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“It’s-- nice here,” the Mandalorian said. It was hard for him, sometimes, to get the words out; to force himself to speak. But Omera made it easier.
“Yes,” she said expectantly, giving him the space to work out what he was going to say next.
“I think it’s clear he’s happy here,” he said, gesturing to where the foundling was playing with the other children. He was happy for him, he really was. If the child could find some semblance of happiness and peace, that was all that mattered, even if it meant losing him.
“What about you?” Omera asked, and it blindsided him.
“Me?” he said in confusion.
“Are you happy here?” she asked, and he didn’t know how to respond to that.
His own happiness had barely factored into any of his decisions in life. He was a Mandalorian, a bounty hunter, and that was it. He couldn’t bring himself to answer, his happiness wasn’t supposed to matter. All he could do was stand there in silence, too afraid to answer, as if giving it a name would shatter the goodness he’d found in the world and he’d lose it all anyway.
“We want you to stay,” Omera continued when it was clear he wasn’t going to respond, and she meant it. “The community is grateful. You can pack all this away in case there’s ever trouble,” she gestured to his armor. “You and your boy could have a good life. He could be a child for a while. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
‘Your boy.’ That rang in his mind, causing his eyes to burn, and he ached . He looked over at the foundling again, and he let himself picture it. He thought he could spend the rest of his life like this, watching the child grow, happy and safe, and he would be completely content.
“It would,” he said, and his voice cracked, because he wasn’t equipped to be a father, this wasn’t supposed to happen to people like him. But he wanted it to be true so badly, he couldn’t bring himself to move even when Omera gently took hold of his helmet.
He didn’t understand what she saw in him, how she could read him so completely, even when he couldn’t find the words. Removing the helmet would be the death of the Mandalorian. It was his face, his identity, and Omera seemed to understand that, and approached it with the solemnity it deserved.
She was offering to help him start over, to build a new identity, supporting him with tenderness he’d never experienced before. She didn’t seem to care about the violence in his past, because she already knew him so well, as if she already had seen his face, through all the barriers and beskar. He trusted her, and he was so close to giving in and letting her pull off the helmet, but he couldn’t. He carefully, gently, took her hands and drew them away.
“I don’t belong here,” he said, and he hoped she could understand, feeling a pang at her disappointment.
But he was too broken for this. He’d never been made for this life. It wasn’t Omera’s fault, he liked her, he really did. She had such tenderness in her, as well as a fierceness he respected. She was so strong, so sure, and it made him feel at peace for the first time in so long, and she’d never been uncomfortable in his silence.
But that was the problem. He might love Omera, but he loved her in the same way he loved Dune, or even Karga before he’d turned on him and tried to hurt the child. He wasn’t cut out to be a father, he knew that, but he would make an even worse husband.
He had never desired that life, had never looked at anyone and wanted to have the kind of life, the kind of family, that everyone else seemed to want. He didn’t even know how to reciprocate Omera’s kindness, let alone fill that kind of roll in her life, even if he wished he could. It wasn’t even the armor. He knew he’d feel the same even if his parents hadn’t died and he’d lived a different life. He didn’t think he was capable of that kind of love.
It was another reminder that he didn’t belong here, in this beautiful idyllic little town. It had no place for someone like him. Maybe Omera wouldn’t mind if she knew, but it didn’t change the fact that he was too battle scarred and damaged to ever fit right. But the child was different. This was the whole reason he’d been fighting, to find somewhere the foundling could be safe. It would hurt to leave him behind, a sort of grief that ran so deep he didn’t think it would ever fade, but there was no other choice. This was the Way.
“But he does,” he said, drawing their attention back to his strange green child.
“I understand,” she said, taking all of this with such grace, like she knew exactly what he was thinking, and it just made her care for him even more. But this wasn’t about him, this was about the child. “I will look after him as one of my own.”