Chapter Text
Ben waits to gift the dagger to Skirata, wanting until he seems fully comfortable around her (although with her being a former padawan she's unsure if that will ever truly happen).
Skirata has gotten more comfortable regarding her training, with being a little more rough and forward. They've worked with hand to hand combat, and close combat with weapons, although not too roughly. Skirata doesn't aim for easy shots, but he's not overly violent.
There are still times where Skirata will tap out, deciding for her to take a break, and there are times where Ben herself taps out, immediately ceasing all activity.
With the use of the force Ben is better than good, without it she manages, she's not great but not bad either. Her slowness could be attributed to the dancing stars in her core.
It's mainly just hand to hand, there's no rigorous manoeuvring.
It's not the Force (or lack of), or the heaviness of her pregnancy that catches her up this time.
It's something so simple that makes her stomach roll and her vision swim momentarily— no doubt scaring the osik out of Skirata.
Skirata goads her. They're face to helmet on the soft training mat, everything below her breasts and above her hips is off limits for obvious reasons, but mainly they were sticking to above the shoulders during their spars. Ben is nimble enough to twist and dodge away gracefully if a hit accidentally gets too close.
This time she freezes.
He sounds mocking when he says it, his vocoder masking his true voice. "Slippery jet'ika—" The rest of Skirata's words get drowned out by the blood rushing in Ben's ears. Her breathing catches in her throat and her face feels hot, eyes prickling with tears.
Jet'ika.
It all happens so fast that she doesn't block or evade Skirata's right hook aiming right at her face, unable to stop the pained noise choked out of her as flesh meets flesh.
Jet'ika.
She doesn't really feel it either, although she knows it draws blood. A mix between blood and tears dripped down her face. Ben falls back and lands on her backside, her hands defaulting to her belly, protectively, as she shakes.
Jet'ika.
Skirata's helmetless tear-blurred form is instantly in front of her, kneeling. He's speaking but it feels like she's underwater. Ben flinches violently when his larger, calloused hands gently cradle her face and his movements stutter at her fear. Ben's face is turned and examined delicately, with more care than what she thought Skirata was capable of.
Ben still can't make out his words, but he's quieted his voice reminiscent of their meeting when Skirata's face was the one bloodied, and it helps ground her, calms her.
Then he leaves her line of vision, and yes, even though he was the one to land a hit on her she still panics at his sudden absence.
Ben scrubs her face of tears, cringing when she makes contact with what large bruise she's forming.
She hears his footsteps wandering around and with no warning Skirata's back in front of her, tenderly pressing what assumingly is a bacta icepack onto her face. She hates that she leans into the contact.
"..'M sorry.." It's a pitiful apology but it's the best she can do with her face tight with pain.
Skirata's face twists into a grimace at her words, were they not enough?
"We're going to talk about— whatever just happened. And we're taking a break from—"
Skirata can't be done with her, not so quickly as with Master Jinn! Ben's spine straightens up and her eyes widen, "No! It won't happen again! It—"
"Won't happen again because we're taking a break, verd'ika." Skirata's words are firm and final with no room for argument.
Ben swallows her retort. This isn't a negotiation and Skirata isn't Master Jinn and probably wouldn't take too kindly to a negotiation.
Ben has never felt more like a teenager than she does right now. "..'kay.."
Skirata's posture loosens as it's clear Ben won't argue further on his word. He sighs. "Okay, up." Skirata does most of the literal heavy lifting, hoisting her up by her upper arms back onto her feet. He doesn't let go and Ben's thankful for the touch.
He guides her out of the training room and into the larger than necessary kitchen and dining area. Ben is sitting on a cushioned bench as Skirata putters around the cupboards and sink.
Kal hasn't felt like this tired a tired Buir since he had to pry Jango off of Myles after a teasing match turned to a wrestling match which turned into a brawling circle and for some reason that turned into a food fight.
Jango might've been the Mand'alor but with Jaster gone Kal had to be the somewhat responsible one.
As long as he didn't have to clean up the food. That was Myles' responsibility.
This time it's different. Kenobi's not (yet) a Mando'ad, she's core bred, a former Jetii and Kal would be lying if he said he knew how to handle that.
Something happened. Kenobi froze after a string of his taunting. She wasn't distracted or slow, but she had that frozen look in her eyes that Kal saw in his fellow commander's eyes after Korda VI.
Trauma.
Fear.
Kal figures he knows what incident she was thrown back into. He won't push for an in-depth explanation but he needs to know what triggered it. While training can lead to scrapes and bruises, freezing on the field leads to death.
He curses himself, he gotten too comfortable teaching her, and taking up her request was a mistake.
Kenobi's Coruscanta born and raised, Kal was a fool to think he could break her down and build her into a Haat'ade. He said he would go easy on her, and he got too comfortable with knowing she's a former Jetii.
Another example of Jedi not being infallible.
Another example of Kal being a fool.
Now Kal's got a bruised and traumatized yaihadla teenager on his ship to deal with. One that he bruised. If it were another Mando'ade it'd be a different story. Haat'ade pick themselves up after a beating with their chin held high, even during training.
Kenobi will be different, and Kal (as he has been) needs to change his curriculum to accommodate.
Ugh.
Now he's going to be sending her back to the Evaar'ade with a nasty bruise covering her face, and if Kenobi has any smarts like she's expressed before, then she hasn't told the Evaar'ade who she was meeting.
Double bladed beskad. The Duchess either thinks she was attacked, randomly or otherwise, or she discovers it's Kal that Kenobi has been meeting with. He doesn't see either ending well.
First things first though, the baby. The whole reason (lie) he's doing this.
His medical room and skills are decent enough for battlefield injuries, even accidents, but for pregnancy? Kal won't be letting Kenobi go without seeing a clinic meant for that stuff. He's not risking it. Don't say Kal's never done anything for anyone.
"Kenobi." His voice breaks the silence as he walks into the kitchenette where she's resting. She looks better, not as pale and her eyes more aware.
She sips on the water Kal gave her and looks up at him expectedly. She doesn't speak but he knows he has her attention. She immediately looks too young for this— for everything, and Kal mentally kicks himself for having to ask her.
“What was the trigger?” He hits the nail on the head and Kenobi averts her eyes in shame. Kal hates it. Mij could handle this better, wherever the hell he is now.
Kenobi takes a few moments to find the words, “When I was.. attacked.. by kyr’tsad..” she swallows thickly, eyes shining. Kal stops himself from rushing to comfort her, he needs to know this information and he can't coddle her. She's not a child. “They taunted me a lot, called me names.. called me..” jet’ika. Kal has to pat himself on the back this time, for being an insensitive bastard.
He grimaces and chokes on an apology. It won't fix things now. Instead..
"We're going to a clinic for a checkup." And unsurprisingly Kenobi freezes momentarily before forcing herself to relax.
She swallows thickly before she talks, "That's not necessary, but I appreciate—"
" —But," Kal interrupts her flowery language. She usually uses it when nervous and Kal hates that as well, feeling shame that she's nervous around him.
Kal's face stops any retort coming from Kenobi's lips. "It is necessary. I would've done the same for any one of my—" vode, aliit, clan.
Kenobi seems to get the hint.
Kal strips himself of most his beskar'gam, better to blend in in Sundari while finding a legitimate clinic, he's not completely armorless. He's not a complete fool. He dresses in common spacer clothes and escorts Kenobi to the closest clinic, nasty and presumptuous looks get sent his way, he either glares back or ignores it.
Kenobi's better on her feet when they reach the clinic, thankfully. The last thing Kal would want to do is bring attention to them by carrying her.
She takes the reins when they enter the clinic, the employees giving Kal shifty eyes when they think he doesn't see.
Kal doesn't go back with her, doesn't need to, she's considered an adult after all. So he sits and waits.
Kenobi doesn't exit the room crying, so that's a good sign. She holds onto papers, looking red in the face. Kal doesn't ask until they're out of the establishment.
"The ad?"
"It's— H-He's fine. Healthy. Developing."
Oh, 'he'. Kal chuckles to himself, leave it to a core bred ad to be blessed with what will no doubt become a hard-headed, stubborn ass Mando'ade.
"Would you—" she pushes a piece of paper towards him, unsure but eager. This must be the first time she's learned of the baby's gender.
Kal grabs onto the paper— an ultrasound, before the wind can sweep it away from her grasp. He's seen them before of course, Haat'ade have babies, become yaihadla and get papers just like these, but he's never been given one. Hell not even by his ex-wife he had three babies with.
Kenobi wasn't kidding, she's smaller for a seven month pregnancy but the blurry black and white scan shows a near full developed baby.
Words get caught in Kal's throat.
Kenobi has no reaction to his non-reaction.
Kal's not about to keep it and certainly not going to ask to, though he itches to slip the little image into his hal'cabure as a reminder that there's hope for the future of the Haat Mando'ade. She was merely showing him as a courtesy.
He hands the little picture back to her and he sees a moment of insecurity on her face and then a familiar Jetii-calm. "You don't want it?"
Kal nearly chokes at her tone, like she's expecting him to not want it. Of course he wants it, especially if Kenobi doesn't have a Jetii cabur for her to give it to.
Kal shrugs off her gaze as nonchalantly as he can and tucks the little paper into his chest pocket, mirroring where it will be on his beskar'gam.
He catches a glimpse of another smile and Kal takes back what he thought earlier, this wasn't a mistake.
He's still a fool though.