Amira had proven herself useful, it seemed, as the Mandalorian had begun coming up with increasingly thin excuses to keep her aboard the Razor Crest. There was no longer any mention of collecting her bounty, nor of returning her home. He had begun trusting her with the care of the Child, whom she called Yoruba - as all children were called in her homeland until their true names were discovered - while the former bounty hunter searched for its people, or took up on odd jobs on backwater planets. And much to her relief he had finally begun taking her warnings to heart whenever she sensed he was walking into a more dangerous situation than he realized. Which was, unfortunately, quite often. But she insisted she couldn't really see the future.

"It is impossible to predict the future. Some of us just see the present more clearly than others." She laughed softly at her own joke, turning towards the sound of his voice with unseeing eyes. It made most people a little uneasy to be looked at directly like this, she knew, but the Mandalorian had stopped turning away whenever he saw she was looking right through him. Though perhaps he finally realized she didn't need her eyes to read him. Even through all the armor, and the silence, the Mandalorian wore his heart on his sleeve. Her continued presence on this ship, and this newfound mission to bring the Child to its home made it readily apparent what kind of man the Mandalorian was.

And so gradually Amira had stopped asking him to return her to the Ambassador's service. Though her work there had been useful, it wasn't that hard to sense when the local feudal lords were withholding information from them or were planning to try and seize back power - they always were. Here she felt vital in a way she hadn't before, both to the Child and to the Mandalorian, who was slowly getting used to her presence. He no longer tensed up when she would rest a small hand on his pauldron or his arm as they walked, and had on one occasion placed her hand there himself - though the streets were wide and the villagers few and she could have followed him by sound alone. She found herself nearly blushing at the gentle tug of his gloved hand as he placed her bare one at his elbow, where he wore no armor and she could almost feel the heat of the skin and the steady pulse of his heartbeat beneath his shirts. But the sense of duty radiated from him so strongly that she felt no inkling that he was seeking out this contact for any other reason, so she tamped down on her own growing fondness for the man.

It was hard enough not to let the low rumble of his voice affect her with each carefully chosen word he spoke, only slightly distorted by his ever present helmet. Even without her hand on his person she could feel it vibrate through her, his voice pitched to the exact frequency of her insides. So between them she did most of the talking, hoping he'd never notice the effect it had on her. Though it wasn't what had brought her onto his ship, she could occasionally admit to herself that it was part of why she continued to stay.

"There's plenty of work to be found on Arkania." She heard the Mandalorian tilt his helmet her way, still wondering that she always had a rough sense where they were in the galaxy, though he no longer questioned how, "There's more money in helping the colonists there obtain access to the outlying mines, but I'm sure the planet's original inhabitants would also appreciate you driving back those that would break the treaties."

"More money buys more fuel," comes the soft rasp of his reply after several long minutes in which he seemed to weigh the pros and cons of either option.

"But you will still take the natives' side," Amira smiled knowingly.

The Mandalorian huffed out a sound that she knew was intended to dismiss her certainty but she had no doubts which side he would choose in the end. The Mandalorian would do what he needed to survive, and to protect those in his care, but if given the choice he would always take the more honorable path.

She felt the ship shift slightly beneath her as he set a new course towards the planet.

With the Mandalorian predictably headed towards the borderlands to offer his services to the locals, Amira followed the sounds of the village to the local tavern, memorizing the path that would take her back to the ship after she and the Child had eaten. But she found herself enjoying the chatter and unrecycled air too much, and lingered at the tavern even as the Child fell asleep in her lap, dreaming of some other time and place. She stroked along its oversized little ears as she allowed its dreams to wash over her. Sometimes she could sense a word or two coming from the Child in her mind, but always in a language she had never heard before. Thankfully its more basic needs - food, sleep, love - were more easily sensed and satisfied. But always she felt the Child could peer into her more deeply than she could read even the simplest of beings. She knew it would one day grow to be a force to be reckoned with. She hoped it wouldn't fall into the wrong hands before they could bring it safely home.

"Is this seat taken?" An unfamiliar voice interrupted her thoughts. She turned her head towards the source of the noise, slanting her eyes away to indicate she could not discern any gestures he was making.

