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Nobody touched Mando if they could help it—which wasn’t unusual. Growing up, his covert hadn’t shared affection in the form of physical touch. At most, he could get a brief verbal acknowledgment of his good work and then they’d be moving on to the next thing. The pace of life as a Mandalorian left little room for connection, especially without the casual physical affection his parents practiced. Being a bounty hunter wasn’t much different than living with the covert, only that the people that gave him words of endorsement were total strangers.
Along with his appearance, his reputation as a merciless bounty hunter was well enough known now that most people would move out of his way when he walked.
The lack of emotional connection from his covert eventually transferred into his work ethic. He’d worked in teams before with other people, and after their initial meeting, they’d gotten the hint that he didn’t “do” group hangouts at the end of a job. There was no clapping the Mandalorian on the back for a job well done or throwing an arm over his shoulder to convince him to have a drink. He showed up, did the job, and slipped out without notifying anyone. For his line of work, it was a good system, and it kept him far out of the reach of the typical troublemakers.
----
You didn’t touch Mando either. Verbal communication was enough to get his attention since he was always on alert, focused on his surroundings and always listening.
But just because he listened for you, didn’t mean that he cared for your input. He continued to do exactly what he wanted to do whether you liked it or not, and if you wanted to get paid, you did what he said.
He hesitated to call you partner. That was clear in his interactions with others whenever they inquired into what your relationship to him was. His implicit expectation was that you would follow his orders and not ask any questions.
Sometimes, it bothered you how easily something could ruffle your feathers while Mando stood as unaffected as ever in the corner. The thought would linger in the back of your mind on jobs that turned out to be trickier than normal. An especially wily quarry could get under your skin, testing your patience to the very limit, and Mando would swoop in—ready to listen to your instructions for once and have your back when you needed it. You would have considered that to be a basic courtesy given to a partner, but you had to remind yourself: Mando didn’t agree on that designation for you. You had to take whatever you could get when it came to working with him.
But there were other times when you expressed a preference to something absentmindedly (a snack, some ammo, a brand name) and the merchandise would show up on your cot after the next supply run. When you mentioned it to him, he never said anything about it. You figured you were attributing meanings to his actions he didn’t intend and promptly brushed it off.
As time went by, the two of you became more familiar with each other. Behaviors he would have scoffed at at the beginning of your time working together became predictable and a means for evaluating your well-being, while you were able to station yourself in the right areas at the right times to make his workflow easier. Your disjointed lifestyles had finally begun to sync together. To the outside observer, it didn’t seem like much, but this Mando was leaps and bounds different from the one you had originally signed onto a job with. You tucked the thought into the back of your mind, simmering in self-satisfaction at the slow changes he’d made to accommodate you.
When you first realized that Mando would actually listen to you, you started to test the waters. Occasionally, you would ask him to “come here” when you wanted to show him something, and it made your eyebrows jump when he would actually do it. Other times, you’d drop the “please” you had been using since you joined him and he’d do whatever you asked still.
You had a suspicion that he knew you liked it when he did what you said. He was very perceptive that way. Your theory was tested further when a woman at the bar thought she had been making some progress with Mando and did the same: told him what to do, instead of asking.
After a few drinks and several failed attempts to lead him out of the bar, the woman’s strategy changed. Her voice was grating as she sidled up to the high stools where you and Mando were sitting.
“Would you hold these, please?” She didn’t wait for his response and shoved her drinks in his hands as she tossed the contents of her purse out on the bar counter. He saved the drinks before they could fall and waited for her hands to take them back.
She picked through the contents and fished some of her makeup out, holding it out for Mando. “And this.”
He switched the glasses into one hand and held the other out to catch her possessions. Before the powder compact even dropped into his palm, she was holding out more from her pile on the counter. “And hold this.”
The sight was amusing, mostly because you usually didn’t get to see Mando interact with someone outside of your social circle. It was a good reminder that he was still respectful under all that stupid armor despite the cold treatment he gave you sometimes.
