Stuck With Me: A Cad Bane Novel

Chapter 8

A/N: it's been a while *nervous laughter*

Warnings: swearing, injuries, blood, death, an experience of failed baking, weapons,

Word count: 1150

You glance up at the sound of Cad Bane's footsteps. Normally, they're even and quiet, barely audible, but today, you can tell that his feet are dragging as he drops his bounty on the floor with a heavy thump. Putting the tray in your hands into the tiny oven, you cock your head, listening as he lets out a pained groan. There's another thump - that can't be him, can it? Usually he'll come into the main part of the hull, eagerly checking up on what meal you've prepared while he's gone. You begin to wonder if it's actually him, because since when did Cad Bane get injured on a hunt? But no, only you and him and Todo, who is currently in sleep mode, can get into the ship. He calls your name, and you quickly wipe your hands on your trousers - his, a little too tight over the hips and hemmed up neatly to prevent tripping - and hurry over.

Your jaw drops. His bounty is in an unconscious pile behind him, and Cad Bane himself, slumped against the wall, doesn't look in a much better state. There's a smear of green blood on the metal behind him where he slid down the wall, but you can hardly tear your eyes off the hunter himself. You've never seen him this hurt, this vulnerable, and you start backing out again, pretty sure he didn't mean to call you, didn't mean to let you see him like this.

'Hey, where'd ya think yer going?' He says, his tone light, but strained in pain. 'There's a med kit in the cupboard to yer left.'

You stare at him, wide eyed, but retrieve the med kit. You've seen him injured before, but never to the extent where he needs your help, and it's scaring you. He always takes care of his injuries himself, doesn't he?

You decide not to question it, instead crouching down beside him. There's so much blood soaked into the right side of his coat that you begin to worry he's going to die anyway. Hands trembling, you go to pull off his coat, but something prevents you, and you glance down and see the hilt of a knife, pinning his clothes to his body.

'Oh, shit,' you mutter. 'We're going to have to pull this out.'

'I'll do it,' he says, seizing the blood slick handle in his slender blue fingers and yanking. Doubling over, he cries out, the blade dropping to the floor with a clatter, forgotten. Green blood starts spurting out of the wound, and you choke down a curse, quickly pressing a palm to his side, trying to apply pressure.

'Ya know,' Cad slurs, glancing up at your stifled cussing. 'On this ship, ya can say whatever the fuck ya want, 'cause I'm always gonna be ruder.'
'Well, then, put your fucking hands on that hole in your side and push,' you blurt before you can stop yourself. Hopefully he's lost too much blood to remember you said that.

You help him ease off his long brown trench coat, then his shirt underneath, wincing with each pained sound he makes. Pressing his fingers harder onto the wound with one hand, you rummage in the med kit for some bacta with the other. Finally, you find the bottle that you were looking for and gently prize his fingers from his side enough to apply the bacta. The stab wound steams a little, and with a relieved sigh, you sit back on your heels, pressing a hand to your heart.

Cad Bane's large red eyes start to drift closed, and you gently slap his cheek to wake him. He waves your hand away and grunts sulkily. Groping along the floor until he can retrieve his hat, which must have fallen off when he pulled the knife out, he smirks over at you.

'I knew it,' he says. 'Yer a cusser.'

You opt for no visible reaction, instead grabbing some bandages and nudging him into a position where you can wrap them around his torso. His blue skin is cool against your fingers, marred with countless scars, and under the thick odour of his blood, you can smell the musky scent that clings to his sheets. Deftly, you tie off the bandage. You're used to patching people up, the Twi girls on Uveth weren't always treated as well as you were, and you always felt guilty about it, so you'd often clean their wounds.

Cad, though, well... Having to patch up Cad fucking Bane terrifies you, as well as the thought of repeating the experience. Not just because he's a man, and a killer, at that, but that it proves that maybe the only person in the galaxy that will give you shelter and food is, in fact, not as invincible as he seems.

'Are ya even awake in there?'
You jerk away too quickly as Cad Bane waves a hand in front of your eyes. 'Gave me a shock,' you blurt, but both of you know that you'd flinched away like you always do whenever he comes anywhere near you. Some sort of bone deep instinct, you're pretty sure, since you've been mistreated by men for... for way too long.
He shrugs. 'Guess these hands have killed a lot o' people.'

Something about the way he says it seems infinitely sad, masked with a fragile, thin sheet of humour. You're about to nod when a sharp, acrid smell catches your nose, and you jump to your feet and run over to the kitchen - or at least the little corner in the ship that you call the kitchen. Shoving your hand into the oven glove, you yank the flimsy door open and grab the tray inside, setting it down on the counter and waving the smoke away, turning your nose away at the smell. As the grey cloud disperses, your hope of saving any of the food dissolves with it. Mournfully, you stare at the mound of black that would have been your dinner.

Glancing over your shoulder, you find Cad Bane still staring at his hands, and although your ability to read Duros facial expressions only has room to improve, even you can tell what he's feeling right now. Rapidly, you search your mind to say something, anything that might cheer him up a little - why you feel obliged to do so, you're not sure, but you blurt out the first thing that forms in your head.

'My fucking cooking burnt because of you.'

You barely halt yourself from slapping a hand over your mouth, eyes going wide. Swallowing nervously, you hope he won't take too much offence from that. Your cheeks flush a little, and you quickly turn back towards the black steaming lump you rescued from the oven, when you hear a soft chuckle.

'I'd rather go hungry than die, li'l lady.'

i do love watching lil lady getting bolder