"I'm so- so sorry, I didn't mean to alarm-..."
He cowered.
He seemed to be doing that a lot.
"I-I protected him! I protected him!"
He cowered from Imperials and he cowered from those who threatened them.
It seemed cowering was the only thing he was good at.
"If it wasn't for me he would already be dead!"
He trembled and stuttered and all he could think about was, oh god, I'm going to die.
Each and every time.
"Please."
But each and every time, he was spared. He was safe. He was okay.
Never had he been more afraid, though, never had he been more terrified, in the moment that he threw himself in front of the child. Even as he was shoved aside, he begged, please, don't kill him. He's just a baby. He's just a child. He can't even speak. He doesn't understand.
He was never more afraid than in that moment. But for once he found himself afraid for someone else.
But then it was over. The kid was gone. The Mandalorian left with him. Taken. Their work, gone.
And he would take the brunt of it.
There was no being spared. There were no empty threats. He would be killed. Blasted in the head.
Because why should he live when everyone else died at the hands of the Mandalorian if it were not because he betrayed them?
He ran.
He hid.
He cried.
He bled.
They were out to get him. There was a price on his head. No staying in one location. You have to keep moving. Don't get attached.
(You can't stay with this man. You will get him killed.)
(He died anyway.)
Nevarro was not an option. Not when the troopers took over the town. Not after the Mandalorian covert massacre. But he couldn't leave.
(He made money. Used the money he was paid to pay them not to say anything.)
(It didn't work. They didn't care about him. Only about getting what they wanted.)
(He vomited.)
He couldn't stay and watch the sunset. He couldn't stay in one town for the night. Had to keep moving. Get money from sketchy people. Use the remaining to get enough food to not starve.
Pass out in the woods. Wake up in a cold sweat and a searing pain in his spine.
Didn't stop moving.
He wondered if it would have been better had the Mandalorian had killed him after all.
(He never thought he'd reach such a low point, where he envied those living in poverty but held a roof over their heads.)
(His client smashed his glasses.)
It was his just desserts. It was his karma. He chose to work with the Imperials. He chose the life of a scientist.
Look where it landed him.
Dying. On the streets which he ran away from. Not by the hand of the troopers, but the ribs showing through his skin. The hollowness of his cheekbones. The hypothermia. The sleep deprivation.
(He was so unrecognisable that the troopers didn't pay attention to him.)
(Or perhaps they knew he was fucked either way.)
Despite it all, though. Even as he slipped away, even as his vision darkened and his heartbeat slowed to a crawl, even as he slumped against the wall of the sewers, he didn't regret it.
He didn't regret being afraid for someone other than himself, for once. Even if it cost him his life.
When you die, it's a generally accepted fact that you don't wake up.
When he woke up, though, he was warm. Not hot. Just comfortable. Content. The best he'd felt in... well, he lost track of time.
He thought to himself, that if this was the afterlife, he rather liked it. But then his senses filtered in, and he realised with a start: he was not dead.
He was laying on a soft surface. His hair was no longer pooled around his shoulders, his beard no longer scratched at his neck. There was no longer a searing pain in his stomach or his spine. The wounds no longer stung.
His fingers twitched as he awoke. The darkness filtered away and he could see light through his eyelids. He breathed. The rattling in his chest was gone.
It was an easy conclusion. He was in a hospital.
He felt the presence of someone at his side. They did not talk or move, only breathe.
He didn't know how, but eventually, he pried his eyes open. They burned like they were on fire, but he didn't close them - he would not give up.
"Where-" such a weak voice. "Where am-" then again, that's always been the case.
He couldn't finish the sentence, though. A gloved hand suddenly grasped his arm. But it was gentle. It did not startle him.
"You're awake," came a low, modulated voice. It was him.
He didn't respond. He wasn't sure he could.
"I'm sorry."
You have nothing to apologise for.
"It's my fault you turned out this way."
