#oolongspiral

Fett’s got his flightsuit’s sleeves tied around his waist, the back against the wall and his son asleep in his lap. He hears him coming, and he blinks, his face pale and haggard with thirst and exhaustion. 

They ran out of water the previous morning. Obi-Wan’s rigged something to absorb the moisture from the air, but whatever water it manages to suck out of the dead ship’s insides goes to the boy. 

His head hurts. He drops on the ground next to Fett and brushes a hand through his hair. It feels tacky with dry blood, old sweat and dust, and he grimaces.

Neither of them talks. Around them the ship creaks and groans--it stinks of mold and old fuel, and the air scrubbers stutter now and then; the fact that they work at all is nothing short of a miracle. They found it drifting close by when the gravity well pulled both of their ships out of hyperspace, an old monster of a thing, hollow and empty.