i'm a fighter.

there is a prickling at the back of her neck,  a sensation she could brush off as a result of how high her hair is pulled up against her head,  how tightly,  but naive  &  fresh - faced she may seem to the host of towering  &  hedonistic admirals  &  officers around her,   mara jade knows better.   she will always know better.  the emperor had abandoned her only a moment before,  leaving her to wander the grand marble floors of the imperial venue,  smiling  &  simpering as any beautiful dancer of the court is expected to when dressed so dazzlingly.

he had told her to enjoy herself tonight,  to take in the food  &  drink  &  make friends if she was so inclined.  if she did not know his true meaning,  she surely would have left by now   ---   but they all understand that there is no such thing as a friend to be made in these great halls.  or so she’s been told.

mara thinks she has struck her luck,  a grand pot of credits dropped into her lap when she first sees the face then hears the voice of the woman she knows too well through the innumerable holos she has studied.  the soft stoicism of her features melt into something brighter,  allowing a smile to spread across her painted lips to meet the request.    ❝  moff al trel !  ❞   the tone  &  volume of surprise is perfected,  utterly believable as she curtsies.   ❝  it would be my utmost honor.  ❞

his eyes shine like two suns in the vast darkness of their chosen shelter,   breaking the darkness with a look that is unmistakably concern   —   and fear.       ( he had found her stirring,   twitching,   and savage found himself helpless to aid her.    he’d shaken her awake as he had done,   so long ago,   for his lost brother;  careful in how he held her as to not further alarm her and make things worse for the girl. )       the zabrak looks on at mara’s small figure,   at her steely stare which is quickly hidden from him,   and the blade which is just as swiftly deactivated.       although he says nothing on it,   he mourns the idea that self-defensive violence is her first instinct upon waking.

are you sure you’ll be alright?     he would have asked a fellow nightbrother,    do you want me to stay?      he would have asked a member of his tribe    :    but what use are those questions to the girl when he already knows what her answer will be?       what is the use when over two decades of one man’s lingering poison will undo everything savage offers?

savage has managed to hate very few people in his over five decades of life,   but chiefest among them is the monster who held both mara’s and maul’s leashes in one hand;    and in the brief moment after mara’s weak attempt at playing down her nightmare and before savage’s reply,    gnawing and burning hatred is all savage can manage to feel.               “   alright.   ”           he says in a voice only deepened by age,              “   i can’t sleep,   so i was making a late dinner.      i’ll bring you a bowl too.   ”

mara doesn’t want to talk about it.         savage won’t force her to,   he understands.

as he gets up from the ground to finish the humble meal he was making,   he makes an effort to turn away just enough and get far away just enough that she can,   if she wishes to,   compose herself without anyone’s eyes on her.       savage understands.       maul hated savage’s looks of pity,  too.          and as skilled,  experienced hands arrange the meal in two bowls,   he makes sure to add more roasted meat into her full bowl than in his own,   and saves the chunk of fresher bread for her.      she needs it more than he does.

a deep annoyance bubbles up inside of her,   &  she nurses it,  feeds it with the aching between her eyes,  the lightness of her neck unraveled by exhaustion,  but she finds the effort needed to maintain it  &  keep it standing is far too much for her at such an hour.  when he turns away,  she tries one last time to glare at the back of his head,  to count his horns  &  learn from their sharpness  &  consider what her chances of survival would be if she were to somehow be run through with them  ;  but at the mention of food,  of something to settle her churning stomach,  her gaze drops  &  softens beyond his own sight.

when she feels the familiar pang of shame in her gut,  she is confused that it is because she is trying too hard,  & not too little,  to hate something.

❝  smells good.  ❞  her own voice is graveled by sleep as she slowly rises from her makeshift bed to meet him where the stew is prepared,  inhaling deeply of the scent she refers to.  it is like nothing she is used to from the best coruscanti chefs,  but mara doesn’t mourn this.  if anything,  she feels the force is gifting her with a great reprieve from the rations  &  stale cantina food she has sustained herself on these past months.  she watches him work,  noting the uneven amount of meat he has distributed between them,  &  has half a mind to ask why he is giving her the larger bowl when she is half his size.  she does not,  &  takes the bowl with a quiet,  almost child - like gratitude,  before returning to her place.

a star wars story

“You’ve got the front-row seat,”  He teases, barely lifting his head, smoothing his hand across her stomach to feel the baby moving beneath his fingers. 

As nice as this was, he had his concerns. The baby felt healthy enough, moving and kicking, but he could see the exhaustion in Mara’s eyes. And that said nothing about what he could feel through their force bond.

“What about you?” He asks, reaching up to catch her hand with his, drawing her fingers to his lips.

❝  what about me ?  ❞  she feigns ignorance,  something she finds all too easy to do when faced with his concern.  mara does all she can not to bristle beneath the way he looks at her,  the way he reaches out to her through their bond,  knowing that they are too familiar with each other  &  love each other far too much to keep hiding from him.  still,  old habits die hard,  &  she hates to see him worry.