He closed his eyes again. The pain was too much. He was so tired.
"If I had known..."
You couldn't have helped. It's okay.
"You protected him. You protected the kid. I can't thank you enough. He's okay because of you."
It was all he ever needed to hear. That the child was safe. Tears pricked at his eyes, and he opened them once more.
A silver helmet looked down upon him, blocking out the light situated above his head.
A tear ran down the side of his face.
"I'm... sorry," he rasped. And he was. He really was.
"You don't have to apologise for anything."
Except he did. He was a part of this. He was working with the Imperials.
He could have left at any time. But he didn't.
The Mandalorian's helmet was the last thing he saw before he fell back into unconsciousness.
He didn't know what time it was. The lights were off, and the air was cold.
Pershing, with all the strength he could muster, hoisted himself up so that his back was against the bed rest. It made his head spin, for a moment, before his vision returned to him.
He allowed his eyes to get adjusted to the darkness.
The Mandalorian was still in the room, but he was unmoving and hunched in a chair. Asleep. Something was huddled close to his chest, something breathing and alive. The child.
If it weren't for the situation, he would have found it incredibly adorable. To think he was afraid for the child's life when all the Mandalorian wanted to do was protect it.
He looked down at himself. A needle was stuck in his arm, feeding nutrients and water. It seemed they hadn't given him a nasogastric tube just yet.
Even in the darkness of the room, now that all the dirt and grime had been washed away, he could see how pale he'd become. And how frighteningly skinny. He never had much body fat in the first place, he was surprised he hadn't died of starvation earlier.
The bundle in the Mandalorian's arms stirred. He watched with bated breath as the child turned his head, slowly, cautiously. Their eyes met.
"I'm sorry," Pershing rasped. "I'm so sorry."
The baby shifted out of the Mandalorian's grip, landing with surprising grace on the cold floor of the hospital room.
"You didn't deserve any of this. I'm so sorry."
He watched the child as it shuffled to his bedside, stopping at the edge of the bed to look up with curious eyes.
The tears welled up in Pershing's eyes. All the pain and trauma and overwhelming guilt hitting him like a tidal wave. The tears fell onto the floor below him. "I can see why he didn't want to harm you," he spoke in a broken voice. "You're so cute." A broken sob escaped him. "I'm so so sorry."
"I told you you didn't have anything to apologise for." The Mandalorian sat upright in the chair. His helmet tilted side to side as he stretched.
"I hurt him."
"You protected him."
"He was crying and he was afraid. I gave him a needle to force him to sleep. I hurt him."
The Mandalorian fell quiet. But it was not an angry silence. It was not judgemental. Pershing watched as he trudged over, leaning down to pick up the child. As he did so he did not break eye-contact.
(Or, at least, that's what Pershing imagined - since he couldn't actually see the Mandalorian's eyes. He'd still like to imagine he was looking into them.)
He decided to break the silence. "How long have I been unconscious for?"
"It's been a day since you last woke up."
"I don't remember waking up."
The Mandalorian gave him a look. It was incredible how one man could portray so much emotion with a helmet covering his face. "You apologised, and I told you you didn't have to apologise. And then you fell back asleep."
"I don't remember. I must've been out of it."
The Mandalorian didn't respond. The child cooed as he settled back into the chair. "Yeah."
"What about before then? The last thing I remember is... the, the sewers."
"You were unconscious for two days."
"I see."
He spared another glance down at the tubes feeding into him. He wanted nothing more than to eat real, solid foods, but he knew the consequences. He had a feeling he'd be having soup for a while.
"Why did you stay?" he asked. He turned his gaze back up to the Mandalorian.
"What?"
"I've been... I've been here for three days. And you've been here the entire time."
"That's correct."
"But why?"
For this, it seemed, the Mandalorian didn't have an answer. Even with the helmet, confusion was written across him in bold red pen. "I... don't understand."
