I’ll Ignite For You. | A KinnPorsche: the Series FanFic.
Hello all. Thank you for the feedback, comments, and kudos.
Just to clarify: I have not read the novels, and I wrote this a week ago, before I watched episode ten. And to be honest, I would prefer not to integrate those events into this story line. So in this fic, Porchay has never been kidnapped and Big is very much alive. (I think I will definitely incorporate these events in a future piece. Just not this one.)
Here is Chapter Two of I’ll Ignite For You.
Plot Summary:
Porchay grabs Kim by his shirt, bunching it up into his fists. Kim staggers back, shocked at the sudden violence. “Are you an idiot? Of course I hate you. I hate you more than anyone I’ve ever known.” Porchay’s voice chokes as he shakes Kim, backing him into the brick wall behind him. “I loved you. I loved you more than life, more than music. Did you know that?”
Kim swallows.
“You had to know, right Kim? The pictures I had on my walls? The song we wrote together, the songs I sang to you. I loved you.”
(Or: Six months after Porchay finds out the truth and vanishes, Kim is still trying to pick up the pieces of his life. Until he sees a familiar face in the crowd.)
Read the story on Ao3!
If you’re sick of the KimChay angst, feel free to read this other fic I wrote about Kim coping with Big’s death. It won’t help, but it’s there.
Warnings: Trigger warnings: Mentions of rape, and violence against a pregnant woman, brief mention of violence against an unborn infant.
Word Count: 2.9k
A/N: I struggled a fair bit with writing this chapter, and I’m not 100% thrilled with it, but I needed to get it written and published. The rating for this chapter is MATURE, and not the fun kind of mature. Please read the warnings, and if anything there is triggering, or makes you uncomfortable, please do not read this chapter. That being said, I hope you guys end up liking this chapter, even though it doesn’t move the plot forward all that much. The next couple of chapters will see some action though, so get ready for that!
*Also, the Mando’a that Mando says to Cerliah is translated at the bottom of the chapter!*
When Cerliah woke, the first thing she noticed was the pain. It wasn’t a sharp, stabbing pain, but more of a slow, dull, throbbing pain, radiating out of the side of her neck and up into her skull. Groaning, she went to sit up, only for a firm hand to press against her shoulder, keeping her against the bed.
“Easy.”
Blinking, she tried to focus on the figure next to her, but the bright light made it almost impossible. Almost as soon as she realized this, the shadow next to her moved, and the lights dimmed. It still took her a moment to realize the figure next to her was the Mandalorian.
She raised her hand to prod at the pain in her neck, but a gloved hand wrapped around her wrist, stopping her. “W–What happened?” Her voice was scratchy and hoarse, and she winced at the way it pulled at her stitches.
The Mandalorian slowly lowered her arm so it laid across her stomach, but he didn’t remove his hand from around her wrist. “What do you remember?” His voice was steady, calm, and it brought her more relief than she would have expected, having only known him for a week or so.
“Kuiil–he took out the transmitter,” it hurt to move her head so she continued to look at the Mandalorian. “He–He had to stitch me up, a–and you held me still,” Cerliah blushed as she remembered the way he’d held her. She hadn’t thought about it at the time, too worried about the transmitter, but now that her mind was clear, she was embarrassed at how she’d acted. “I remember being tired…” Her voice trails off as she tries to remember anything after Kuiil had stitched her up, but the only thing her mind brings forth is a hazy memory of a sense of comfort and a gentle swaying sensation.
The Mandalorian speaks up beside her. “I brought you back to the ship to rest.” His words are short and to the point, but there is no harshness underlying his voice. “You’ve been asleep for roughly two days.”
Cerliah starts at that, and she would have sat up in bed, had the Mandalorian’s iron grip not prevented it. “T–Two days?” She hates how her voice shakes, but the idea of being unconscious that long, unaware of herself and her surroundings for that long is terrifying, even though she senses deep down that the Mandalorian would not harm her. No wonder her throat hurts so bad.
“You’ve been on the Crest the whole time. The kid’s been up here some, but that’s it.” She’s sure he’s just informing her of what’s been going on while she’d been asleep, but Cerliah couldn’t help but feel as if he’s trying to… comfort her? Keep her calm? She’s not exactly sure, but it doesn’t matter, as his words cause her heartbeat to return to normal, no matter their original intention.
