EIGHTEEN.
wreaths of golden petals!
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With the child safely bundled in her arms, Zoya makes her way through the village back to the barn, where the little crib sits. The Mandalorian had come with her to check on him after the battle, and they'd found the kids scared and huddled together, but healthy and unhurt. Luckily, the hut they'd been sheltered in was untouched by the AT-ST's assault.

            Grass flattens beneath the soles of her boots, worn and soft from years of use. The child gurgles and lifts its hands to touch her jaw, shadowed heavily underneath the midnight black canvas stretching infinitely above them.

            "Hey cutie pie," Zoya murmurs, smiling widely without abandon, knowing no one can see her. The child brightens in response, tiny fingers clutching at her face. She hugs the small creature closer for a moment as she reaches the steps leading up to the barn. A wreath of golden flowers encircles her heart as he lets out a little sigh against her neck.

            She pushes the door open, squinting in the blackness. Mando must not be home yet, or he would've lit a candle for them. Zoya tiptoes over to the crib, stepping carefully in order to not trip with the baby in her arms. When the faint outline of the small, wooden bed is visible, she places the child carefully inside, giving him a soft, light kiss on his little forehead.

            Zoya stands watch over the creature as he falls asleep, eyes slowly adjusting to the dimness of the barn as his breaths become heavier and his small hands relax where they lie against the soft blue blanket she'd draped over him. Finally, when it's clear he's dead to the world, Zoya turns to leave, but something catches her eye.

            Next to the pallet pushed against the wall, covered with piles of the Mandalorian's equipment, is another bed of nearly the same size, made up with a couple thin blankets and a slim pillow. An aggrieved sigh tumbles from Zoya's lips.

            "I didn't mean in here, Omera," she mutters aloud, exasperated.

            The child stirs and releases a tiny snore from behind her, and Zoya bites her tongue, casting a wide-eyed glance back towards the crib. Instead of waking, the creature merely shifts, arm flopping off its chest. She exhales, relieved, then stares back at the extra bed Omera had brought into the barn, contemplating her options.

            "Zoya?"

            At the sudden voice from behind her, Zoya nearly jumps out of her skin, whirling around and reaching for the holster at her hip. Mando holds up his hands, moonlight pouring through the window to reflect off his visor.

            "It's just me."

            "Fuck," Zoya groans, trying to keep her voice quiet, dramatically leaning over and bracing her hands on her knees. "You scared the living shit out of me. Don't fucking do that."

            "All I did was walk in," Mando says, quirking an amused eyebrow beneath his helmet.

            She gives him a look. "You almost made me wake up the kid."

            "I didn't make you do anything." His eyes fall upon the extra cot behind Zoya, and his brow creases. "What's that?"

            Zoya turns back, gaze snagging on what he stares at. For some reason, embarrassment swells her tongue. "I-I, um, Omera-I asked Omera if she had another bed. For me. So we didn't have to share." She swallows, digging a nail into her thigh. "I didn't mean still in here, obviously. I thought you'd like privacy."

            "Oh," he says.

            Tension lining her back, Zoya slowly pivots on her heel to face him once again. "Is that . . . um. Is that fine?" Almost immediately, she curses herself, ridiculing her awkwardness within her head. I don't have to ask fucking permission.

            "Why wouldn't it be?" Mando steps around her, taking a couple strides towards his own bed. "Doesn't matter to me." A pause, then he adds, "Either way."

            Zoya almost doesn't know if she hears him right or not, due to the low way they're both speaking in order to avoid awakening the child. "It doesn't?" she asks quietly, something brushing a hesitant finger across her heartstrings.

            Mando unslings the Amban rifle from across his back, placing it on his cot. Before he answers, he turns back to her, closing the distance between them. "No."

            A hummingbird flutters its wings across the nape of her neck.

            His voice is warm and deep, and the edges of his tone are rough, perhaps due to the constellations' starlight glittering in her eyes or the way she's looking at him or the slight tremor in her lower lip as her gaze flickers searchingly across the surface of his helmet. You don't even know my name, Mando wants to say, but he keeps quiet, standing close enough that he could lean down and kiss her if he wanted, if he didn't wear the helmet, if he wasn't such a coward.

            For a moment, he allows himself to picture the scene, him leaning down towards Zoya and fitting his mouth against hers, pulling her up into his arms and pressing her tightly against his chest, tracing the outline of her perfect lips with his fingers and tongue, feeling her heart beating against his.

            He blinks, and the vision dissipates. Fuck.