Her tone was sharp and growing bolder, her eyebrow raising with expectation. “Pull out my chair for me.” He did.
She smiled a close-lipped smile gratefully and her eyes shone in the dim light of the bar.
While you watched the bartender work, the woman toyed with the horns adorning her head. She would bat her eyelashes whenever she thought Mando might be looking in her direction. She was younger than you by a considerable amount, as evidenced by the lack of lines on her face or the scars on her hands. She was gorgeous and so well put together that it irritated you to look at her for too long, so you minded your business, feeling the edges of previously dormant insecurities begin to prick your heart. You tried to focus on the cobalt-colored drink in front of you.
The bartender was an orange Arcona, who seemed like he was so well-practiced that he could mix a drink in the dark. Although he had been indulging his regular patrons in plenty of liquor, he wasn’t so accommodating to the woman. He eyed the empty glasses she had been stacking up and he pushed them towards her to insinuate that she needed to pay for her drinks before he poured her another.
“Oh, the Mandalorian is going to take care of those for me.” She scrunched up her nose in mock appreciation at the bartender and positioned her hands in front of her like she was clutching a coin purse.
She was certainly a beautiful woman—her hair was voluminous and luscious, her nails were done, and her dress complimented her looks perfectly. She could have no problem finding someone who would be willing to buy her some drinks, which is why you were confused as to why she picked the one man in the entire establishment that made it clear he didn’t want to be bothered.
She was trying to get his attention again, fixing her hair and reapplying her lip gloss in the reflection of his armor flirtatiously. A part of you wondered why Mando hadn’t declined her interest yet. You briefly wondered if he was enjoying her pursual, but you cast that thought out as quickly as it came. He probably didn’t want to cause a stir.
It had been a long day for the both of you, and you just wanted to relax before you made it back to the Crest. You didn’t understand how Mando was dealing with this situation sober. He didn’t have a drink; he was just sitting here because you were. If you got up to move, you’d bet a million credits that he’d move with you. Why was he enduring this?
The woman moved her chair in closer to Mando’s space. She tapped her fingers on the table, speaking again. “So… ?
Mando didn’t budge—he barely even looked in her direction, but when you opened your mouth to suggest moving to a different table, his visor trained on you immediately.
It was like a switch flipped and the woman’s coquettish behavior turned bitingly cold. Her voice cut through the simmering noise of the bar and she leaned over Mando’s chestplate to speak to you. You could smell the tart liquor on her breath as she said, “Umm… Excuse me, I don’t think you’re a part of this conversation.”
You resigned yourself to your resting posture. The last thing you had wanted to do was talk to this girl. “What conversation?” Your voice was flat and sarcastic as you kept your eyes on the ice melting in your glass.
She placed her hand on Mando’s bicep, beneath his pauldron. “What do you mean? The Mandalorian and I were speaking—still are speaking,” she corrected herself.
The buttery tone she used on the words “the Mandalorian” made your skin crawl. People usually didn’t use that tone when they spoke about him.
You sighed. You didn’t know why you were doing this. You had no feelings for Mando, let alone give a shit what he did in his free time. But you two were sitting together first! You didn’t often get the opportunity to stop and soak in the atmosphere. Would it kill her to let you two have some peace and quiet?
You did hold a tiny kernel of pride in your heart at the fact that Mando would humor you whenever you broke the silence, and he wouldn’t even give this woman the time of day. It made you feel a little special that the Big, Bad, Mandalorian would respond to you.
The more you thought about the woman two seats away, the more you felt your lip curling into a snarl, so you stared ahead at the aged liquor bottles lining the back wall behind the counter. You knew it was a bad idea to engage, but the bitter, sardonic part of you that you tried to keep buried flared deep in your chest. You couldn’t help but poke the bear.
You tried to keep your voice low so you wouldn’t draw eyes, but you wanted her to understand the displeasure she was causing you. “The Mandalorian hasn’t uttered a word in the last 15 minutes.”
She laughed sharply, a little too loud for your section of the bar and turned to look Mando in the eye. “Surely, you’re not with this old trout, are you?” She reached over Mando with her long, slender limbs again and dipped her fingers into your drink, flicking the liquid in your face.
