TWELVE.
blooming flames!
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Cara Dune sips from her broth, one side of her dark hair braided tightly against her head, giving the illusion that it's shaved. Zoya watches her, still on alert though it's clear that Mando doesn't consider her to be an enemy. As her story comes to a close, Mando shifts in his seat, hand still resting on the table, a foot or so from Zoya's.

            "How'd you end up here?" he asks.

            Cara looks at the child for a beat before taking another drink from her bowl. "Let's just call it an early retirement," she says. Zoya's head tilts. Sounds suspicious. "Look, I knew you were Guild." She sets the wooden bowl back down. "I figured you had a fob on me. That's why I came at you so hard."

            Zoya's eyebrows raise, and she looks between the two.

            "Yeah, that's what I figured," the bounty hunter replies nonchalantly.

            "Wait, what?" Zoya asks. "What happened?" She looks between them and watches the way Cara's lips quirk. "Did you two beat each other up or something?"

            "Or something," the Mandalorian mutters.

            Her brows lift. "Did she win?"

            "It was a draw," he says. Zoya looks at Cara, still questioning. Mando catches the movement. "Do you not believe me?"

            "Just curious," Zoya says, holding back a grin.

            Cara runs a finger around the rim of her bowl. "He's not lying, if you wanted to know. It ended with us pointing our blasters at each other's heads, but neither of us pulled the trigger, so I guess we can call it even."

            "I wish I could've seen that," Zoya comments. "Would've been entertaining to see Mando get put on the ground."

            His shoulders tense beneath the armor, and he cocks his head towards her. "Oh, really?" His voice is a low rumble deep in his chest, and it runs tentative, uncertain fingers down the gentle curve of Zoya's spine.

            As Zoya's eyes lock onto his helmet, wishing, not for the first time, that she could make eye contact with him, Cara Dune clears her throat, pushing back her chair. They turn away from each other to look at her, realizing they'd fallen into a heavy silence. "Well, this has been a real treat," she says, standing. "But unless you want to go another round, one of us is gonna have to move on, and I was here first." She brings the bowl of soup to her lips once more, then sets it on the table and walks away, with one final, hard look at the Mandalorian.

            "Well," Mando says after a couple beats, turning to the child and Zoya, "looks like this planet's taken."

            Zoya frowns. "Do we really have to leave?"

            One of his shoulders lifts. "If I were her, I would have said the same thing. She was here first, and we're not looking for trouble." Zoya rolls her eyes, and he turns, giving her a hard look that she can sense, even though the metal of his helmet stands in the way. "We're not," he repeats, emphasizing the words.

            She huffs, crossing her arms. "But I like Sorgan. The trees are so pretty. I would really love to stay here, so we can raise—live." The sentence ends awkwardly, and she blinks at her blunder, wondering when she'd started thinking of the child as hers to raise with the Mandalorian. Tension performs a slow crawl through the tightening coils of her muscles.

            "We can find another planet with trees, I'm sure," he says wearily, not acknowledging her slip-up. "If that's what will make you happy." He casts a look towards the child, playing with his bowl and making happy, impish sounds.

            Zoya smiles, but it's softer and realer without her trademark sardonic flair draping itself across the corner of her mouth. "It would."

            "Then that's what we'll do," Mando says, and the matter's settled.

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Later, back at the Razor Crest, Zoya sits in the grass with the child playing at her feet. Midnight obsidian blankets the sky, casting everything into darkness. She tickles the top of his head as he stumbles around, fingers outstretched and reaching for a moth, soft yellow wings fluttering through the air. The Mandalorian works on the side of the ship, a panel propped open, doing gods know what with the internal wiring.

            The child makes a happy noise. Zoya's eyes pull away from the silhouette of the Mandalorian's form against the night and go to him. "You got it?" She grins. The child holds up the little moth and promptly shoves it into his mouth. "You're the best moth catcher ever," Zoya tells him as the golden wings disappear.

            By the Razor Crest's side, Mando shifts subtly, pretending to look at the guts of the ship from another angle, but in reality, his eyes stray towards the woman and the child lounging in the grass. Zoya's completely relaxed, legs crossed out in front of her and one arm propped behind her, holding up her torso. A bright smile dresses her face in vivid tones, illuminating her features in a way that never fails to pull at something deep in his chest.

            As he watches, she reaches out a hand towards the child, and he takes one of her fingers in a few of his own, big eyes twinkling as he gazes up at her. She says something quietly to the child that the Mandalorian can't make out, but the small creature gurgles and totters closer to her, reaching out its arms. The biggest grin he's ever seen Zoya wear spreads across her mouth, and she lifts her arms, giving the little child a gentle hug.

            His hands fumble on the wires and drop like stones to rest at his sides. In Zoya's peripheral, she sees the motion. As the child pulls away to reach for another bug floating through the sky, she looks up at Mando across the clearing, finding his eyes already on her.

            Instead of looking away, like his initial instinct begs, Mando holds her gaze unabashedly, even though she'd caught him staring. Her eyes soften as they just watch each other, and before he can look away, Zoya smiles softly at him, and it's like a dozen candles ignite themselves within the Mandalorian's chest. He takes a step towards her, and a glow that looks like anticipation and hope burns in her eyes.