“You should rest some more.”
Cerliah tries to shake her head, but the pain in her neck dissuades her. “No, I should get up,” she protests, even though she makes no move to rise, the Mandalorian’s hands still holding her firmly in place. “Seriously, I should at least eat something, right?” The blank helmet stares at her for a long while, and just as Cerliah’s about to apologize, or ask again, or just say something to fill the void, he speaks.
“You’re right.” His hand is no longer holding her shoulder down, but slowly sliding behind her neck while his other hand tugs her wrist forward, and he helps her to slowly sit up. As she swings her legs over the side of the bed–a bed? She didn’t know he had an honest-to-maker bed on the ship–a wave of nausea hits her, and her hand flys out to steady herself on the Mandalorian’s pauldron.
They sit for a moment, and Cerliah struggles to breathe deeply through the roiling of her stomach. It’s only once the nausea has faded that she attempts to stand. The Mandalorian keeps his hand behind her neck, supporting her head, and the other one lands gently on her waist to keep her steady as she rises. She’d feel embarrassed, but she’s too focused on making sure she doesn’t get sick all over him.
Her legs feel like liquid, and she tightens her fingers on his shoulder, desperately trying to keep her balance. She can remember the last time she felt this weak, and the memories bring tears to her eyes. The Mandalorian brings her forward, and she rests her forehead against the cool beskar cuirass. Tears roll down her cheeks as she fights against the physical and phantom pains, before finally allowing herself to break down in a way she never had before.
She isn’t sure how long he holds her, but as her tears finally stop, he gently pulls her back, encouraging her to sit once more on the bed. She tilts her head up to look at him, cheeks still wet from her tears. “I’ll bring something for you to eat, okay?” He waits for her to nod before he leaves, and she slowly lays back down as he leaves the room. She looks around for the first time, surprised at the space. She’d stayed on a cot the whole week they’d been traveling to Arvala-7, and she’d never once suspected there was an actual bedroom on the ship.
There wasn’t much to the room. Like the rest of the ship, there was no decoration or ornamentation. The walls were bare, and the only other piece of furniture in the room other than the bed was a small metal chest. The sheets on the bed weren’t particularly soft, but they were warm and decently comfortable. As Cerliah found herself drifting off once more, she wondered if the room was the Mandalorians’.
***
Mando left the Razor Crest and made his way towards Kuiil’s hut. As he walked, he thought back to the woman resting on the ship. His opinion of her had changed rather drastically since he’d found her on Markon-Vel. When he’d found her, he’d thought that she’d kidnapped his son. But the more time he spent around her, the more he’d watched her interact with his kid, the worse he felt about his initial coldness. She’d taken to being on the ship in stride, and he was rather relieved to see that she didn’t seem prone to idle chatter. He was a man of few words, and she understood that. It was… nice.
He ducked into his friend’s home, finding the Ugnaught standing over the stove, stirring a pot of stew. Kuiil didn’t turn at his entrance, so Mando waited patiently by the door for him to finish. Kuiil ladled out some of the stew into a small wooden bowl, turning to face Mando, holding it out. “How fares your associate?”
Mando shrugged. “She woke up, but she seemed nauseous. I told her I’d bring her food.” Kuiil nodded, handing the bowl over. “Should she be sleeping this much?” He tried to sound nonchalant, but he could hear the worry laced in his voice.
“The surgery was exceedingly painful, and the emotional toll would have only made the experience worse. I am not surprised she has been sleeping.” Mando sighed, nodding to his friend before leaving his hut, and walking back to the Crest. He placed the bowl down on one of the crates, and ascended the ladder to get Cerliah.
As he walked into the room, he saw Cerliah laying on the bed, but she wasn’t sleeping peacefully, like he’d gotten used to the past few days. Her body was thrashing on the bed, her arms moving about as though trying to ward off some attacker. He felt like he couldn’t move, but when she opened her mouth to let out a bloodcurdling scream, he darted forward.
His blood ran cold, and he froze at the side of the bed, hands hovering above Cerliah’s shaking form. She’d told him that his kid hadn’t been hurt, at least when he’d been with her. Had she lied? He grasped Cerliah’s arms, trying to keep her still.
He wasn’t surprised when she began to thrash harder, her shrieks growing in volume as she tried to get away from him. He was worried however, from the violence of her movements, she was going to tear her stitches, and maybe worse.
He made a split second decision, hoping it was the right one. He used his grip on Cerliah’s arms to pick her up partially off the bed, quickly sliding underneath her. He wrestled her sideways on his lap, one arm clamped down around her knees to stop her from kicking him, the other wrapped around her back, both of her wrists clasped in his hand in front of her. He pulled her tight against his cuirass, trying to stop her movements.
He kept repeating the words over and over, and gradually, her body’s movements began to slow, her legs and arms no longer straining to get out of his hold. He could feel the moment she woke up, as her body tried to tense, but the pain she must have been feeling prevented it. And then, the trembling started. Her body was wracked with sobs, her shoulders heaving as she tried to breathe through the tears.
Slowly, Mando began to rock back and forth, somewhat awkwardly, but it always worked whenever his kid had a nightmare–he didn’t want to know what the nightmares were about, but he was sure he could guess based on how clingy the kid became after he woke up–and couldn’t stop crying. He continued to mutter reassurances and at some point he unconsciously slipped into Mando’a.
They were trying to take her baby. She flinched as another kick landed against her arms, but she refused to remove them from where they were curled protectively against her stomach. She could hear them–the ensigns, lackeys no doubt trying to get into the Lieutenant Commander’s good graces–hurling abuse and vulgarities as she lay on the ground, beaten to a bloody pulp.
She tried so hard to protect her baby. But there were so many of them, too many of them. They held her down. They held her down. They cut her open. They held her down and cut her open and ripped her baby out–
Cerliah wakes with a gasp, her whole body shuddering, tears wet against her cheeks. She doesn’t recognize her surroundings, and for a moment all she can sense is that she’s being restrained, and she immediately panics, trying to break free of the hold on her.
She can barely move, and it only makes her thrash harder. It isn’t until she realizes that the hands holding her are not harsh and violent, but gentle and caring that she stops panicking enough to hear the words being spoken to her. She doesn’t recognize the language, but the tone, the sound of the voice, paired with the harshness of a vocoder, that she did recognize.
She stops moving completely, sagging against his chest, becoming aware of the pain radiating throughout her entire body. The incision Kuiil had made in her neck was throbbing, the pain rippling out in all directions, making it hard to move her head. The muscles in her arms and legs are sore, and she has even less strength than when she woke up the first time. She can hear the whimpers escaping from between her lips, but she can’t stop them, the images from her nightmare–from her memories–vivid and clear in her mind’s eye.
The Mandalorian holds her for a long time. Cerliah can’t remember the last time she’d been held like this, comforted, by someone who just… cared for her. He doesn’t try to get her to speak, doesn’t push for her to talk about her nightmares, he just… holds her.
The still silence of the room is broken by the hissing of the door sliding open. Cerliah doesn’t move, but she can feel as the Mandalorian turns his head towards the door. He doesn’t say anything, but one of his arms shifts around her, reaching down. Cerliah was about to turn and look at what he was doing when something was dropped into her lap. She looked down, blinking as she realized it was Little One, wrapped snugly in his brown robes, peering up at her. His little hands were clenched in the fabric of her dress, and he looked at her with concern in his big black eyes.
“He’s been worried about you.” The Mandalorian’s chest rumbled underneath her as he spoke. Cerliah didn’t speak, but raised one of her hands to rub at the soft skin of Little One’s ear. “He didn’t want to leave you, even while you were asleep.”
Cerliah could tell that she wanted to cry, but she had no tears left to give. She bit her lip as she looked at the little being in her lap, his innocence so similar to that of her own child. “Why are you telling me this?” Her voice was a quiet, raspy whisper, throat sore from her screams.
There was a poignant silence, and Cerliah was beginning to think that the Mandalorian wouldn’t answer her, but he finally spoke. “You care for him.” His words were slow and careful, and she waited patiently for him to finish. “If I hadn’t come for him on Markon-Vel, you would have raised him as your own.” There’s no question in his voice, but she answers him anyway.
