Small Mercies

Posted on Mon Jul 7th, 2014 @ 1:47am by Sev Rezer & Morgo Le'Shaad
Edited on on Sat Nov 15th, 2014 @ 6:16am

6,100 words; about a 31 minute read

Chapter: Chapter IV: Rezer's Edge
Location: The Red Raptor
Timeline: After "Temper, Temper"

Sev Rezer sat in his cabin, listening to the distant going ons of the ship as he examined a discoloration on the wall. By the time Sev cared to look somewhere else, the image of the stain was practically seared to his retinas. Somewhere, he could hear the soft murmurings of what was no doubt another bout of bickering between little Berry and her suspicious friend, the smuggler from Velusia. All that Sev knew about the man was that he had the kind of grin you wanted to wipe off with a fist.

Or with a blaster shot. Sev’s fingers had been itching to shoot something ever since he’d returned from his holo-transmission with Zrad to find the remainder of the crew looking like they’d returned from a small war. He’d left the Le’Shaad woman and Berry alone for half a day, and what had they managed to do? Berry had pissed common sense to the wind and attracted a pirate, who then tried to arrest the Le’Shaad woman…who then went into murder mode. From the way Berry had explained things, the pirate had gotten his throat crushed, the woman nearly had her arm burned off, and Berry had almost managed to blow out every one’s eardrums trying to get them to stop fighting.

Kriff.

It was like dealing with a litter of children.

The familiar sound of the engine humming beneath his feet was no longer a comfort when Sev thought of the course they were set on and the company he was with. Scrubbing a hand down his face, Sev’s eye looked down at his palm—lightly dusted with the grime of Nadroj.

Reaching for his canteen of water, Sev haphazardly flipped open the lid and splashed the remainder onto his face. The icy chill of the water was shocking, and Sev bared his teeth at the momentary ache of his skull. The stray shirt used to wipe his face was carelessly thrown aside as Sev waited for the sound of the Le’Shaad murderess to join the banter between Berry and her ad’ika. But the expected, haughty purr never came.

Lifting himself from the bed, the mattress creaked with relief as the doors to his cabin slid open, letting the Mandalorian out. The dull sound of his boots on the metal floor was rhythmic as he made his way to the medical bay. Or the ‘laboratory’ as the Le’Shaad woman liked to call it now. So kriffing pretentious.

Stopping in front of the doors, they slid open without a sound. Last time he had been here, Sev and the woman had butted heads, and neither of them had pulled their punches. Sev had accused her of trying to take control of the ship and corrupting Berry with lies about Thane and Bomoor. And the woman had barely resisted slapping him, settling for scolding him like he was an idiot child. At the time, a part of him had almost wanted her to strike out him—to give him an excuse to snap her neck and shut her up for good.

As he stepped into the medbay, Sev realized he’d never acknowledged that he had been wrong.

Empty silence greeted him as his eyes swept over the sterile place, devoid of the woman he was searching for. No reason to stay, Sev returned the way he came, his strides measured as he walked to the cabin’s corridor. Standing at one end, Sev silently assessed the identical doors for signs as to which belonged to the noblewoman.

Berry’s cabin was obvious: the sticky food stains upon it telling enough. Thane and Bomoor’s rooms were of course, side by side near Berry. Like bumbling fathers to a wild child they didn’t have the first clue how to understand, let alone teach. That left the whole left side of the corridor to the murderess. Which one, was child’s play.

After all, which cabin would he choose if he were a wanted woman, weak and fearful of the possibility of the ship being boarded by a Republic Patrol?

Knocking on the door nearest to him, nearest to the ship’s only viable escape route through the left engine room, Sev waited for a response. The Red Raptor’s only point of entry was through the boarding ramp in the Rec room. From Sev’s experience, Republic patrols were predictable, their formations linear. They would come through the ramp and straight to the cabin corridor, kicking down each door until they caught the Le’Shaad woman.

