Chapter Text
NEVARRO
This...is a mess.
Well, okay. Things have been a bit of a mess for the past couple weeks, if you’re honest. But it’s going straight off the rails now.
Completely.
Utterly.
Under normal circumstances you would be hunkered down at home right about now. It’s the middle of the night, after all, and there is a curfew in place thanks to Imperial occupation. This law-and-order is a new development, and you have been careful not to break it. Not to draw attention.
You don’t need or want extraneous trouble.
But trouble had come a’knocking in the shape of 6+ feet of hulking Mandalorian armor.
Thanks for nothing, Paz.
A silly name, really.
You’ve only ever met him one other time.
That first occasion had also been dramatic, if absent of Troopers.
The man had broken into your house - you’re still not sure how, only that he promised he had “fixed the security issue” - to ambush you in the dark. He’d pinned you to your kitchen wall and smashed a hand over your mouth before you even processed he was there. Stars’ end, that had scared you half to death! But he hadn’t hurt you, only restrained you secure enough to ensure that you couldn’t scream for help and would focus on what he had to say.
He needed help, he’d said. A doctor like you.
He had seen you in the past providing free wellness checks in a market tent for local kids who couldn’t access medical care. No, he didn’t have time to wait for that bi-weekly set up. No, he couldn’t come to the clinic during regular hours. No, you couldn’t talk him into doing so - you just needed to listen up.
Yeah...he had not been much for pleasantries.
But he had eventually explained that a child in his care had been hurt (cut it out; stop asking where the kid came from). For reasons (no, he would not explain them) he was without access to the medic who usually cared for his people (stop asking about Mandalorians! And, no, he didn’t care what you thought you’d seen in dimly lit alleyways).
With so many demands and too few answers, you should have told him to get lost. Insisted that he was barking up the wrong tree.
Except ...you have a soft spot for kids.
Always have.
A thing this Paz must have guessed from witnessing some of your work.
And thus you had gone to the clinic after hours and unlocked the back door to let him usher in a boy who scoffed and dragged his feet the entire way. A young teen, probably. You’d been required to guess at his age because they were both scant with details and the boy had a helmet bucketed over his head for his entire visit. He was without additional armor, however, which was maybe how he’d injured his arm.
Broken, they feared, and untreated long enough that it had swollen and he could no longer feel his fingers.
Paz had been a bit of a bully, to be honest. He’d chastised the boy openly for not reporting his injury sooner and grabbed his good arm in a fierce grip after the kid reflexively kicked at you when you inspected his swollen, immobile elbow. He had growled an unknown language at the boy, who’d immediately apologized. However, after you took scans and determined the joint was dislocated and pinching a nerve, Paz had also used that same language to talk him quietly through the pain of re-setting the bones.
Which, you can admit ...endeared the gruff man to you.
Sort of.
Not a lot.
After all, you weren’t likely to forget that he had broken into your home. That was a stark horror you’ll remember for a long time.
So when you ushered him out of the clinic you had assured him - repeatedly - that he could knock on the front door next time he needed something. You would answer. You’re civilized like that.
He had sounded cocksure when he told you there wouldn’t be a next time.
And that was true for a year or so. Long enough that you’d almost forgotten about him. If you didn’t spot a Mandalorian helmet around the bizarre every now and then, you just might have done so...
But now...here you are.
In a damn mess.
Because of Paz.
And another kid.
__
This kid at least has a name: Kori.
And a face.
She’s younger than the last, quiet and compact and without any sort of helmet. If she weren’t so tired and sick she would be painfully adorable. As things stand, her skin flushed and hair sweaty from her fever, she just appears pitiful.
You’d be sorry to see her in such a state at any time, but tonight especially...
It had started like this: you were yanked from sleep by incessant buzzing from your door chime.
Not the kind of thing you can easily ignore.
When you found it was Paz, maybe you should have been relieved that he hadn’t broken in again and physically yanked you out of bed. Instead, you were busy being offended by the way he shouldered right inside past you.
Then you were distracted by the little redhead propped in his arm.
You’d morphed straight into work mode; any beef you had with the man’s tactics could take a backseat.