"Which seat are you referring to?" She responded politely enough, even as she tightened her hold on the Child in her lap. This village should be fairly safe but there was still a bounty on both their heads. Any interest in either of them always put her on high alert.

"I was hoping the one next to you might be available…" she relaxed as she realized his interest was less than mercenary. It was easy to forget, though she had often been told by others, that she was nice to look at. She nodded gently in his direction, not minding the idea of some company after the quiet of space travel.

"Thanks," he said, taking the seat to her right, "I'm N'gantu, by the way." The name meant he was likely one of the original residents, not one of the colonists. Most of the descriptions of their species focused on their visual attributes, which meant little to her, except she remembered that they had six fingers and two tongues. This clearly didn't hurt his speech, his Galactic Basic lightly accented and pleasant to listen to.

"I'm Teva." Even if he sounded nice she still knew to give him a fake name, though he seemed to like it well enough.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Teva." She could feel the slight whoosh of air as he thrust his six-fingered hand out to greet her, only to quickly draw it back when he realized his mistake. Usually she would put her hand out first to save the other person this awkwardness, but she was unaware what the native greeting entailed. At least this little blunder meant it was unlikely he was a cold, calculated hunter.

"Likewise," she allowed him a small smile.

"Is he yours?"

She assumed he meant the small bundle of sleeping mischief in her lap, "I'm watching it for a companion."

"A friend?" She knew this dance well.

"Yes, just a friend." She wasn't entirely sure what she was to the Mandalorian, but friendship seemed a safe enough description, though she wasn't entirely sure he'd call it that. Perhaps she was just another foundling to him, like the Child was.

"Have you been in the village long?"

"For a little while," another lie, but a harmless one, "though I have not met many of the people here yet," she offered truthfully, enjoying the little flirtation for what it was.

"Then you will have to come out more. In fact, just now, the annual bonfire festival is going on nearby my home. Many of the villagers will be there again this evening, and there is much to see…" he paused, and she laughed not unkindly at the mistake, "...there will be lots of delicious foods and the burning unghar wood is very fragrant."

"It does sound wonderful…" she demurred. She had smelled the spicy wood-smoke on him when he sat down next to her, and a festival actually did sound enjoyable, but she knew that she needed to head back to the ship soon. Whatever job the Mandalorian had taken on he would usually check in before nightfall. Still she listened to N'gantu wax poetic about the festival's activities and its origins.

"When will your friend return? It is only a short ways from here, and soon the sun will set and the fires will be lit..."

"She's not interested," came a sharp, familiar voice from behind N'gantu. Amira realized in her distactraction she hadn't noticed the Mandalorian entering the tavern. He had probably already gone looking for them in the ship - she had clearly lost track of the hour. Her suitor was quick to vacate his seat, suddenly finding somewhere else he needed to be after catching sight of the Mandalorian - she could only imagine the state he was in if there had been any trouble at the borderlands, or the fierce weaponry he always carried with him. N'gantu didn't really strike her as the fighting type, though that hadn't been what interested her.

"You didn't need to scare him off so quickly, we were only talking. There wasn't any danger."

"He was interested in a little more than talking," came the clipped response, dripping with more sarcasm that she ever thought the man capable. Amira felt her own hackles rising in response to the chiding, though she knew she hadn't been where he expected to find them at this hour.

"I am aware of that, but I wasn't about to run off with him and put Yoruba in any danger." At this the child lets out a soft yawn and began wriggling in her grasp, and just like that her annoyance evaporated. She knows it is checking on The Mandalorian to make sure he is unharmed. Though the Child rarely seems to sense its own precarious position in the world, it always wants to protect its guardian. In its mind, he is the one who needs looking after. Amira can't help but agree.

"Are you alright? Did everything go ok at the borderlands?"

"Everything went fine, I will return tomorrow."

He doesn't offer up any more than that, and she can feel he is still radiating tension - whether towards N'gantu or her or whatever he dealt with at the border. Clearly, talking about it isn't on the table, so she simply lifts the Child towards the Mandalorian, allowing him to accept the small bundle of robes and sleepy Child. This seems to ease the tension in him somewhat, but there is still a sharp edge to his mood that she can't quite figure out. The silence stretches out between as the Child quiets its cooing and falls back asleep against his beskar chestplate.