            "I'll be back," he says shortly, and cuts around her, clenching his jaw.

            Zoya bites her lip but refuses to watch him leave. When the door clicks into place once more, she spins and sits down heavily on the edge of the pallet Omera had brought into the barn, running a hand through her hair. Something had changed abruptly, something that stiffened his shoulders and made him pull back.

            Questions thread through Zoya's mind long before she drifts off to sleep, and it's only after her eyelashes have fallen closed for the final time that the Mandalorian returns to the barn, heart wrapped in a cold, hopeless grip.

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Several days later, the Sorgan farmers have finally finished clearing the village of leftover debris from the battle, with help from Zoya and the Mandalorian. Peace has returned to the people and their homes, and it shows in the tumbling laughter of children that wafts up through the huts on the breeze's gentle exhales.

            Zoya relaxes on the edge of the slim porch, legs dangling off the edge and the grass tickling her bare feet. She glances back towards the door at the sound of footsteps, eyes falling upon Cara reclining in a chair behind her, looking out across the village, as effortlessly suave as ever, and Mando, leaning against the doorframe with his fingers knotted before him.

            Omera steps out of the hut and gives Cara a cup of something, which she promptly takes a swig of after a quick word of thanks.

            "Can I get you something in the house?" Omera asks Mando, looking up at him with hopeful eyes. Ever since Zoya had told her that there wasn't anything going on between them, her feelings have started to become painfully obvious.

            "Uh, thank you. Maybe later."

            Zoya returns her eyes to the village and the child playing in the grass, surrounded by the other young, joyful kids.

            "He's very happy here," Omera says, and Zoya can hear the smile in her voice.

            "He is," Mando says.

            "Fits right in." Omera walks down past Zoya, giving her a brief touch on the shoulder as she moves down the steps.

            For a short moment, silence reigns. Then, Cara speaks up bluntly, "So, what happens if you take that thing off? They come after you and kill you?" Still facing forward, Zoya rolls her eyes, unable to stop her annoyance from swelling.

            "No," the Mandalorian replies. "You just can't ever put it back on again."

            "That's it?" Cara says. "So you can slip off the helmet and settle down with that beautiful young widow and raise your kid sitting here, sipping spotchka?"

            At her words, Zoya tenses, muscles coiling. Settle down with Omera? The line of her jaw hardens as she pictures the two of them together, living out their days in the peaceful Sorgan village. He'd be happier, she tells herself, but there's a burn in her stomach. He should stay here, with her and the child, and be happy.

            "You know, we raised some hell here a few weeks back," Mando says finally. "It's too much action for a backwater town like this. Word travels fast. We might want to cycle the charts and move on."

            "Would not wanna be the one who's gotta tell him," Cara muses, and it's clear she's talking about the child.

            Mando's silent for a moment. "I'm leaving him here."

            Zoya freezes, and her heart thuds loudly in her chest. Leaving him? Does leaving him mean leaving me, too?

            "Traveling with me . . . that's no life for a kid. I did my job, he's safe. Better chance at a life." The child totters around, staring with big, dark eyes at bright blue krill flopping around on the dirt path, and Zoya's chest squeezes.

            Cara says, "It's gonna break his little heart."

            "He'll get over it. We all do."

            "Maybe." Cara drains the last of her spotchka and stands, stretching. "I'm gonna go for a walk. Don't get too crazy without me."

            As soon as she's gone, Zoya digs her fingers into the edge of the porch. "You didn't talk to me about this." Her voice is tight. "And before you say you didn't, you had plenty of opportunities to bring it up."

            A sigh comes from behind her, and his boots are nearly soundless on the wooden boards as he walks forward, lowering himself to sit down beside her. "I didn't say anything because I . . ." He pauses, almost unsure. "I was going to tell you that you can stay. With him."

            "Stay," she repeats.

            He releases another breath. "Should I—"

            "Sure," Zoya cuts, sharper than she means to. "Just stay. Get married. Do whatever you want, I don't care."

            "—tell him now?"

            Zoya flushes. "Oh." The Mandalorian stares forward at the child, wondering if he'd imagined the jealousy in her voice. "Um, if you want to." Cheeks burning, she stands quickly, feet sinking into the grass. Turning back to look at him, she searches for an excuse, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, but finds none. With a short, clipped nod, she strides away, hiding her embarrassment with a lifted chin.

            A few minutes later, heat still envelops her face. She can't stop running through the exchange in her mind, clenching her teeth together at the memory of her idiotic words. "I'm fucking stupid," Zoya mutters, tossing a twig as she watches the child play.

