Under the cover of darkness with a lamp as your only light source, you make your nightly rounds in the barn. Potential predators had gotten bolder over the past few weeks. A person could lose half their herd of cattle in one night if they weren't careful, and even more if they didn't have a proper shelter for them.
You were one of the lucky ones. Your uncle had helped you build this barn two summers ago, when you were first starting out on your own. It had two massive durasteel reinforced doors at the front and walls nearly a foot thick all around. The only downside was that constructing it had been incredibly expensive. All of your savings had gone into it. Money was tight these days, but you lived fairly comfortably. You had never needed luxury or fancy gadgets in order to feel happy.
Banx, your loyal loth cat and rodent exterminator, comes trotting into the barn, his steps nearly silent on the padded hay beneath his paws. He pushes his head against your shin with a loud mrow and you reach down to stroke behind his ears.
"I don't think you'll find any rodents tonight." You say as you straighten up. A chill runs down your spine and you pull your coat tighter against your body. "They're all probably holed up in the loft where it's warm."
Banx meows pitifully as he weaves between your legs.
"I know, but you'll have to deal with it for now." You answer, nudging him aside with your boot. He follows at your heels as you make your way toward the goat pen.
You make sure the door to the pen is latched and lean over the wall to count heads. Four does, two bucks, and a cluster of kids. Aside from coloration, it was nearly impossible to tell which kid belonged to which doe. The does often shared babysitting duties and had no particular interest in caring for their own kid. You suppose it isn't that much of a problem as long as everyone is taken care of.
Banx pushes his head against the back of your calf and whines softly.
"Getting cold?" You tease. "Alright. Come on."
Banx follows you to the door eagerly. You do a quick sweep of the barn with your eyes before you close the heavy door and latch it. With that finished, you turn around to head back toward the house.
Somewhere along the way, you hear your name echo on the wind. It sounds like it's coming from the front of your old farmhouse. You break into a sprint across the yard, bitterly cold air burning your lungs with each breath. No one ever calls for you at this time of night unless they have an emergency.
As you round the right side of the house, you spot the flicker of a lantern among the dark shadows of the night. It's your aunt Tria, and she appears to have an armored man barely standing under the support of her arms.
"Where did you find him?" You ask, your gaze worriedly scanning his trembling frame.
"He just about passed out on my porch." She grunts. Her face contorts with effort as she struggles to keep him upright. "He's in real bad shape, I think."
You quickly approach his other side and slip an arm under his armpit. "Help me get him into the house."
He says nothing as you gently coax him forward. He appears to be limping heavily, and his breaths are uneven and strained. Although you do not yet know the origin of his wounds, you can make a few guesses based on the style of armor he wore. He was a Mandalorian. Perhaps he got into a scrap that proved to be too much for him to handle, as Mandalorians often do.
He nearly falters as you lead him up the wooden stairs of the front porch and you grab onto him before he slips. Once he steadies himself, you continue forward.
Your aunt helps you bring him into a spare room that was usually set aside for visiting relatives. She sits him down on the bed while you rush to find your medical kit. Banx isn't fond of the sudden activity and chooses to observe from his hideaway in the corner.
Moments later, you return with the medical kit in hand and approach the bedside.
"I need to remove your armor in order to see your wounds." You say, wary of his tense posture.
His blaster was holstered on his hip. He could easily kill both of you if he wanted to.
He draws in a strained breath as Tria lays him flat on the bed. In the yellowish light, you can see crimson streaks of blood painted across his beskar. There's a growing stain on his side where blood has soaked through the woven fabric of his flight suit.
"Try anything.. and I'll.. k-kill you.." He manages to wheeze.
You swallow thickly and nod. You never take threats lightly, even if they were meant to be a bluff.
"Everything of yours will be kept in this room." You reassure him. "Nothing will be taken out unless you allow it."
He only stares, and you assume he doesn't quite believe you. That was to be expected, you suppose.
You take his silence as confirmation that you can start working. You set the medical kit on the nightstand and reach back over to undo the clasps that hold his cuirass in place. You then remove both pauldrons, taking care as you transfer them to the floor.
It takes a few minutes of technical work and problem solving to remove what was needed. His flight suit, however, was relatively easy, only needing to be unzipped in certain parts in order to free up his torso.
You carefully peel back the flight suit to reveal his toned chest, mottled with blood, scars, and bruises of all shapes and colors, and his delightfully pudgy stomach that was nothing like the toned abs that society seemed to expect a hunter like him to have. Your breath hitches in your throat.
"That's a nasty wound."
Aunt Tria's voice snaps you back into reality and you clear your throat.
"It isn't that bad." You say, though you doubt your judgement.
You were an amateur medic. An aspiring doctor without the needs to get through medical school—or even apply, for that matter. All of your knowledge came from your grandmother, who grew up learning medicine from her father. The only reason people trusted you with their sick and wounded was the fact that you were the only person within fifty klicks who had some understanding of medical care.
"Not that bad?" She echoes in disbelief. "It looks like someone took a butcher's cleaver and hacked him open."
"I need him to stay awake and you describing his wound to him isn't going to help." You mutter as you fetch a bottle of bacta antiseptic and a wad of gauze from the medical kit. "I don't have any pain medication on me, so this is going to be painful."
"Just do it." He seethes through his modulator.
You nod and proceed to douse the wound with a healthy amount of bacta. He tenses with a hiss of pain and you have to hold him down by the shoulder so he doesn't squirm. As the bacta fizzes and bubbles, you pinch the wad of gauze between your fingers and gently clean around the edges of the wound. You ignore his hisses and curses for the most part as you focus on sterilizing the exposed flesh.
