helm, so he's mere centimeters away from you again.
"You didn't exactly say no to a duel. Traditional Mandalorian duels are to the death right?" You nearly choke on your words when he moves one of his hands from your hip to around your throat guard. He has to hear your heart pounding louder than a krayt's roar.
"I didn't agree to anything."
His fingers slide up to trace the rim of the inside of your helmet. Your breath hitches when he reaches the seal control. His leather gloves almost press down on the button, sending a surge of panic through you at the strange intimacy of possibly being unmasked. You've never understood the Creed more than you do now. The dedication the Mandalorians have, the protection their beskar gives them, the strength they draw from their helmets all make so much more sense to you at this moment. Your mask and his mask are the only barriers between the two of you. The only things keeping you from crossing a boundary that would never be able to be redrawn.
"She won't let you yield," you whisper breathily.
His arm retracts suddenly, "I know."
You know your insistence to avoid acknowledging his gesture of affection is frustrating to him. You know you're shoving him away, metaphorically speaking, like you always do with people who try to show you genuine kindness. You can sense his disappointment in the way you are handling his obvious attempts to charm you. Hell, part of you is disappointed and angry at yourself.
He sighs when you don't say anything more and pushes off the wall before disappearing out of your quarters, leaving you all alone with your jumbled thoughts.
You raise your hand to the spot his gloves had wrapped around your neck. Are you wrong for feeling so much for a man who left you when you needed him most? Is he wrong for feeling so much for a woman who is directly responsible for so many deaths? Everything that's happened recently makes you feel confused. You've saved each other's lives on more than one occasion. He's seen most of your past and forgiven you. He's apologized. You've apologized. But is it all enough? Will it be enough the next time everything goes to hell like it always seems to?
Does it all even matter?
You kriffing love him.
