we were infinite - the mandalorian

t h r e e

MIA STIFFLED A YAWN ON THEIR APPROACH into the cloudy atmosphere of Bespin. She realised just how long they'd been awake, but refused to shut her eyes until they were safely planted on the ground.

Thankfully it was nightfall on the planet; the perfect opportunity for them to get some rest before starting again in the morning.

"Living quarters are downstairs." Mando shifted the levers on the control panel, shutting the ship's engine off.

Getting up from the passenger seat, Mia suddenly remembered a task she completed every day without fail. From her bag of belongings, she pulled out a tiny plant pot, a small purple spout growing from the centre.

She settled it on the dashboard of the cockpit, grasped her water bottle and watered the little plant, unaware of the steely eyes on her.

"What are you doing?" said the Mandalorian.

He wasn't sure how to approach the situation. It was only a plant, but it added a small sense of personality which the ship had never experienced. The grey steel interior of the Razor Crest had never been decorated in personal belongings and possessions. Even though it was his home, it had never truly felt nor looked like one.

"Watering my Fugle plant." She sealed the lid on the water bottle.

"Take it to your room." He said bluntly.

She turned to him, hand on hip, "It needs to be near a window, for sunlight."

"I don't want it there."

This feeling was new to him. Like an intrusion of his place of solitude. He didn't like it.

Her face softened as she studied his blank helmet as if she would find signs of emotion along the rims of the Beskar steel.

"It's all I have to remember my home planet by," Her sassy tone was replaced with something smooth and genuine. "My parent's farm is covered in Fugle berries and Jogan fruits. It's a simple token of Lothal's beauty, and just about the only thing that keeps me fighting every day."

Her thoughts cast to the fruitful smells of Lothal, the marshy green planet. She'd experienced a quiet childhood, helping out with her parent's family farm. Playing and laughing with children of all species as the watched the sunset every evening. The plant reminded her of the person she loved to be, and grateful for the Lothalite blood that ran the course through her veins.

He watched the emotion flood her delicate features. It reminded him of the last time he saw his parents, the last time they saw him. He'd spent years looking upon people from behind the mask, but he would never forget the last time his emotions were laid bare for everyone to see. At that moment, he felt as though they were both vulnerable children, stripped of their home by the cruel forces of the galaxy and trained to become these tough-skinned soldiers. It hadn't been the life they had chosen, nor had it been the only life they knew. But it was the life they were living.

"Keep it on the passenger side." He said.

She watched as he hesitated, before turning on his feet and descending to the lower level of the ship, his cape draping along with him. There it was again, that molecule, that microscopic hint of human.

Sliding her bag over her shoulder, she silently traced his steps to the lower level.

He gestured to the door on the right, "You can stay in there."

"Thanks." She muttered. She hadn't expected a small place of her own.

He stopped in the doorway of his own compartment. With his back to her, he turned his head slightly to say, "Don't open this door under any circumstances. If it's an emergency, knock."