Once the blood has been wiped away, you press a few more wads of gauze to the wound to help it clot.
He's quiet now aside from his labored breathing, though his muscles are still taut with tension. You find your mind wandering to places it's never been. Thoughts of him begin to fill your mind. You want to feel his warm, pulsing skin beneath your fingertips as you affectionately brush your hands over his bare chest, tracing the scars that mark him. You want to know the stories behind them, and how the universe so graciously allowed him to continue living.
You feel the blistering heat of embarrassment on your cheeks almost instantly as the thoughts dissipate as quickly as they came.
What the fuck were you thinking about?
You take a moment to refocus before you peel back the gauze with shaking hands and reach for a bacta patch in the kit, praying he hadn't noticed your slip in concentration. Tria had left a few moments ago to fetch some water, so you were alone.
Thank the Maker.
You press the patch to the wound, then wrap a long bandage around the upper part of his midsection to keep it in place. It's attached to his skin by a piece of medical tape so that it doesn't shift too much.
"How does that feel, Mando?" You ask.
He doesn't answer at first and for a moment, you wonder if he lost consciousness.
"It feels.. better." He eventually replies.
"Good." You say with a nod. "Can you tell me where your leg hurts? I noticed you were limping back there."
He shifts uncomfortably on the bed. Even if he did say the bacta felt good, you knew he was still in a great deal of pain.
"My left knee." He answers.
You turn your attention to his left leg and lay your hands over his knee. You feel around with your fingers, not applying much pressure.
He grunts softly in discomfort when you press your fingers just below his kneecap.
Ah, so it hurts there.
"I think you might've just sprained it." You say after a moment. "It feels swollen. Ice should help the swelling go down."
You tidy up the area before standing with a stretch. He appears to be stable for now, so you feel comfortable with leaving him alone for a few minutes.
"Where are you going?" He asks tentatively.
You leave the kit on the nightstand just in case he needs it. "I need to wash my hands and fetch that ice for your knee. My aunt should be back with some water. Her name is Tria, just tell her if you need me."
Before he could say more, you leave and close the door behind you.
With no one in the room, Banx feels curious enough to crawl out of his hiding place. He takes a moment to shake out his sleek black pelt before approaching the side of the bed. With a wriggle of his haunches, he leaps onto the bed next to Mando.
Mando turns his head upon feeling a small shift in the mattress, his hidden gaze studying Banx. He's never seen a loth cat before. He finds Banx's beady eyes and cat-like smile strangely endearing, if not somewhat unsettling as well.
"Where did you come from?" He inquires, acting as though Banx had the ability to reply.
Banx ignores him and chooses to push his head under his hand with a small purr. Mando can only watch, too weak and tired to shoo him away.
"Banx, you rotten cat!" Tria's shrill voice fills the air as she walks into the room. There's a glass of water in her hand. "Leave that poor man alone! He's resting!"
Banx yowls in protest as she pushes him off the bed. He retreats back to the corner and leaps onto a chair, glaring at her with narrowed eyes.
"Sorry about him," Tria apologizes. "He's curious. We don't get many visitors around these parts."
"What is this place called?" He asks.
"Guthram Gulch."
"I've never heard of it."
"Nobody has." She says as she hands him the glass. "It's just a backwater town. Nothing special about it."
She notices that he appears reluctant to drink from it and raises a brow.
"How did you end up here?" She asks curiously.
He seems hesitant to answer her.
"I was tracking a bounty." He purposely leaves out the details.
"So you're a bounty hunter, hm?" She inquires, taking a step back and crossing her arms over her chest. "You'd better keep that blaster in its holster, otherwise we're gonna have problems."
"I have no quarrel with you."
"I'd watch your tone if I were you, Mando."
Thankfully, you return with the ice pack before things can escalate much further.
"Here we are." You say as you approach his bedside. "This should help."
He watches you intently as you lay the ice pack over his knee and strap it down so that it stays in place.
"In the morning, I'll check to see if the swelling has gone down." You tell him.
He nods his head.
You glance at your aunt, who's still scowling at him. She's never been one to trust strangers. In your case, you had to trust strangers because more often than not, they were your patients. You truly didn't think he would do anything rash, especially in his state.
"Well, I think we've bothered him enough." You say, turning towards your aunt. "Thank you for bringing him to me."
She only shakes her head.
"You had better treat my nephew with respect, ya hear, Mando?" She warns him, jabbing a finger at his chest.
"Yes, ma'am." He answers modestly.
At least he was respectful to women. You'd hate to scrape him off the floor after your aunt was through with him, should he choose to misbehave.
"Good." She huffs, lowering her voice as she turns to you. "Call me if he gives you trouble."
You roll your eyes, but oblige. "I will. Have a safe trip home."
She gives Mando one last look before leaving the room, muttering things under her breath.
"Alright." You say, shifting your gaze to him. "My bedroom is down the hall, but please don't try to get up if you need me."
"I can handle myself." He huffs.
"I'm sure you can." You scoff as you step over to a crate and retrieve a woolen blanket. "Here. It gets cold at night, so you'll want this."
He accepts the blanket and drapes it over his lower half. His calloused hands gingerly brush across its surface, feeling the delicate threads of woven sheep wool.
You try unsuccessfully to stifle a smile as you watch him, wondering what expression he wore underneath that helmet of beskar.
"I'll wake you in the morning for breakfast." You say as you head toward the door. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight." He replies, watching you slip out the door.
A long sigh escapes him once you're gone. He never imagined that he would get himself into this kind of situation, though he supposed it was better than being thrown in a ditch somewhere and left to die.
He turns off the light after a little while and settles down to sleep. Hopefully tomorrow will be better.