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At first, he tells himself he isn’t worried. Not that much, at least. He does it more for Ragnar than for Paz, going each evening to the medical area they set up to check on Paz, that is.
Ragnar’s there most of the time, and Axe’s worried about him, the kid barely eats or sleeps to stay by his father’s side, even if Paz is in a bacta tank that has definitely seen better days, it’s a miracle it even works, and will definitely be in it for a while, unconscious and unable to tell Ragnar he doesn’t need to stay there all the time.
Ragnar doesn’t listen to anyone, though, no matter how many times Axe tells him that nothing will change if he isn’t there, that the bacta needs time to heal Paz’s wounds, or how many times the other Mandalorians in charge of the medical area tell Ragnar his father will wake up, even if they can’t say when exactly. Ragnar doesn’t leave, so Axe’s worried more about the kid than his father.
Ragnar is the only reason why he goes so often to the small station that has been limited with curtains to give Paz some privacy. Or at least, it’s what he keeps telling himself to explain why he’s the person after Ragnar that visits Paz the most. Axe’s certain not even the Armorer visits Paz everyday.
Most of the time, Axe brings Ragnar some food—turning around to let Ragnar eat without showing Axe his face, which Axe still doesn’t entirely get, but has learnt not to comment on it, not if he doesn’t want a vibroblade held up against his throat.
To some extent, he thinks he understands, it’s what the Tribe has always known, but at the same time, Axe has always been taught since he can remember that the Children of the Watch are religious fanatics. But what he believed about them has started to clash with the way the Children of the Watch actually are. He saw with his own eyes that those Mandalorians aren’t much different from the Nite Owls, only wanting a place to belong to and for their own people to be safe and together. Their only true difference is in the choice of not to remove their helmets, which Axe finds totally unpractical, but has started to respect. It isn’t his place to understand why, or to question their faith only because he doesn’t feel the same way.
He regrets what he has said about Din Djarin and his Tribe, and even if he feels like walking on eggshells when he’s around them, he still wants to try. Maybe Ragnar’s the easy way, since he’s a kid and Axe doesn’t need to submit to show that he’s willing to accept their Way, or maybe it’s because a selfish part of him wants Ragnar to tell Paz what he did while he was unconscious, prove him that he isn’t an enemy or a threat.
There are many foundlings even younger than Ragnar left without their parents, and yet, Axe only feels pulled towards Ragnar. He never thought of himself as a parental figure, never thought he was suited to be a father, but somehow, he can’t stop ignoring the worry rising in his chest. Each evening, after he’s done with his duties, he tells himself he doesn’t need to pass by the medical area to make sure Ragnar has eaten and will sleep for a few hours at least, but he still does. After a while, he abandons all thoughts of trying to stop himself because he knows it won’t work.
As slowly as the rebuild of Mandalore goes, Ragnar opens up to Axe. At first, it’s just a few words, a quiet thank you offered when Axe brings him dinner, a goodnight when he leaves, or a it’s late, you should go whispered in the silence of the night when he must notice Axe dozing off in the other chair that isn’t occupied by Ragnar. But then, Ragnar starts speaking more, asking Axe about what he did that day, or probably when he’s feeling braver, about the way Mandalore used to be. Axe finds that he doesn’t mind answering Ragnar’s questions, whichever they might be, and that kind of surprises him, but he doesn’t let himself dwell on the reason why. Ragnar’s just a kid, it’d be cruel not to.
That night, it’s later than usual, but Axe has made it part of his routine at this point and he’s aware Ragnar’s waiting for him, he hasn’t missed a day in weeks and even if he’s bone-tired, he still wants to check on Ragnar—and Paz, not like much has changed since the day they put him into the tank. The wounds are healing, but the process is slow and no one can tell when he will wake up.
After he slowly pushes the curtain aside, he’s met with an image Axe isn’t used to. Ragnar always sits on the chair near the side of the tank, close to Paz’s head—the only part of his body covered, helmet never taken off, and just stays there, sometimes pressing his own helmet against the glass or splaying his fingers out on it. This time though, Ragnar’s sat on the ground, the side of his helmet pressed against the glass where Paz’s bare hand is, making it look almost as if Paz’s fingers could pass through the glass and brush against Ragnar’s helmet.