"You could have left by now. With the child. You could be far away from here. You don't need to care about me of, of all people..." he trailed off, averting his gaze to his lap. He fiddled with a loose string on the hospital gown.
There was no answer, and if it weren't for the shadow, he would have thought they'd left.
It was then that the door swung open, and a nurse entered into the room. She cried, "Oh!" before leaving the room as quick as she'd come.
"Interesting." He sighed. He supposed it was a shock to her that he was awake, after nearly dying of starvation. Or...
"Did I die?"
The Mandalorian looked over in surprise. "Not that I know of. When we found you you were breathing. Which is why I took you to the hospital."
"You brought me here?... thank you."
"I couldn't just leave you."
"Still. You didn't have to do that, I... I work for the Empire. Nothing will change that."
"As far as I'm aware you were being hunted by those Imps. I don't think you work for them anymore."
Pershing shrugged. "Being hunted comes with the job description." It would have been funny had the circumstances been different.
"Same for us," the Mandalorian sighed.
Just as Pershing opened his mouth to reply, the nurse reentered with another nurse on toe. A male twi'lek.
The light flickered on.
"You're awake," the Twi'lek nurse said, rushing over to check the nutrients. "We weren't expecting that for another day or so."
"What can I say? I'm full of surprises." He chuckled. The nurses did not.
"We're going to have a Doctor come check your vitals. Take your blood. Since you're, well... since you seem to be up and ready to go, you should be able to leave within the week."
Within a week? He was shocked, but he supposed it made sense. It's not like he was injured. Physically at least. Just mentally.
How funny.
The human nurse left, leaving the Twi'lek to fuss over the equipment. The nurse got increasingly closer, encroaching on Pershing's personal space. As he did so, there was a sweet aroma emanating from his neck like he'd had coffee beans poured down on top of him. The lekku grazed his shoulder and, despite himself, he felt his heart rate quicken and his face flush a violent scarlet.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Mandalorian shift in his seat. He imagined him with a raised eyebrow.
Finally, the nurse moved away, and he could breathe again.
"The doctor will be here in just a moment." And he left.
The Mandalorian (thank god), didn't pry into what had just occurred. That or he was just not paying attention - to which he would have been incredibly grateful. But that would have been lucky and Pershing was not a lucky man. Luck all but abandoned him as soon as he took the job and title as Imperial Scientist.
The child made a cooing noise, and the Mandalorian seemed to know what it meant. "He's hungry. Do you mind if I-?"
"Not at all."
"Okay."
"Wait-"
The Mandalorian paused in the doorway, turning to look over his shoulder back at Pershing.
"What does he eat?"
The child cooed again. The Mandalorian shrugged. "He's a carnivore. One time he swallowed a full frog, in one go. It was..."
"Oh, no! Oh no oh no oh no. He swallowed an entire frog whole? Children don't have a concept of what's poisonous and what isn't, and- and goodness, an entire frog? Without even chewing? It could have catastrophic consequences on his digestive system, how long has it been since he-?"
"He's fine."
The low, modulated voice calmed him down immediately. A chill ran down his spine, and he shivered.
"It's been well over a month. I've done enough holding him over the vactube as he makes direct eye-contact to know that he's fine."
"Oh, but..."
"He's fine."
"If that frog was poisonous he would be dead!" he snapped. He knew immediately that he'd overstepped his boundaries when the Mandalorian shifted his stance. "I- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... I wasn't aiming to imply that you-"
The Mandalorian stared as Pershing trailed off. He glared down at his lap in shame. His entire life had been leading up to this moment. Every decision only brought him to this. This was his lowest of lows. He couldn't ever be forgiven.
"You're right."
"What?"
"You're right. I need to monitor what he eats. I haven't had much time to think about it. Being hunted will do that- stop trying to make yourself look small."
He hadn't realised he was doing it. "Sorry."
"No need."
The child cooed once more, and the Mandalorian sighed. "I'll go get him some food."