"If the kid wasn't with you, would you have left with him?"

"Perhaps," she answers honestly, "though I wouldn't go without telling you first."

If he was bothered by her answer he kept it to himself, handing the Child back to her as she stood to leave. Though she had walked here on her own, she felt him threading her free hand around the inside of his elbow once more, as if to make sure she didn't suddenly change her mind and run off to find N'gantu. Had he always been so protective of her?

"Would it really be so awful if I did go off with someone for a night?" She asks carefully, hoping not to provoke his earlier temper.

"You're not my prisoner. I can't…" he stops, considering his words, "I can't expect you to live without any contact with others."

"What about you? I know that you are human under that armor, don't you need contact with others as well?" She pushed his own words back at him, annoyed at the coolness of his response. "The kind that doesn't involve fists and violence?" She wasn't entirely sure she wanted the answer - to hear him say that he didn't need it, or worse, that he did, just not with her. But suddenly she had to know.

"I cannot remove my helmet in front of another, " he dodges. "This is the way."

She had noticed, over time, that the phrase was usually invoked to end a discussion. However, it was a talisman that rarely worked against her own curiosity. "That doesn't really answer the question - so you need contact, just your helmet stays on?" It felt a bit childish to continue using the euphemism when they were both mature adults, but she could tell the Mandalorian was already uneasy with the topic. Especially as they were still technically out in public, though only a few people still lingered on the streets this late. But she could almost feel the jump of his pulse through the layers that still separated them. She had her answer.

"It's nothing you need to worry about." Which is exactly the wrong thing to say if he wants to keep her from worrying.

"It is though - people need to be touched. Even whatever Yoruba is needs it. And you'll go mad without it, but you haven't so much as accepted a handshake in the months I've been with you..."

"You've touched me," he interrupts, suddenly. When she doesn't respond he tugs his arm forward, reminding her of her grip on his elbow.

"I'm barely touching you, though…"

"It's enough."

It wasn't the answer she had expected, and she wasn't sure what to make of it. Was he just trying to end the conversation? Or had he really replaced masked, anonymous sex with guiding her around? It didn't seem like enough. Unless it meant something more? Her mind was spiralling with all the possibilities until it landed somewhere he probably hadn't expected.

"Wait, so does this mean you've never been kissed?"

"Couldn't you just turn off the lights? Or blindfold the other person?"

The Mandalorian let out an almost imperceptible sigh at the question, as if he had heard it many times before, or had had the thought himself all too often without any positive outcomes. They were back in the Razor Crest now, Amira sitting just behind the Mandalorian in the cockpit as he checks all the ship's defenses, the Child already fast asleep in its makeshift nursery cupboard.

"Too much room for error."

"But you were able to take off your helmet in front of me." She uses the term 'able' loosely - the Mandalorian had been heavily concussed from a fight and had only allowed her to remove his helmet because he could not cauterize the wounds on the back of his head on his own. He had been nearly willing to bleed out just to avoid it, but she reminded him that both she and the Child would not survive long if he were killed. Amira was capable of many things, but she could not pilot a ship without sight, nor could she take on their many enemies alone.

"Those were...extenuating circumstances."

"And this isn't?"

The Mandalorian gruffs out a response that might be a laugh or it might be an agreement, all she can really sense is his unease in talking about it any further. But maybe it's the talking that's the problem.

Moving as slowly as possible, she shifts over toward where the Mandalorian is seated in front of her. There's not much room to maneuver, especially if she doesn't want to accidentally brush up against the steering panel she feels is somewhere behind her, but she manages to situate herself more or less facing him, sliding one of her knees between his own on the jumpseat so she can keep herself from falling into him. Her skirts are tangled up around his leg but he doesn't make any move to brush them off.

He could easily have put out a hand to stop her at any point, or simply guided her back to her own seat, and she would have let the subject drop between them forever. But all she senses is a slight intake of breath from below her, as she slowly feels for the edge of his helmet. His own hands finally shift, but only to grasp at the outside of her thighs - keeping her steady, or perhaps even grounding himself.