He hasn’t noticed Axe’s a few steps behind him, because the words he quietly murmurs aren’t for Axe to hear.
“You have to wake up, buir,” he says to the glass, helmet slightly tilted up to look at where Paz’s head is. “I don’t want to be alone again.”
Axe’s chest tightens, a kind of feeling that’s new, that he shouldn’t feel, not for a stranger and his kid. And yet, he does. His fingers tighten around the hem of his helmet where he’s holding it and wishes he could do something, he doesn’t know what, but he still wishes he could erase Ragnar’s sadness, take it away and make sure he’d never feel alone again.
“I know you hate to be wrong,” Ragnar says then, a little louder, gently knocking his knuckles against the tank, “but you were about Axe Woves, he’s not a complete di’kut and—”
Axe clears his throat, which makes Ragnar jerk around to check who it is and once he sees it’s him, Axe can almost hear the click of his teeth when he closes his mouth to stop talking. It isn’t hard to guess his eyes under the helmet must open as wide as they possibly can.
“Shit-talking about me with your father, I see,” he jokes, a smile on his lips, which makes Ragnar shake his head and go back to look at Paz.
“I wasn’t shit-talking—”
“Hey,” Axe cuts him off, and when Ragnar turns around again to look at him, “language,” he tells him with a raised eyebrow.
Ragnar sighs, looks away from him and, “I wasn’t bad-mouthing you,” he says, and then as an afterthought, as if he isn’t entirely sure he wants to say it, “you’re much better than I thought,” he adds, voice lower.
Axe laughs. “Well, thanks,” he tells him, amused, “that truly made my day.”
“Shut up,” Ragnar whispers under his breath, but Axe can clearly hear the smile in his voice.
He doesn’t say it isn’t a lie, mostly because Ragnar would laugh at him, but Axe’s actually relieved to know that.
“Why are you on the ground?” he asks instead, going to sit on his usual chair, helmet placed by his feet.
Ragnar shrugs his shoulders, presses his helmet back against the glass and doesn’t say anything. Axe doesn’t try to press further, aware it wouldn’t work, he just waits for Ragnar to open up, if he ever will.
In the end, he doesn’t have to wait long before he does—which is a small victory, considering sometimes at first, Ragnar didn’t answer most of his questions.
“I thought I saw his fingers twitch,” he reveals, voice back to being a whisper, so small that Axe has to focus all of his attention on it not to miss any word. “Maybe I was imagining it.”
For the second time that night, Axe’s chest tightens. He doesn’t want to give Ragnar false hope, to cling onto words that may be lies, but he doesn’t know any other way to comfort him.
“Your father’s strong,” he tells him. It isn’t a lie, but somehow it feels like it isn’t enough. Axe has seen little of Paz and Ragnar’s interactions, a brief touch here and there, and a glance of the two of them saying good-bye when they left for Mandalore, and yet, he’s certain of his next words. “He loves you, Ragnar, so he’ll make sure to come back to you.”
Ragnar stays silent, but a hand lifts to touch the glass with his fingertips, careful, as if they might break it.
Axe watches each of his small movements, wishing he could offer more than a few words to comfort him. A sudden urge invades him, one he hasn’t felt in so long, maybe never directed at a kid, but he still recognizes that the tingle in his hands is caused by the need to comfort Ragnar through his touch, to bring him close to his chest and hold him there, tight, until he will understand he isn’t alone.
He’s getting attached to the kid, and even if the thought scares him, he still can’t find the strength in himself to stop. He doesn’t want to stop, he doesn’t want to turn his back to him and leave him there by himself, waiting alone by a cold glass.
“You should sleep in a real bed,” Axe suggests, because voicing out different kinds of words is too hard.
“I don’t have a place—”
“You can stay with me,” he says, not even needing to think about it. He already knew he was going to say it before suggesting that. “My tent is not big, but we’ll fit.” Axe’s ready to sleep on the floor if it means Ragnar will leave the medical area to sleep in a bed.
It takes a while for Ragnar to stand up, and when he does, it’s reluctant, as if he’s scared something might happen in the few hours he will be away.
“I’ll link the tank to my system so it will alert us if something changes,” Axe reassures him, and it’s only then that Ragnar steps away, letting Axe synchronize the tank to his system through his gauntlet.