Pershing watched them leave, and suddenly found himself wishing they hadn't. It's not like he had anything else to do in his small little hospital room. But he wasn't in wretched silence for long, as only a couple minutes after the Mandalorian and the child left, an Arkanian doctor entered the room with a clipboard.
"It's good to see you awake," she said. "We weren't expecting it for another day or so, but you seem to have recovered quickly."
"I'm full of surprises," he repeated his joke from earlier, but this time, he didn't laugh. The Doctor ignored it.
"How long were you on the streets for?"
The question embarrassed and mocked him. But it was fair so he supposed he had to answer. "A bit over a month."
"How much did you eat during that time period?"
"Close to nothing." He stared down at his arms. A wave of emotion rushed over him, but he did his best to conceal it.
"What about water?"
He shrugged.
The Doctor sat down on the bed. He felt the weight shift. "What was your source of income?"
She stared at him with a knowing eye.
He didn't answer and he didn't need to.
She wrote something down on her clipboard with a sigh. "You should be able to leave within a week. Until then we're going to closely monitor you. Try not to move around too much, and you're not to eat solid foods until you're dismissed."
His heart ached. No phrase in the entire universe could have ever caused so much pain. You're not to eat solid foods. How he yearned for the crunch of an apple.
It truly felt like his world was crumbling around him.
"Don't look at me like that," the Doctor sighed again. "You're a scientist, right? You know what'll happen if you eat too much too quickly."
"Yes, I- I know."
"Then you won't have any issues with it." She abruptly stood from the bed, and there was another abrupt shift in weight.
Ah yes, the arrogance of the Arkanians rivals no other. She radiated superiority complex. "Sorry."
She gave him a condescending look - probably intentional, knowing their species - before leaving, the door slamming behind her with a bang.
He was suddenly overcome with an overwhelming sense of fatigue. He knew it would be a while since the Mandalorian returned, so... he slipped back down so that he was on his back, resting his head against the pillow. He allowed himself to stare at the ceiling for a moment, before he slipped into another deep sleep.
The next time he woke up, the lights were still on, but he guessed it had been a couple of hours. He was disappointed to find that the Mandalorian was not in the room, and neither was the child... but he shook the disappointment away immediately. The Mandalorian didn't have any obligation towards him.
He's probably left already. He knows you're fine now. Why would he waste time staying with you?
The door pushed open, and for a moment he had a smidgen of hope, but it was just the twi'lek nurse from before. And, well, while he didn't complain, necessarily, considering the alluring properties that this nurse possessed...
"You're awake again, good." He was holding a plastic tray, and situated on it was a small glass of water and a bowl of soup. "I was worried I'd have to wake you myself," he chuckled.
Pershing's heart skipped a beat. "Yeah."
"Don't want to deal with a grumpy patient."
"Yeah..."
The soup smelled nice, and he was sure it tasted wonderful, but he still yearned for something to actually chew. Alas. He knew the risks. Refeeding syndrome wasn't to be taken lightly. Soup it was, he supposed.
"I understand Dr Alva visited you earlier today. I'd like to apologise for her attitude." The twi'lek took an elongated gaze at Pershing's eyes. It's as though they were frozen in time.
The twi'lek was so young. He was round-faced and wide-eyed. So naive.
"The- the Arkanian? Yeah, she..."
"She's brash. You can say it, everyone knows it."
"Yeah."
The doe-eyes of the twi'lek lingered for another moment before the nurse turned away. At this point, Pershing felt his entire face was on fire.
He averted his gaze to the soup and picked up the spoon.
"My name's Jad'futi, by the way. I don't believe I caught yours."
Now the twi'lek was sitting in the chair that the Mandalorian had previously occupied. "Oh," Pershing tried to swallow the knot in his throat away. It did not go away. "Don't you have a record?"
There was a flash of disappointment on Jad'futi's face. "I thought I could ask you." He smiled widely.