Mando stood up quickly, the metal barstool shrieking across the floor. His voice was gruff when he finally spoke and said, “We’re leaving.” Wiping your face with your sleeve, you stood up too. You knew it was coming, and still you were a little disappointed that your time was cut short. You avoided the eyes of the bartender whose hands hovered over the counter towards the scene, trying to figure out how to help.
The woman almost fell she was so shocked at his stature, and apparently she thought he was talking to her. She clung onto his cape and wound her arm in the loop of his elbow, clearly enjoying the heat he was giving off.
While you stood behind him and signed the receipt for your drinks, you couldn’t see his reaction. Mando’s head moved to look at her slowly, like she was a fat bug on his shoulder he was about to flick off. Even from behind, you could tell that his shoulders were tensed, and you could imagine he had a dangerous look on his face. Ever the gentleman, he reined it in. There was still a twinge of annoyance in his tone, but he was mostly respectful. “I was speaking to my partner.”
All the blood drained from the woman’s face as she stared at you over his shoulder, eyebrows touching her hairline, a curl sticking out the wrong direction, and arm still hanging loosely off his vambrace. Like a loth-cat in a ceramic store, she jumped at the opportunity to change his mind.
“Your partner?” she looked in between you and him, clearly eyeing you up and down. Apparently, she didn’t think you were a threat because her voice lowered in volume and she looked up at him with heavy-lidded eyes. “I bet I can make you feel better than they do…” she purred. His helmet tilted away suddenly as if the comment was enough to make him flinch. He carefully removed her hand from his arm and set her a couple paces from him.
With a tiny glance behind him, his boots stamped the floor as he started to walk and you followed after him. The woman lunged after you and that’s when Mando finally lost his cool. He swung around faster than you could and guided you behind him clumsily.
Mando intercepted her hand, the painted red claws sticking out in the reflection of his visor, and pushed her back. In vain, she tried to hit him, her bracelets clanging against his armor like a set of house keys. He moved her back into another table and almost sent her over with the speed he used. Mando didn’t want to hurt her—he just wanted to scare her enough to get her to stop.
She caught herself on the table and accidentally knocked the drinks all over the remaining customers, causing an even bigger mess. She screamed and launched at him again. Mando dodged just in time, and pulled you out the door with him by the arm.
----
The moon hung low in the sky as the dwindling sunlight scattered around the atmosphere, turning the landscape a deep shade of blue. Mando was walking back to the Razor Crest with you in tow. As was increasingly common lately, his thoughts were stuck on the association he had with you.
There were times when Mando would touch you if it was absolutely necessary, like right now. But there were virtually no reasons you would need to touch him. He was big enough that he could see over the crowd—he knew where he was going at all times. You on the other hand, not so much, which meant you had to hold onto his cape so you didn’t get lost. Mando never found himself in your way like you typically were in his, so when he needed to maneuver around you in his cramped ship, he did, fingers just barely grazing your shoulders as he passed by.
You didn’t really need to touch him. Which is why he stopped short when you grabbed him outside the bar, scrunching your hands up in the sleeves on his forearms, trying to catch your balance and calm yourself down. It was a similar act to what the woman in the bar had done, but it didn’t bother him quite so much when it was you. Maybe it was the adrenaline still coursing through his veins.
“You alright?”
“Keep walking,” you ordered. He did.
“I’m fine,” you answered from behind his back. A moment passed and you added, “I don’t want her to follow us out here.”
“She won’t,” he offered, unsure of why he told you that. He didn’t know that for sure. They destroyed the bar and her reputation in a matter of seconds without sticking around to face the consequences—she probably would come out after them.
After about ten minutes of walking, he wondered if you had calmed down a little. He’d been monitoring you from his place in front through the biometric identifying tech in his helmet.
Super helpful for trying to gain the upper hand in a brawl. But also for situations like this, he thought with a grimace. He slowed his pace to walk next to you.
