#theron absolutely does not deserve to be hurt for what he did but he *does* deserve reprimand for trying to murder his boss *and* his friend

[crqstalite]

SHADOW OF THE SITH, Interlude.

against my better judgement, this became a 7k angst fest for both parties involved. a lot of stuff is vague regarding Tri and Theron because I am currently underage and I’m not actually sure whether I’m allowed to write anything explicit. For now, it remains as vague as possible to allude to what the two got up to. (legal side of tumblr bail me out) -

TRI'AMA._THE_FURY.

"You sure he's coming?" Vette asks incredulously, arms crossed as Tri'ama zips a different armor set on. More relaxed and less plating than what she'd worn on her trip through Rishi, and though her Twi'lek companion didn't have natural eyebrows, she raises them anyways at the change of clothes, "I mean you did invite a secret agent from the other faction to your ship, with more than a few personal secrets aboard. Might want to rethink that part."

"He'll come." Tri'ama answers, reassuredly squeezing her shoulder as Vette sighs. It's not even particularily late, they're still parked just outside of Raider's Cove, as they'd finally touched down after Marr and Satele left. But, they were supposed to be off to Vaiken ages ago for a restock, and even she's getting a little nervous Theron may have cancelled on her, "And don't be so quick to distrust him."

Vette grumbles something about Balmorra that stings, and she disappears back into the Fury.

They also didn't have much time to spare either. The Barsen'thor had taken off nearly three hours prior with her two companions (lovers?) in tow. The flight to Yavin's fourth moon was no simple trip and probably would take her own crew a few days to get there. Jakarro would meet them on Nar Shaddaa, and Theron would join him for that half of the trip until they arrived. It had taken a bit of convincing, but it would be two and a half days with the SIS agent and her crew before they arrived on the Smuggler's Moon.

Her hair was still damp from the rushed shower she'd taken, plastered on her forehead wasn't exactly how she wanted to be presented, but towel drying it always seemed to make it worse. Vette was lucky, she had no hair to primp or have ruined by finnicky freshers. But it wasn't as if it really mattered, did it? Theron had already seen her at her worst, bloodied and bruised to get him from Revan's clutches, a few curls wouldn't change his image of her.

She hoped.

Why in the blazes did he make her so damn nervous? She hadn't even cared about...Quinn seeing her in a state of undress days after they'd met, but Theron even seeing a hair out of place puts a fear in her she can't quench. Is she afraid of what the next two days will bring, yes. There's a bunk cleaned out for Theron (Pierce wouldn't tell her which one, she has a fear that he'd given him Quinn's), and the other two are playing it by ear. They've made arrangements for Jaesa to also be picked up on Nar Shaddaa (she'd been out for days prior, and they figured giving her more time would gain her approval) when they drop Theron off, and there's nothing that can go wrong.

Tri'ama hopes. She happens to do a lot of that these days.

Vette hasn't even formally met Theron, in fact. She's acting on just little tidbits of information from her. The Twi'lek has been rather protective over her lately, and has made a few scathing remarks about the SIS agent in her free time, mostly circling around the botched date in the cantina few weeks ago that she tries to forget. Tri'ama can't blame her, her friend is only worried about her getting hurt again. In her own way, making fun of the man every time his name crosses her lips. It's rather frustrating if she's being honest, but changing her opinion won't be easy. Pierce hadn't been so hard to convince of it being a good decision, and had even rewarded her with a friendly, if not also hesitant, kiss on the temple for her so-called 'moving on'. He was shocked she didn't hit him for it, but it felt like the end of an era for the two that she reciprocated with a hug. Pierce had never belonged to her (and at risk of seeming rude, she never should've wanted him to either), but she hoped whoever came next took good care of him. He deserved that much after staying with her through it all.

Tri'ama spends a bit more time waiting, pacing back and forth in front of the Fury, before resigning to sit on the extended entrance platform and wait a little less than patiently as she waits for her vision to stop swimming in front of her (the Barsen'thor's healing had been welcome, but some injuries hadn't been healed and stupidly she'd pushed off Pierce's healing in favor of getting a shower and dressed. She regrets it already as her body aches everywhere). She considers calling him, asking him where he is and when they can take off, but she's already forced herself on him more than once in the last week. Doing it again wouldn't be in her favor, and she already feels like she's on shaky ground with him anyways. She chuckles to herself, she's Sith, at one point she was having everyone else bow to her. Screw their schedules, she needed to waited on hand and foot because stars forbid she do anything for herself.

It's commonplace in the Empire among her 'kind', but looking back on it, it just seems so out of place. Not that she was going to go full Jedi and start trying to meditate (she'd tried, never again) on her previous actions, but she's afraid Theron is trying to bring her over to the light. Unintentionally, or otherwise. She was actually going to wait for him instead of brushing off his late arrival and leaving on her own. Even if it's hot and the only presentable clothes she didn't wear into battle were black and she's overheating.

She stands a little too quickly, head spinning when she sees the all too familiar red jacket flash by her vision that she trips just a bit, nearly having to push herself up with the Force when Theron dashes over and catches her mid-fall. He readjusts his own bag, a smug smirk on his face, "Does this count as a rescue?" he asks, hazel eyes twinkling in the midday sun. Infuriatingly.

"Maybe." She rights herself, trying not to roll her eyes as she dusts her clothes off (that hurts still, a headache pounding at her temples). Her ankle stings for that very moment, but it can be ignored in light of the fact that the man who'd taken over her dreams for days was finally here. He hadn't changed from what he was wearing earlier, obviously, and runs a hand through his hair. For a moment, she's nervous about whether she's gotten too dressed up in the black armor with a billowing half skirt and red leggings, hastily pulled on. Tri'ama was a lot of things, but desperate wasn't one of them. He's looking at her, up and down before pulling her into a quick but rather rough kiss, as if it's been days instead of a few hours since they saw each other last. He makes to pull away before she takes a fistful of his shirt and pulls him back. He softens the kiss this time, and she's nearly begging for time to stop so that she can just have this. Not Revan, not the Emperor's hand. Just her and Theron, together. Stars, what she would've given to be raised Jedi, or even just in the Republic to see him more often. Power be damned, who needed a Dark council seat when you had him?

Stars, she has changed.

He makes to wrap an arm around her waist, and it's beginning to creep further down bellow her belt before they both hear someone clearing their throat very loudly at the top of the steps of the Fury. They pull away from each other so quickly she almost gets whiplash trying to turn around to find who had so rudely interrupted her fantasy. Her face flushes once she realizes it's only Vette, her own eyes averted from the two for the time being, "Pierce has the ship fired up. Ready to leave, or do you need more time with Spy Boy?"

"I'm coming, Vette." She tries not to be frustrated with the Twi'lek's intrusion, she had only come to let her know. Besides, she figures this will be the one and only time anyone catches them outside of closed doors anyways. Might as well be Vette instead of someone like Satele mid Yavin excursion.

"That's what she said." Vette whispers just loud for Tri'ama to hear, which only manages to make her want to playfully (or not so playfully) slap the girl more, "Hurry it up, we don't have all day!"

"So that's Vette." Theron snaps her out of her thoughts, once Vette has gone back inside the Fury, "Somehow, just like how I imagined her."

"You'll come to love her antics, just not at this very moment." Tri'ama answers, hands on her hips as she tries not to meet his gaze, but she smiles anyways, "What took you so long coming over here anyways?"

"Couple of wild jungle beasts is all. Slowed me down, but I'm good to go if you are." He answers. He doesn't look too shaken up, or roughed up for that matter other than his matted hair, and she leads him up the stairs, punching in the code as the door slides open. He's more curious about the ship at first, eyes turned upwards before following her inside the dim lit ship. He doesn't see Broonmark behind him in the hall at first, before he nearly jumps as he makes sense of the four eyes that are all pinned on him. Theron turns to her in question, fear in his force signature and in his dilated pupils, "Friend of yours?"

"Of course. Broonmark, I told you to make yourself appear more friendly." She says sternly to the Talz. Given, he had no reason to listen to her, but it had been a friendly request rather than a demand, "And to not scare Theron when he arrived."

"We tried to. Little spy man not ready." Broonmark roars (is there a touch of sarcasm in there? Tri'ama's curious, he'd never used it before), and she shakes her head in good-natured disapproval. Hopefully, Broonmark would keep more to himself, no need to have Theron absolutely terrified while he stayed on the Fury. The Talz wouldn't have much reason to stalk him either as he was an ally for the time being, but she'd have a talk with him later.

Vette has returned, Pierce in tow. The latter had changed out of his armor into a black tunic and trousers, and she figures it's the least threatening the man is ever going to be out of his plated armor, "If we're doing introductions, I might as well start. Name's Vette." The Twi'lek starts, crossing her arms. Her blue eyes are judgemental as she takes the agent in, but she's curious. A good sign she hadn't put him off completely just yet, even with the less than respectful introduction, "Pilot and associate to the Emperor's Wrath."

"Lieutenant Pierce. Imperial Black Ops." Pierce answers clippedly, in a similar stance to his smaller crew member. He'd been so open to meeting Theron before, but his force signature cries out in apprehension. She wonders why initially, before realizing Vette must've told him about she'd caught them outside. Not to mention, as close as she is with Pierce and interacting with him as often as she does, his personality changes drastically around strangers.

"And this Talz is Broonmark." Tri'ama says, motioning to the Talz as he comes to stand with the others, towering over even Pierce, "You'll meet my apprentice when we land on Nar Shaddaa, Jaesa Willsaam. You may like her, you may not."

"Noted." Theron says. He's uncomfortable, as he's trying to hide through his closed off mind. But his anxious stance is clear, "Theron Shan. Ex-SIS." he hesitates before adding, "For the moment."

Vette grins in a way Tri'ama doesn't like, "Oh please. No need for any other introductions, we already know all about you, Shan." A similar smirk crosses over Pierce's face, Theron tightening his grip on his bag. Her face flushes, and now she has no excuse for why other than her embarassment. Vette was overexaggerating, as she often did, but she had confided in the two about the aforementioned agent more than once. Theron's eyes flicker to hers, and she puts her hands on her hips.

"Don't torture the poor man, he only just got here." Tri'ama says as sternly as possible as Vette pouts playfully, sticking her tongue out, "Vette..."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll play nice with Theron. Can we get going now?" She asks, motioning towards the cockpit. Vette is partially only excited because she'd allowed her to pilot the Fury to Nar Shaddaa. It hadn't been the first time she'd ever piloted, but it had been the first time since she'd piloted in the captain's chair. Being held up by Theron probably didn't put him very high on her list of likeable people at that very moment.

"Of course. I'll get Theron settled in. Has Toovee made lunch yet?" Tri'ama questions as Vette hurries off without answering her question. The droid is nowhere to be seen, and Broonmark wanders off into the bowels of the ship with less than even a nod.

"Droid's been tinkerin' in the kitchen all afternoon, m'lord. Figure because you told it we'd have guests it's makin' somethin' nice." He smiles bitterly, "Not that it's a bad thing, of course."

"I figure not. Poor Toovee is going to short circuit himself trying to make a meal. I haven't updated his drivers in a while either." Tri'ama says sheepishly, hoping her ship droid wouldn't implode while Theron was onboard, "Either way Ash, you're dismissed. I'll see you at dinner?"

He nods in a sort of halfbow before following Vette into the cockpit. Now left alone, she beckons Theron to follow her into the opposite side of the Fury, where the crew quarters lie empty. Thankfully, the two that shared the room for the time being had cleaned as requested. Pierce's armor was nowhere to be found (surely in the cargo bay), and Vette had left her blasters on her bunk. Jaesa's was free of wrinkles, though she'd left the holdout blaster Pierce had purchased for her (even though the three of them had requested the fallen Jedi take it). The only one free and not stripped of it's sheets was, and she inwardly groans, Quinn's empty bunk. Tri'ama wishes that she had gone all that time never knowing and just inviting the Captain into her quarters at night instead of finding him at every location she could. She raises her eyes to the agent instead, trying to slow her breath and quiet the memories of dark nights prior to now, "This one--" She says, trying to keep her eyes from it, "Is yours. Do let me know if Pierce and Vette bother you too much at night, you can-" She cuts herself off, letting him step past her into the room and look around while he waits for her to continue. When she doesn't, he throws a curious look over his shoulder.

