"You're a better man than you think you are."

He wants to argue with her, to tell her of all the terrible things he has done in his life up 'til now. Remind her that he kidnapped her, had not even questioned what she had already done to deserve it until he had already dragged her lightyears from her home. But he suspects she already knows all of it, has since the beginning. Even from that first moment, when he'd pressed a blaster between her shoulder blades and told her to stay quiet, she's never shown any sign of fear of him. And now, when she tells him she could have gotten away at any time, had she wanted to…

He thinks about what he has just witnessed, the blood she's spilled to protect him and how it hasn't tainted the goodness, the innocence he still sees in her. She keeps taking him by surprise, this girl. He can hear in her voice and in her carefully light answers that she's worried this revelation might change the way he thinks of her, or even scare him off. And it should - it should bother him that she or the blasted kid could kill him with no more than a thought, and who knew what else she was even capable of? If she even knew herself? But somehow he knew, knew whatever it was that she could do she would never hurt him. And maybe that's what she could see in him too, had seen in him even before he could. He glances briefly to the closed door behind her before tugging off his helmet, trying to say without words that he sees her too, and isn't afraid.

But of course this girl continues to surprise him, and takes it in another way entirely. "Are you hurt under there?"

He holds back a sigh.

"No." It comes a little more clipped than he means it to, but now he's completely at a loss for a way to communicate her that what just happened changes nothing for him. That he still trusts her, still wants her here next to him. That he's seen her for what she is and is isn't running away.

Perhaps there is one way.

The Mandalorian is well aware that there is no other way of thinking of it, that this goes well beyond a mere technical loophole. He is breaking the code. He knows this as surely as he knows that will still put his helmet back on afterwards, because his duty to the people in his care is not yet over.

But she has already so thoroughly disarmed him, stripped away all of his weapons and all of his armor until he can no longer be called a Mandalorian - with her he is just a man. And the thought of it is like air in his lungs after so long underwater, for a moment he is free. And in this moment he wants her to see him, see all of him.

He manages not to jump at the first touch of her hands at his face. She's touched him this much before, at least. Though he's not certain he'll ever grow immune to it, the feeling of her small hands pressed against skin that no longer remembers any touch but his own. Her touch is like sunshine against his face, soft and warm and impossible not to lean into. But he doesn't want to rush this, wants to give her free rein to touch him as she pleases. So he sits as still as he can, letting her hip press into his thigh more firmly, and allows her to map out his features at her own pace.

And he watches her too, at first. He's always watching her, but he's never had the chance to study her so closely without the distraction of her lips on his. She's even more beautiful up close, her features even more delicate in the dying light of the day and her expression soft as ever. He recognizes the slight downward tilt of her head she gets whenever she's focusing - the one he's learned means she can sense him more clearly than the rare times her pale eyes are aimed directly at him. He's always marveled at her focus, the seemingly endless patience she has for the kid and this life he's dragged her into. Though not for him, of course. With him she is all patience until suddenly she isn't, a deep well of fierce stubbornness erupting whenever he ignores her warnings, or treats her in any way like a child. Sometimes she's even more beautiful in her temper.

And she's certainly not a child, even though she may appear one at first glance. As her fingers trace along the deeply etched lines of his forehead, his eyes find the small lines that mark her own face, mostly only visible in such close proximity. She is not so young that her expression has not been touched by grief, though she is still young enough that is hard not to regret that she's been pulled into his mess.

And yet, somehow, he can't bring himself to fully regret it.

Not with her sitting beside him, soft fingers smoothing over his brows and the feel of the first press of her lips to that spot still so fresh in his memory. It was one of so many things he had never even allowed himself to want before. And then she came into his life and offered it all so easily - her conversation, her concern for him, her touch. He wasn't used to being looked after, cared for, hadn't been for a long time now. And it's not exactly easy now, not with how much he feels that he should be the one keeping her and the kid out of danger, and not the other way around. But he knows they both saved him today, and perhaps it's not so bad being in their debt. Not if it means letting the kid be spoiled by N'jnaro and his wife, and allowing Amira's soft touch to assure them they've both come out unscathed.

His eyes flutter shut without him really thinking about it as her fingertips trace downward over the shape of his eyes and nose. He tries to keep his expression neutral still - he's not sure what his expression usually is but this seems like what should be done. He realizes it's not often he considers his own face, and for the first time he worries whether she'll like what she finds there. He wishes his eyes were still open, so he could catch her reaction. He thinks to himself that has no idea what she might like - the only time he's ever seen her show interest was with the Arkanian from the tavern. He tries not to grimace at the thought.

His hands move up to grasp at her sides, reminding himself she's still there with him. She had chosen him that day in the tavern, and the next day too. She had come back with him and she had kissed him - more than once. It was more than just giving him something she thought had missed out on, if she wanted to kiss him a second time. Even if she didn't know what he looked like there must be something about him she liked enough to kiss him once more. Still, a small part of him wants her to think of him as handsome, even if he's nothing compared to her.

He slants his eyes open just in time to catch her running her finger along his mustache, a small smile playing on her face. Maybe she does like his face well enough. He remembers he had actually considered shaving after their first kiss, but she seemed not to mind his scruffiness. And then she certainly appreciated it other places, so he's glad he left it. And now she's smiling at him like she's remembering the same thing, and it takes everything in him not to grin in response.

But then she's stroking along his cheekbones and her smile is growing wider, and he can feel the small tremors running through her like she's barely holding in a laugh. He's not quite sure what inspired it, but he can't help but smile a little himself at her, at how easily she expresses her joy in front of him. Smiles are rare in the Outer Rim, and most beings out here keep their feelings fairly well guarded, but it's as if she never learned how to. All the same, she was never smiling in any of the old holos he had seen of her, and sometimes he allows himself to believe that her smiles are for him alone - well, him and the kid. Even he can't resist the occasional smile at the little womp rat.

But his smile grows a little more exasperated when Amira skips past his mouth and down to his jawline. He recognizes she's teasing him again, making him anticipate the soft press of her fingers against his lips even more. And it's working - she knows him all too well. But still it's nice to watch the smile that never leaves her face as she runs her fingers along the rough stubble at his jaw, pausing thoughtfully when she discovers one or another of his scars. He's thankful she doesn't seem too put off by it - if she continues downward she's bound to find many more patches of uneven skin, evidence of his life as a bounty hunter.

But she doesn't move any further than his adam's apple before she's finally reaching up to run delicate fingers across his lips. And he can feel every nerve lighting up beneath the slow path of her movements, lips tingling in their wake. It's impossible to avoid thinking about the memory of her own lips there, the sweet press of her mouth against his. How she drew her further in with each kiss, and how hard it was to pull away from her each time. His own hands can't stop running along her sides and back, struggling not to pull her in closer, bring their lips together once more. He almost imagines he can feel each tiny whorl of her fingertips there now, he's so sensitized to her every touch.

It's bordering on too much, and so finally he reaches up to grasp her hands so he can kiss each of her fingertips, pulling her hands closer so her can press his tingling lips more firmly against her small palms. He barely recognizes the voices that comes out of him.

"Satisfied?"