She tugs the helmet gently upwards, moving at an AT-AT's pace so there's no mistaking the fact that he's allowing this to happen. The sound of his breathing grows clearer and somewhat shakier as she lifts the helmet further, revealing more and more of his face, the gloved hands on her thighs tightening but never moving to halt her progress. Her own hands are shaking slightly with the gravity of what she is doing, and she nearly overbalances when she reaches over to set the helmet down beside them. But the Mandalorian is quick to catch her, shifting her closer to him in the process. This far forward she can almost sit back against his knees, putting them nearly face to face.

Her hands reach out once more to find him, fingers sliding into the thick waves of his hair that she didn't remember being quite so long before. Did he have to cut it himself? She briefly allows her short nails to drag along his scalp, as the Mandalorian beneath her shivers slightly in their wake. She wonders if mapping out his face with her fingers might inadvertently violate his code, so she refrains. It's enough to have him like this.

"Close your eyes," she whispers gently, reluctant to break the spell of silence around them but knowing it will make things easier for him. She hears his breathing quicken as he anticipates her lips descending on his own.

But instead she bends down to press a soft kiss to his forehead, right beneath his hairline, nosing at the strands she's mussed with her fingertips. She can feel his head tilt up towards her own, almost as if he thinks she missed her intended target. She presses another chaste kiss to the edge of his left brow, smiling at the slight twitch she feels beneath her lips. Her hands tighten in his hair to hold him still as she tips her head to the other side, kissing just below his right eye and down to his cheek. She uses her hold on him to tilt his head back gently, dragging her lips down to the very corner of his mouth and delighting in the way he unconsciously tries to turn into the kiss. But she can't resist delivering another teasing kiss right below his jaw, and drawing a sharp intake of breath from her Mandalorian.

His hands are clutching at the back of her thighs now, dragging her closer and more fully into his lap. She moves her bent knee to the outside of his, settling herself as well as she can across his armor. She distracts herself from slightly less than comfortable seat by brushing her cheek against the stubble at his jaw, and giving a soft nip to his earlobe. She lets at a small laugh as he jolts beneath her, gloved hands coming up to clutch at her sides. Deciding to store that little piece of information away for later, she pulls back a little to let him catch his breath. Even she is feeling a little dizzy at the trust he is placing in her, allowing himself to be vulnerable in this way before her. It's a lot to take in.

Then finally, finally, she leans in to brush her lips against his own, enjoying the slight rasp of his chapped lips and the little zing of pleasure as their lips finally meet for the first time, allowing herself to linger there for several long seconds before pulling back ever so slightly. She runs her fingers soothingly through his hair before sliding them down behind his ears as she leans in for another kiss, this one firmer, more.

This time she feels the Mandalorian shifting to kiss her back more fully, though the kiss still remains just as chaste as before. As his hands begin relax against her sides, she tentatively allows the very tip of her tongue to run along the seam of his lips, encouraging him to open up to her. He does so willingly, allowing her tongue to slide easily against his own. It takes him a few moments to catch up with this new layer to their kiss, but then he's responding beautifully. The kiss is still unhurried, as they slowly learn the taste and feel of the other. But the Mandalorian is a quick study, returning every nip of her teeth and twist of her tongue as though he had known her kisses forever. She can feel herself growing lightheaded at all that attention being turned back on her. She pulls back momentarily just to catch her breath.

"Mira, " he breathes out in her absence. In her native tongue the word means beloved , which he couldn't possibly know. She lets out a pleased little hum at the endearment all the same, just as he pulls her back down towards his mouth, kissing her until she practically feels boneless. The hands running along her back are now the only thing that keeps her from melting into the floor. She has no idea how long they spend locked together like this, as if trying to make up for an entire lifetime of kisses in a single night, but eventually the hands at her back relax enough that she is able to draw away. She presses her forehead to his, continuing to share the same air for long moments as they both come back down from their high.

She then delivers one final featherlight kiss against his lips before reaching down to find his helmet, and setting her Mandalorian back to rights once more. It takes a little longer to untangle herself from his lap, but she manages it with as much grace as her weakened knees will allow. His gloved hand reaches for her own as she moves to leave, and she allows their fingers to lace together for just a moment.

"Tomorrow...will you go out again?" His voice comes out roughly, and she feels a small pang of regret that she hadn't heard him speak more without the modulator. But she knows what he is asking her.

As for her answer, she presses a kiss to his helmet. "No. I don't think I will."