"I can...?" Theron trails off, mocking her as he sits down on the bunk with his bag. Tri'ama had just barely caught herself from offering her own bed to him as she used to do with Quinn, and a shiver runs up her spine as she wonders what the fast fingers on a datapad can do to her bare skin. She shakes the thought from her mind, but stores it away for later use (later use, the hell was she on right now?), "Well, Pierce and Vette seem nice, you talk about me with them?"

There's sarcasm hiding beneath the remark as the door closes behind her, as she comes to stand in front of him with her arms crossed, "They're typically kinder." she pauses,  "And no, not as they allude to."

"Is there a reason they weren't to me?" He asks, surprising her as he pulls her in closer to him fast enough that she has to regain her footing, hands resting on his shoulders for balance. There's a certain sparkle of lust in his eyes as he quizzes her, arms around her waist. She indulges him after a teasing moment, leaning down to kiss him before pulling herself away because she knows where this is going to lead if she stays much longer, a disgruntled noise made by Theron in disapproval.

"As much as I'd love to spend the entire day with you, Theron, I have a droid to fix and a ship to run." There's a hidden 'I also don't want to make out with you on my ex-husband's bunk' beneath that. Just being in here still makes her uncomfortable and indulging Theron further in here especially is a challenge in itself. As much as she hates it, she does need to begin distancing herself from him at some point. Maybe it won't hurt so much when they inevitably have to split after their mission to Yavin is over.

A ringing holocom stops her before she leaves and before he can say anything to contradict her. Meeting Theron's hazel eyes while he lays back on the bunk, she makes to answer it as he fills the little blue holo before she can check who had sent it to her.

"You may not see this, my lord. But I was told you'd be arriving on Nar Shaddaa in a few days by your apprentice when we met on Dromound Kaas. I am off your extended leave by three days, and will be returning alongside Jaesa when you arrive." He bows politely, and she can now see this was recorded instead of directly calling her because of the lack of reaction of seeing her, "I will see you soon, my lord."

Even through the holo, it feels like his piercing blue eyes are most literally piercing through her soul. Yavin IV was supposed to be focused on Revan and inadvertently teasing Theron. Quinn wasn't due to be back until after Yavin, but he must've met Jaesa along the way, and Jaesa would've unwillingly told him where she was going if he asked her. Given, Tri'ama had never distinctly told him what he was to do after the leave was over, but returning to her service wasn't supposed to be in the cards for him. He was supposed to stay gone, even him staying on Dromound Kaas was better than waking up to him working in the cockpit every morning. Those lingering gazes for someone who wasn't his anymore, the shadows he cast in the dimlit Fury still haunted her.

"Crewmember?" Theron asks, as she slips her holocom back into her pocket, hiding her clenched fists inside before pulling them back out, trembling. He's probably able to tell she's upset, but she puts on a diluted smile anyways and ignores the curious look in his eyes.

"Captain Malavai Quinn." She swallows over a lump in her throat, a ball of anxiety winding itself up in her stomach as she pronounces the name with mild distaste, "Pilot and our medic."

He raises an eyebrow, "He hasn't been back in a while?" He quizzically asks, gesturing to the stripped bunk. All Tri'ama can do to keep from bolting out the room and hiding in her own is nod. The man thinks to himself as she moves to leave, "Wasn't he on Manaan with you?"

"That's the one." She tries to says jokingly, her back turned to him. Tri'ama doesn't want to explain much further than just that, and leave the explanation there in case she makes Theron feel threatened by him. What was there to be threatened by? Quinn was a lowly captain and Theron would be out of here in a few days. Her ex-husband, maybe, would get pushy and ask Vette or Pierce about it. Vette would surely answer about Theron (sarcastically and pointedly), and then she'd have Quinn quizzically asking her about the relation between the two. Quinn had never harassed her before their divorce, but she wasn't putting it past him now. He'd become rather sarcastic and cold when he'd found out about her and Pierce, and to say the least, she's more than concerned about the idea of what he would do now about an SIS agent.

Detour. Detour to Dromound Kaas after Theron was dropped off to formally get rid of him. She has to, or she'll go mad.

She leaves the crew quarters just as the agent moves to talk to her. Tri'ama has to make a decision soon, and whether or not this was worth continuing in the next few months. She might hurt him, but he's had other failed affairs before, he'll get over it, she thinks bitterly, people have gotten over me for less. Theron's no different.

She hopes.

-

THERON._THE_FURY.

Theron Shan doesn't get attached easily. Mistakes in the past hammered that home quick enough (a certain Cathar specifically), and still he stands looking at where she'd just been standing longingly as if, if he stares long enough she'll come back. The blonde Sith had taken over his thoughts in a way that shouldn't have been so distracting. He figured in the beginning she was only teasing and didn't actually think all that highly of him, as he'd learned from his dealings with Sith previously. The teasing manner she'd flirted with him on Manaan, the lingering touches after their mission on Rakata Prime. Lana had even had half a mind to tell him that the Wrath did talk about him in a complimentary manner. He'd laughed it off and they'd gone their separate ways after that.

But for some reason the two years in between last seeing her and now, Tri'ama has been unforgivingly on his mind. Caught himself about thinking how she spun through the air with her double sabers, the way her (now he knew they were grey when she wasn't pissed off at the entire galaxy) amber eyes glowed as she fought. He'd be lying if he said she wasn't a beautiful force of nature to be reckoned with, and for once he was glad a Sith was on his side and not against him.

Theron had never seen her in an environment outside of fighting before, but he was beginning to see her without her respirator more and more often. Those encounters tended to end up with a small kiss here or there, and he was taking notice of the scars that adorned her face. They weren't immediately obvious, but upon closer inspection, he could see there was a faded scar above her eyebrow, another on the corner of her left lip. One on her neck was a fading blue bruise, another just under her chin. It serves as a reminder that he's probably on egg shells with the woman, and that she is most literally one of the most dangerous people he knows. How he'd ended up with the Emperor's Wrath taking a less than professional interest in him, he wasn't sure. She'd even gotten redressed before he'd arrived, the half armor and battle boots traded in for what felt like a silky material against his fingertips, a laced front with a half skirt and eye-catching red leggings. It was sleeveless and a high collar, something that Theron wouldn't have imagined she'd ever wear. Not that it wasn't stunning on her, but the Wrath seemed more like a rough and tumble kind of woman than someone who'd dress up like she was attending a gala.

Left alone in the crew quarters now and taking in his surrounding, he's curious about this Malavai Quinn person. Maybe it's not his business, but the way Tri'ama's skin had paled at that holorecording and hurriedly left without even saying goodbye makes him think there's more to the story than he's been privy to. Given he never paid much attention to her company on Manaan, but he wonders if there was something he could've done. Not that he would've gotten involved in something personal between the two (it literally couldn't have been any further from being his business), and Tri'ama wasn't obligated to share either. He doesn't push this issue. People he'd been with before tended not to want to share with their one-night stand very calmly.

The next two days are rather uneventful, but welcome. He learns the Twi'lek (Vette) is an escape artist from her past (she doesn't elaborate, and Theron's not sure if he wants to know), and also one of Tri'ama's confidants alongside Lieutenant Pierce. At first he's not sure what to make of the Imperial soldier (his own upbringing effectively making him wary of anyone flying the Empire's flag), but the gruff man is surprisingly not plotting his downfall. How easily she relaxes and jokes around her current two companions is a nice change from the wound up woman he'd met on Rishi. Whatever emotional toll had happened with the Captain is gone from her, or as far as he can see. Under the guise of needing to fix things here and there in the cargo bay, near the hyperdrive, stars anywhere that Tri'ama could get him without garnering the attention of her companions he swears that these are the best two and a half days he's ever had with a woman. She's gentle, sometimes, luring him in with those surprisingly innocent grey eyes of hers and soft kisses, others he's careful to leave the collar up on his jacket. The skin bruised where she'd broken it rather easily, and for some reason she liked to run a finger over them she thought he didn't know she was there. It's hot, if he's being honest.

Tri'ama was different than some other women though, he'd get tantalizingly close to having his fingers run over any bare skin he could find, one hand sliding up her shirt before she chuckled darkly and forced his hand back out, a smug smirk on her face while she leans in to kiss him, loosely straddling him. Theron's sure she has her reasons for doing so, but he'd be lying if he said she wasn't frustrating in that regard. How close she is, how close she stays is not going to be easy to forget after Yavin. The way she caresses his face in her callused hands, how her accent becomes so pronounced when she whispers his name in the darkness of the cargo bay, the taste of something sweet on her lips. It's intoxicating, and he's not sure any woman in the galaxy has the right be this beautiful and forbidden.

The darkness of the Fury is enough to remind him that he isn't exactly among friends. (though he doesn't have the same reaction to the Talz twice, the fluffy murderer still sends a shiver down his spine, it didn't help Tri'ama told him he had acquired a stealth generator at some point too) There's no way that this is going to last, as much as he wants it to. If her rampage through Rishi didn't prove it, she's pure Sith. Not the pureblood kind, but she also has a certain aura about her. She had clashed hard with the Barsen'thor and had proven she could be ruthless and relentless no matter the circumstances. He had yet to see if she was an Imperial loyalist or just someone proficient with the dark side that ended up on that side of war. Her actions weren't easy to discern either, whether she was neutral or sadistic beneath her actions for justice.

Theron's curious about her. Her file had landed on his desk straight after their Manaan excursion by request of some higher up in the SIS, and it wasn't extremely informative (that was the point apparently, they thought he could fill more in for them). No one in the SIS was sure of a lot of things because of her reclusive manner on the battlefield, only that most turned up dead or missing after a violent meeting with her. She was a one women wrecking crew and had broke frontlines across the galaxy, winning quite a few battles for her faction. Tri'ama was a Darth, 23, and her file had read Amarillis-Quinn as her surname.

Now really thinking about it, he lies awake on the night of the second day wondering whether it had anything to do with the Captain. To say he was nosy was one thing, but he also wonders if that's what had her so nervous the first day, breathing hard and near tears. A passing thought is that she's still married to him and has taken Theron as a...mistress of sorts. He feels it wouldn't be outside what he knows Sith can do and will get away with, but he has a lot of questions he'd rather get answered before they land and he lets it seep into his work on Yavin. Hell, she's going to be on his mind the whole time anyways, might as well know where he stands now.

He slips out of the crew quarters, only Vette rolling over in her sleep being the evidence he'd left. The door soundlessly closes behind him, and luckily he finds Tri'ama laying against the lounge couches, holocom playing a soft song and datapad in her hands. She doesn't see him at first, enamored with whatever she's working on (he's still learning about their culture, but he was surprised Tri'ama did any of her own work, unlike others he'd met), but a mischeveous smile crosses her face as she puts it down, her eyes a blazing amber, lust clouding them over but some sadness beneath the red corneas, "What has you up at this time of night, Theron? Not me, I hope." she purrs.

"And if it is?" He asks, sliding in next to her. She leans against him, though a shaky sigh escapes her. From the sound alone and the muffled sniffle against her nightshirt, he doesn't have to be a genius to deduce she's not doing so well right now. Whatever tears there were she's already dried from her face as she turns to look at him. He doesn't go looking for evidence that she'd been upset or, but she's oddly aggressive today when she turns to kiss him. One hand in his hair, the other lying on his shoulder as she most literally smashes her lips on his with little regard for the person beneath her. At first he doesn't see anything unusual about it. It seemed that was just how Tri'ama was, aggressively taking what she wanted (and for the moment, that was Theron), until the teasing that often got his hands shoved away from goes unpunished. It's an oddity in itself, and though this is technically what he's been waiting for, but she isn't composed the way she is typically. As much she can nip at his bottom lip and make him want more than she's giving, her racing heart beneath his finger tips is concerning as he puts a hand on her bare waist.