Only…she wouldn’t be there. If she was as clever as she so obviously thought she was, Sev knew she would round through the ship, sneak through the engine room, and escape out from under the patrol’s noses. Sev nearly laughed at the cowardice of the plan before he remembered that their mission to Jericho was not so different in its use of trickery and stealth. It left a bad taste in his mouth… but Sev was beginning to see its dubious merits after spending hours with the woman, practicing lies.

But if the Le’Shaad lady didn’t answer her puul door soon, Sev was going to weld those engine room doors shut just to piss her off.

Impatient, the Mandalorian tried the switch—surprised to find it unlocked and sliding open. The Le’Shaad woman was normally more careful about her privacy. Of course, Sev thought blandly to himself as he looked into her sad empty room, privacy was a null thing if she wasn’t in the room to enjoy it.

The cabin was noticeably lacking in decorations, trinkets, and other useless things the rest of the crew saw fit to pile into their rooms. Sev’s critical eye took in the neatly folded coverlet, the lamp, and the crate in the corner. Save for the perfumed scent of the room, the cabin was much like his. Sev too had stopped trying to make a home of where he slept, decades ago.

As the Mandalorian withdrew his head from her cabin, eyes narrowed, Sev’s patience was wearing thin. Where was that damned woman? Her usual hiding places aboard the ship were frustratingly empty of her, and—

A slight draft from behind him brushed across his bare arms, raising the hair on his skin—silencing his thoughts. Accompanied by a quiet swish sound, the disturbance of air was a brief and in the direction of the cockpit. Turning to find the door to the cockpit open, Sev could have sworn he’d closed it when he’d set their course for Jericho. Eyes narrowing at the open doorway, the lines at the corner of Rezer’s eyes crinkled.

“Join me?” Came a distant voice from within the cockpit, distinctly feminine, casual, and inviting. It was the kind of voice that Sev imagined many lonely, deep space smugglers would program into their ships to dull the sharp edge of their solitude.

Pulled forward by curiosity, Sev stooped through the door’s frame and felt it close behind him.

It was dim in the cockpit, illuminated only by the small lights of the console and the stars overhead and beyond. In the co-pilot’s seat, Sev could see the Le’Shaad woman from an angle, her head resting on the seat’s back, exposing the pale column of her bruised throat. The woman’s eyes were closed.

Had he not heard her call to him, he might’ve believed her to be asleep. But he was no fool. If Sev had gleaned one thing about her in their lessons together, it was that everything he saw about this woman was deliberate. And right now, she probably wanted to seem vulnerable. Sev was instantly wary.

Eyes dropping to the ugly burn on her bicep, the Mandalorian scoffed audibly from behind her.

“I would have thought of all of the crew, you would be the one I would never have to drag out of a brawl in the streets, woman.”

The woman’s eyes opened, instantly trained on him, a bemused smile on her lips. In the somber lighting of the cockpit, she looked the least put together he had ever seen her. Hair disheveled and face lightly smudged with Nadroj dust, her brow had the sheen of dried sweat upon it. She looked tired, dirty, and for once… real.

Not a pale princess plucked straight from a perfect painting. Not a duchess towering over the rest of the galaxy. Just a woman—slightly greasy in the morning like the rest of them.

The Le’Shaad woman broke out into a half smile. Sev thought he saw a hint of teeth.

“Did you expect me to lie down and think of Dromache as he tried to take me in?” She chuckled wryly, turning her eyes forward, to the stars.

Whether it was the strain of the day, or the looming reality that this venture into Jericho might mean death, neither Mandalorian nor Duchess seemed willing to spend their remaining time sniping at each other as they had since they’d met. It was almost softer between them.

“I expected that you’d know that brawling in streets possibly patrolled by Mandalorian Exiles was stupid.”

Sev watched as Le’Shaad was perfectly still. With her, he was beginning to see how she reacted to offense, or rather, how she didn’t react. But the deliberateness of her unaffected mask was telling enough to him that his comment smarted. People like her never liked to have their intelligence questioned.

“Perhaps.” She said, shrugging lightly.

Choosing not to needle her further in keeping with their odd, tenuous new peace, Sev made a noncommittal sound and turned his eyes to the stars as well, “And now your attacker has joined us at Berry’s side to help us free the jetii and bring down Zrad. Are we to trust him?” He asked, voice tight.

