Chapter Text
It wasn't the storm that woke you.
Even as it took to the sky with a siege of bright lightning, even as the echoing cracks of booming thunder loomed overhead. It wasn't enough to wake you, not on it's own. It wasn't half as loud as your mind could be at it's worst.
Months deep into the wettest season the isolated jungle planet put you through, you had grown used to shutting your eyes and finding some semblance of rest while the constant barrage of tropical rain sounded off against the thin roof and the rumbling crashes of the waves on the shore flowed in through the shut windows. But the distinct and sudden cut of a Razor Crest's engines was a sound you hadn't heard in far too many cycles.
The jungle, you told yourself, it was just the jungle playing tricks on your mind.
Or your mind, you reminded yourself, your mind could be the one playing the tricks.
But not even your own tortured mind wasn't capable of such a level of cruelty.
The old cot beneath you groaned as you rushed yourself to your feet, the creaking wood of the old floor beneath your feet offering up a similar sound as your stretched for your shawl and the blaster that laid beside it. All of the windows were covered to keep the inside dry, but you didn't need to be able to see him to know it was him, not with the all too familiar clank of his beskar. As subtle as it was, soft compared to the storm, it may as well have been a siren as it met your ears, sending a warning shiver down your spine.
Step by step, you inched towards the door, but as you drew closer, it wasn't just beskar you heard. Three sets of footfalls sloshing down the muddy path, three sets of footfalls pounding up the weeping set of stairs. It wasn't enough for him to come on his own? He brought others?
The cool metal of the barrel of the gun warmed quickly as you rested your finger over it, itching towards the trigger, but you kept it down, pinned to your side as you waited for the footfalls to slow to a stop. He shuffled, not even an inch of wood separating you from him.
You could hear his breath through his modulator, faint, careful. You could hear the hushed whispers, quiet, hesitant.
He didn't bother knocking. He knew he didn't need to.
The soaked door cried out, the rusted hinges fighting your hand as you pulled it open, but the display on the other side of it was exactly what your had expected to find. One man. One woman. Both with blasters ready to be raised at the first sign of danger, both scoping the blaster in your hand and tensing on sight. One armored figure in the middle of them, holding them back with his silence.
The next crack of lightning lit up his shining beskar, offering her the first good look at him. Drenched, but brighter, cleaner than the last time you had seen him. It looked like business was good.
Well, it couldn't be that good. He was here, wasn't he?
And he really wasn't going to say anything? You could kill him. Right there and then, you really did consider it.
You spared him one last look up and down and stepped back instead, leaving the door just wide enough for them to follow as you turned away. He wasn't worth the ammunition.
There were whispers, a conversation's worth, a hushed debate before their footsteps followed. But they did follow, just far enough in to shut the door behind them and not a step further, not until the armored man moved first. When he bent over to set his pack down with a stifled groan hitching in his throat, they followed. When he stepped even further in, drawing closer to the burning fire in the center of the room, they followed. You couldn't help but wondered where'd they be if he jumped off a cliff, but something in your stomach told you they'd be exactly where they were now, exactly where you had once been...
Right behind him.
The woman sat down a pack that seemed to move, a bag that seemed alive. You couldn't care less about whatever cargo he carried. You couldn't care less about him.
"I know it's late..." his voice was strained, even through the helmet. The shiver down your spine didn't go away.
Your scoff echoed around the small room as you kept your hands busy, picking up some of the discarded mess centered around the pit of smoldering embers.
He moved closer. You moved around him. "You're far too late."
The two shared a look, you caught the motion out of the corner of your eye, but they didn't even come close to registering on your radar at the moment. They weren't a threat, he wouldn't bring a threat to your doorstep, you knew that much. If he trusted them, you didn't need to think about them. You wouldn't.
He tried to get closer again, to stand between you and the flame you began to stoke to get the smoke pluming again. "If I could-"
"Be out by sunrise or I'll shoot you."
The last piece of wood hit the beskar of his chest with a thud, a vibrating thud much louder in your ears than anything the storm could challenge with, stumbling him a step back. He quirked his helmet as if to protest but any real argument in his chest died before it made its way out of his straining throat. Catching the wood against his armor, refusing to let go, he couldn't help his thoughts as they wandered, holding the wood as an extension to you.
It was almost enough.
You tossed one last piece of wood into the firepit and retreated to the bedroom in the corner of the small house without another word.
“What did you do to the poor girl?” Cara asked, the second she was sure you were out of earshot. "Forget to call or-"
"I broke a promise."
He pulled the spilt log from his chest and followed your final move to toss it into the fire. The flames grew higher and his chest grew tighter. It wasn't the smoke, he just couldn't... he couldn't breathe.
“A promise to do what? Love her forever or-” One look, even through the helmet, was enough to shut that line of questioning down the instant it left her mouth.
But Karga wasn’t as burdened by the fear of his look as he challenged, “she’s quite the looker.”
With a struggling inhale, his helmet leveled a menacing stare. "Keep your thoughts to yourself." The older man's hands lifted in a brief show of surrender, it wasn't much but it was enough. Just enough for the Mandalorian to keep his footing where he stood, just enough for him to keep his anger where it bubbled, deep in the battlefield of his chest, just enough to keep his thoughts where they needed to be. “We need a plan to get out of here.”
“You really think she’ll shoot us if we’re not gone by sunrise?” Cara tried her hand again, watching as he clanked over to the sofa next to her and sigh out as he lowered himself down, the damage of the last fight weighing much heavier on his shoulders than it did either of them. “You could use a few nights rest.”
“I’m fine.” The creaking groan came from him this time, not the dilapidated hut around them, arguing otherwise. “And yeah… she’ll shoot me.”
“Must have been one hell of a promise."
His helmet turned towards the shut door of your bedroom but quickly back to the fire. "It was."