After a last glance, Ragnar lets himself be guided towards Axe’s tent and for the first time since his eyes landed on a kid waiting for his father to wake up, Axe feels like he could burst with relief.
Paz wakes up two months after Ragnar has started to live with Axe.
It was slow, at first Ragnar only slept in Axe’s tent for a few hours and then ran back to the medical area to stay there for the whole day, but after a while, it turned into full nights spent in a bed, into having breakfast meanwhile Axe pretended to be busy, and in the end, after a little less than a month since the first night, Ragnar spent more time away from the medical area than in it. Axe welcomed all of it, gave Ragnar all the space and time he needed to adjust, but even if he ate and slept more, he still worried. A part of him he couldn’t never switch off worried, whether Ragnar was with him or not.
After two months, Axe still can’t give a name to it, he searches for an explanation he can’t find, but sometimes he tells himself that maybe it just comes with all of it, caring for someone also means worrying about them, even if they aren’t in danger.
Paz wakes up when they are both there, a second before he’s still as he has always been, but the second after he’s struggling in the bacta, loud gasps coming from under his helmet and fists hit against the glass.
Ragnar’s faster than Axe, he runs to the tank monitor and unlocks the seals, the bacta drains out and then, once the glass opens, he tries to help Paz sit up. But Paz’s skin is slippery and he’s clearly too big for Ragnar to pull him up by himself. It’s then that Axe moves too, out of his stupor. He doesn’t look at Paz’s helmet, not even once—why, he doesn’t know, but there’s something that feels like shame in his gut he doesn’t want to face, and just lets Paz use his shoulder as leverage to pull himself up.
“Careful, buir,” Ragnar tells him, a warmth in his voice Axe has never heard directed at him, which is natural, Paz is Ragnar’s father, of course his voice sounds like that, and yet, a new wave of shame almost makes him grimace.
Paz grunts, and Axe keeps his eyes on his body, away from his helmet. It isn’t better, not when there is so much bare skin shown, scattered with scars and blemishes caused by battle that prove how strong Paz is, but it’s still better than having to look at his helmet and knowing that Paz’s eyes are on his face meanwhile Axe can’t see it. Better than feeling that much vulnerable.
“How do you feel?” Ragnar asks him, whilst Axe pretends to busy himself with the tank to let the last remnants of bacta drain and disconnect it from his system.
“Dead,” Paz grunts back, voice so raw and deep that it almost doesn’t seem like he spoke a word.
Ragnar laughs under his breath, and then Axe hears the distinct sound of helmets clinking together, but he doesn’t dare to turn his face to look. And yet, he’s forced to when a few moments later, “Woves,” Paz says, voice still rough from disuse.
Axe glances at him, at a helmet he has learnt by heart, that he has stared at for longer than he wants to admit, that he’d be able to draw with his eyes closed.
“Vizsla,” he says back, glad his voice doesn’t waver.
“What are you doing here?”
Axe hates that he can’t understand if it’s only curiosity or if the words are accusing, as if he hasn’t any right to be there. Maybe he hasn’t, maybe he should turn around and leave.
He doesn’t, though. “I was—”
“I live with Axe,” Ragnar answers for him, “he’s been taking care of me.”
Axe hopes his face doesn’t betray him, that it shows no emotion. Everyone’s aware of that, of course it’s clear that Axe has been taking care of Ragnar, and yet hearing it coming directly from him is different. Being acknowledged, knowing that Ragnar is aware of it, recognizing it as Axe taking care of him makes him want to hug the kid to his chest. They’ve never hugged, not like sometimes Axe wishes he could, it’s only been brief touches, Axe fixing his clothes or brushing his hand against his shoulder when he passes behind him. He can’t complain, but an irrational part of him wishes he could press their foreheads together, too. Helmet against helmet, or skin against helmet, it wouldn’t matter how.
Paz looks first at Ragnar—and Axe can only imagine what he must be thinking, and then, he looks at Axe again.
“How long was I unconscious?” he asks, which isn’t what Axe was expecting to hear.
“Almost three months,” he answers anyway, considering it both a blessing and a curse that he can’t see Paz’s face.