His eyes linger to the game table turned workspace. She's beginning to tell he's distracted, and she gives him a pointed look, "You're distracted."

"A little." He answers, and she frowns but pulls herself off from his lap where she'd been seated previously. The best way to phrase this was outright, she'd made it clear she didn't like it when people beat around the bush with certain issues, but she was already disraught and making it worse probably wouldn't bode well for him. His eyes flicker to her datapad for a moment, and then a glinting gold ring next to it.

All prepared for Quinn's return, he supposes.

His eyes linger too long, he thinks, because Tri'ama won't meet his eyes anymore, "Tri'ama, are you married?"

Shock is the first to go through her facial expressions, before she glances at the ring and her eyes harden and glow a darker gold. Well Theron Shan, you screwed up the most dangerous romances you've ever been in. Close your eyes and it'll all be over soon.

He braces for something, anything. A slap to the face, a force choking, shouting maybe, but all she does is shut off the datapad with defeat written all over her face. She's angry, but not with him. Tri'ama twiddles the ring in between her fingers, before using the Force to levitate it above her palm. Theron's sure her mind is running like a freight train, but he doesn't question her. It takes a while, she considers the ring as it floats, and she lays back into him. Theron chastises himself for a moment, he wasn't supposed to get involved in her personal life that much, but here he was at an ungodly hour of the morning asking about her marital status, "Just, forget I asked."

"No. The easy answer is no. Legally, it's complicated." Tri'ama answers quietly, the anger flowing out of her as the bottomless silver eyes return, "I was married to Quinn shortly before I met you. I wished to be divorced, but I was too tied up in other matters to really pay any attention to the process. It was denied for some odd reason. I sent him away for as long as I could, but he's due back tomorrow."

"And you don't know what to do with him." Theron finishes. She makes a noise in confirmation.

"I apologize for keeping you in the dark about this. I didn't think he'd return so abruptly and--" she gestures to him as she runs a hand through her hair, "I don't know what we are, Theron. If I chose to be...I don't know, your girlfriend in the long run, it wouldn't end well for either of us. You'd probably lose your job, I'd be scorned and lose my seat. I can't say I don't have feelings for you, but maybe we should slow down and brace ourselves for Yavin."

"What-what is that supposed to mean?" He's thought of this already, but the way she chokes up over girlfriend isn't reassuring, "I knew we weren't dating, but what does this mean?"

Tri'ama makes to leave, but not before pressing a lingering kiss to his lips, "It means I think this should end before we make it harder on ourselves to leave."

He isn't even thinking rationally at this very moment, holding one of her hands in his, "Tri'ama wait. Is this because the Captain is coming back tomorrow? I can leave earlier if that's the case."

Her eyes are misted over with unshed tears as she grips the ring in her fist, "Maybe, maybe not. Theron, there's no other connection other than that we find each other attractive. I barely know anything about you, I couldn't get in contact with you for two years. Once Yavin is finished, I'll never see you again. All this--" she's getting frustrated, maybe with herself or maybe with the situation, "I wish I could have longterm. But, the last time I got attached too quickly I was married to a traitor for years. Make this easy on yourself, and enjoy the rest of the night."

They've trailed to her quarters, and she steps inside, "Tri'ama."

"Theron." She hesitates, possibly considering her previous statement before kissing him hard. He can't even breathe, and then it's over and the door closes behind her. He doesn't even know why he's upset, she's right. In every single way she's right. He just hadn't wanted to consider it, say it out loud and admit it, and her emotions are amplified by her ex-husband's return the day after. There's a loud crash behind the door, and he winces before heading back to the crew quarters. Both companions are still in a blissful sleep, but Theron can't get a wink of it the rest of the night. He eventually pulls out his datapad and starts working instead. Keeping busy would keep his mind off of her.

When Vette and Pierce begin to stir a few hours later, he finds he hasn't slept.

-

TRI'AMA._NAR_SHADDAA.

"Jaesa. You're looking well." Tri'ama is trying to distract herself from the fiasco that had been the night prior. Theron is still looking like someone kicked his akk puppy, and she's steeling herself into being a Darth again. Back in her more Imperial styled armor than what she had been in the last few days, it feels...off. Her respirator has been snapped back into place, and thankfully it makes her feel safer instead of constricted, "Welcome back to the Fury, apprentice."

"It is good to be back." Jaesa deadpans as she bows respectfully, "The missions went well."

"I'm sure they did, with you at the head. Good work." She praises the young woman. Jaesa has the inkling of a smile on her face, but quickly drops the smile when they both hear boots on the ground and Vette sucks in an apprehensive breath, "The Captain managed to get your schedule from me. I apologize."

"It isn't your fault, Jaesa. I blame you for nothing." Tri'ama stands up straighter, facing Quinn for the first time in nearly four years. She's trembling, but hides her hands behind her back, "Captain."

"My lord." He bows, a bag by his feet. She keeps her eyes trained on him, as if that will soothe her anxiety. It doesn't, her breath only quickening as his eyes land on her's. One of the first thing she noticed about him was his eyes, how they were so similar to her own.

Her neck is covered, her hands are covered. No skin can be seen except for her face, and even that is hidden beneath a cowl. He can't hurt her, "I am grateful you've brought me back into your service."

"Of course, Captain." Detour, detour, detour. She hopes the divorce papers went through and so did the reassignment. To Darth Aghdani specifically, hopefully the pureblood wouldn't call her in a fit of rage wondering why the man was annoying her. If she's lucky, she'll get him killed on a backwater planet somewhere, or stab him outright for his uptight behavior. If she's not so lucky, she'll take a liking to him and the cycle will start again, "Welcome back."

All Tri'ama wants is him gone. If things work out, Pierce will take him back to Dromound Kaas under false pretenses and Vette will join her on Yavin. Then, smooth sailing from there. Out of sight, out of mind.

Two days.

It will only be two days. She can do this.

Can she?

You hurt Theron because of this, one annoying thought says, He probably hates you now.

"Darth Amarillis." Theron's clipped voice startles her out of her thoughts he steps out of the Fury. There's a sad aura about him, one of melancholy and possibly longing. However that's as much as she gets because he's closed himself off again. He looks more tired than he did the night before, and as much as she wants to run up and hug him, she stays firmly planted as he comes up to her, "I'll be taking my leave."

"I will see you again on Yavin, Agent Shan." Theron's name nearly slips out before she corrects herself. He'd never called her Darth Amarillis before, he'd always referred to her as simply 'the Wrath', and most recently her first name. But if he wants to play professional SIS agent and act like they aren't friendly (Tri'ama's burned that bridge and she didn't even explain herself fully to him, instead throwing a crate across her room in anger and sadness. Her room's a mess right now and she has no intention of cleaning it), she can do that too, "Safe travels, agent."

He doesn't even respond to her farewell, leaving the hangar and taking the lift down at a brisk pace. Quinn raises an eyebrow as he leaves in a perfect Imperial accent that she's come to hate coming from him, "If I may ask, a friend of yours, my lord?"

"An ally in our fight with the Revanites, yes." She responds, watching Theron leave. Hopefully, her face doesn't betray her emotions, "You and Jaesa can re-organize yourselves on the Fury, I'm sure Toovee will be ecstatic to see you again."

"Of course, my lord." He and Jaesa head inside (the latter seems emotionless about it, but is radiating annoyance in her force signature), and Vette narrows her eyes at the Imperial Captain's retreating form before coming closer to her.

"You could've just refused that jerk back onto your crew, Tri'ama." Vette says, visibly frustrated as she throws up her hands in the air, "I don't want to deal with him for however long you're going to drag this out for." Pierce nods, a grunt of agreement from him, "We should've just taken Theron in instead." she adds, "Least he had a sense of humor".

"I'm sorry Vette. I would make him go if I could." She can feel the tears welling up in her eyes and her voice shakes as she apologizes, but hopes the cowl shadows enough of her face so that the two remaining companions can't see them, "He'll be out of our hair soon. But for now, I'll have to put my prejudices behind me and get to Yavin before people question where I am and begin the fight against Revan, regardless of my personal opinions."

Vette and Pierce are silent for a moment, before Vette hugs her outright and Pierce puts a comforting hand on her shoulder, "We're here for you, and I know Jaesa would be down her too if she could be."

For once, Tri'ama hugs back tighter than she ever has. It hurts, all she wants is to run away to the Outer Rim, blazes anywhere else but here and show Theron just how much she appreciates him away from all the stereotypes and racism and prejudice that the Empire and Republic have for each other. Be away from Quinn, just take Jaesa, Pierce, Vette and Broonmark with them. Still, she's not sure she ever wants commitment again, the ring heavy in her pocket, but she wants just one more night with the SIS agent. One more night to explain everything, one more night to press her body against his, feel his warm and nimble fingers against her again.

And now he's gone.

-

THERON._JAKARRO'S_SHIP.

"Have fun with your Sith friend?" Jakarro asks as Theron boards the freighter ship with an ugly groan at the question, "You were eager to be with her. Hope you had fun."

"Don't push the questions, Jakarro." He nearly growls at the Wookie in frustration. Jakarro doesn't press for more answers as Theron stalks down the hall to the crew quarters. They were empty, as always, and it's enough that he sinks onto one of the bunks. He's nearly tearing his hair out in anger. The blonde Sith had basically told him she didn't want him anymore. He has half a mind to think she lied to him and really is still married to Quinn. If she only wanted him as a plaything, he's rather offended.

But it's not like he didn't go into this thinking it'd be a one night stand and nothing more. Why did he still think of her like she was his then?

Because you're infatuated with her, you just don't want to admit it in fear of committing to a Sith lord, he thinks. Stars, what would his father think if he had taken her as his--girlfriend no less?

Does he even care what he thinks?

He spends the rest of the trip to Yavin busying himself with work to get her dismissal off his mind. According to the reports, the Imperials were bringing in a certain Darth Nox alongside the Wrath, and the Barsen'thor would return with her own crew in tow. All force users. Nox wasn't much better than the Wrath in terms of her record with the Republic, but at least she could foot the bill with some serious damage if push came to shove and her reputation within the Empire respectively would help with the coalition. It would've been nice to have another Jedi, but he can't complain.

He's going to miss her, but enough work and some alcohol should be just would the doctor ordered to keep his longing for the Sith under wraps. Yavin would be one of the biggest battles he'd faced in years, and he didn't intend to fail.

He hopes.

#swtor #star wars the old repubic #star wars #theron shan #lt. pierce swtor #vette #mellena shan #mellena cadera #mellena wryen #darth tri'ama amarillis-quinn #darth amarillis-quinn #tri'ama amarillis-quinn #tri'ama shan #female sith warrior/theron shan #female sith warrior #swtor fanfiction #fanfiction #oc #original character #swtor oc

[butterpanic]

Know What You Signed Up For

Prompt: Written for Chocolate Box 2019 

Pairing: Theron Shan/Female Smuggler

Rating: M

Tags: Trapped In Elevator, Elevator Sex, Post-Nathema, Angst

Read at [AO3]

"Wait! Hold the-"

A hand shoves its way through the disappearing crack in the elevator doors, followed by an arm and then by the wedging body of the woman Theron Shan simultaneously wants to see most and least in the entire galaxy. The Commander seems to feel the same, judging by the way her mouth forms and abandons options before settling on a terse, "Theron," and a fixed gaze on the opposite wall.

Well, at least they can share an elevator again. That's progress.

No eye contact. No small talk. There's a caf in her hand that someone else put there, and he knows that by now it's gone cold with exactly a quarter left in the bottom of the cup. Don't need a chrono when Cats is around, just read the rings inside the rim. Old mug, new mug; she gets through the day with the reflex of an open palm and a nod of thanks to the supplier.

Not him, anymore. A year ago it would have been, now he knows he'll be running into her refueling team on the other side of the elevator doors. Corso or Risha if they're on base. Lana if they aren't. Theron watched Gault do it once last week.

That one hurt a little, if he's being honest.

He did the right thing. Theron wouldn't have done it if he hadn't been sure and he's still sure of that. Cats must agree, on some level, because he spent enough time with her file before Korriban to know what happens when someone double-crosses her. She'd offered him the open palm, not the blaster to the nuts. Alliance pardon. His old quarters, even, not a demotion down to the barracks.

No eye contact, though. No inappropriate flirting during briefings. No even-more-inappropriate smacks on the ass after briefings. He hasn't tried bringing her caf in the morning but he doesn't need to try his access code to the Majestic Princess to know that it won't work anymore. Theron's got just enough of a routine reestablished now to see exactly how many holes she's left in it.

The elevator grinds to a halt and Cats nearly plows into the doors, too focused on escape to realize they've failed to open. She turns on him, eyes closed.

"You shouldn't have sliced the elevator."

He hadn't sliced the elevator. Not since he came back. Before, sure; even though it earned him an entirely deserved lecture about professionalism from Lana every time. She's absolutely right - it's bad optics for the Commander of the Eternal Alliance to have poorly-concealed public sex and it's inconvenient for everyone who's forced to take the emergency stairs while the elevator is out of commission.

(What Lana never seemed to consider in her arguments was that the Commander of the Eternal Alliance really, really liked getting off in places that were inconvenient for everyone. And that she had fantastic breasts. Theron was smart enough not to bring this particular counterargument to the table.)

Seeing as they're not even on "friendly smile in the hallway" terms right now, though, slicing the elevator for some unprofessional behavior with his ex hadn't been on the schedule for the day any more than sharing an elevator with her.

"Not me."

He jams the panel a few times, just to confirm that that definitely isn't going to do anything useful. Starts considering the interference of the shaft and various Alliance communications routing times - is he still in Lana's priority queue? Theron is busy calculating how likely it is that he can climb up the shaft without his infiltration kit, both with and without Cats, when he gets an override message. Loud and clear, from the woman herself, who is suddenly much closer than before and looking down at him with his own confusion.

"I want to kiss you," she murmurs, almost to herself. "Can I... is that...?"

Theron gets it. He really does. It was a question he asked on Nathema, on Copero, on Umbara. After every time they pass in the hallway, at every briefing and four hours after the doors of his empty quarters close behind him every night. Thing is, it isn't a question he's managed to tease out the answer to, and if she's asking, it's probably best just to put her tongue in his mouth.

Yeah, he thinks, as his lips tilt up to press against hers, probably for the best.

"You're an idiot," someone says, and he's not sure which of them says it or who it's for. Either of them. Both of them, probably, and he doesn't care because all he can taste is her. Every gray day lighting up, every lonely fantasy dissolving into the way she grinds against him.

She's right, or he's right. About anything. About everything. They are idiots and they are unprofessional and they are broken and they are wearing too many clothes. Her hands are already fumbling at his belt, the familiarity of years of their least appropriate hobby filling the gap sense leaves. That can't- well, if she gets those hands where she wants them this is going to be over too soon, and the last confused scraps of his mind he hasn't tasked to getting her out of her shirt kick in long enough to shift them to his shoulders.

"You first," he says, running his fingers under the shirt, over the soft skin of her stomach as it tightens in his wake. His lips find her jaw, her neck, kissing his way down as nervous hands fumble at each button and clasp.

She has fantastic breasts.

It's selfish but he takes a moment here. Rests his face between them to feel her heartbeat against the warmth of her skin, the softness in that gap, the way she smells of sweat and life and everything home. No regrets. If her heart is still beating, he did the right thing, no matter what it means for him now.

Cats squirms under his nose and he shifts a hand up to cup a breast before she gets impatient enough to move it there herself. Noses against her nipple playfully, because he knows it annoys her, but doesn't hesitate to draw it into his mouth. Sweat, salt, sweet as he circles his tongue. Slow, like he wants, like he's missed. She moans, bends, and he takes advantage of the moment to reverse their positions, press her up against the metal of the elevator wall. To gaze up at her, past the gentle swell of her breast, as she meets his eyes and her lips part invitingly once again.

"Theron," she says, and he groans appreciatively against her in response, sucking her deeper. "Theron."

This time her hands tug at his hair, insistent against his arousal. Blinking, he pulls back.

"They're going to repair the elevator." She drops each word slowly, like she's explaining a foreign concept. Of course they'll repair the elevator, three quarters of the base is underground. They'd never get anything done if they didn't.

"Okay."

"We need to be done before they finish."

Oh. Right.

His hands make quick work of his belt and even quicker work of hers; his lips placed just so in the crease of her hip elicits the same gasping laugh it always does. The kisses he plants along her inner thighs while he unlaces her boots are just as awkward but in only a moment they stand chest to chest, his erection brushing the loose ends of her shirt, her sex warm and slick as he cups it in his hand. Lets her grind against him, just how she likes, no rhythm but that rhythm that's just her.

"Please," she says, "Please, please. Please." She repeats it, eyes searching his, and he's idiot enough to hope that she's asking for everything he wants to give, not just this. Not just the smooth slide inside her, the way her hips tilt to meet his own. The way she moans when his hand moves between her thighs, right there, using everything he's ever learned about her to drive her desperately over the edge.

Her lips close around the skin at the base of his throat and pull. He wouldn't have left a mark on her now, wouldn't have dared, but she does and that's when he loses control. Stars. He comes apart.

No eye contact, no pillow talk. She turns away to tug her jacket back over her shoulders. His belt is straightened and every hair back in place when the doors give their warning creak.

One, two, three. Like clockwork, Lana's flat glare appearing between parted doors.

"And there they are," she says, motioning towards the nearby engineers. "No worse for wear. That's a Code Besh resolved."

"Good work, troops," Cats salutes with a wave of her caf. Another mug is presented and exchanged on the downswing. Looks like Risha's on rotation this morning, and she wrinkles her nose as Cats brushes by her on their way to the exit.

"Really?" Theron murmurs, as soon as Cats is out of earshot. "Non-Emergency Maintenance Code Besh? The elevator was actually broken, Lana, we could have been-"

"Don't play the fool, Theron, it doesn't suit you," she snaps. "Your algorithm hasn't changed. You didn't even bother to switch encryptions." Her glare softens, slightly, into something like a smile. "For what it's worth... I'm happy for you."

Theron woke up alone last month and last week and this morning and he hasn't understood a single thing that's happened in the past thirty minutes. Kriff it. With a chipper wave in Lana's direction, he heads to the cantina for lunch.

It's enough for now.

"What is this?" Risha gingerly fishes the sodden spike out of a mug of cold caf.

"Oh, is that where that was?" Cats is flippant, but her hand closes around it with a quickness that belies her tone. Crushes it with the very same quickness, and shoves the unrecognizable remains into a pocket.

"No idea. Must've found it somewhere."

#swtor #theron shan #female smuggler #commanderlurker #m rating #(how the hell do you tag these days) #bp: swtor #bp: theron shan #bp: fs

[sheyshen]

OC Interview Meme

1. Choose an OC.

2. Answer them as that OC.

3. Tag 5 people to do the same.

I was tagged by the lovely @a-muirehen. Thank you so much for tagging me! I hope you like this OC!

I tagged a buncha people recently so I’m going to say: if anyone wants to do this consider yourself tagged. I absolutely want to hear about all your amazing OCs

I did Kara last time so how ‘bout Koren this time?

1. What is your name?

“Koren Gates, but my friends call me Kor.”

2. Do you know why you are named that?

“Similarity to my brothers I assume? Kody and Kole, all three of our names start with ‘Ko’ so it’s that or my parents were out of name ideas. That’s possible too.”

3. Are you single or taken?

“Taken, thank you.”

4. Have any abilities or powers?

“Aside from being the best medic in the galaxy? I can use the Force. I don’t often, but it is something I can do.”

5. Stop being a Mary Sue.

“I have no clue what that is, so I’m going to give you a solid, ‘No’.”

6. What’s your eye color?

“Gray.”

7. How about your hair color?

“Brown.”

8. Have any family members?

“Lots, a mom and dad, and ten brothers and sisters. My two brothers are identical to me, we’re triplets, haha. There were twelve of us total before, but I lost my oldest brother when I was young. I... that’s not what you were asking, let’s move on.”

9. Oh? How about pets?

“None, I move around a lot so I don’t have time to care for one.”

10. That’s cool, I guess. Now tell me something you don’t like?

“The cold. If one more person asks me to go to Hoth or Ilum or... Yea, just no thank you.”

11. Do you have any activities/hobbies that you like to do?

“I like to whittle when I can, otherwise I just listen to music pretty much all the time.”

12. Have you ever hurt anyone in any way before?

“I have, yes. Some deserved it, some didn’t, some was to just to be able to treat their injuries. Being a medic isn’t all sunshine and rainbows, you have to get your hands dirty, and sometimes that means you have to break a bone to set it right.”

13. Ever…killed anyone before?

“I... yes. I thought they deserved it at the time, but now I’m not sure. Avenging someone’s death is a gray area you don’t always consider until after the fact. I killed the man who killed my brother, but how I did it, and the path that I took to get there? There’s a lot of blood on my hands, I don’t recommend it.”

14. What kind of animal are you?

“I’ve never thought about it before... Maybe a wolf? Not sure what kind it was, but I’ve seen some in holos, they were smart and strong and their fur was all white like my armor.”

15. Name your worst habits.

“Bad habits? I don’t have bad habits, no no... okay, maybe holding onto everything that I think looks cool and rarely cleaning my ship counts as a bad habit. But I keep the medbay spotless and that’s what matters most.”

16. Do you look up to anyone at all?

“My brother, before he died and more so after. He was the best of us kids, and I still hope to one day be as good.”

17. Are you gay, straight, or bisexual?

“Does it really matter? I’m a guy and I like guys, I’ve dated guys, I’m currently with a guy, I dated a girl once a long time ago, that... actually that didn’t go well. But my point is, I like who I like.”

18. Do you go to school?

“You can’t be as good a medic as I am without taking years of classes to learn how the body works for not just humans but a load of other races. I’m proud of the work I put into learning it, but I’m not out to show it off like that one guy that was in one of my classes. What was his name? Arch-something.”

19. Ever want to marry and have kids one day?

“Sure, absolutely one day.”

20. Do you have any fangirls/fanboys?

“I do have a few people that like to hang around the med bay when I’m working to watch me, so I guess I do.”

21. What are you most afraid of?

“I’d prefer not to talk about that if that’s alright.”

22. What do you usually wear?

“Either my armor when I’m working, or in my lucky jacket Theron gave me a while back. Sometimes just a longsleeved shirt, since they don’t always like it when I wear armor when performing surgeries... Oh, and I gotta have my helmet or headset on me, I can’t focus as well as I’d like without my music.”

23. What’s one food that tempts you?

"Hmmm. There’s this soup from a restaurant that Theron took me to once on Coruscant. They set it on fire and it is so delicious, I haven’t had it in ages.”

24. Am I annoying you?

“Nah, you’re good, I like to talk.”

25. Well, it’s not over!

“Alright! Bring on the next question!”

26. What class are you (Low/middle/high)?

“Low? Middle? My family hasn’t been the most well off, and I make a good amount of money from my work as a bounty hunter and medic so I send credits home whenever I can.”

27. How many friends do you have?

“Lots, I’m only close to a handful though, the Commander, Kara, and her brother, Koro. Theron and Lana, Arcann, Trey, Koth, Hylo, Aric, Nora, Torian, Shey... Yeah, lots of good friends.”

28. What are your thoughts on pie?

“Good? Depends on the type. I like some of them but not all.”

29. Favorite drink?

“I mentioned the soup that was on fire, right? Well the same place had this one drink that they did the same thing. It was so good, and I can’t remember the restaurant for the life of me. Thank you for reminding me to go bug Theron about it later.”

30. What’s your favorite place?

“Home, as cheesy as it sounds. I have lots of homes, with my family back on Corellia, my ship with my crew, on Odessen with my friends. Y’know, home.”

31. Are you interested in anyone?

“Absolutely, I have a lovely boyfriend who could tone down his sith-y-ness by a notch. But hey, I love him the way he is, even if he does come to bed all bruised up from picking a fight again...”

