Chapter 70 : The Proposal Answer
The marriage bracelet sits on my workbench between datapad showing financial projections and disassembled Mass Effect pistol I'm theoretically maintaining. Three days since Bo-Katan's proposal. Three days of avoiding answer while she maintains professional distance that screams hurt.
R4 hovers at my shoulder, photoreceptor dim with what might be concern if droids experienced concern. "Master has reviewed same financial data seventeen times in past hour. This is avoidance behavior."
"I'm working."
"Master is staring at numbers without processing them while ignoring marriage proposal from romantic partner. That is avoidance."
The droid is correct, which is annoying. I've been cycling through same arguments repeatedly without reaching conclusion. Arguments for acceptance pile up neatly: I care about Bo-Katan beyond strategic value—watching her wounded during siege triggered genuine fear rather than tactical concern. Marriage provides emotional stability in life that's otherwise pure chaos. Mandalorian culture values commitment I've never demonstrated, and accepting shows character growth.
Arguments against are equally compelling: marriage creates permanent bond that limits operational flexibility. Emotional attachments are vulnerabilities enemies exploit. My historical record on commitment is catastrophic—every relationship has been transactional framework where I optimize for survival and profit.
But deeper question haunts me: am I actually capable of putting someone else first? Every person in my life serves function. Rex provides clone network access. Pre Vizsla provides protection. Even Bo-Katan initially was strategic alliance with Death Watch's second-in-command who happened to be attractive.
Except she's become more than that. Somewhere between Concordia defense and asteroid exile, strategic alliance became something I don't have vocabulary for.
Eight's voice interrupts analysis: "Master is overthinking simple decision. Accept proposal for strategic benefits—marriage to Kryze family elevates status, provides political protection, strengthens Death Watch integration. Calculation is straightforward."
"Marriage isn't supposed to be strategic calculation," I mutter.
"Why not? All relationships are transactions with varying terms. Marriage is formalized transaction with explicit obligations and benefits. Master should evaluate using standard cost-benefit framework."
"That's sociopathic."
"That's pragmatic. Master's emotional attachment to Bo-Katan exists independently of whether marriage is formalized. Question is whether formalizing provides net benefit considering master's operational requirements."
R4 projects objection: "Marriage is human pair-bonding ritual with psychological and social significance beyond transaction framework. Master should accept if master loves Bo-Katan. But does master love anything besides survival optimization?"
The question cuts deeper than droid probably intends. Do I love her? I care about her wellbeing. I fear for her safety. I value her presence. But love is concept I've been systematically avoiding examining because it requires vulnerability I'm not sure I possess.
"Define love operationally," I tell R4. "Specific criteria."
"Love involves: attachment beyond utility calculation, prioritizing partner's wellbeing over personal benefit, willingness to sacrifice for partner's happiness, and genuine desire for their fulfillment independent of personal gain. If master's primary concern is Bo-Katan's wellbeing rather than her strategic value, that indicates love."
"And if concern is mixed? Both genuine care and strategic appreciation?"
"Then master is human with complicated motivations. Most relationships involve mixture. Question is whether master can commit despite uncertainty about motivations."
I pick up bracelet, examining intricate Mandalorian patterns. Bo-Katan commissioned this specifically—invested time and resources into tangible representation of feelings. She knows my capacity for commitment is questionable. She proposed anyway.
That takes courage I'm not sure I have.
The asteroid base is quiet during night cycle—most Death Watch warriors sleeping, minimal activity in corridors. I find Bo-Katan in training room at 0237 hours, working through combat forms with intensity that suggests she's also avoiding sleep.
She doesn't acknowledge my entrance, continuing lightsaber drill sequence with professional precision. But her posture shifts slightly—awareness of my presence despite not turning.
"Couldn't sleep?" I ask.
"Training helps clear mind." She completes current sequence, finally turning toward me. Helmet conceals expression but body language screams tension. "You're here for answer."
"Yes."
"Three days is long time to think about yes or no question."
"It's complicated question."
"It's simple question with complicated implications. But answer is binary." She deactivates training lightsaber, sets it aside with deliberate care. "I can handle rejection. Just want honesty."
I step forward, holding marriage bracelet between us. "Yes."
She goes completely still. "Yes?"
"I'm terrible at commitment. Will probably screw this up repeatedly. Am wanted criminal with eleven point five million credits and dozens of enemies hunting me. I've lied to you about Maul partnership and probably will need to lie about other things for operational security. I evaluate relationships through transactional framework more often than emotional one. I'm not sure I'm capable of love by conventional definition."
"That's worst proposal acceptance I've ever heard."
"But yes. Despite all that. Because you stayed during siege when running was logical. Because you proposed despite knowing exactly what kind of person I am. Because when I think about future, you're in it. That's probably love even if I can't articulate it properly."
She removes helmet slowly—vulnerability ritual that makes moment more intimate. Her expression is mixture of relief, amusement, and something deeper I can't quite identify.
"That's most honest thing you've ever said to me." She steps close, taking bracelet from my hand. "Also most romantic, which says concerning things about our relationship."
"Is that acceptance of my acceptance?"
"It's acknowledgment that you're self-aware about being terrible at this." She fastens bracelet around my wrist—traditional Mandalorian gesture signifying permanent bond. "You're mine now. Permanently. Can't run from this."
"I know. That's terrifying."
"Good. Fear means it matters." She kisses me—not gentle but intense, claiming, promising things I'm not sure either of us can deliver but want anyway.
When we separate, I produce second bracelet from jacket pocket. "Had this made yesterday. Cost eighty thousand credits and overnight work from Death Watch's smith. Figured if I was going to answer, should do it properly."