“Hope you’ve changed,” Paz comments, fingers going to wrap around the edge of the tank.
“He has, buir, you’ll be surprised,” Ragnar answers in his stead again, and Axe has to restrain himself from smiling.
Paz only nods and Axe guesses it’s the best response he could get from him, especially after all that time spent in bacta.
Paz gets moved to an actual bed in the medical area, much to his protests, but no one listens to him. He’s too weak to be somewhere else, barely able to stand up on his own for more than a few minutes. Ragnar visits him everyday, but now that Paz is awake and can tell him off, he doesn’t spend all of his days by Paz’s side. He wants to—Axe sees it in the way he lingers before he has to leave or in the way he clings to him when Paz lets him rest on the bed with him, but neither Paz nor Axe let him.
Besides, Ragnar’s old enough to go to school, and even if the one they set up in a tent is relatively new and it’s just a class that lasts a few hours for all kids, not separated by age like it should, Axe still makes sure Ragnar attends it, which means he can’t stay with Paz all the time. He has to train too, spend time with the other kids, play and interact outside of school, and that leaves Axe alone with Paz more than he’d like to.
There’s no need to keep visiting him, Axe’s aware, but it has become something so ingrained in his days that it would feel weird not doing it anymore.
“It’s the highest honor,” Paz says one night after Ragnar has left, too tired and with a promise from Axe that he would’ve come back to their tent soon. “What you did for Ragnar.”
“Yeah?” Axe knows, the Armorer told him, but he wants to hear it from Paz.
“Yeah,” Paz confirms, genuine. All the resentment is gone from his voice, maybe since the moment he fully grasped how much Axe changed, or maybe once he realized he took care of Ragnar as if he were his own kid. He doesn’t know exactly, but he’s thankful for it, that Paz’s seeing him for the person he is now, not influenced by what happened in the past or the person Axe used to be.
“You didn’t have to,” he adds then, “he could’ve stayed with the other foundlings.”
Axe knew, but it never felt right. He saw a kid that he was certain had tears in his eyes even if he couldn’t see them, hoping his own father wouldn’t die, and something in him went taunt and snapped, making him react before he could even think about what he was doing. Days turned into weeks then, and the moment he actually asked himself what he was doing, he already had an answer. He was doing the right thing, making sure Ragnar wouldn’t have felt alone once again.
“I wanted to,” Axe replies back, looking at Paz’s visor. A few times, he has tried to imagine his face, but he only knows that his skin’s dark so he doesn’t have much to begin with. He tries, but most of the time, he comes up with nothing, just details, a curve of lips or a look in anonymous eyes, but never a full face.
“Thank you.”
“I didn’t do it for you,” Axe tells him, defensive. “I did it for the kid.”
“I know, but as his buir, I thank you.”
Maybe he smiles, he isn’t sure. All he can focus on are those words. As his buir. He doesn’t know if he pretends to forget it, or if he prevents himself from acknowledging that Paz is something Axe will never be for Ragnar, no matter how hard he tries.
“Once I can leave from here, I’ll get him out of your hair,” Paz says then, but the words hurt worse than a vibroblade shoved into the cracks between his armor. No, please, he wants to say, wants to beg on his knees as long as it will work. Please, don’t take him away. But Ragnar has never been his in the first place, Paz can’t take away a kid that has never been Axe’s, Ragnar will just go back to where he belongs.
Axe can only nod and hope he won’t crumble right there, where Paz will see and laugh at him for thinking he could’ve become something more for Ragnar.
He knows it’s selfish and greedy, that he shouldn’t even think about it, but since Paz crushed all of Axe’s illusions with just a few words, he keeps dreading the moment Paz will be well enough to leave the medical area and take Ragnar with him.
If he has to be honest, he doesn’t want the moment to come, not because he doesn’t want Paz to be well, but because he doesn’t want to wake up to an empty tent, to cook breakfast only for one person and have no one to say goodnight to. He doesn’t want Ragnar to leave, but since the first night, Axe was aware it wasn’t permanent, that sooner or later Paz would’ve woken up and Ragnar wouldn’t have needed Axe anymore.