            At that moment, two men approach, one holding a lantern and the other looking nervous. "Excuse me," the nervous one says.

            "Excuse me, sir." The lantern-holding one moves with him.

            Zoya looks up and immediately pushes herself onto her feet, reaching down to pick up the child in case their intentions are sour. The Mandalorian puts on a façade of disinterest, turning back to tinker with the Razor Crest instead of greeting them politely. "Is there something I can help you with?" he asks.

            "Uh, yeah."

            They move around to his other side, and Zoya follows them, if only to keep the two strangers in her line of vision. They don't look particularly threatening, but appearances can be deceiving. Her eyes flick to Mando, arms tightening around the child, just in case one of them makes a stupid move and tries to take him away.

            "Raiders," one says.

            "We have money."

            "So you think I'm some kind of mercenary?" Mando says.

            They exchange a nervous look. "You are a Mandalorian, right?"

            "Or at least wearing Mandalorian armor," Lantern says. When Mando turns around, he nearly stumbles back. "That is, Mandalorian armor, right?"

            "It is." Mando moves around the leg of the ship, and Zoya wants to smack him on the shoulder for being so short with them, but she stays out of it, knowing that it's his help they're asking for, and it's not her job to offer it up for him.

            "See? I told him." Lantern fumbles after him. "Sir, I've read a lot about your people—tribe. I-If half of what I read is true—"

            "We have money," Nervous cuts in.

            Without turning around, Mando asks, "How much?"

            "Everything we have, sir," Lantern says quietly. "Our whole harvest was stolen." Zoya's brows draw together as the child sighs into her shoulder, suddenly exhausted.

            "Krill. We're krill farmers," Nervous specifies.

            Lantern nods. "We brew spotchka. Our whole village chipped in."

            The Mandalorian turns around and considers them for a moment, and he looks intimidating, especially in the blanket of night that unravels off his shoulders. "It's not enough." Her lips press together tightly, barring a rebuke from spiking from her tongue.

            Stay out of it. He can make his own decisions.

            They both wilt. "Are you sure? You don't even know what the job is."

            "I know it's not enough. Good luck."

            "This is everything we have! We'll give you more after the next harvest."

            Mando presses the button to extend the ramp, and a cloud of steam billows in front of the villagers, sending them stumbling back to get out of the way. The bounty hunter walks to the end of the ramp, and Zoya steps to his side immediately, unafraid. He moves subtly in front of her and the child, looking to the two farmers.

            "Come on," Lantern says quietly. "Let's head back."

            "Took us the whole day to get here," the other mutters. They begin to walk off. "Now we have to ride back with no protection to the middle of nowhere."

            Both Zoya and the Mandalorian catch the words as they ascend the ramp. She stops in her tracks and stares at the back of his head. "Mando," she hisses. "Come on."

            He turns. "Where do you live?" he says, loud enough for the two to hear.

            "On a farm. Weren't you listening?"

            "Probably not," Zoya mutters pettily, still incensed that he'd been so rude to the poor men, who'd just wanted a bit of help.

            "We're farmers."

            Ignoring Zoya's comment, he says, "In the middle of nowhere?"

            Nervous says, "Yes." His voice sounds tentative, almost hopeful, as if he's a child making a hopeful wish for something that won't come true. It slides through the bars over Zoya's heart, and her lips downturn as she tilts her chin up towards the Mandalorian, trying to communicate with him silently though he keeps the angle of his helmet locked towards the two farmers.

            "You have lodging?" Mando asks.

            Zoya finally connects the dots. The series of questions he's asking clicks together in her brain, and she sends a surreptitious look of approval Mando's way. She'd made her judgment too quickly, a learned habit.

            "Yeah. Absolutely."

            "Good," Mando says, helmet tilting towards Zoya and the child as if to say, relax, I've got this. "Come up and help."

            She follows the Mandalorian into the ship as the two scramble to follow, boots thudding noisily against the metal of the entrance ramp. He turns around the corner, and Zoya tails him, pressing close to his side. "Are we going to stay here, then?" she whispers, quiet enough that they don't pick up her words.

            He glances down at her and the child still wrapped protectively in her arms. "It's what you want, right?"

            The corners of her mouth tug up. "Well, yes, but Cara—"

            "It'll work out," he says, gentler than usual, the low tones of his distinctive way of speaking softening into a gentle breeze and leaves tumbling from branches in the depths of autumn. The sound of it is almost comforting. "Don't worry."

            Zoya shifts the child closer to her shoulder, carefully avoiding the bandages wrapped around her upper arm. "But—"

            "I'll protect you," the Mandalorian insists, and his voice deepens back into midnight shades and fire crackling under black skies and a quiet danger waiting underneath the shadows of an unsuspecting moon. 

            Before she can think it through, Zoya reaches up and touches a hand to the curve of his helmet, the metal cool and icy as fresh river water and mountain air against her fingertips. Unbeknownst to her, Mando's breath catches in his chest, and he can't seem to find it again. With a light grin dancing across her lips, Zoya says, "Whatever you say, Mandalorian."

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this is all i have to say: