#understandings

Posts tomorrow on AO3

Nola watches as Boba brings <i>Slave-1</i> smoothly out of hyperspace. She knows that he usually wears his bucket while flying, but had set it down on the console when they had started out from Ganthel. Both had been mostly silent in the hours of travel, each lost in thought about their pasts and their futures. 

She starts as she realizes that he is looking at her. She turns her face away towards the stars, closes her eyes.

Her eyes snap open as she feels Boba touch her face. His hand flies back to the console, as if burned. 

Nola grins and takes the hand in one of her cuffed ones, begins to rub her thumb and forefinger over his calloused palms. As she does, she eyes the faint, thin scar on her left palm—a scar that bisects the fortune-reading lines of Naboo lore from her wrist to the space between her middle and ring fingers.

The sign of an Oath taken over a half-decade before, to protect and serve the elected Queen of her world. To give her life if necessary. She closes her eyes as she remembers—remembers the same scar on several other young women’s palms. Scars just visible on their bound hands as they lay dead on the marble of the Audience Room. Along with the Queen that she had failed to protect. A Queen and a world that she had failed in her Oath. 

At least most of her oath. She chokes as she remembers the last part of the oath. <i>I exist to bear witness.</i>

She opens her eyes as she feels Boba’s fingers play over the scar.

A grin plays over his face. She had never seen that expression on his guarded features. Her heart clinches as she realizes she may be very privileged. Just as quickly it is gone.

“You get out of Brick City, Vorserrie, look me up. I can always use a good human shield. Keeps my armor from getting dented,” he says dryly.

“Maybe if you were quicker, you might not get your pretty armor dented,” she replies in the same tone.

He looks away after a moment of shared laughter. “I’m only going to say this, once, Nola,” he starts. He falls silent, as if searching for words. “Nobody has ever put themselves in front of a blaster bolt for me before. I can’t figure out why you did it. I’m somebody that killed two cops and almost did for your friend. Why would you do that? Why would anyone do that?”

She smiles, then looks away. “I don’t know, Boba.” She brings her dark eyes back to his. “Maybe it’s just who I am.” She touches the Oath-scar. She closes her eyes again, willing the tears to go elsewhere. “Maybe I just tripped trying to get out of the way. People tell me I’m pretty awkward and clumsy.”

She can feel the eyeroll even with her eyes closed.

“I kind of doubt that,” he says. “I think that you’re just an incurable do-gooder.”

“Maybe,” she says. 

He shakes his head. “I don’t know if I could ever do that for anyone, without getting paid for it. But maybe it’s good to know that there are people who will.”

Her eyes prickle with tears again. She sees a large shape move across her vision behind her eyelids. She opens her eyes, takes a deep breath.

The <i>Tantive III</i> slows to crawl from its re-entry from hyperspace. The two ships dock

She stands, as does Boba. Without a word, she hands him the binders that she has removed while they were talking and turns and walks towards the airlock. She feels the ghost of a grin between her shoulder blades once more.

She stops at the hatch. They stare at one another for a good long moment. 

“Try not to get any bounties on you again, Vorserrie,” he says.

She grins. “No guarantees. Try not to be too slow on the draw, Fett,” she replies.