It hurts the same, even if Axe has always known he couldn’t take Paz’s place, and yet, Axe thought something might have been different. He doesn’t know what, doesn’t think he expected Ragnar to consider him more than an adult that took care of him, but maybe he was trying to shield himself from hurting even more, from accepting he’s nothing compared to Paz.
He grew too attached to Ragnar, he didn’t think it would’ve reached the lengths it has, but it did. It’s almost visceral, almost as if Ragnar is truly his own son, and Axe doesn’t know how he will manage when Ragnar won’t live with him anymore. He wants to convince himself he’d be able to go back to how it was before, how he was before Ragnar, but he knows he won’t. It won’t be the same, it hasn’t been that long since Ragnar has started to live with him, but Axe doesn’t want to go back to being alone.
It’s almost hilarious, he took Ragnar in because he didn’t want him to feel alone, but in the end, it’s Axe that will be left alone. That will be left in a tent that he thought was small even for a person, but now will feel too big.
“Buir said they don’t have a tent for us,” are the words that make Axe pause in his movements, his hands hovering on the ingredients he needs for their dinner.
Axe turns around, looks at Ragnar and, “I spoke to Kawe the other day, she said they’re rearranging the camp to add one more,” tells him, confused.
Ragnar slides his fingers back and forth on the table, sat on the mismatched chair that Axe had to trade for with another Mandalorian.
“I think they gave ours to another clan because theirs was too small.”
Axe looks around himself, almost as if it’s the first time he sees his tent—it isn’t big, enough for two if they don’t care much about personal space and extreme privacy, but three would be a tight fit. Besides, Paz’s big and the bed he shares with Ragnar isn’t big enough for three. Axe could trade for another bed, but they’d have to rearrange everything and it would still be placed beside the one that he already has. Or he could let Paz and Ragnar live in his tent and Axe could stay with Koska for a while, at least until they don’t find another solution.
“What about the one this clan left behind?”
He doesn’t know what option he’d prefer, a part of him wants Ragnar and Paz to live with him, the one that doesn’t want to let go of Ragnar, but another, a more rational part tells him he can’t, Axe isn’t clan, they’d have to be constantly aware of Axe’s presence and wait for him to give them some privacy to remove their helmets. They managed to make it work with Ragnar, but with another person it’d be even more difficult, it’d just be easier for Axe not to be there at all.
Ragnar shrugs, “They moved because it was small, but also because it was falling apart,” he explains.
“What did your father say?”
“He said he could go to the Armorer’s for the time being.”
Axe frowns, looking at Ragnar’s visor where he supposes his eyes are. His words don’t make much sense. “And… you’ll stay here?” he asks, almost too hopeful.
Ragnar snorts under his breath, “Where should I go?” he asks back, “buir said it’s the best option we have.”
“Paz said you can stay here?”
Ragnar looks at him—Axe has learnt to understand what the different tilts of his helmet mean, and right then, he knows Ragnar’s looking at him as if he lost his mind.
“Why would I leave?” Ragnar asks him, too serious for Axe to doubt him. It almost sounds as if Ragnar never intended to leave. But Axe doesn’t understand, Paz said he would’ve taken Ragnar once he was well enough, so of course he’d leave.
“You have to live with your father,” Axe tells him, even if the words hurt, an ache in his chest that rarely goes away lately.
“What?”
It’s only a single word, but it makes every belief shift. It makes him doubt everything he was certain about.
“You… I’m not clan,” he says in a whisper, wishing he could reach towards his helmet and put it on only not to feel so vulnerable.
“Axe,” Ragnar whispers back, standing up and rounding the table, “I thought—I’m sorry.”
Axe shakes his head, “What? No, you don’t have to—”
“You took care of me for months,” Ragnar cuts him off, facing him, hands clasped together in front of him, trying not to fidget. “You are my other buir.”
The back of his eyes sting, and Axe doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or cry, or both. He didn’t think he would’ve ever heard those words coming from Ragnar, didn’t ever dream of being called like that.
“But your father wouldn’t want me—”
“Buir has been trying to court you since the moment I told him what you did for me,” Ragnar doesn’t let him finish once again. Axe can clearly hear the smile in his voice. “But he’s incapable and being relegated to a bed doesn’t help.”
