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OUTER-RIM
Kenny flinches as something cold drips down her forehead, down her nose then down her cheek. Her eyes flutter open only to close at the blinding light which is quickly dimmed down.
Groaning, she lifts herself up and rubs at her head, 'Hey, woah.'
Hands are on her shoulders, pushing her back down into the bed, bed? Since when did they have a bed?
'Mando?'
'I'm here.' His voice is quiet, soft as he presses something to her forehead.
She closes her eyes again, head shifting away as she pushes his hand away from her head, 'No, stop. I'm okay.'
She tries to get up again, this time she can, and he helps her lean back against the wall of the bunk, 'Can I get you anything?'
'No,' She shakes her head clearing her throat as it comes out hoarse, 'No, I'm fine.'
'You've been out for three days,' He says, his voice a little stern to hide his worry, 'You should drink something.'
'Are we planet side?'
He shakes his head, 'No. But we're safe.'
She nods, struggling to get to her feet, pushing the blanket off of her, she rubs at the cut on her chest that's healed a little, she's still wearing the shirt, but there's a folded up long sleeve black shirt beside her.
Mando notices her looking at it and tils his helmet away shyly, 'I didn't know if you'd like me... to uh, you-'
'It's fine,' She says nodding her head, 'Thank you.'
He nods again, his fists clenching and unclenching as they rest beside him. He moves away as she pulls herself out of the bed, climbing up the ladder, for a moment he thinks she's heading for the fresher, but when the familiar woosh of the cockpit doors catches his ears he climbs up after her.
'What are you doing?'
She looks up from the chair behind the pilot's one that she's claimed, 'Looking at the stars."
He sighs and sits in the pilot's chair, turning to lean back and keep an eye on her.
Feeling his stare burning holes into the side of her head she sighs and looks over at him, 'I'm fine, seriously, I'm not going to drop dead sitting right here. It was a little-'
'A little?' He scoffs, and she can picture someone beneath the helmet raising a brow at her, a dark one, brown maybe. 'They dropped you on your head twice, and you were stabbed.'
'Only twice?' He tilts his helmet in a condescending way which she ignores, 'It wasn't a stab, it was a graze- and you caused it.' She sighs looking up when he goes back to being silent. She knows he probably blames himself. He's sensitive, he just hides it better under the armour.
