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He's hesitant. The beskar gleams in the sun when he peers into the cockpit, and I squint to look at him. He doesn't say a word, leaving us in an awkward and tense silence. The child squirms in my arms at the sight of Mando. We watch him climb into the cockpit and he whirls to face me.
"What the hell happened?" He suddenly asks, but he's not questioning the body downstairs, but instead, he's pointing at my bruised and beaten face. "Stay there." He says, not patient for an answer.
He's back in a second with a medical kit, and I take it, feeling dumb I didn't grab it before. Adrenaline is finally wearing off, so I set the blaster down in front of me. I feel his eyes on me as I open the kit and take what I need. He's waiting for an explanation. "An assassin found us here," I explain. "It's taken care of. She's frozen."
"I can see that," he mutters, mostly to himself. "How did they find us, though? Tracker?"
I didn't want to believe it, but it's possible. How, I'm not sure. I shrug, crumbling up bloody tissue from my scrapes. "Even if I am being tracked, I have no idea how." He's still staring. It should make me uncomfortable, but I'm not. I look up at him through my lashes, frowning.
He grabs my arm with the brand and tugs my jacket sleeve up to reveal it. "This." The brand glares at us, sticking out like a sore thumb.
I swallow nervously, glancing up at his helmet and then back down on my brand. "How do you know?" I mutter.
"You don't have anything that belongs to your league?"
I shake my head.
"I can't think of anything else." He sounds certain, which makes me feel slightly reassured. "What do I do?" I'm trembling now, and he notices, so he drops my wrist. "I'll cut it out," he says a matter of factly, like he's describing the weather. I swallow.
"All right then." The child squirms in my arms and I set it on the chair next to me. "You don't have any alcohol, do you?"
He makes me sit down on the cot, and when I take off my jacket, he freezes, but eventually looks away. I forgot I'm wearing his shirt. He must have been taken by surprise. I look down at the huge shirt on me, the short sleeves going down to my elbows. He is a huge man. I think he's human.
"Are you human?"
"What else would I be?" He retorts, but I can tell he's trying to be funny.
"You're funny," I smirk. "Do you want the shirt off?" I'm teasing, but he's obviously flustered and embarrassed. My smirk broadens when he stutters a "no." His visor still doesn't meet my gaze, and I wonder what his expression is. Is he blushing? Annoyed?
I sprawl onto the cot, still looking at him. He's finally facing me, with surgical tools in his hand. I don't ask where he got them from. "Are you going to be gentle?" I ask, and he stutters again. I smile at him innocently.
"Of course," he says, rolling up the sleeve on my arm.
"You ever done surgery before?" I ask, trying to make small talk. "No," he replies nonchalantly, and my eyes widen as I gape at him. "Then how do you know what you're doing?" Now I'm the one sputtering.
"The sooner I get this out, the sooner people will stop tracking us."
I give him a desperate look. "Please be gentle. And give me that liquor!"
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