The woman sent him a look that was full of wry humor. It was a look that had Sev suddenly feeling like he was a father and his daughter had just brought home a boy.


“You’ve seen the way he looks at her?” The woman questioned, blinking at him.

“Yes.” Sev said, after a stretch of silence, recalling the soft look in the man’s eyes whenever he turned his gaze to Berry, the affection evident.

“Then you know he would never betray her—or us, by extension.” Le’Shaad concluded easily. As if things were that simple.

Sev made a sound of contempt as he took his seat in the pilot’s chair. The sound of cushion’s air being pushed out beneath him was quiet in the solemn mood of the cockpit.

“Love is fickle.” Sev declared, turning his head to look at the duchess. Pulling his seat’s lever to allow him to slide back, he now had an clear view of the woman at an angle, slightly behind her. Any sudden movements could be better countered from behind.

“Not this kind of love.” The woman argued lightly, eyes never leaving him. Her fair hair caught the red light of the console above her head as she spoke, “This love is pure, removed from romance or sex. The kind of love one has for a dearest friend and captain, and manifests as loyalty.”

“And you speak from experience?” Sev asked, doubtful, maybe more rudely than he’d intended.

A quiet lingered between Sev and the woman, so long that he thought that perhaps she wasn’t going to answer him.

“No.” she finally answered, “But I’ve learned to recognize it—just as I imagine that you have as well.”

It was left unsaid that recognizing this weakness was the first step in using it against someone. While it made Sev uncomfortable that he shared any kind of similarity with the Le’Shaad woman, it seemed inevitable that both their lines of work had need of this particular skill. This eye for vulnerability.

Thinking back—after Sev had put the pirate into a chokehold upon sighting him on the ship, the young man had quickly listed the ways he could help them in rescuing their crewmates. Well at least, the man had tried to. Talking was often difficult when you had an arm cutting off your air.

But it was then that Sev recognized what the softness in the pirate’s gaze for Berry meant, and permitted him to stay aboard the ship. It brought him some amount of security that the Le’Shaad woman could confirm what he already suspected—and thought to use it, just as he had.

As the bright scattering of stars slowly passed them, like flecks of pearlescent paint thrown against a velvet canvas of black, no more words were said. Sev was aware of the strange accord between the Le’Shaad woman and himself as they sat in less-than-companionable silence. It felt like an ill-fitting garment, resting on the both of them, and Sev nearly shifted under the oddity of it. But neither was the silence uncomfortable, and as the minutes ticked by, Sev found himself settling into it.

The Le’Shaad woman was almost bearable when she didn’t talk.

Small comforts before a battle, they say.

The woman didn’t seem to care either way, her eyes silently tracking the constellations above, lashes flicking every time she diverted her attention to another celestial body. Sev wondered if she was reciting their names within her mind. Names Sev would never care enough to learn.

Sighing to himself, Sev reached into his pocket, his calloused fingers coming into contact with cool metal and glass. Fishing it out, the Mandalorian held it in his hand and leaned forward, extending his arm to allow his knuckles to nudge her arm, careful not to brush against her injury.

The Le’Shaad woman gave him an almost lazy, quizzical arch of her brown as she looked down at what was being offered to her, her lips quirking with good-humor.

“And what is this?” she asked, a quiet incredulous air to her voice. Her smile faltered somewhat when she looked back up at his shuttered expression, however. It was as serious as she’d probably ever seen him. Not a meaningless gift then.

Sev’s mouth was pressed into a thin line, his brows drawn together as he spoke. The man’s deep voice was quiet—private, a hint of discomfort evident in his expression.

“Contraceptives.”

The Mandalorian told himself that he would not shy away from this, and made it a point to keep eye contact with the Le’Shaad woman, knowing she would understand. Even in the dark of the small cockpit, Sev could see her flush, darkening her cheeks.

As much of a warrior, of a soldier as he was, used to attacking all things head on, this was something he…was new to. Yet unwilling to let her get a word in, Sev forged on.