He knew you could handle yourself in pretty much any situation, including verbal disputes. Some comments people threw your way you were able to laugh at, which never failed to confuse him. In the past, he hadn’t ever needed to get involved. But tonight, a tiny part of him felt like he needed to rectify the derision that woman in the bar had spit at you. Old trout. And touching your food or drink was absolutely unacceptable, not to mention throwing it in your face.
In the low light of the moon, he said, “Hold still.” You did. He reached down to your face and wiped some of the blue alcohol you had been drinking off your cheek. With striking clarity, he realized that he’d never been this close to your face before. He pulled himself back and looked away, trying to remember what he was going to say.
Unsatisfied by the tension in the air, you turned away. He should say something about the woman, or about your next job. But, although it was the last thing he wanted to talk about, he bet you were thinking about his words in the bar.
He scraped up the courage to speak, but his voice came out uneven at first. “Your effort doesn’t go unnoticed, you know.”
Your voice was sour. “For what?” Your eyebrows furrowed and you threw your hands out. Maybe he should have waited to bring this up—you were too irritated to deal with this right now. Your shoulders were tight and you were walking faster than normal. Mando wished he could have this conversation with you another time—or not at all.
It took him a moment to reach into his memory and remember how his covert dealt with issues like this, how he could close this rift between you. “I…” He sighed and tilted his head, trying to find the words, and said, “...apologize if I have been distant with you. I’ve never worked with someone so closely before.”
You stopped and stared at him, still with the crease between your eyebrows and considered his words. Mando halted his stride to look at you when you continued, “I haven’t either. Well… not with someone living.” You rolled your eyes at your own comment, seemingly exasperated at your awkward facetiousness present even now.
“I will try to communicate with you more often,” Mando said. He couldn’t zero in on what he was trying to convey. He knew you didn’t appreciate it when he redirected your questioning away from the subject of your working relationship, but he didn’t know how to express it when it came up in conversation. Though he was trying to face you, Mando’s feet were angled in the direction of the ship, inching closer to the relief of being alone for the rest of the day.
He chewed on his lip. “What I mean to say is, we are on equal footing.” He tried to hold still—to hide the way he cringed at his ineptitude under the helmet. This is why he never opened his mouth. If he spoke more than a few words at a time, it was inevitable that he’d jumble up his thoughts, and then he’d over-correct and make things even more confusing. He hoped you understood what he meant.
“Equal. As in…?” Your eyes were low and scanning the middle distance from side to side, not quite looking at him—something you usually did when you were trying to get him to catch the meaning in your words without having to admit it out loud.
Despite already having decided on the two of you “being a team” privately a couple weeks ago, he still hesitated to answer. “Yes,” he nodded, but it was still difficult to meet your eyes. There wasn’t any use lying; he had used the word “partner” to describe you outright to that woman. It was just a little daunting to admit that you two were not quite such a temporary duo anymore. Having to look out for an extra person created a whole host of new problems that he couldn’t even begin to think about. That, and the thought that you had mixed into the uncompromising life he had built for himself scratched him like a sticker-weed stuck under his collar.
It was still strange to realize that his actions affected someone else now too—and he really needed to get into the habit of explaining his thought process to you.
That seemed to be a good enough answer for you. You squared your shoulders, took a deep breath, and marched right past him. “About time,” you said, rolling your eyes again. If he was being honest, he didn’t know what he expected your reaction to be, but it was not that. He let his head fall back to look at the stars and to his astonishment, he felt the tension ease up on his shoulders.
Mando had been alone for most of his life. The covert had given him a second chance at survival—that was true. He took pride in being able to keep himself afloat without any handouts and without any pity. But, after a long day, there wasn’t anyone to make sure he got home in one piece.
Except for you.
He was terrified to solidify your role in his life after everything he’s lost. But if one word was what it took to make you feel like you belonged, he would grant you that small relief.
Partner.
He watched your silhouette move farther away from him in the dark, feeling the blood settle back into his limbs evenly. He caught up with you easily and followed your lead the rest of the way back to the Razor Crest.