Axe laughs, too surprised by the words to do something else, and before he can even truly think about them, he sees, then feels Ragnar’s arms wrapped around his torso, his helmet pressed against Axe’s chest. Axe has been craving this for so long that once it’s happening he doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know where to place his hands, but in the end, he just wraps his arms back around Ragnar’s shoulders and holds him tighter against his chest.
“I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner,” Ragnar tries to apologize again, “but I really consider you my other buir, even if buir wouldn’t want you as his clan. Which he does, he’s just not that good with words and he can’t show it to you from a bed.”
Axe smiles at his helmet even if Ragnar can’t see him, then brushes his knuckles back and forth against its top.
“It’s alright,” he reassures him. “He can move with us and he can show it then.”
Ragnar chuckles against his chest. Axe almost can’t believe he’s holding his kid into his arms.
“But he snores really bad,” Ragnar adds then, which makes the both of them burst into laughter.
Once Axe knows, it’s hard not to see it. Though, he’s certain he wouldn’t have ever caught up with Paz’s intentions if Ragnar hadn’t told him. It’s subtle, truly subtle, almost not there at all. It’s a comment casually thrown in a voice that lacks emotion that no one would dream to interpret as courting, which really makes Axe realize he wouldn’t have ever noticed if it wasn’t for Ragnar, or it’s Paz asking to spar together because “I want to get back in shape and you’re a worthy opponent.”
Sometimes, when Ragnar is there with them and Paz does something that could be interpreted as courting, Axe and Ragnar share a look and try their best to not to laugh. It’s funny to witness it—when Paz isn’t around, he and Ragnar actually laugh about whatever he has done or said, and even if Axe knows Paz’s trying his best, he also knows that they won’t go anywhere if he lets Paz do all the courting. He doesn’t think it’s because Paz never witnessed a Mandalorian courting another Mandalorian, after all Bo-Katan and the Armorer are proof enough courting is known in the Tribe, so it’s only Paz. Ragnar was right when he said that Paz’s just incapable.
Before Ragnar told him about Paz’s intentions, Axe never let himself indulge, never thought of the possibility of becoming part of Paz’s clan, not because he despised the idea, but because he knew it wouldn’t have ever happened. But since he has known, he indulged into the thought, let himself imagine how it would’ve been, having his own clan, having a riduur, and he found out that he liked the idea a bit too much. If before going to Mandalore, someone had told him that he would’ve ended up thinking of Paz as his riduur, Axe wouldn’t have ever believed them, he would’ve laughed at their face or more probably be offended for being associated with a Child of the Watch in a way so intimate, but the more he thinks about it now, the more he wants it to truly happen.
Paz would be the perfect riduur by Mandalorian standards: loyal, honorable, strong. A real warrior ready to sacrifice himself for his people. Axe knows he wouldn’t find someone better than Paz, but knowing that Paz thinks the same of him, that someone who was raised with beliefs completely different from his is worthy of becoming his riduur and part of his clan makes Axe feel like it’s too much, like he doesn’t deserve Paz. He wants it, truly wants it, but sometimes, he fears Paz might regret it, that he’d feel forced to accept Axe as his riduur only because Ragnar considers Axe as his buir. He’s almost certain Paz wouldn’t do that, but the doubt lingers, makes him wonder if Paz’s courting him only because it’s convenient or because he really wants it too.
It’s the reason why at some point, Axe decides to take matters into his own hands. He can’t keep waiting.
He should ease Paz into it, hint he knows about the courting, but he also wants to make sure Paz understands that Axe knows. “I never thought I would’ve become a buir,” is what he tells Paz, which doesn’t come out of nowhere. Sometimes, when Ragnar’s already asleep, both sat at the table—Axe had to trade for another chair, they end up talking about various things. They’ve opened up to each other, not as much as Axe hoped for, but even if slowly, they’re getting there.
That night, Ragnar’s outside playing with other kids instead, and Axe knows he won’t get a better chance. Once the kids start playing, it takes hours to make them stop.
Paz glances away from the blaster he was cleaning, places it on the table and focuses his whole attention on him. Axe almost wishes he could go back to his blaster, it’d be easier to speak the words if Paz’s eyes weren’t on him, if he hadn’t to stare back at a black visor, left wondering about Paz’s reaction.
“Me neither,” Paz tells him, briefly looking down, “but Ragnar grew on me really quick.”
