Armored Passion | The Mandalorian

|50|

First and foremost, I can't fucking breathe.

Well, I do suppose it would be better for me to say that I feel like I can't breathe, and that particular feeling happens to be the only notable thing that I am experiencing the moment I find myself to be somewhat conscious and aware.

My ribs feel like they are sharp daggers poking into my already damaged lungs, keeping me from taking in a full breath—scratch that. I can't even take in half of a breath without feeling like my lungs might collapse and stop working.

Dank farrik, I really can't breathe—

I jolt awake and shoot up from the large bed that my unconscious body had been lying on moments prior to my abrupt awakening. My body practically folds in half as I try to catch my breath, but a large hand plants itself down onto the flat part of my chest while another hand clamps down onto the top of one of my knees, keeping me from sitting up any farther. Rough calluses on the person's hands press against my olive-brown skin, the pads of their fingers almost digging into my soft skin.

A cry of pain rips from my throat as a surging sting of pain rushes throughout my entire body—fire courses through my pulsing veins, setting ablaze each and every one of my aching limbs. I almost let out another rough cry, but I hold it in, clenching my jaw as my hands tighten into white-knuckled fists.

"Steady yourself, little one."

A large arm hooks around my shoulders, supporting the weight of my upper half as it slowly guides me back down to layout on the bed that I am currently set upon. I let out a quiet groan, feeling more and more pain surge through my tense muscles.

My eyes peel open and I immediately spot the infamous Boba Fett sitting beside me on the very edge of the bed, his old armor left entirely in absentia. I glance up at his unmasked face, my eyes trailing over the pale scars that line his rough skin and tracing the way his lips are turned down into a slight frown of frustration.

I believe that this is the second time I've ever actually seen his face. Even throughout the years of him hunting me down for the Empire, I never really had the chance to get a glimpse of the face that had been trying to kill me. In reality, the first time I had ever seen his face was back on Tython when he came around to retrieve his armor with Fennec.

Who would've thought that he would be helping me out in the end?

But that's not necessarily important right now.

"Where's Mando?" I rasp out, still feeling the stinging pain in my chest as I try to breathe and speak properly. Regardless of the pain, I'm glad that I'm still able to remember to call my husband "Mando" in the presence of another—

"Din is handling something right now," Boba answers in a gruff tone as he turns towards my leg to deal with an open wound that I don't remember having. My eyes widen and I look back up at his face, wanting to ask him why in the hell he knows my husband's name, but the sharp jab of pain in my lungs stops me from vocalizing my wonder.

"I feel like I can't fucking breathe," I say, shaking my head as I try to take another gasp of air in an attempt to catch my breath. "I think there's something wrong with my ribs."

"Well, if you can talk, you can breathe—"

"Boba!"

The older man sighs and leaves the wound on my leg alone. He places both of his hands on the sides of my rib cage, gently poking and prodding to feel around my heaving torso. He grimaces and hums in a low tone as he flattens the palms of his hands against my bare skin.

"Deep breath on three," he instructs. His short command makes me furrow my brows in confusion.

"Wait what—"