“You knew it might come to this.” He said to her, expression grave, “This mission to Jericho may fail, I may fail. And if I do, those men in Jericho will not be as honorable as I am.”

Wordlessly, the woman accepted they hypospray from his hand, the liquid within a gold color. Eyes dark, Le’Shaad looked at him, the corners of her mouth almost downturned into a frown as she turned the hypospray over in her hand, slender fingers rubbing the metal without thought.

Sev didn’t even blink as he continued, “You are a woman, and you are to the taste of many men.” He stated simply, eyes flicking over the healthy shine of her hair, her unspoiled skin, and her pretty features—a face he might even call lovely if they weren’t so often arranged in a haughty, indifferent expression, “Those beasts would take you and rape you before they got around to killing you. But in case they decide to keep you,” Sev’s eyes flicked down to the hypospray, biting the inside of his cheek to taste blood, “this dose will last two months. That should be long enough for them to grow bored and kill you.”

Sev knew he was being harsh with his truths—brutal even. But then, Sev had never claimed to be a fancy gentleman from the Core. And this needed to be said.

Rezer watched as a myriad of many things played out behind Le’Shaad’s grey gaze, shadowed with too many things for him to identify. That he could even see them was unusual. Sev wondered if maybe her mask wasn’t deliberate after all. Maybe she was simply too tired to wall herself off from him, this time.

As if sensing his thoughts, the woman turned her face away, a crooked smile on her lips as she closed her eyes.

“This body is simply a vessel of flesh and sinew for my mind—a jar for my consciousness. It matters not what they do to me—to it.” She shrugged one shoulder, bored. He did not miss, however, the way she closed her long fingers around the hypospray.

Like a switch had been flicked, Sev felt his low lying irritation flare into true anger at her blasé attitude. Her resignment to any fate that came her way provoked anger to his very core. Sev did not stop to analyze why. He simply snapped.

“Don’t do that.” He snarled at her, his hazel eyes burning. Sev halted the urge to strike something.

The effect was immediate, her head snapping back to face him, eyes open and vicious in their frigid chill, as if she might try to flay him open by their power alone—challenging him, always challenging and egging. This was the Le’Shaad he recognized.

“Do what?” She asked, the innocence of it sullied by the snide tone, daring him to tell her what she could and could not do.

“Don’t act like it’s nothing!” He snapped harshly, “I’ve never met someone who cared so much and so very little about themselves at the same time!” he spat, incredulous.

Her laugh was grating in its emptiness, cruel even.

“Is this concern I hear, darling?” she mocked, the endearment like an insult in its edge.

All at once, Sev remembered why this woman chafed at his nerves, why he could hardly stand being in the same room as her. How foolish of him, to think that perhaps she could be kriffing normal for just one second.

Whatever thread of camaraderie that lingered between them seemed to snap, evaporating into the air. Sev could almost see the mighty Duchess he knew unsheathe from beneath the skin of the woman sitting beside him. This was the Le’Shaad he knew, the one that now emerged in all her bitchy glory.

Or maybe was it the other way around, a corner of his mind muttered. The unusual thought—one that came from instinct—gave Sev pause . That perhaps the woman he’d joined in a starry cockpit was the real Le’Shaad, who retreated behind a veil of barbs and steel when she scented a threat in the air, seemed ridiculous.

And yet, as Sev thought about it it—entirely plausible.

Sev was not a great reader of people, a dissector of minds. Yet he had his gifts. Being able to predict his target’s next move, their next hiding place, was no accident. It was a skill all great hunters had—entering their bounty’s mindset.

Here was a woman, so obsessed with control, so fixated with being five steps ahead of everyone, that it was not hard for someone with his particular insight to see that it was a compulsion that stemmed from genius, but also fear.

Sev breathed, forcing his annoyance to heel for the moment.

He had just told the Le’Shaad woman that her dignity and autonomy could be brutally torn from her the moment they entered Jericho, explained how her fate would be out of her hands and placed into those of beasts. The woman had responded in a way only one truly acquainted with having intimate control taken from them and surviving could—by refusing to mourn it. It was the final choice she was allowed.

It was the final choice Sev would be allowed as well, if he failed in Jericho.