You listened carefully while he growled about how the girl had been sick and too weak to travel (no, it’s not your business where she might travel). He’d given her antibiotics but the pills weren’t working; she’s had an unwavering fever. Tonight she had a seizure, and now he’s at the end of his diagnostic repertoire and is there anything you can fucking do?
Just like that, you had agreed to sneak through the dark streets despite curfew to open up the clinic for him.
Again.
Paz had rattled off a suspicious, albeit impressive, amount of knowledge regarding the patrols in the area to reassure you there would be a clear path to the clinic as long as you moved quickly. You were comforted by that despite yourself.
And you had made it without incident.
Praise the Maker for that. Any maker, really - you’ve never been picky about that kind of thing.
You set her up on an IV. Took a few scans. It was settling to be busy and in your element ... but then Paz left.
He said a message came in - from who and from where? You don’t know - and that he had to go. But he’d be back! Oh, of course he would be back. Iviin’yc, he had promised Kori. Whatever that meant, she seemed reassured and even gave him a tired smile.
No one had offered you a translation, but you chose to follow her lead.
You busied yourself bagging up more meds because your limited Paz lexicon suggested he would want to leave posthaste. Then you sat and talked quietly with the girl.
That part was easy.
Humble brag: you have a good beside manner. You like working with kids, specifically, because they are often easier to put at ease. They’re resilient and trusting and will usually smile even when they feel crummy if you’re willing to be just a little bit silly.
Kori wasn’t in the mood for too much silliness, true, but she listened to your stories until she got drowsy.
Once she dozed-off it was just you and a silent, still clinic.
Which is how you were able to hear the blasterfire and shouting.
Suddenly it wasn’t smart to be smack in the middle of the city.
Which is why you’re now skulking through the shadows with a satchel over your shoulders and your arms full of a child who’s almost too big for easy carrying.
Kori’s upset and sniffling, and you’re fresh out of smiles and stories to offer her.
So this. This is the mess.
“You there!” light floods into the alley, casting out a long shadow on the ground in front of you.
Karking hells.
You freeze but hesitate as if you can pretend someone else is being addressed.
“Back up towards my voice. Slow!”
“It’s alright,” you whisper to Kori, and you aren’t sure you believe it but you think you sound chipper enough. “Everything will be fine...”
You adjust your hold on her and comply to the order. You have a gun - you’d strapped in on under your jacket when you got dressed because it felt like the smart thing to do when taking an unsanctioned walk after dark. Only now you’re holding a child so it’s not quite the right time to brandish a weapon, is it? That would be a serious escalation.
Besides, you can talk yourself out of this.
Well ...probably.
You cross a couple fingers for added luck.
Once you’ve shuffled backward to the mouth of the alley, a rough hand shoves your shoulder and turns you around. Then you’re face to face with a pair of tall Storm Troopers. An experience you were hoping never to repeat again after the clinic had been searched upon the militia’s initial arrival.
“Chaincode?” one of the Troopers thrusts out his hand.
Kriff. You dig it out of your jacket pocket to fork over for scanning. There’s nothing damning on your official record, but you would prefer to be anonymous when skirting the rules.
“What’s all this?” the other demands, eyeing your load.
You bite down on a sarcastic retort. Joking off a problem is a tried and true strategy - an utter classic... but now is not the time or place.
No, no. It’s time for hysterics.
“I’m sorry,” you burst forth without hesitation. “I’m so sorry - it’s my daughter! She’s sick...”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“I don’t know!” you pitch your voice tight; a bit too high, maybe, because you're no practiced holovid star. “She’s running this fever and she can’t keep anything down ...it’s been days! Neither of us are sleeping...”
“Look, lady--”
“And she had a seizure tonight!” you babble on. “I just thought ...I was scared. I wanted to see if there was a doctor working!”
“You can’t j--”
“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry - I know there’s curfew! But I was scared...”
Kori chooses that moment to sob and curl further into your shoulder. It’s perfect timing as the Troopers look from you, to her... and then back to you. You can’t be sure if the girl’s distress is genuine or if she’s catching-on to your act, but either way you’ll buy her any sweet she wants from the market once this is all over. Hells, you’ll buy her all the sweets.