32. That was a stupid question…

“Nah, I get that a lot. I think it’s my tattoo, makes me irresistible... Or you confused me with one of my brothers, that also still happens time to time.”

33. Would you rather swim in a lake or the ocean?

“Ocean, it’s huge and just goes on for what feels like forever. And the smell of salt in the air? It’s perfect for de-stressing.”

34. What’s your type?

“I, don’t know. I don’t think I have a specific type. When we were together Theron was hard working, self sacrificing, and constantly getting in over his head. And Trey is...pretty much the same with a shorter temper. I guess that’s my type then. And hazel eyes.”

35. Any fetishes?

“That’s a secret~”

36. Camping or outdoors?

“Camping. I like having something over my head when I sleep, and I wouldn’t feel comfortable sleeping out of my armor just out and about in nature. And sleeping in it? That’s not the most comfortable either.”

#swtor #OC: Koren Gates #Look at my merc he's a mess and likes to talk I'm so sorry #thanks for tagging me these are a lot of fun! #and I have lots of OCs so I went with my two mains for this and the one previous

[inyri]

Equivalent Exchange (a SWTOR story): Chapter 36- The Best Policy

Equivalent Exchange by inyri Fandom: Star Wars: The Old Republic Characters: Female Imperial Agent (Cipher Nine)/Theron Shan Rating: E (this chapter: M)

Summary: If one wishes to gain something, one must offer something of equal value. In spycraft, it’s easy. Applying it to a relationship is another matter entirely. F!Agent/Theron Shan. (Spoilers for Shadow of Revan and Knights of the Fallen Empire/Knights of the Eternal Throne.)

Comments are always appreciated! Visit me at:

Archive of Our Own

Fanfiction Dot Net

***

The Best Policy

Theron exhales.

“Probably too much to hope it’d stay a secret for long,” he mutters, straightening up. He doesn’t let go of her, though, fingers working along her neck- after this long in kolto she ought to be a limp mess but it’d probably take years to get all the tension out of her muscles. Her shoulder’s better for the time spent soaking, at least. “I just- Force, I’m never going to hear the end of it. You’re sure Lana doesn’t already know? My dossier-”

Nine does shake her head then, immediately regrets it, and makes a muffled mmph noise instead that’s half-negation and half trying not to throw up on the War Room table. “She doesn’t. And that was never in your dossier- say what you like about the state of the Republic now, whoever knew that secret kept their cards close. None of us knew.”

“But my mother was, wasn’t she? After Rishi-”

“No. We kept that out deliberately, even after we knew.”

(It hadn’t even been her idea; Lana had been the one to suggest the omission. “It will make him far too much of a target. Anyone trying to lure out the Grand Master-”

Guilty conscience or not, Lana had been right. That was a method she’d used herself when there was no other way to a target: take a friend or lover or spouse instead, living collateral to be dangled as bait.  (Never children. She drew the line at children. Ruthlessness was all well and good, but that kind of sociopathy was a one way ticket to a padded cell- or Shadow Town, which was just a padded cell with better locks.) With his parentage on his dossier Theron would have had every Sith with access to the mainframe- which was nearly all of them back then, puppet to the Council that Sith Intelligence was in its resurrected form- hunting him within a week. He’d have been dead, or worse, within two. And for what? By the rules of negotiation he’d have been doomed, a marginally valuable hostage that the Republic would never in a hundred years have bartered for one of its most celebrated heroes. Satele might have come for him herself, of course. But would she have?

Lana had looked to her, questioning, and she heard Theron in her head: my agent, the words bitter on his tongue. Like it’s a coincidence we share a name.

“It wouldn’t be fair, would it?” She’d nodded, locking down the file. There was very little fair about their line of work and nothing given for free, but this seemed somehow right after the awfulness of Rishi. It wasn’t a question of judgment. Her judgment was fine. It was- “I agree. We leave it out.” )

He has to clear his throat before he continues, whatever he meant to say first catching on his  tongue. “I didn’t... I didn’t know that. Thank you.”

“Thank Lana,” she says. Theron’s hands go still. “She approved the addendum.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask. Did she think you’d go too easy on me?”

She turns her head just enough that he can see her wink. “Or put too much in. Theron Shan, Republic SIS. Caf addict. Terrible taste in music-”

“You used to let me pick the music, if I remember correctly.” Hands slipping beneath the knot of her hair, he cups the base of her skull, leans down to kiss the top of her head and then her forehead and then further still, curling over her to nip at the tip of her nose. “I must have missed the complaints trying to block out your off-key singing.”

“I like you-” she closes her eyes, a slow blink; he’s not wrong. She was never any good at singing- “so I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. Let’s see. Easily identified due to prominent cybernetics and appears to own exactly one jacket, or possibly twelve copies of the same jacket. Marginal slicer. Does this absolutely delightful thing with his tongue-”

When Theron grins she can feel it, his breath huffing against her face. He’s trying not to laugh but can’t quite hold it back and he has to let go of her to brace himself against the table. “Please tell me you’re not serious.”

“Of course I’m not.” Oh, it sounds good to hear him laugh. He’s so good at distracting her from the stress of everything and she’s been so bad at reciprocating; she brings him caf and the best of what she can sneak from the mess hall, pulls him into bed to work the day’s tension off in pleasanter ways, but it’s not nearly enough. He deserves so much better than her fumbling attempts at comfort. “Someone else might have gotten ideas-” she rests her hand on his, clumsy in its heavy brace- “and I wouldn’t want them trying to edge in on my territory.”

“Your?”

A loaded question for all of its brevity.

She shrugs in reply, forcing a smile in place of words she doesn’t know how to say, and Theron overlaps her little finger with his thumb. She can’t quite feel it properly- what ought to be the friction of his skin on hers just registers as pressure- but it’s better than nothing. Better than it should be. A gift. (Or not, but the idea of the alternative is far less pleasant.)

“It wouldn’t have been much,” she says softly, “in the long run. But if the war had kept going it might have kept you out of the crosshairs for a little while. We just- I just-”

The corners of his mouth quirk upward. “Not ‘compromised objectivity’?”

“Certainly not. I’m a professional, after all.” He’s still standing just beside her chair; she leans on him, rests her aching head against his side. “And we did say no strings.”

“We did. No strings, no sides, intact judgment et cetera.” Theron glances down at her and then turns, just enough that she can rest against his stomach instead. When he exhales she moves along with him, gently to-and-fro with the in and out of his breath. “So I probably shouldn’t mention that I put a DNE on your file after Ziost, then.”

She blinks. Lies by omission were one thing, the usual selective recordkeeping that let one spare allies and target enemies as the situation required, but- “Trant let you? Forgive me when I say that seems unlikely.”

“Let is a strong word. He asked me how to put together a team that’d survive you and I gave him my honest opinion: we couldn’t. Do Not Engage.” He scrawls the words in the air with his finger. “You were taking us apart- no, no, I know you didn’t have a choice-” she’d gone tense against his body, not wanting to argue; they were all following their orders and they both know that but she must have killed a dozen or more of his friends in those last few months of war before the Zakuulans came. But he strokes her hair until she calms. “We all did what we had to back then and despite what my… what Jace said, my loyalty to the Republic was never a question. But when it came to you-”

“I told you I was bad for you.”

“Stop that. I told you-” his voice is gentle and he almost taps her forehead before he mercifully thinks better of it- that would have hurt, today- and just presses his fingertip against it instead- “that you weren’t. Aren’t. You saved me. I had to- I had to return the favor.”

Stars, she doesn’t deserve him. “He didn’t listen, you know.”

“I know. But I tried.” Theron sighs. “Anyway, you’re sure Lana doesn’t-?”

Three knocks.

Lana’s silhouetted in the doorway when it slides open, caf pot in one hand and three mugs dangling from the other. “I take you’ve finished your calls? You mentioned before that we three needed to talk.”

“Yes. Hold on.” She presses the intercom, opening a line to the bridge. “Kaliyo, we’ll be in the War Room. Ring through if we’re needed.”

“Got it.” The speaker crackles as the reply comes through. “Ears off?”

Nine sighs. “What do you think?”

“Secrets, secrets are no fun,” Kaliyo drawls. “Locking you down. Have fun.”

She straightens in her seat, beckoning Lana into the room; Theron takes a step back and then settles into the chair beside hers. “Two quick things before we start- I’ve got Ioana Rist working on a countermeasure to the Exarchs’ new little trick.”

“How much is that going to cost us? Their work doesn’t come cheaply.” Setting the caf and cups down on the table between them, Lana slips around to the far side.

“Only a case or two of brandy. I’ll talk to Hylo about sourcing it, but that’ll be strictly out of my pocket. We’re on fragile enough ground with our Jedi as it is without word getting around that I’m using a Force-breaker.”

Lana wrinkles her nose. “Not just the Jedi. The Council banned them for a reason.”

“The Council banned Force-breaker toxins-” she rolls her eyes and even that small motion makes the world spin- “because they’re afraid of what people like me would do if we had them. But that’s beside the point. Second, I’ve finally got a lead on the Alderaan staging site we discussed last week. It won’t be actionable for a month, though, and I need to-” she pauses. She needs to figure out what the fuck she’s going to do. Research first, she supposes: she thought Galen had retired after that business with Malgus but his new rank certainly suggests otherwise- had he gone back voluntarily? That might be something she could use. “I can’t delegate that, either. So if we hear anything more from Voss before-”

“I was going to save that news until we got back to Odessen, but I did hear from our Gormak friends. Apparently their visions have coalesced.” Lana says the last word like she wants to spit it out- for all her Sithness she always was a skeptic, with little faith in the prophecies and mysticism that drove some of her peers, and she seemed to find the Voss- and Gormak, by proxy- particularly maddening. “We have a timeline.”

Theron’s already poured himself a mug of caf and pauses mid-sip with it still raised to his mouth. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“It’s... not an ideal timeline.”

“Nine needs to rest, Lana. How not ideal?” He frowns.

She reaches out for her own mug; Theron fills it unprompted and she curls her fingers around it. The warmth, at least, she can feel.  

Lana slumps into her seat. “Twelve days. I tried to argue it, but the-”

“She has a broken wrist. There’s no way she’s going to-”

The headache hits her like an icepick to the temple- ah, concussions- and she winces, closing her eyes as they bicker back and forth. “Would both of you,” she snaps, “please shut up and let me speak?”

They actually do.

“Twelve days. We’re- what, four days from Odessen now?”

“Three and a half,” Lana says quietly. “And I’ve mapped a route back to Voss that uses some of the Imperial hyperspace lanes. We could get there in six days, I think. Possibly faster, with Theron piloting.”

Theron hums idly under his breath, the way he always did when he was doing calculations in his head. “Giving us two days’ turnaround- maybe three. Not enough.”

“I’ll manage.” The moment the words leave her mouth she hears them both sigh; she makes a face at them, tongue sticking out. “Hush. I’ll spend the rest of the trip home in the tank, and I’ll check in with Doctor Lokin once we’re there. I’ve gone back into the field sooner after worse.”

“We can still refuse. Visions notwithstanding, if you aren’t ready-”

“I’ll be ready, Lana.” Does she really have a choice? “Tell the Gormak to expect us.”

(There are many ways to hasten the healing process. She sees his outline on the backs of her eyelids, brilliant white against the darkness. Good as new in hours, rather than days or weeks- better than new. Stronger. Quicker. I could-

Pass. Go away.

Valkorion chuckles and something’s hiding beneath the laughter, dark and creeping and ugly for all his sleekness and his gleaming armor. Look at you. Broken by a mere exarch. My children are going to kill you, little Cipher. And I may very well let them.)

“Nine?” When she blinks back to herself Lana’s biting her lip, eyes narrowed. “Was that-”

“It’s nothing- more color commentary as per usual. I’m fine.”

They look at each other across the table, Lana and Theron with matching expressions- she’s not fine, of course she isn’t fine and they all know that but no one wants to be the first to say it. Saying it out loud makes it real. Instead, they turn to each other.

“Send me the route.” Theron finishes off his cup and pours himself another. “I’ll look at it tonight and see if I can shave a little more time off.”