            She allows her gaze to wander, spilling over the ponds and the waving, vivid green pines in the distance, falling across the krill dancing within woven baskets, dipping between the long grasses, and moving through the farmers until it reaches a sight that makes everything within her halt in its tracks, frozen in time.

            Mando and Omera stand together on the edge of one of the ponds, closer than she'd ever want them to be. After a beat, the widow slowly raises her hands to rest on either side of the Mandalorian's helmet. Zoya's fingers dig deeply into the grass, soil forming dark crescent moons beneath her nails. But, as she tries to lift up, Mando's hands rise to catch her wrists, pulling her away, and Zoya's body unwinds.

            Suddenly, a gunshot rips through the air, and Zoya flies to her feet, blaster in hand. Omera spins and runs her way at something the Mandalorian said. When he sees Zoya, he yells her name, gesturing for her to follow. Barefoot, she dashes towards him after throwing a quick look towards the child to make sure he's in one piece.

            Moving swiftly, Zoya catches up to him right as he reaches the trees, slowing to a stop. Cara stands with her weapon in hand, looming over a body laying limp on the forest floor.

            "Good thing you went on that walk," Zoya says, panting.

            Cara lets out a breath. "Very good thing."

            Mando steps closer and uses one boot to push the limp body over. A beeping silver fob lays where the corpse had fallen, red light flashing repeatedly. He picks it up, turning it over in his hand, deadly silent.

            "Who's he tracking?" Cara focuses on the device.

            "The kid."

            "Fuck," Zoya hisses.

            "They know he's here," Cara says flatly.

            Mando looks towards the village. "Yes."

            "Then they'll keep coming."

            "Yes," he says again, a low, reverberating note of finality in his tone.

            Without further ado, he drops the fob onto a fallen trunk, then lifts his leg, slamming his boot down upon it twice in quick repetition, destroying it. He looks to Zoya, and beneath the helmet, his lips press together.

            "We have to go."

            Before fifteen minutes have passed, the transport is reloaded with all of the Mandalorian's possessions and Zoya's freshly washed parcel of new clothes, courtesy of Omera. The child stands sadly inside, blinking slowly to communicate his disappointment.

            "Be safe," Omera whispers, giving Zoya one final hug. "I'll miss you—all of you."

            Zoya closes her eyes, returning the tight embrace. "Same here," she says. "It's so nice here, I really wish I could stay."

            "Then why don't you?" Omera asks, pulling back.

            Zoya shakes her head. "If I'm caught, I'll be thrown right back into a jail cell. Sticking with Mando is the best way to avoid that."

            Omera's lips twist. "I understand."

            As Mando finishes checking the cases of his weapons, Cara approaches, loose smile playing about her mouth. "Are you sure you don't want an escort?"

            "I appreciate the offer," Mando says, "but we're gonna bypass the town and head right to the Razor Crest."

            "Well then"—Cara slings her bag over one shoulder, reaching out towards him—"until our paths cross."

            Mando grips her hand tightly. "Until our paths cross."

            Winta runs forward to hug the child one last time as the war veteran releases Mando's hand. "Keep Mando in line, will you?" Cara says, moving forward. Zoya's lips quirk.

            "Pretty sure that's the other way around," Mando mutters from behind her, but Cara doesn't acknowledge him.

            Lower, she adds, "I saw the way you reacted when I told him to stay with that widow." Zoya's eyes widen, but before she objects, Cara cuts her off, speaking to both her and the Mandalorian. "Stop fucking dancing around each other, yeah? It's about to drive me insane, and I didn't even pick up on it too long ago."

            The Mandalorian grows rigid, and Zoya's body is stiff when Cara gives her a quick hug. "I-I don't know what—" she begins to stammer.

            "Forget it," Cara says. "Until our paths cross."

            Zoya manages a smile, thankful to be included in the sentiment. "Until our paths cross," she echoes.

            The child begins to gurgle from behind her, and tautly, Zoya moves back towards the Mandalorian as he slides his rifle in beside the other cases, carefully avoiding her gaze. He sits down on the edge, legs dangling, and she jumps up next to him, both tense and refusing to address Cara's comments.

            As the transport lurches, starting to carry them away from the quiet Sorgan village and its wealth of peaceful farmers, the Mandalorian looks down at Zoya and the reflection of the villagers in her hazel irises. "Are you ready?" he asks.

            The corner of her mouth pulls up. "Always."

END OF ACT ONE.
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