“...we ticket anyone who’s out after curfew,” one of the men states, though there’s something less than conviction in his tone. “And we bring them in for questioning...”
Double kriff. How is this your night? You’d had a glass of wine, read a few chapters of a novel, and gone to bed like any other normal night, hadn’t you? Stars above.
“Please, I...” you lose your train of thought when you spot a dark, hulking and unmistakable figure slipping soundlessly from the shadows of a locked shop display.
He’s several yards behind the Troopers, and moving with a stealth you can’t believe given the size of him. It’s eerie, the way he glides forward. You have to fight the urge to retreat and give away that something strange is occuring.
“Really?” the other soldier, none the wiser to looming danger, slaps his partner's arm. “We’re gonna bother? She’s not a Mandalorian...”
“A Mandalorian?” you chirp, though you should probably keep quiet.
“Doesn’t matter,” both men ignore her question. “She’s breaking the rule, isn’t she?”
“Well...but what’re we going to do with the kid?”
Apparently they’ve never tried ticketing children because the pair quiets a moment to consider the logistics. So you fill the silence to ensure they can’t hear their quarry draw nearer:
“Please!" you whine. "I just need to get her home. I’ll do whatever you need, but she needs to get back to bed...”
“We gotta bring ‘em both or else--”
When Paz lunges forward you twist away and duck over Kori to cover her face. You hear a couple shouts and a sickening crack you don’t love and then ... ...nothing.
When you look up, the white armored men are prone on the ground and Paz is in your personal space, towering over you.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you find yourself saying again, only this time around your voice is soft and sincere. “I wasn’t running out on you. I just thought we shouldn’t be here in the heart of the city...”
“I see that,” he stoops to peer at Kori; she nuzzles her face into the worn material of your jacket, but she does whisper a small ‘hi’ for him.
“If you got back to the clinic and thought-” you don’t finish the unsavory idea. “I’m sorry...”
“Don’t be,” he straightens.
“What hap--”
“We need to move”
Before he can explain further or point you in any particular direction, a soft whistle cuts the night. Then a bright, pinkish light bursts overhead.
Flares.
You see more Troopers running your way by the light before Paz gives you a hearty push.
“Go!”
You don’t need telling twice and dart off down the alley once more.
The illumination from the flares helps you traverse cluttered alleyways, but it is an ultimate detriment.
The streets are teaming with more Troopers than you had suspected were even in the city - not that it matters, but where in the nine hells have they all been living? - and the vicinity is now too bright to confidently sneak around. Paz has drawn their attention, but they’re spreading out and setting up sentry at mouths of alleys and doorways like they’re ready for ...for something. Or someone.
Could they possibly be looking for you? Your chaincode had been run, so you’re in their system as breaking curfew tonight...but does that make you suspect?
Kriff. You just can’t be sure. So you can’t even know whether trying to hide in your own home will be safe.
“Kori,” you crouch behind a rubbish bin and settle her on your lap, both to give your arms a rest and so you can look her in the eye. “Are you listening?”
Her eyes are droopy slits, but they perk a fraction when you address her.
“Come on ...you need to wake up,” you force her onto her feet. “Do you think you can walk a while?”
She sways in her shoes, but she manages to remain standing and nods.
“Hey ...hey, Kori. Listen, okay?”
She nods a sleepy nod and tries to step closer to you, but you hold her shoulders so she can’t sink back into you.
“Kori ...where are you supposed to go if there’s an emergency? Do they teach you a plan?”
Amongst a race of warriors, there must be preparation. Contingencies. Battle plans. Something.
The girl’s chin bobs in another nod.
“Okay, good ...that’s good,” you hope your smile looks encouraging. “Where do we go?”
“I can’t...”
“No, it’s alright,” you squeeze her arms and then do draw her in closer; she’s doing so well... you just need a little more information, and then you’ll do the rest of the work. “I’ll get us there. I’ll protect you ...just tell me the plan.”
“I can’t say,” she murmurs again. “ Aruetii . You’re an outsider...”
You remember all the times Paz had told you that you were asking too many questions, and your heart sinks.
Secrets on top of secrets.
“...Paz trusts me, remember?” you try to sound confident. “It’s alright...”
“Aruetti aren’t duumyc...” she looks sad, which is not heartening in the least even if you’re not sure what she’s saying about you.