“Of course.” Lana’s datapad rings metallic against the tabletop as she pulls it from its pocket in her tunic. “Transmitting now. But- oh, Force, never mind. The rest of it can wait until later. What was it that you wanted to discuss?”

“I- um.” Clearing his throat, Theron fidgets in his chair until the seat creaks beneath his restless weight.

Poor Theron.

“Several days ago,” she begins so he doesn’t have to, “Theron became aware of a complication of his recent trip to Coruscant that we- and by we I mean I- are going to have to deal with.”

Lana nods. “I assume you’re referring to Agent Balkar?”

“Only indirectly. That he was there at all was a particularly bizarre coincidence, true, but that wasn’t the complication.” If only it were that simple. “To be frank, we probably owe him a favor. He was the one who told Theron about the death mark.”

“The what.” It isn’t a question. Hands folded, Lana’s holding on to herself so tightly that her knuckles blanch. “How did we get from a failed recruiting trip to a- and who in the Void placed the mark? With whom?”

Theron glances at her out of the corner of his eye; she rests her hand on his. “Do you want me to-?”

“No. I was the one who fucked it up,” he says. “You shouldn’t have to make excuses for me. We lied to you, Lana, but Nine did it because I asked her to. It wasn’t a recruiting trip. I went to Coruscant to ask my father for a favor.”

Lana’s expression barely changes, just the faintest hint of hurt in the set of her mouth and the line of her shoulders. “You told me you didn’t know who Theron’s father was, Nine. Or was that a lie as well?” Oh, hells. They should have told her sooner. If they can’t trust each other-

Theron shakes his head vehemently. “She didn’t. I promise she didn’t. Not until it went bad.”

“An understatement, I think,” Lana snaps. “But even so, why would your own father-”

“Jace Malcom is my father.”

(Is this the first time he’s said those words out loud? She wonders. She thinks so.)

Theron slouches lower into his chair, staring at the tabletop and carefully avoiding returning either of their gazes- her own cast sideways in quasi-apology, Lana’s an open-mouthed stare- until she taps one of his fingers with hers; his focus shifts toward the motion and she traces out a clumsy message. It’s okay.   He doesn’t look at her, doesn’t move, but the frown lines across his forehead soften.

Clearing her throat, Lana finally breaks the silence hanging over the room. “Somehow I feel as though I ought to say I’m sorry.”

“Not as sorry as I am.” He sighs. “Maybe I should start at the beginning.”

***

The caf pot’s empty by the time he finishes, an uneven split: three cups to Lana instead of her usual tea, more than enough that a fine tremor settles into her hands by the middle of the second, and two for Theron plus half of her own. (She managed a few scant sips before her stomach started to turn; she’d pushed it away with a grimace and Theron paused in his storytelling long enough to fetch her a glass of water instead. She always knew when she was really hurting, she’d used to say, when she couldn’t keep her caf down.)

“So.” Lana licks her lips. “Jace Malcom, your father, believes you’re a traitor to the Republic, Marcus Trant wants you dead, and both of them think Nine somehow brainwashed you into defecting.”

“That’s it in a nutshell, yeah. I probably should have expected it, but… y’know. Family, right?” Rubbing his eyes and then pushing his hair back from his face- it’s a mess, flopping across his forehead; then again her own’s a mess of knots from floating and Lana’s got circles beneath her eyes so dark they look like bruises- Theron smiles wryly.

“I can’t say I do. It would figure, though- all those years spent making sure my work couldn’t be traced back to me, and I end up taking the blame for something I didn’t even do.”

That gets a laugh out of both of them, at least, if only a small one, before Lana opens a new window on her datapad. “We’ll need to put new security measures in place, of course. I have a few suggestions, I think, if you haven’t already-”

“Not so many. Theron knows how to watch himself, though we’ll need a hard lockdown,” she says, “the day after our retun- no one outbound without proof of orders. If any of Trant’s people have made it to Odessen he’s going to need to call them back, and they’ll do one of three things.” She counts off each one on her fingers. “Least likely, they’ll stay undercover. That’s a long game and the SIS is spread thin enough that he can’t afford to keep too many eyes on us. Marginally more probably someone will make an attempt against orders. Suicidal, but if they hate us that much… but they’re probably going to try to slip the net, and we’ll need to be ready.”

Eyebrow raised, Lana stops taking notes. “Why would he call them back? He doesn’t know that we know, correct?”

“No. But he’s going to.”

“And you think that’s enough to make him cancel the mark? When I was Minister I had the misfortune of having to negotiate with that man more than once, Nine, and I’ll tell you from from experience: he isn’t going to back down because you ask him nicely.”

She bares her teeth in a slow smile. “You ought to know me better than that by now. I’m not planning on asking nicely.”

“Then what-”

“I’m going to blackmail him.”

Lana blinks. Pushing back out of her chair, she walks wordlessly around the table and taps the access panel beside the door and when it slides open she simply leaves the room.

Theron raises one hand, opening his mouth to speak. She shushes him and listens instead to Lana’s quiet footsteps in the corridor, a cabinet opening- the middle one in the shared mess by the way it squeaks- and the clink of glass and then more footsteps, louder, returning. When Lana enters the room once more she’s got a half-full bottle of whiskey clutched in one hand and a particularly disgruntled expression on her face; she retakes her seat, pulls the stopper free of the bottle, and pours a generous portion into her coffee cup before draining the whole thing at a go.

“All right.” Lana coughs. “Now I’m ready. Say that one more time.”

***

It’s not a good plan. She knows that. It’s probably a terrible plan.

It’s all they’ve got.

She wobbles when she tries to get up. They’ve sat talking too long and her head hurts and her wrist hurts and she could probably sleep for a month and it wouldn’t be enough (even if she just spent five years in stasis- but she wasn’t sleeping then, she was dying.) When she has to stop to brace herself against the wall for the third time in a dozen steps, Theron lifts her up, her arm around his neck.

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s get you back to medbay.”

She wrinkles her nose. He’s right, of course, but that doesn’t mean she has to like it. “Are you sure you two don’t need me to-?”

“Believe it or not, we can occasionally plan things on our own.” Lana- slightly more relaxed now thanks to the whiskey- points toward the door. “Theron and I will start work on this in the morning. For now, you need to recover and the rest of us need to rest.”

Theron nods, steadying his grip on her. “I’ll put a few things together once I’ve got Nine set up the tank. We can talk after-”

“You will not.” She rests her head on his shoulder. “Lana, make sure he sleeps. If he doesn’t, shock him and throw his jacket out the airlock.”

“She wouldn’t dare.”

Lana wiggles her fingers in Theron’s direction. “Don’t be so certain. Now go.”

Careful not to jostle her, he carries her down the hall and around the corner to the medbay, sets her down on the examining table while he gets the kolto tank set up for her next round. For better or for worse he’s an expert at running it now and after a few keystrokes it chimes softly, soft blue light illuminating the base.

“Tank’s ready if you are.” He turns back toward her but she’s only half-listening, attention drifting over to the scanner and the readout still scrolling across its screen.

“I’m not. But I know that doesn’t matter.“ Pulling off the wrist splint, she sets it down beside her. “Will you download a copy of that scan to my datapad? I want to show it to Lokin.”

He nods. “He’s already got it. We needed to make sure we hadn’t made things worse while we were trying to set your wrist- Force knows I’m a lousy medic when it comes to anything beyond medpacks and suturing. But if you want a hard copy I can-”

“No,” she yawns. “Never mind.” She slips her shirt off next, one-handed. There’s no rule against clothing in a kolto tank but no point in dirtying what she’s wearing, either, and she’s used to it this way; in the infirmary at school and in Intelligence training and even in the clinic at headquarters it was always the same with any major injuries. Kit off, my girl. Let’s get a look at you.

It wasn’t a bad thing in retrospect, not for her. It was only a body, after all, not something shameful to be covered up, and by her teens she could have- and did, once, thanks to a senior class prank that left the whole lower sixth with nothing but their identification badges and a single hand towel each with twenty minutes before the midyear examination began- walked naked through the Academy halls with her head held high. (She’d brought the towel, but only because she drew the line at sitting bare-assed in a hard plastic chair for the entire exam. Two-thirds of the class refused to leave the dormitories; the maestra failed them all.

She had the top mark.)

Theron helps her down. “Pants off too?”

“You know me too well.” His fingers hook into her waistband and she wriggles just a bit to help ease the fabric down over her hipbones. Ungraceful, still off-balance, she lifts one foot and then the other clear. “Though I’m afraid it’s all tease and no payoff tonight.”

His hands rest carefully on her waist as he straightens up, a kiss pressed feather-light to her forehead. “I don’t mind a rain check,” he murmurs. “The best things are worth waiting for.”

“Flatterer.”

“Not flattery when it’s true.” And then he helps her up into the tank, up over the lip of the base until she’s standing securely within it, and keys in the final sequence. The glass surround slides shut, closing her in as the seals engage; the kolto starts to bubble up through the ports, covering her feet, her ankles, up to her knees and then her waist and then her chest-

She hates this part.

In and out. In and out. She slows her breathing. The kolto reaches her chin.

Theron presses his hand to the glass. Just breathe- she can’t hear him but she can read the words on his mouth- I’ll be here when you wake up.

She nods, lifting her hand to match his. I know. Now go to sleep-

The last syllable cuts off when she inhales and the kolto fills her mouth, covers her head and she can’t breathe, oh Void (every single time she should be used to it by now but she’s choking and she’s going to die in here and-)

It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s okay. He pauses a moment. The kolto’s kicking in; her vision goes hazy. I l-

Her eyes close as the sedatives take her.

***

Another three days gone.

By some miracle- Theron could be impressively persuasive when he set his mind to it- Lana seems almost convinced of the plan by the time they land. More than that, between the two of them they’ve drafted a security protocol that might actually work and that they probably ought to have had in place all along: while their ragtag rebellion needs all the help it can get, they all admit they haven’t been screening newcomers with any particular scrutiny.

They can’t afford to scare recruits away. For so many of them Odessen is hope despite the war, despite the threat of Arcann and his fleet arriving any day, hope that maybe they can win this after all and the galaxy can go back to being what it was or maybe something even better. They need that hope.

But she’s not a general, not a Lord or a chancellor or a queen. She’s a spy.

If they’re going to make her be the former, she can keep them all safe as the latter, too.

***

Doctor Lokin’s sitting at his workbench when she reaches his little room at the back of the lab.

Though he was officially assigned to Military Strategy (much as Aygo would prefer it they can’t stay entirely aboveboard all the time, and Eckard was as sly as they came, half of his record a black box of redacted text even to her) he spent much of his time in the science wing; he’d only partially recovered from his near-permanent transformation, his cancers stabilized but still more than enough to keep him out of the field for good. In between strategy sessions it was one experiment after another, one more chance at a cure.

She owes him that, after everything he did for her.

He looks her over quickly, glancing at the splint still on her wrist and the almost-faded bruises beneath her eyes that had been such a shock when she finally made it to a mirror. “Cipher. How are you feeling?”

“Like I had a console dropped on me a week ago? I’ve had worse.” A timer on the benchtop beeps. “I need you to check a few things, but if now isn’t convenient-“

“The wheel of research turns ever over,” he says, and smacks the timer until it quiets. “One moment.” Raising an autopipette over a row of racked test tubes, he adds a single drop of liquid to each one and they start to glow a violent shade of neon green. “There we are. You have my attention.”

Is the rack vibrating? Oh, dear. “You saw my initial scan, yes? I need you to look at my wrist again.”

Lokin nods, rolling back from the bench. “Not healing as expected? Remember, the neuropathy might take weeks-“

“That’s the problem. It’s healed- bone and nerve. I could use another day or two to knit the fracture a little more before I starting training on it, but it feels perfectly normal.” He raises an eyebrow as she hands him a datacard. “This is from this morning. 144 tank-hours since injury.”

The casters of his chair rattle across the floor tiles as he moves to a console tucked into one corner. The card slots into an empty port with a click, the first images of the scan loading one by one until a cross-section of her left hand and wrist fill the screen.

