Madlands

11. A Third Thing

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It works with your visor?

Mando had borrowed Grey's scope, and was perched on the wide windowsill, watching the port.

Yes. How did you think I kept watch during your meet with Cyrin?

At the time, I had honestly hoped that you couldn't see. That's why I insisted you take up a vantage point halfway across the settlement, despite all the haze.

Mando lowered the scope and slowly turned to look at her and said nothing. His deadpan expression gave her an honest laugh.

I can see the face you're making.

Well, it works with my visor.

He returned to the scope and his stakeout. Grey was in the opposite corner of the room, slung sideways across the only armchair, feet dangling down one side.

What's the latest?

They're still at it. And now it's raining again. They're not very efficient.

Well, Ministry thugs. It's hard to find good people.

You're very nonchalant for the person they're looking for.

Grey looked up from her datapad. Her smile faded.

Might, may, could possibly be looking for. And I know. But it feels better than just sitting here worrying.

Fair.

Greta doesn't like to worry.

It was all that came to me! And no, I don't think it suits you either.

Mando had been pleased to find an inn with rooms that had an only semi-obstructed view of the port. Their cover mandated a single room, which turned out to be a very small single room. But there was a part of Grey that was glad not to be alone. Between Mirin's news and that game-runner's awful attempt to acquire her, Grey was, well, uneasy was all she was willing to concede. A sleep-worthy couch in the room would have been helpful though, in addition to the bed.

I'm going to wash up and get some rest. Want me to go kill some time in the hall or the lobby for a while before I do?

No, it's fine.

Kay, but I'll knock before I come back out of the 'fresher.

Alright.

Don't say Greta isn't thoughtful.

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Where the kriff was she? Grey blinked her one open, bleary eye, and an unfamiliar window came into view. It was a large square, with curved corners, a sill almost as deep as her forearm, and it revealed a cloud-filled sky outside. She could picture Mando leaning into its frame, keeping an eye on the port. She was at the inn. They were on Galir. But what was the weight that she felt draped across her body? It was like she was strapped into a flight-seat. She clumsily reached up with one sleepy hand and softly plodded it across the weight's surface. Rough fabric? Leather? Beskar. Mando. More specifically, Mando's arm. He was holding her. She froze, suddenly wide awake. No, clearly dreaming, assuming that dreams had changed their very nature to look and feel precisely like reality.

Grey ran through the various options she had: wake Mando up and mortify him; try to magically shift and slink out from under his arm; go back to sleep and hope that by the time they both woke up they would find themselves on opposite sides of this admittedly rather cramped bed; or become paralyzed by the not-great options and just lie here. She chose the last one. Actually, it seemed that she chose a whole new and far worse option that her body came up with on its own, which was to instinctually squirm back even further into the shape of his body.