And just as quickly as Sev’s anger had come, it bled away. Replaced by something he thought could be understanding.

“Is it so hard to believe that someone could care, Morgo?” he shot back in calm response to her mockery, aware that he’d used her name for perhaps the first time since they’d met.

The Le’Sha—Morgo reacted like she’d been slapped. As her eyes darted about his person, reassessing him, Sev did not miss how her lips thinned, a fine line appearing between her brows. A crack in her armor. To Sev, it felt like victory. Many often underestimated him as simple muscle with no brain or intuition for the subtler things in people, and in truth, Sev did little to disabuse them of this notion. He preferred more direct routes to get desired results.

But occasionally, Sev could have a finer hand in things.

“I’ve seen it.” He barreled on, not allowing the woman to get another one of her barbs in, to divert attention somewhere far away from herself, “There’s always a remark, a cruel brush-off from you every time someone does you kindness, isn’t there?”

His hazel eye was almost green in the light of the console below him as he leaned forward, towards her, his large hands gripping the armrests. The gesture would have been almost menacing had Sev’s intentions not been the opposite. The woman’s expression was instantly on guard.

“Why?” he challenged harshly, watching as her eyes held the beginnings of panic in them, “Is it so hard to believe that help can be freely offered to you without a catch? Are you such a stranger to decency, to kindness that you—”

Morgo cut him off, “If you think I’m some broken little bird that needs to be coddled, to be killed with kindness—” she began, quiet and vicious as he cornered her.

“I don’t.” Sev interrupted, halting her misdirected attempt to regain her footing with aggression. He would not allow her talons to come out if he could help it. She would not cut her fangs on him, “But you and I both know that you have problems trusting others. And I need you to trust me, Morgo.”

The woman was stunned into silence as Sev watched her expression change into one… unnerved. Like he had just pulled out a dead baby from a compartment in the cockpit and showed it to her. Though to be fair, she was more likely to sniff delicately at the smell and make him throw it out the chute, rather than be disturbed. Trust Morgo be more uncomfortable about matters of trust than about child murder.

“Why?” She asked, a little on the edge of hysteria, sounding more frustrated than confused as she leaned back, trying to increase the space between them.

“Because this aka , this mission will fall apart if we don’t trust one another.” Sev answered, a hard edge to his words, “Berry has her pirate to look after her in Jericho. But who looks after you? I made a vow to protect you—but I can only do that if you trust me enough to do what I swore to do.”

“You could do that even without my cooperation.” She retorted, uncertain and suspicious.

Sev’s answering smirk was as unpracticed as it was wry, “Whenever I can, I like to make my job easier for myself.” Sev spoke, “And I’d never do anything without your consent.”

Morgo seemed to look at him for an eternity, unblinking—scrutinizing. Sev felt like a bug under a microscope. Or maybe he was a germ. But he refused to shrink or turn his face from her critical eye, her expression revealing nothing of what she found in him.

She looked like she was on the precipice of something, a decision.

And Sev knew a push was needed.

“You helped me with Zrad,” He said, voice low, “Helped me prepare words and gestures that I would not have otherwise said or done. And kriff I still hate it, given acting lessons like a hut'uunla liar. I feel like your toy, your puppet…”

As she listened to him, a small and softly encouraging smile took the woman’s lips as she reached out to gingerly touch his shoulder with the tips of her fingers.

“But what a wonderfully deadly toy you are now, darling.”

“You helped me.” Sev confessed none too easily, “But we will never be equals. And it’s because you won’t let me help you.”

The hand dropped back into her lap as she looked down and away, errant strands of gold hair swaying with the movement of her head. It was uncharacteristic of her, such a visible sign of her hesitation. Sev was reminded of how young she was in comparison to him—how young the entire crew was. A crew of babies. Yet when she lifted her face, her unusually pale eyes cool and determined, Sev was also reminded that this woman was no so young as to be like a daughter to him. She was different from Berry in that regard.

“I trust you.” She said, quiet but strong. And with that he heard her sigh laboriously, like that simple confession was physically taxing for her. She must have caught something skeptical in his face because her eyes widened a fraction as she gestured with her hands, “I do.” She assured, slipping conviction into her words to convince him.