“Good callus formation,” Lokin murmurs. “Appropriate to tank-hours. The compression on the neurovascular bundle’s been reduced, of course, so I would expect to- hm. Let me cross-reference.” He opens another file- her previous scan, the one they’d sent from Nightshrike - and lays the sections atop each other. He squints.

He squints again.

“Stay here.”

She does. It never did do well to ignore doctor’s orders. A few minutes later he wheels a small cart into the lab, a screen mounted on its top and a tangle of wires dangling beneath. Lokin gestures to her wrist, to the splint hidden beneath her shirtsleeve.

“Brace off, sleeve up, and bring that extra chair with you.” He taps a clean corner of the workbench. “Hand here, please. Don’t move.”

Staying still for the cleansing swab’s easy. Staying still for the needles is slightly harder but she exhales (her tattoo was far worse- this is just a few little pokes, sharp stings before the pain eases) as he connects the leads to the taped-down electrodes, testing, testing, testing and then looking to the screen and testing again.

“It’s normal,” she says, “isn’t it?”

“Very nearly. Ninety-five percent of your baseline-” he unclips the wires- “which is remarkable in and of itself given what I would have expected from your scans, and even more remarkable given that your best measurement since the incident on Corellia was eighty-eight percent. Pre- and post-carbonite.”

Pulling the needles out one by one, beads of blood well up in their places as she sets them on the countertop. Odd that the sight of her own blood is reassuring, that’s there’s still something of herself in her own body to go with the ghost in her brain and the spirit- AI, projection, whatever the fuck he is- in her spine-

She looks up. “Eckard, I need to ask you something and it’s very important that you’re honest with me. My spinal implant, the one that Watcher X installed- you told me a long time ago that it was inactive. Are you absolutely certain?”

He sighs.

Oh, Void.

“I suppose that would depend,” he begins carefully, “on one’s definition of inactive."

***

He only meant to keep her safe.

He only meant to keep her safe.

If she’d known it, at her lowest when she was afraid of losing control again more than she was afraid of anything else, she might have done something foolish. She would have done something foolish. She would have-

(My job was- is- to keep you alive, Cipher. Alive and fighting. And if I had to lie to accomplish that then so be it.)

She knows. She-

***

She locks herself inside the sub-basement storage room and screams herself hoarse.

Fuck, fuck, FUCK-

***

If they hear it in her voice at dinner that night neither Lana nor Theron say anything at all.

But Theron brings her honey-sweetened tea instead of her usual caf that night and the tea is one of Lana’s blends; she knows it by its scent. Curling up on the couch, she holds the cup between her hands and sips at it slowly. The splint has to stay another few days- she promised Lokin at least four hours in the tank tomorrow and the day after, before they leave again- but the heat’s pleasant on her fingertips and the tea’s heavily spiced, pleasantly tingly on her tongue.

“Everything’s ready for tomorrow.” Theron sits down on the bed, his duffel at his feet. They’ve only been back on Odessen for twelve hours and it feels like years with all the work already done; they’ve barely had time to breathe, let alone see to mundanities like unpacking or laundry or operational reports. “Hylo had a lot of questions I couldn’t answer but she’s on board. We’re going to need a half-dozen barrels of Alderaanian ale, though.”

“Do what you need to, and forward me the invoice. I’ll take care of it.”

He flops back, staring up at the ceiling. “I don’t even want to move. Wake me up next year?”

She doesn’t want him to move, either. His quarters might not be safe despite the extra hallway cameras, for one thing. They wouldn’t have stopped her, once upon a time, and she knows he thinks she’s being paranoid but she can’t shake the feeling that something’s moving around them in a pattern she can’t quite see yet. “Go to sleep, then. I don’t mind.”

“I know, but I’ll probably go straight through until morning at the rate I’m fading here. Plus, I still need to haul this thing back downstairs.” His foot connects with the bag as he kicks at it blindly. “Gotta hang up that fancy jacket you bought me before it gets wrinkly.”

“Just hang it up here, Theron,” she rasps- ugh. Another sip; she clears her throat. “There’s more than enough room. And it’s leather. It doesn’t wrinkle.”

“Semant-” Theron rolls onto his side, angling his body so he can look down the stairs to see her. “Wait. Now I have a toothbrush and closet space?”

She makes a face at him. “You know what I mean. If you don’t want to stay-”

“Of course I want to stay. I just-” He sits up. “Is this just for now, until we get this thing with the mark worked out, or-?”

A very good question.

She wants him to stay. Stars, she wants him to stay. Her dreams are better with him close, still restless but somehow bearable, and that alone might be enough to keep her sanity in all this mess. But if what they are- another good question she only knows how to answer as she did a week ago, a ferocious mine through gritted teeth- still needs to be kept secret-

Curling in tight, she tucks her knees up to her chest. “That’s up to you. I don’t want to make things more difficult for you than they already are.”

“Do you want me to stay?”

(She doesn’t know how to do this, not when it’s true. But it can’t be that hard, can it?) “Yes,” she says. “I do.”

Theron gets up, a yawn barely hidden behind his smile, and comes back down to her; he settles in beside her on the couch, arm around her shoulders, until she’s nestled in against him. “Then I’m not going anywhere.”

*** Author’s Note: this wasn’t where this chapter was supposed to end. But seeing how that part’s still fighting me six weeks on (and three 50+ hour workweeks in there didn’t help), we’ll wrap up here and deal with a certain SIS director next time…

#equivalent exchange #inyri writes #swtor fanfiction #imperial agent/theron shan #theron shan #nine #lana beniko #doctor lokin #i've had lots of medical tests done in the last few weeks #can you tell? #the awkwardest people alive #they can talk circles around people on ops #and yet

[thegingerjedi]

The Meaning of Family

It’s that time of the year! 

Merry Christmas to the ever delightful @mhara! A little piece featuring her sniper and Theron being the fluffy dorks they are. Featuring: Hurt/Comfort, Proposals, and excessive cuddling. (2915 words)

“Mhara, our decision is final.”

“You can’t! You didn’t even talk to me about it!” she cried, one hand to her mouth to keep herself from sobbing. Her mother was never known to show sympathy; emotion in others was a weakness to exploit. Even in her own child, apparently.

Xara’non clucked her tongue, folding her arms across her chest, “Like you discussed your defection with your father and I?”

“That was different! I didn’t have the time to call you before I made that choice!”

“Mmm yes, of course. No one has the time to call their mothers anymore.”

She was infuriating. She was being selfish and cruel and blast it all, Mhara wished so hard that her mother was the woman she remembered from her childhood. Young and ambitious, the disciple of Darth Marr, married to an Imperial Officer, but at least kind to her own daughter.

Mhara sighed, “Mother, please.”

“That’s Darth Exul to you. Don’t contact Malavai on the issue, either - he’s up for another promotion and has already programmed his holocomm to block anything from you. Be grateful we aren’t turning you into the authorities. For now.”

“But-”

“Cipher Nine, if you even think of calling after this, I will report your defection. You may be biologically of us, but as soon as you put yourself above the Empire, you were no longer our child. I’m simply calling you out of courtesy.”

She threw her hands in the air, vacillating from disbelief to sheer anger, “Courtesy!? You call this a courtesy!?”

But Xara’non hung up, her image dissipating from view, leaving Mhara alone in the belly of her ship, the air purifiers blowing air that was far too cold onto her already shivering skin. Everything suddenly felt colder; her bare feet on the metal floor, the sweat that dripped down her back, the thin shirt she wore, the ice flowing through her veins. Her heart felt like a rock in her chest. She sank to the floor on her knees, bringing her hands to her face and sobbing. She must have been louder than she’d thought, though, because it took about twenty seconds for a pair of footsteps to come up behind her. Two arms lifted her up and placed her on the couch, and although she knew exactly who they belonged to, she couldn’t stop crying long enough to acknowledge him.

Fortunately, Theron didn’t seem to mind and sat behind her, draping one of his legs off the side and wrapping his arms around her torso. He pressed soft and warm kisses from her shoulder up her neck to her ears, finally distracting her long enough that she could wipe her eyes and take a deep breath.

“What am I going to do, Theron? I’ve got no one.”

“Nobody’s ever called me ‘no one’ before. It’s got an interesting ring to it.”

She hardly had the energy to smile, so she just leaned against him instead, “You know what I meant.”

He pressed another kiss to her hair and squeezed, “Mmm.”

“I knew… I knew when I defected that it wouldn’t be easy. That my name would be erased from all Imperial records. That I would, for all intents and purposes, no longer exist. But they’re my family…” she paused for a long moment, swallowing back a quiet sob, “I guess I thought they’d love me more than their Empire.”

Theron squeezed her and gently kissed down her jaw and neck, “We could be orphans together, you know.”

“Theron,” she reprimanded gently, running her hands over his and curling her legs up to her chest, “Satele and Jace never actually disowned you. You’re not an orphan.”

He shrugged, “I’ll disown them if you want to be orphans together.”

“Please don’t,” she sighed, turning in his lap and resting her head on his shoulder, “One of us deserves to have a family.”

There was a long pause between them, the silence settling almost comfortably. Even with Theron this close to her, holding her against him, she’d never felt more alone before. Not when she’d had to keep the mind control a secret, not when she’d initially defected, not when her crew all went their separate ways. She closed her eyes, feeling the tears that had been burning behind them again finally slip out and onto her cheeks. Theron must have noticed her crying because he pulled her closer to his chest and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“I realize this is going to sound inappropriate,” he said barely above a whisper, enveloping her hand in his, “but, uh, you know, I’ve never been known for my good timing or well thought out plans, anyway-”

She reached up and interrupted him by kissing him, cupping his cheek with her free hand and pulling his lips to hers. Stars, even just hearing his voice wander and stutter made her feel like more of a person again.

“You’re rambling, dear,” she whispered between kisses.

He moved his hand and cupped the nape of her neck gently, “And you kissing me when I do does not serve as a very good deterrent.”

“Are you suggesting that I stop kissing you when you go on and on?”

“Absolutely not,” he replied, rubbing his thumb along her jaw, “I’m just saying if you didn’t want me to ramble, you should find a different method of interrupting me.”

He laughed, the vibrations echoing through her, and she felt her cheeks flush at the sensation. He was so warm and gentle and silly, and stars, she could almost forget for a moment that she’d lost so much just moments before. Theron pulled the blanket off the top of the couch and spread it over her; she was still shivering.

“What were you going to say, Theron?” she asked, moving her hand from his face to his hand again and pulling his arm under the blanket, already feeling warmer beneath it.

He shook his head and made a face, “Ah, y’know what, it was dumb and inappropriate.”

Mhara raised an eyebrow at him, “That hasn’t stopped you before.”

“It was really inappropriate,” he laughed nervously, “I’ll get you later when you’re not a shaky sobbing mess on the couch.”

“I could roll on the floor and be a shaky, sobbing mess there instead,” she offered, smiling a little and winking at him.

“Not if I pin you to the couch!” he announced, flipping her over suddenly. Mhara squeaked and laughed, trying to duck out of the way, but got her legs caught in the blanket in the process. She flailed her hands and feet around for a bit, but Theron planted himself squarely on her shoulders and thighs.

“Ugh, you’re heavy,” she whined, “Have you been eating cookies while I’m not looking? Is that why we’re always out?”

“Nope!” he declared proudly, “It’s all muscle, babe. One hundred percent bona fide ripped arms and abs.”

She looked him up and down dubiously, the edges of his shirt ruffling ever so slightly from the air of the purifier. There definitely wasn’t muscle under that shirt.

“Prove it,” she challenged with a smirk, meeting his dazzling golden eyes with her own clear blue ones.

“Mmm you seem to have miraculously recovered, I don’t think I can trust you,” he replied with a wink.

She frowned, “I’d much prefer to be distracted by you than wallow in my own loneliness.”

He leaned down to kiss her, “You’re right, that was uncalled for. I’m sorry.”

He slid up so he was straddling her waist rather than pressing on her thighs, and he moved one hand to balance himself on the arm of the couch, using the other to rub circles into Mhara’s shoulders as he dipped down and kissed her again a little more steadily.