“...what is that?”
“You’re not allowed....”
Great.
You want to think that there has to be some sort of exception due to the fact that her life is in danger, but you can’t be sure. Even if you were, you don’t have time to explain subtleties to a child.
Just great.
“Okay...that’s okay,” you promise her even though you’re sure it’s not fine at all. “Then you need to go...”
You press her away from you again, careful and slow. You don’t want to alarm her. She needs to think that it’s alright.
“Uh-uh,” she leaps back in and twists her fingers into your jacket.
“You need to,” you begin prying her fingers off one by one. “Go where they told you. It’s going to be alright.”
You don’t relish lying to a child, but it’s for the best. She’ll go find her people and you’ll ...okay, well. You’re not sure. Wait it out, maybe. You have your gun to defend yourself if you need. In the morning you’ll go see if your home is safe or if Troopers are there to follow-up on your violation...
“I don't know...”
“Oh, you'll do fine,” promises just keep spilling from your lips. “Someone will meet you there, right? Paz will know where to find you?...you need to go now.”
“I can’t...”
“Yes you can; you can make it. I know you can. You’ll--”
“No!”
Her cry seems deafening as it snaps through the tension in the quiet alley. You lurch forward to seize her, wrap a hand over her mouth, and pull her tight against the stone wall.
You can feel her shuddering - crying; you’re making kids cry now! - but do not release her. Your blood is pounding hard, every muscle tight in anticipation. You’re having trouble controlling your breathing but strain your ears...
“Heat signatures....we’ve got a heat signature over here! Southeast of the escape...”
Kriffing- ....just kriff. You don’t have other flowery words.
You stay half-shrouded where you are and shift your weight to pull your gun free. You can hear footsteps crunching on dirt...you can picture how they’re creeping closer.
This is it.
No more hiding.
You’re dead or a prisoner or a fugitive. And Kori ...is apparently in it with you now.
A mess.
You start shifting the girl behind you. She fits between your back and the wall, and you hope wildly that she’ll close her eyes. You can’t tell her to do so; you’re not sure you could draw enough breath for words right now if you tried.
Gunfire erupts somewhere overhead and you push Kori to the ground of the grimy alley. You’ll both probably catch something foul down there; then again, maybe neither of you will live to deal with the sickness...
When the burst of noise quiets, you lurch up despite your ringing ears and aim your gun at whoever has come to ruin the night. Someone is bearing down on you, and you fire off a shot before you process that it’s Paz barreling in your direction. Luckily the shot glances off his shoulder guard; his arm jerks, but it doesn’t stop him. Hardly slows him.
“Go!”
Yes!
“Kori, come on...come on,” you grab her under the shoulder to pick her up again.
You can still only move so fast with her, but with Paz behind you with cover fire it feels exponentially safer...
Until a hefty weight hits your shoulders, sending you careening for the ground. You catch yourself on one hand - sort of - but the result is nearly dropping Kori beneath you. She screams a horrible sound and you curse, hoping it’s fear instead of an injury.
There’s no time to check now.
It’s Paz and his impossible armor pinning you to the ground. For a wild moment you think he’s fallen, which wouldn’t be a promising turn, but then you realize he’s holding part of his weight off of you. He’s tackled you.
Rude, but --
Something whistles overhead, and then trash and storage carts up the alley explode into fire and shrapnel.
Incendiary charges.
No one is messing around.
You start to choke on fear and then realize it’s the neck of your shirt digging into your throat - literally choking you. Paz is trying to haul you up by the back of your clothes; you scramble to find your feet and pull Kori along with you.
Without a word, Paz kicks open the back door of the nearest building and shoves the two of you through it.
“I’ll draw them back here...you leave through the front when it’s clear,” he barks. “Go to the shipyard.”
“What?!”
“The shipyard! I’ll follow.”
“We...”
“Go to a YE-4 gunship on the Northern edge; it’s mine. I’ll be just behind. We’re leaving!”
You gape at him, but he turns his back on you and aims a startlingly large gun down the alleyway. It’s clear he has no interest in arguing. If you bother to try, he won’t even hear you.
It's decided, then.
To the shipyard.