Axe laughs under his breath, “Yeah,” he agrees, feeling on edge, “I guess he’s really good at that.”
Paz keeps his helmet directed towards Axe, and the silence that wraps around them almost makes Axe’s skin crawl. He needs to say something, he needs to take Paz’s attention away from his face.
“I never thought I would’ve been part of a clan either,” he says then, because even if he’s nervous and he’d prefer being everywhere else rather than there in that tent with Paz, he still wants Paz to say those words out loud. To ask him directly and stop trying to court him. He doesn’t need courting, he’s way past that.
He tries to keep his gaze up, to meet Paz’s visor, he tells himself he can’t look away, but to his surprise, it’s Paz who does. He sends a glance to the side, a fist closed on the table, his other hand hidden under it where Axe can’t see it.
“The kid told you, didn’t he?” he asks, but he doesn’t sound surprised. Maybe, Paz’s less oblivious than Axe believes him to be.
“Yeah,” Axe says, there is no point in lying, and besides, he wouldn’t, not to Paz. “But don’t get angry at him.”
Paz snorts and it’s then that he goes back to look at Axe. “He did me a favor, don’t you think?”
Axe smiles, not feeling as nervous as he was minutes before. “Yeah, let’s say courting isn’t your forte,” he tells him, “I truly appreciate the effort, though.”
Paz hums, crossing his arms against his chest, and Axe can’t stop himself from glancing at the way his biceps strain against the fabric, parts of his armor off, and then down at the way he’s sitting, legs spread. He knows Paz notices where he’s looking, of course he does, but Axe doesn’t care. He wants Paz to understand.
“You really want me as your riduur?”
The question makes Axe’s neck snap up to meet Paz’s visor once again, completely taken aback that he doesn’t even know how to answer.
“Why shouldn’t I?” is what he replies back in the end, placing his elbows on the table to lean towards its other side, closer to Paz.
Paz shrugs his shoulders, something Ragnar does too and definitely took from Paz, “I don’t know,” he says, voice low, “my beliefs—”
“It’s not a crime to believe,” Axe cuts him off, “and it doesn’t matter to me.” It did, but not anymore, it hasn’t for a while.
Axe was ignorant and decided to believe what everyone else around him believed and taught him, but he never questioned if it was the actual truth or not. He was wrong, he knows he was totally wrong. Paz and his Tribe are Mandalorians as much as Axe is, choosing not to remove their helmet doesn’t make them any less Mandalorian.
Besides, once they recite the vows to each other and their songs will be intertwined together, Axe will be clan and they won’t have to compromise for privacy anymore. Paz and Ragnar can take their helmet off in front of their clan. But even if they weren’t allowed to ever remove their helmet, Axe wouldn’t think of it differently, he’d still want Paz as his riduur.
“I thought I made myself clear when I invited you to move in my tent,” he tells him then, “even if you’re too big and take too much space.”
Paz chuckles, “It’s you who’s little, cyar’ika,” he says, and the way Paz calls him makes Axe’s heart beat faster than it should. No one has ever called him that.
“You still haven’t asked, big guy,” Axe comments, only because he wants to distract Paz and not let him notice that his face is slightly flushed, warmth spread on his cheeks.
Paz sits up straighter, a hand going to his shoulder, but then he must notice he isn’t wearing the shoulder pauldrons because he slides his hand down and takes his vibroblade out. Axe doesn’t need words to know why Paz picked it, that the vibroblade holds more meaning to them than a pauldron. Paz places it on the center of the table, a reverence in the way he handles it.
“Axe Woves,” Paz says, looking up at him. Axe can feel his heart beating in his throat. “Accept this gift as a promise of becoming one.”
Axe doesn’t need time to think about his answer, but he still takes it. He slowly reaches towards Paz’s hand placed on the blade and instead of taking it away, he places his own hand on top of Paz’s.
“I accept it, Paz Vizsla,” he whispers, words loud enough only to be heard by the two of them, no matter that no one else is there in the tent.
Axe smiles at Paz, wraps his fingers around Paz’s hand, and even if he can’t see his face, he knows Paz’s smiling back at him, too. It’s in the way he tilts his helmet, the same way Ragnar does.