Despite his firm expression, Sev could not deny he was satisfied to hear her say it.

“Goddess help me, but I do.” She muttered as she closed her eyes and pinched the dainty bridge of her nose, as if questioning her sanity. “You’ll have to forgive me, I’m not used to doing this.”

“ ‘This’?” Sev questioned.

Morgo gestured vaguely with her hand at the space between him and herself. “This.” She repeated, “Whatever indefinable insanity you and I are embarking on by trusting one another.”

Her rare moment of guilelessness was disarming, and Sev was a little disquieted at his reaction to it. But even the Mandalorian was susceptible to indulging in a moment of renewed….something.

“Who said I’m trusting you?”

Her bark of laughter was bright and unexpected as her hand dropped from her nose and she cracked her tired eyes open to stare at him through her fringe of hair.

“As you heathens of the galaxy often say—‘I callbullshit.’”

The sound of such a word coming off her refined tongue, lilting with a hint of her faraway accent was so backwards that Sev was tempted to laugh. To make obscenities sound so polished actually defeated the point of obscenities.

“If you want to talk about bullshit, milady, let’s talk about your osik reasons for going into Jericho.” He grouched, settling into a more comfortable position in his chair as the woman did the same, her back pressing comfortably into her seat. Draped over it, Sev would accuse her of sprawling if he wasn’t wary that she’d probably kick him for his troubles. As if her tiny ankle could do much damage.

“Are you calling me a liar?” Morgo asked idly.

Sev snorted and watched her wrinkle her nose at the offensive sound, “Yes.” He said bluntly, “You may believe that going into Jericho is stemmed from selfish reasons, but I sure as kriff don’t.” And jabbing a finger in the woman’s direction, it was Sev’s turn to twitch an eyebrow, “No debt is worth dying over to you, and I know for a fact that you lack any honor to support any claim you have to ‘noble intentions’.”

She raised a single brow as a reply. Sev privately wondered whether there was a place on Dromache that taught the art of expressing so much in a single brow raise.

“I want Thane off my back and Bomoor is part of the package. It’s as simple as that. Other than releasing myself from his debt, what else would it be?” She asked, flippant.

Sev had not cared for much of the going-ons in the ship. The Mandalorian kept to himself and to the cockpit or training room. Yet it had been nearly impossible to miss the idiotic tension between Thane and the Duchess. He didn’t care for the specifics, but it was obvious that something had happened. And from what he had gathered before, it was not a stretch to say that whatever cruel fate Thane was suffering right now in Jericho, for his arrogance, was along the lines of Morgo wished upon him.

“Mercy.” The man said simply, watching as that answer seemed to bring the woman up short.

Something had changed the woman’s mind along the way, about leaving him and Bomoor to a painful and slow death. While Sev was curious, he didn’t care much to know what had changed her mind. Only that Thane and Bomoor had the mercy of this woman to thank for their lives, if they succeeded in Jericho.

Of course, Sev and Berry would have gone into the lion’s den either way, regardless of Morgo’s involvement. Sev’s vendetta against Zrad would have been too good to pass up, and Berry’s noble heart would have allowed her no other action other than rescue. But neither Sev or Berry were exactly the subtle type, and flying into Jericho, guns and fists blazing would have been suicide. And even if they had managed to get to Thane and Bomoor, Sev nor Berry had the healing hands that would be able to save them, let alone carry them out of Jericho.

It was Morgo’s unique touch of deception, of subterfuge that made her tactics likely to succeed. And in this case, with so many odds against them, Sev was almost grateful for her aid. If Sev himself was the sword, the deadly weapon and the instrument of victory, and Berry was the shield, the defender and the unstoppable force—then Morgo was the helm, an instrument of vital protection and a mask. Perhaps she wasn’t completely useless after all.

“Mercy…” the woman repeated, an inscrutable expression on her face, “…is that what I’m doing?”

Sev said nothing, crossing his arms as he looked outside into space once again.

“Is that what this is?”