Ah. Pershing thought. I see. Maybe if circumstances were different, he would have given into it. Maybe if he wasn't bedridden and out of his mind with anxiety. "I'm... I'm too old for you."
This time the twi'lek actually frowned. "You don't even know how old I am."
"Not old enough."
"I'm seventeen!"
Pershing blanched. "You- you- that's even worse!" he spluttered. "That's! You're not even-"
"I'm an adult! The twi'leks come of age at sixteen, so it's fine... right?"
He stared back down at the soup. He could see his flushed reflection on the wavy surface. "That's not it, I know that... it's just, I'm more than double your age..."
There was a long stretch of silence, then a surrendering sigh. "Alright. I respect that. Technically I'm not allowed to date you anyway," he chuckled.
Pershing glanced back up. Jad'futi was staring at the opposing wall with a furrowed brow. Or at least, as furrowed of a brow as you could get when you didn't have eyebrows. "How long have you been a nurse for?" Pershing asked.
"A little over a standard year, sir."
He winced at the sudden title. He wished (not for the first time) that twi'leks weren't so naturally beautiful. "But if your species reaches adulthood at sixteen, you... how long have you been studying for?"
It had taken Pershing years to gain his title, even with his increased intelligence - if you'd pardon the modesty.
"My whole family has been in the medical field," they met eyes again, "so they started me young."
"Didn't you want to do anything else...?"
Jad'futi seemed to think for a moment. His gaze averted to the floor. "I've been fascinated by the New Republic ever since it was established. But- but my parents would never have allowed me to join, too dangerous they said..."
"Your parents are right."
"I know..."
"But I think you should go for it."
Jad'futi stared. He blinked. "I couldn't possibly."
"I thought the same way about becoming a scientist," Pershing smiled wistfully. "Now twenty years down the road I-" work for the Imperials, "-have my dream job." Not anymore, you moron.
At least this kid isn't in danger of accidentally working for the Empire. But there were so many more dangers. X-Wing being blown up. Having a run-in with storm-troopers. Mission going wrong.
"I don't know... it took me so long to become a nurse. I'm not as strong-willed or smart as everyone else in my family. And my family says that, that I have to be a nurse. Because everyone else is. I can't just abandon that."
"If you're an adult, then you can do whatever the hell you want."
Jad'futi raised his brow-less eyebrows. Before he could refute, though, the door pushed open, and in came the Mandalorian, the child tucked safely in his arms.
"...am I interrupting?" came the low modulated voice.
"I-I was just leaving!" Jad'futi stood abruptly from the seat, causing the chair to screech against the stone flooring. "I'll go now. Um, thanks for the talk."
With that, the twi'lek, with incredible speed and absolutely no grace, flung himself out of the room. The door slammed behind him.
The Mandalorian gave him a Look. Pershing shrugged, then finally took a sip of the soup he'd been brought. It was nice - and he would have expressed this had his tongue not just been burnt on the spoon.
"Ow."
"Hot?"
"A bit."
The child made a gurgling noise, then giggled. "Ow!"
Both Pershing and the Mandalorian had been stunned into silence. They both stared down at the little green baby.
"That was... you, right?" said the Mandalorian.
"No... it wasn't you...?" They both continued to stare. The child bore a large grin, like he knew the exact significance of what he'd just done. "Was that his-?"
"Yeah."
"His first word?"
"Yeah."
The child cooed and bounced in the Mandalorian's lap. He definitely knew the significance, and he was proud of it.
"You should get him a treat."
The Mandalorian looked up at him. "A treat?"
"Something nice. Like new clothes for starters," he sighed. "He's wearing the exact same thing as when I last saw him."
"I haven't put much thought into it."
"Yeah, I can tell." There was a prolonged silence. Pershing took another sip of the soup, but it was still too hot. He seethed. "You'd think hospitals wouldn't serve their soup piping hot to bedridden patients. Oh," a sudden thought popped into his head, "What planet is this? There aren't any hospitals like this one on Nevarro."