The bracelet is beskar alloy matching hers—traditional patterns I researched extensively to avoid cultural mistakes. Her expression shifts to genuine surprise.
"You had marriage bracelet commissioned while still deciding?"
"Made decision two days ago. Spent yesterday getting bracelet finished and today working up courage to actually say yes."
"That's very you—deciding logically but hesitating emotionally." But she's fastening bracelet around her wrist with hands that shake slightly. "We're married now by Mandalorian tradition. Just needs public acknowledgment."
"How public?"
"Death Watch ceremony. Small. Pre Vizsla officiates, warriors witness, then we drink and celebrate not dying recently. Simple compared to other cultures."
That evening, Death Watch gathers in converted mess hall—thirty warriors who can spare time from security patrols. Pre Vizsla stands at chamber's center wearing formal armor that's less tactical, more ceremonial. Bo-Katan and I face him while Death Watch forms semicircle around us.
"Bo-Katan Kryze," Vizsla begins with formal cadence, "and Kade Varro. You stand before Death Watch seeking recognition of marriage bond. State your commitment."
Bo-Katan speaks first: "I claim Kade Varro as husband through combat shared, exile endured, and choice made freely. Death Watch witnesses my bond."
My turn. The formal phrasing feels foreign but I manage: "I claim Bo-Katan Kryze as wife through protection given, loyalty demonstrated, and future shared. Death Watch witnesses my bond."
"Death Watch recognizes this union," Vizsla declares, activating Darksaber briefly—ceremonial gesture signifying clan approval. "You are bonded through Mandalorian tradition. May you face enemies together and die honorably when time comes."
"Cheerful wedding blessing," I mutter.
"Mandalorians don't do flowery romance," Bo-Katan whispers back. "We acknowledge probability of violent death and appreciate time before it happens."
The ceremony concludes after maybe three minutes total—Mandalorians don't waste time on elaborate rituals. Then someone produces ne'tra gal and celebration begins. Warriors approach offering congratulations that's roughly fifty percent genuine and fifty percent betting on how long marriage lasts before I do something stupid.
"Two months," one warrior named Rook bets. "He'll prioritize business over wife, she'll shoot him."
"Six months," another counters. "He's smarter than average. Takes longer to screw up that badly."
Bo-Katan laughs, completely comfortable with brutal honesty. "I'm betting on one year before major crisis. But we'll survive it."
"Confident," I observe.
"Realistic. You're disaster waiting to happen. But you're my disaster now."
Pre Vizsla approaches with rare smile visible beneath helmet. "You've earned this, Varro. Few outsiders ever marry into Mandalore's clans. Fewer still marry Kryze family—one of our oldest lineages."
"I'm honored. Also terrified."
"That's appropriate response. Marriage is warfare against loneliness. Choose good partner, you win. Choose poorly, you die inside while staying alive outside." He raises drink. "To Bo-Katan and Kade—may their warfare be successful."
The celebration continues into early morning. Warriors share stories about marriages that succeeded despite impossible odds, failed despite perfect circumstances, and everything between. Mandalorian culture is pragmatic about relationships—acknowledge difficulty while celebrating those who commit anyway.
Later, in our shared quarters, Bo-Katan removes armor piece by piece while I process that I'm actually married. Legal, cultural, committed marriage to woman from warrior culture I barely understood ten months ago.
"Regret it yet?" she asks.
"Ask me in a year."
"Fair. For what it's worth..." She pauses, searching for words. "You're worst Mandalorian I've ever met. Can't fight, hate combat, run from danger reflexively. Not qualities we typically admire."
"This is your post-wedding romantic declaration?"
"I'm getting there. You're terrible at being Mandalorian. But you stayed anyway. Chose us over easier options. Committed despite being incapable of commitment by nature. That's courage different from battlefield bravery but equally valid."
"So you married me despite me being terrible at everything your culture values?"
"I married you because you try anyway. That's love in Mandalorian terms—staying despite insurmountable differences." She pulls me close. "You're mine. I'm yours. Everything else is details we'll figure out or die trying."
R4 projects quiet assessment from corner: "Master achieved emotional milestone. Character growth confirmed through acceptance of permanent commitment despite operational complications."
Eight's response is predictably pragmatic: "Master has created tactical vulnerability through emotional attachment. Marriage provides political benefits but also creates hostage situation if enemies target spouse. Not optimal but master's choice is acknowledged."
"Eight," I tell the AI, "seriously, shut up."
"Affirmative. Master's emotional state indicates desire for positive reinforcement rather than tactical analysis. This unit will cease commentary."
First time I've chosen relationship validation over optimization discussion. Bo-Katan notices my smile.
"What's funny?"
"Just told my AI to stop analyzing marriage as tactical vulnerability. Apparently I'm capable of prioritizing emotional needs over strategic assessment occasionally."
"Occasionally is sufficient. Don't need perfect husband—just honest one who tries." She kisses me again, softer than earlier. "Welcome to marriage, Kade Varro. Now we face galaxy's threats together instead of separately."
"Together is terrifying concept."
"Together is only way Mandalorians survive. Welcome to the culture."
The wedding night is surprisingly normal—no dramatic revelations, no philosophical breakthroughs. Just two people who chose commitment despite logical objections, lying together in asteroid base while galaxy hunts them.
But normal feels revolutionary after ten months of systematically avoiding permanence.
Maybe there's hope for me yet. Maybe choosing vulnerability despite fear is itself form of courage. Maybe I'm capable of growth beyond pure survival optimization.
Or maybe I'm rationalizing emotional decision using logical framework because that's only language I speak comfortably.
Either way, I'm married now. Permanently. To woman who knows exactly what kind of disaster I am and chose me anyway.
Forward. But not alone anymore.
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