From the corner of his eyes, Sev saw her lift the hypospray within her loose grasp, saw her look at it with speculation in her gaze. Sev’s hazel eye drifted from the golden liquid to Morgo herself. He wetted his dry lips.

“Yes.”

As the ship entered the Jericho system, passing by the sun, it cast the both of them in bright swathes of skin and stark shadows, banishing the darkness from the cockpit and replacing it with pure, warm light. While his dark hair absorbed the light of the sun and shined a glossy black, the woman’s dark blonde head reflected the bright sun like liquid gold, her eyes no longer hiding in shadow but glinting pale silver. How predictable, Sev thought to himself, that she be made of silver and gold. Proof of her wealth embedded in her genes.

“Then please,” Morgo said, slowly pressing the hypospray into his hand, voice unwavering , “grant me mercy.”

And Sev couldn’t tell if she was jesting or not.

All of her skin covered by her black clothes, the woman gave Sev a look that he couldn’t decipher as she pushed strands of hair back from her neck and tilted her head away to allow him access. If he wanted to kill her, Sev could see where he would slash her neck to cut her jugular vein.

Suddenly hit with an uncomfortable feeling, the image of Morgo presenting her neck to him, trusting, was too close to the way he knew a weaker animal would present its neck in submission to its superior, to its alpha, in hopes that the show of knowing its place would prevent the larger beast from tearing into it.

At the back of his mind, Sev knew that she meant nothing by it. But it was a disturbing comparison that his mind had made. One he couldn’t shake. Especially because he knew just what it was he was dosing her with, and what it was in preparation for.

I don’t want your submission, He thought, vehement, I want you to fight.

It was why, Sev, realized, he’d been so angry before. Faced with her indifference to her own dignity, Sev had felt nothing but rage. It violated every Mandalorian warrior’s code he knew, to surrender without a fight. And Sev would not allow someone under his protection to be so weak.

Leaning away from her with a clenched jaw, taking his eyes away from the spot of skin just below her jawline, Sev instead looked to her hand, gripping the armrest like a lifeline. Placing a hand on her wrist, the sudden contact made the woman jump slightly, releasing her hold on the chair’s arm. Sev gripped the delicate bones of her wrist in his hand as he turned it over and pushed down her sleeve to reveal the vulnerable blue veins just beneath the thin skin, lying beside the lines of her tendons. Depressing the hypospray there, Sev met Morgo’s gaze evenly, as the contraceptives no doubt dispersed throughout her system.

Tossing the hypospray away, Sev’s other hand enveloped her limp hand, curling her fingers forward to force it closed until it formed a fist. While his grip was unforgiving, Sev was still careful not to bruise. Morgo seemed to understand what he was trying to say—fingers clenching of her own will.

With a wordless nod of his dark head, Sev released her hand.

Fight.

Her eyes were searching, curious, and just a touch satisfied. Somehow, Sev felt like he’d passed a test he didn’t know he was taking. And as the Red Raptor turned from the sun, the cockpit slowly bled of warm sunlight, replaced again by darkness, broken only by the dull lighting of the console.

As both their eyes began to adjust to the loss of light, they could only see the shapes of the other’s faces. Nothing specific.

“Sev,” the woman began, her tone gently chiding. The Mandalorian could hear the smirk in it, even if he couldn’t see it, “Are we in danger of becoming friends?”

Sev Rezer, despite himself, felt the corner of his mouth twitching. As he thought of all the things he could say in response to her, something he had never done before she’d taught him the importance of thinking before speaking to Zrad, Sev looked to the moon that passed them by. Maybe after Jericho, if the woman wasn’t a complete bitch, he would teach her a thing or two about fighting the Mandalorian way.

Chuckling, rude and skirting the edge of obnoxious, Sev spoke.

“Shit, no.”

The answering smile on the woman’s face, breaking through her weariness, was startling. It was real, not cynical or cruel—the kind she might have had as a small girl.

“But after this mess.” Sev found himself saying, “You owe me a stiff drink.”

“I’m not putting up with you drunk.” The woman sniffed, voice flat. As if that was that.

And Sev laughed.

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