The Mandalorian shifted, like he was unsure of himself. "We're on Obroa-skai."
Pershing nearly choked on his own spit. "What?" he croaked. "Are you sure it's a good idea for me to be here?"
"As far as I know they have no idea you worked for the Empire."
"But... my patch!"
"They didn't see it."
"But-?"
"They didn't see it."
They stared at each other. He couldn't see it, but he felt the Mandalorian's eyes burning into his skull. There was something there, stirring between them; but he couldn't quite place it...
"Mandalorian... um, how should I address you?"
"Mando is fine."
"Mando, then. If... if the people on this planet find out who I am, I'm... excuse my language, but I'm fucked."
"This medical facility houses all variations of alien life." He gave Pershing a pointed look as if to say, please don't swear in front of the child. "Even if they knew, they wouldn't turn up their nose."
"This planet is the stronghold of the New Republic. If I were anyone else..."
"Well, you're not anyone else." There was a certain bite to Mando's words, but they were still low and soft-spoken. Like he hadn't intended to snap.
Pershing hesitated. "You... you have no reason to trust me."
It baffled him. He worked with the Empire, willingly. He gave his life to them. Dedicated every day to be the best he could be, fought against the Rebellion, made gadgets for the troopers. Improved their tie-fighters. Spent twelve years slaving his life away for the Imperials.
And yet, this Mandalorian took one look at him, even knowing what he was, what he'd done, he took one look and decided he was trustworthy.
Why?
If he had anything other than good intentions, that child would be dead. Or the Imperials would have been hailed.
"You're right." Mando stared at the far wall. "I have no reason to trust you. You hurt the child - my child. You wore that symbol with pride on your shoulder, you stood tall next to the client."
"Yes. I-..." I'm sorry. Is that what he wanted to say? There was no use in it now.
"The Empire has caused nothing but pain. They've brought genocide upon my people. They took happiness and they tore it to shreds. They killed Kuiil, they tried to kill the child." The helmet turned. Pershing refused to look up at it. He refused to look the Mandalorian in the eyes. "I have no idea why I decided to trust you. I have no idea why I wanted to stay and make sure you were alright."
Drowning himself in the soup suddenly sounded appealing. "I'm sorry," he sniffed.
"I just knew I didn't want anyone else to die."
"Well, I'm fine now. So... I won't hold it against you if - not that I ever would, of course - I won't hold it against you if you want to leave now."
There was a long stretch of silence.
And then more silence.
Then even more.
It was deafening. It was suffocating. Pershing's heartrate quickened and his throat tightened and his fists clenched. The soup lay forgotten on the tray, and the tray quivered as his knee involuntarily shook.
He'd always hated silence. Always hated the fear that came along with it. The pure anxiety that washed over him, as his mind raced, thinking about everything and anything that could go wrong.
What's he thinking? Why isn't he saying anything? Should I never have spoken?
He's thinking he should have just left me for dead. Maybe it would have been better off.
Am I annoying? Am I too shy? Does he think I'm weak?
Maybe I am weak.
I'm a coward.
There never was an answer. When the Mandalorian left the room, the child with him, Pershing expected that the tension in his shoulders and the quickening of breath would fade. But they didn't.
He wished in those moments that please, somebody, just help me. Save me from this. I can't control it. I don't want to feel like this. I don't want to be afraid anymore. I don't want to suffer anymore. I don't want to be a coward. I don't want to be weak. I don't want to live like this. I don't want to live.
Even, though, as these thoughts raced through his mind, and even though he willed it, he couldn't cry. His shoulders shook and his breathing hollowed out, the heart rate monitor beeped wildly and five nurses came in with defibrillators, only to discover him in the midst of a mental breakdown, and not cardiac arrest - but even so, he couldn't cry.
And, an hour later, when he heard the sound of the Mandalorian's ship taking off, he didn't feel a thing.