“I suppose if you’re going to apologize like that,” she whispered, far more breathless than she should have been, “I have no option but to forgive you, huh?”

He grinned, but for once, said nothing. Just kept kissing her. Long, slow, and gentle. Like he was trying to kiss away everything terrible that had happened to her. Like he wanted to be her entire world. And she was happy to let him.

Finally he pulled back and rested on his knees, looking down at her with a softness that made her want to melt into the couch.

“Are you alright?” he asked quietly.

She nodded, “I will be. But it’s hard to suddenly lose the only people who have been in your life forever. You weren’t alright an hour after Master Zho died, were you?”

He shook his head, “I’m not great at dealing with… feelings. You do remember how long it took me to say I loved you, right?”

Mhara laughed a little, “I do. But you’ve said it since then. And my point still stands, Theron. Though I love you terribly for the distraction.”

“Hey, don’t say I never did anything for you,” he replied, blushing.

She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling herself up to hug him. He wrapped his arms around her and tugged her in closer.

“I love you, Theron.”

“Love you, too, Mhara.”

She shuddered as his whisper tickled the back of her neck and she thought it might be nice to just stay there in his arms forever. She was safe there, and she would never be lonely.

“I guess you can’t really be a Zeheron anymore, can you?” he asked sheepishly, refusing to put any space between the two of them.

Mhara sniffled a little, “I suppose not. I’m just Mhara now. Or Agent, I suppose.”

Theron cleared his throat, “How, uh, how would you maybe like to, uh, perhaps… be Mhara Shan?”

She scrunched her brows together, “That would be silly, I can’t just take your name.”

“I’m not suggesting you just take it,” he said seriously, finally pulling away to hold both of her hands in his and look into her eyes.

She paused, the realization of what he was asking dawning on her, “Are you...?”

“Will you marry me?”

The entire universe seemed to stop in that moment. Her heart was in her throat, the weight of the question bearing down on her like a Bantha. And his eyes - oh his eyes were filled with anxiety and hope and love. But there was never a moment of doubt in her mind.

“Theron, I don’t know what to say,” she whispered, any louder and she could have started crying again, “I’ve never wanted anything more.”

“Who needs words?” Theron replied, smiling broadly with tears at the corner of his eyes, too. He squeezed her hands in his and kissed her again so hard she fell back onto the couch and he went down with her in a heap of laughter. He rolled onto his side so his back was to the back of the couch, the blanket forgotten by their feet. She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his hips, pressing her face into the crook of his neck and just breathing, feeling him against her.

“I love you, Theron,” she breathed, meaning the words even more now than the first time she’d said them all those years ago.

He pressed a kiss in her hair, “I love you, too, Mhara.”

They laid on the couch together for a long time, pressing as close together as they could, breathing in unison, and running their hands over each other’s backs. Theron slipped his hand under Mhara’s shirt, grinning against her cheek as she shivered. But there was nothing mischievous in his touch; he traced her spine with his fingers, brought his hands to her sides, and felt every curve of her muscles and skin. As if he wanted to memorize everything about the way she felt beneath his hands, the very shape of her body ingrained in his mind.

She sighed happily in his arms, the dreadful conversation from earlier a distant memory now, “Where should we have the ceremony?”

He thought for a moment, “Rishi? In the village where we first kissed? Or we could go to Manaan if you’d prefer. I was significantly less injured on that planet.”

Mhara laughed, still pressed against him so she couldn’t see the delight in his eyes at the noise, but she could feel it in him, “We could do it here. Toovee could officiate.”

“I’m available for whatever your desires require, master!” the droid chirped from down the hall.

Theron shook his head and sighed, “He had to stay, didn’t he?”

Mhara shrugged, “He comes with the ship.”

He kissed her on the nose before sitting up again, “Think I’ve got a suit around here somewhere… should we do this all fancy-like?”

He climbed over her almost gracefully and held out his hand. She took it, blushing furiously, and stood as he pulled her to her feet, bringing her hand to his lips.

“Meet you out here in ten?”

She eyed him, “Do you even know what goes into looking fancy?”

Theron grinned, “I know you can do it in ten minutes.”

Mhara shook her head with a smile and wandered to the cargo bay where she stored the outfits she didn’t wear regularly. She looked across the row of clothes, noting just how much red and black she had in her wardrobe. Most of them were uniforms from her Intelligence days, things she couldn’t bring herself to throw out but had no desire to ever see again. But one item caught her eye: a long sleek red dress with dark leather inlays. She couldn’t remember even wearing it, but it was perfect for this occasion. So she threw it on, touched up her makeup in the refresher, and went barefoot out into the lounge again.

Theron was finishing putting gel in his hair, fussing with the shape of it. The little frown was absolutely adorable, and she could hardly keep from kissing him again. But she waited patiently in the doorway, keeping silent, watching him throw his suit jacket on and rub at the scars around his implants.

When he turned around and saw her, he jumped nearly out of his skin. It took him a moment to recover from the surprise, but once he did, he looked her up and down, taking in the sight of her with stars in his eyes.

Mhara chuckled and held out her arm, “Shall we?”

He took it and pressed a kiss to her forehead, “You’re beautiful.”

“Mmm no, I’m Mhara.”

Theron snorted, “Had that one coming, didn’t I?”

2V stood patiently in the cockpit, doing his best captain impersonation. He had somehow found a bowtie and donned it proudly - or, she imagined he was proud of it, but it wasn’t like he actually had any facial expressions.

“Are we ready to begin the joining?” he asked.

Mhara slid her hand down to hold Theron’s, looking at him and the way he blushed when their eyes met, “Absolutely.”

“In all the galaxy, there is no greater force than true love. Love flourishes, sustains, and protects. Without love, the galaxy would be cold and empty. Your bond lends fire to the stars, dissolving darkness,” he paused for a moment, letting the words sink in before he looked to Mhara, “Do you take this man as your husband, to cherish for the rest of your days?”

She squeezed his hand, “I do.”

2V turned to Theron, “Do you take this woman as your wife, to honor in word and deed?”

Theron nodded, “I do.”

“May your love transcend time, distance, and all barriers in between. The terms of bonding are complete. You may now kiss.”

They turned to each other and Mhara took her hand out of his so she could grasp both sides of his face; Theron put his hands on her waist and pulled her hips against him. Her lips met his and in that moment, all that mattered was Theron.

He pulled away for a second, “Toovee, play us something slow and romantic.”

“Of course, master” the droid complied, and a few seconds later music came through the speakers.

“What do you think? Shall we have our first dance as husband and wife?” Theron asked, quickly taking her hand in his and flattening his other hand on the small of her back.

Mhara leaned her head against his chest, swaying in time to the music.

“You really are beautiful, you know,” he commented.

She looked up in his eyes and blushed when she found him looking right back down at her, “You’re pretty handsome yourself.”

Theron laughed, and she could feel his warmth and his love and stars, it made her feel so comfortable to stand here with him. The metal floor was cold on her bare feet, but her heart was cozy wrapped up in his.

She was exhausted, feeling like she’d lived through three days in one. She’d lost her family, lost her last connection to the Empire, but she’d gained so much more in Theron. He was ridiculous, disaster-prone, injury-prone, and babble-y. But he was thoughtful, loving, and silly, too. Mhara wouldn’t have traded him for anything in the galaxy, not for a “normal” life, not for a “normal” family, not for the safety and security of a quiet retirement. She loved him with her whole heart and was sure she always would.

#Theron x Mhara #Theron Shan x Female Imperial Agent #the ginger writes #loooove you mhara~

[thievinghippo]

Fic Update: Pragmatic Dreams (15/??)

Chapter Title: Trust (Read on Ao3!)

Pairing: Lana/Beniko/female Jedi Knight

Rating: Teen

Summary: When Darth Marr’s flagship is destroyed, the galaxy mourns the loss of a leader of the Jedi Order. And Lana Beniko mourns the loss of her lover. But when secrets are uncovered, Lana realizes that the only way to save the galaxy might just be to tear it apart, all for the woman she loves.

Notes: Again, I am so, so sorry for the delay between chapters. I’ve been in a writing slump, but I think I’ve finally broken through it. Hopefully this won’t happen again! (Thank you to everyone who’s kept with me through this!)

#

“Ballen,” Lana said as she sat down at the cantina table.

The message he had sent her was short. Requesting in-person meeting. The former Watcher Three was one of her most steady operatives. If he wanted to discuss something in person, Lana took the charge seriously. So they met at Vaiken Station, since she was in the system for Acina’s coronation.

“My lord,” Ballen said, staring down at a holopad, before pushing it across the table towards her. He had that general disheveled look of someone who hadn’t slept in some time, which made Lana wonder what sort of information this holopad would reveal.

“Care to give me the short version?” Lana asked. “Or shall I read the holopad first?”

Ballen sighed, one that went right down to his toes, and said, “I would never make this accusation without proof. Rane Kovach. He’s providing information regarding Sith Intelligence to the SIS and the former Republic Chancellor.”

Lana’s stomach sank as if it were full of stones. “Rane?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Rane, who she had hand-picked to be her assistant when she ran Intelligence. But perhaps she was getting ahead of herself. “How long?”

“Before you even became Minister, my lord,” Ballen said, staring down at his folded hands. “I’ve had my suspicions for a while, but no proof until now. It’s all there.”

A cursory glance at the contents of the pad told her plenty. This would need to be dealt with immediately. And then she saw a name of one of Rane’s contacts that took the breath from her.

Theron Shan.

#

Lana stared out the window of the Port Nowhere, wondering if today would be the day the Alliance ended, even before it truly had a chance to begin. She had no idea how she would ever be able to truly trust Theron again. Was this how he felt after he discovered she set him up on Rishi? Somehow she doubted it. They had only known each other for a few months at this point. Now? They had been working together as a team for bloody years.

And in all that time, he didn’t think to mention that there was a mole in Sith Intelligence working for him. She had trusted Rane Kovach. She had trained him to take his place, and he must have been laughing at her the entire time. What does that say about her that she never even realized it?

That was what angered her the most. How could she trust herself any longer? How could she? When she couldn’t even trust her people, and worse, couldn’t trust people she would have proudly called a friend.

The doors opened to the conference room, the very room where she and Theron had tireless worked for months to arrange the surrender of the Republic and the Imperial Empire to the Eternal Empire. And now it would be the room where she confronted her friend.

“Lana? Everything okay?” Theron asked as the doors closed behind him. She continued staring out the window, refusing to acknowledge his presence. Let him become uncomfortable. He deserved it. She listened to his footsteps as he crossed the room, finally standing next to her. And still she stared ahead, convinced that if she looked him in the eye, Lana would make a mistake that would haunt her. “I’m here like you asked. What was so important that we had to meet in person?”

 She closed her eyes, anger coiling in her stomach, slithering through her veins like a snake. If she wanted, she could kill Theron with a snap of her fingers; he’d never be able to defend himself in time. Oh how she wanted to lash out, to channel her anger and pain. But that would give Theron far too much power. Best to go in with an icy chill instead of a fiery blast.

“You son of a bitch,” Lana all but whispered, crossing her arms over her chest to keep herself from lashing out.

“Excuse me?” Theron said, sounding genuinely hurt.

It was the hurt in his voice that made her snap. Why should he be hurt when she was the injured party? She turned and took a step into his personal space, feeling far too satisfied when Theron took a step back, his hand resting on the holster of his blaster.

“All your words about trust and throwing Rishi in my face every other day and you place an SIS agent right in Sith Intelligence, right under my very nose, and don’t even tell me?”

Theron’s brow furrowed and Lana wasn’t sure if he was acting or genuinely confused. In the end, though, did it even matter? “Kovach. Shit.”

“Shit is right,” Lana said. Her anger and frustration bled out suddenly and all that was left were actual hurt feelings. She tried to brush them aside, try to tell herself that she considered Theron a friend didn’t matter. She could be professional about this. She had to be. The galaxy deserved no less than her absolute best. “You couldn’t have told me? