Work Text:
“So, who’s keeping score?”
“What?” Vae’ra downed a mouthful of her drink - some awful imitation of Rodian ale, probably the best the cantina could do on Quesh - and set her cup back on the table to peer at the Mandalorian sitting opposite her. “The hell does that mean, Torian?”
He blinked at her. “Score. You know. Who killed the most enemies today.”
“Oh.” You idiot. It was those bright blue eyes; they were distracting. “Well, I won, obviously.”
“You sure?” asked Torian, a grin spreading across his face and lighting up those eyes. “I took down thirty-two Republic soldiers, including that Twi’lek gunner who had you backed up against the wall.”
“Oh, really?” said Vae’ra. “I planted the bomb that took out that walker and all the troops inside, plus the soldiers I killed while we were sabotaging the venom mine. I don’t need the numbers to know I beat you.”
Torian laughed; the sound made her smile. “Tomorrow you have to count,” he said. “I want to see how I stack up against the champion of the Great Hunt.”
“You mean how bad you need to catch up,” said Vae’ra, grinning. Torian laughed again and held out his cup for a toast; Vae’ra reached for hers to return it, but her wrist suddenly hurt from the too-fast movement, making her hiss in pain.
“What is it?” asked Torian.
“It’s fine,” said Vae’ra sharply, automatically yanking her hand back. It’d been hurting since the mine, when a grenade had thrown her to the ground and a guard droid had stepped on it while trying to pin her. She’d been hurt worse before.
“Want me look?”
“I said it’s fine!” Vae’ra went to snatch her cup back up and dull the pain that way, but Torian’s hand snaked out and caught her fingers.
“Gotcha,” he said, smiling, gently pulling her hand towards him. Vae’ra stared as he carefully pulled off her glove and turned her hand over, pushing up her sleeve to look at her wrist. She usually punched people who grabbed her, but she really would hate to stop that smile he was giving her, and he would definitely stop smiling if she caved his jaw in.
He brushed a finger over the discolored skin around her wrist, and she couldn’t stop a growl from coming out. He stopped as soon as the sound left her mouth, though he didn’t let go of her hand.
“Venom burn,” said Torian. “Must’ve seeped under your glove.”
“Probably,” said Vae’ra. His fingers were still curled around hers. She could feel his thumb against the back of her hand, a callus brushing the coral-colored flesh.
“I’ve got a kolto wrap,” said Torian, reaching into his belt pouch. “Better not let that fester.”
Vae’ra hated the sting of kolto. Even the smell of it made her stomach turn and her mouth go dry and her scars ache, made her feel like needles were already piercing her skin and someone was whispering in her ear Don’t bother, don’t waste painkillers on a slave…
But Torian was careful as he wrapped the bandage around her wrist, holding her hand so lightly she could hardly feel it. The kolto stung where it touched the burn, making her hiss and jerk away, but Torian merely waited for her to put her fingers back in his hand before patiently wrapping the bandage the rest of the way.
“There,” he said when he was finally done, still smiling. “Not so bad.”
He let go of her hand and returned her glove. Vae’ra pulled it on, hiding the bandage from sight even if she could still feel it on her skin, and took a very long drink.
“You could say thank you.”
She looked balefully at Torian, only to be confronted with an easy smile and a mischievous gleam in his bright blue eyes. He was teasing her, she realized, throwing back what she’d said to him on Taris, when she’d delayed hunting down Jicoln to look after his injuries.
“Thank you,” said Vae’ra. She wasn’t sure what else to say, much as she wanted to say something, preferably something cool or badass.
Somehow, Torian was able to make her feel that way a lot.
“You’re welcome,” said Torian. He reached over and clicked his cup on hers. “To tomorrow’s fights.”
“Tomorrow’s fights,” echoed Vae’ra, and together they drained their cups.