The desert sun beats down on my armor as I scan the horizon. Beside me, Boba fidgets with his modified Mandalorian helmet, the green paint job he did himself catching the light. We're on recon, searching for signs of Separatist activity, but my mind keeps drifting back to him - the Mandalorian I met in that cantina on Coruscant.

Ben.

Just thinking his name sends a shiver down my spine despite the heat. The memory of his gloved hands on my skin, the distorted sound of his voice through that cracked vocoder, the way he touched me like I was something precious...

"Cody!" Boba's voice snaps me back to attention. He's pointing toward a cluster of buildings in the distance. "Mandalorians!"

I adjust my helmet's visor, zooming in on the figures moving among the structures. Sure enough, Mandalorian armor gleams in the sunlight. My pulse quickens - could Ben be among them?

Boba starts to unholster his blaster, but I place a hand on his shoulder. "Hold position. We're not engaging unless fired upon."

"But they're Mandalorians," he protests, like that explains everything.

"Exactly. And we don't know whose side they're on."

As we watch, a figure separates from the group and begins walking in our direction. My heart pounds in my chest as they grow closer. The distinctive red and black armor comes into focus, the helmet's T-visor reflecting the harsh sunlight.

It's him.

Ben stops several meters away, tilting his head slightly as if studying us. The desert wind stirs the dust between us, creating a haze around his imposing figure.

"Commander," he says, his voice distorted by the vocoder. "Fancy meeting you here."

My mouth goes dry. Boba shifts beside me, clearly sensing the tension between us.

"Ben," I acknowledge, keeping my tone neutral despite the turmoil inside me. "What brings you to this part of the desert?"

He takes a step closer, and I catch a glimpse of movement beneath his helmet - as if he's smiling. "Business. You?"

"Republic scouting mission," I reply, my hand hovering near my blaster out of reflex.

The Mandalorian takes another step forward, closing the distance between us. I can feel Boba stiffen beside me, but I barely notice. All my attention is focused on Ben - on the way the sunlight catches the worn edges of his armor, on the subtle tilt of his head, on the memories flooding my mind of what we did together on Coruscant.

"Alone with the boy?" Ben asks, nodding toward Boba.

"He's my responsibility," I say, my voice tighter than I intend.

Ben's helmet tilts the other way, almost playfully. "Is that all he is?"

The question hangs in the air between us, charged with unspoken meaning. I find myself remembering the way he touched me, the way he made me forget about the war, about Kenobi's death, about everything except the feel of his body against mine.

And in that moment, I realize with a start that I've missed him more than I thought possible.

Ben takes one final step forward, bringing him within arm's reach. I can see my reflection in his visor, see the conflict in my own eyes.

"You're distracted, Commander," he says softly, the static of his vocoder somehow making his voice sound even more intimate. "Something on your mind?"

I swallow hard, acutely aware of Boba watching us, of the other Mandalorians in the distance, of the weight of command pressing down on me. But none of that matters as much as the man - or whatever he is - standing in front of me.

"Just wondering," I say, my voice lower than intended, "what you're doing here."