“Yes.”
He sighs deeply, resting one of his hands against Little One’s back as he looks down at the child in her lap. “You were having a nightmare.” Again, there’s no question, but she nods regardless. “You kept crying out, asking someone to not hurt your baby.” She closes her eyes tightly, but nods again, knowing that she can’t hide from this. “Were you… Did they…” He trailed off, unsure of how to voice his concerns, but she knew.
“No, you son wasn’t harmed while he was with me.” She breathed deeply, smiling softly as Little One used his grip on her dress to pull himself further up her body, and she cradled him in her arms, grateful for his comforting presence. “And as far as I know, he wasn’t harmed before he came to me.”
“Then your nightmare–”
“I lost my son.”
Cerliah cut the Mandalorian off, and she could tell he was startled at her words. “It was a few years ago,” she began, unconsciously tightening her arms around Little One. “The Grand Moff had one of his underlings, Lieutenant Commander Karkoff, staying in the mansion for a week. He… took a liking to me.” She shuddered, her voice heavy with disgust. “The help weren’t allowed to interact with guests of the household, but he didn’t care.”
She took a deep breath before continuing, the story dredging up memories she’d much rather forget. “He accosted me one night near the end of his visit, in a hallway,” her voice was quiet, but the words seemed to ring out in the small room. “He beat me, raped me, and left me lying there. I likely would have bled out if the Matron hadn’t found me.” Her voice shook, but she didn’t stop her story. “I fell pregnant. I’d told my Mistress, and her and the Grand Moff graciously decided to let me keep the child, at least for the first few years, before they sold him off.”
The Mandalorian stayed silent, sensing that she wasn’t finished. “But when the Lieutenant Commander came back, and found out I was pregnant, he… snapped. He caused me to miscarry in my e–eighth month.” Her voice broke, her chin quivering as she tried to stop her tears. “He k–killed my son, my b–beautiful, innocent b–baby boy,” she sobbed, turning her face and burying it into the soft fabric of the Mandalorian’s cowl.
He stayed silent, allowing Cerliah to cry for the loss of her baby, but inside, he was furious. Children were revered in Mandalorian culture, raised by the entire clan. Women who fell pregnant wanted for nothing, and were aided throughout the entirety of their pregnancy, attended by some of the best medics in the galaxy. Orphans of war were taken in, raised in the coverts, given a place, taught not just how to fight, but how to live, taught trades and skills that would help them live their lives even if they left the covert. To hear that this Lieutenant Commander murdered an unborn baby, his own son no less, was despicable. He was disgusted.
He knew he was growing attached to this woman. She had somehow wormed her way into his and the kid’s lives in the short time he’d known her, and as more time passed, he found himself wondering more and more how he was supposed to let her go.
Mando’a Translation: “Hush beautiful, please. Relax, calm down, you’re safe. It’s not real, it’s a dream. Good, beautiful, just calm down.”
(It’s not exact, but that’s the gist of what Mando is saying.)
me? posting the next chapter of my mike fic? and still using this old meme format to announce that?
it's more likely than you think
only one chapter left guys!! I'm so excited to be able to actually finish a fic for once even if it's not the most popular thing in the world. it's nice to know something I've done is actually getting done.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
“I’ll wait here,” you say, sitting down on one of the wooden benches that border the wall of the waiting room. Margaret is sitting on the other end of it, looking rather flummoxed and furious and searching on her phone’s internet browser (is that what they’re called?) for photographs of Loki.
Loki, following Troels, one of the Asgardian healers, towards an examination room, looks back at you. “Or you could accompany me,” he says, which you most certainly did not expect him to propose.
“Then I will,” you agree, because you can’t think of why he would offer that if he didn’t want you to, and you follow him and the healer down the long central hallway of the longhouse, parallel doors on the right wall and the left wall. You wince as you hear somebody narrating how they got a fish hook in their posterior.
Troels opens the next door and beckons Loki and you in. “Please be seated, Lord Loki.” He gestures toward a couch, and then looks at you as he closes the door. “And that bench is for family, or friends.”
