Cataclysm ─── The Mandalorian. ¹

xiv. jealousy's grip

            "Please, come in." She steps aside to make room for the two.

            Zoya's not one to miss anything: not the lingering way the woman's eyes remain on the Mandalorian or the way her hands nearly fumble in her work or the pang of something green eyed and sinister that burrows itself deep into her stomach. She steps further inside, angling herself between the woman and Mando as if on accident.

            The woman blinks, then says kindly, "I hope this is comfortable for you. Sorry that all we have is the barn."

            Mando doesn't turn around from where he stands at the cot. "This will do fine."

            As the woman hesitates, Zoya steps forward, holding out a hand, forcing the corners of her mouth to turn up instead of pull into a frown. "Thank you." The woman takes her hand, and she adds, "I'm Zoya."

            "Omera." She smiles carefully as they shake once. "I stacked some blankets over here," she says, gesturing to a corner of the barn.

            Mando unslings the rifle from where it had been hung on his back. "Thank you. That's . . . very kind." The words stick in his throat, as if he's hesitant to say them, but Omera doesn't catch it, merely nodding in response.

            Zoya approaches Mando's side, one hand grazing against the broad plane of his back as she stops beside him. "You okay?" she asks quietly.

            He glances down at her through the visor of his helmet, eyes searching her features, which are twisted into something that looks like worry. Brushing it off, as the brave, beautiful, self-assured Zoya has no reason to be concerned for him, Mando nods. "Fine."

            Her hand drops from the curve of his back. "Okay." She places the box of things they'd brought from the Razor Crest onto the pallet, suddenly realizing that there's only one for the two of them, and that that's going to be a problem. "O—" she begins, but a sudden noise coming from behind them has Mando pivoting with a viper's swiftness and corralling her behind him with one arm as his other hand falls upon the hilt of his blaster. The lethal speed with which he moves reminds her of just how dangerous the Mandalorian really is.

            Zoya jumps, hands latching onto his forearm as she stares at what had startled him. It's merely a small girl, eyes now widened with fear as she darts back behind the wall. Omera moves forward, long, dark hair swinging, and pulls the child back into view. The young girl wraps her arms around Omera and tucks her face into the woman's chest.

            "This is my daughter, Winta," she says. "We don't get a lot of visitors around here." She brushes a hand across the back of the girl's head. "She's not used to strangers." Omera dips her chin to look at her daughter as Mando drops his arm from where it bars across Zoya's torso. "This man is going to help protect us from the bad ones."

            Winta looks towards the Mandalorian and Zoya with big eyes and mumbles, "Thank you."

            Mando acknowledges the sentiment with a barely perceptible dip of his head, hand falling from the blaster's hilt.

            "Come on, Winta," Omera says. "Let's give our guests some room." She takes her daughters hand as they walk out, throwing one last look at Mando, still standing in front of Zoya, almost protectively.

            "Didn't realize I'd ever see you so rattled by a little girl," Zoya jests, to throw a crack into the tension still radiating from his body.

            He turns, and Zoya realizes with a sharp inhale how close he'd gotten to her in his blur of movement. She has to tilt her head back to lock her eyes onto his helmet as he tips his head down a fraction. "Just being careful."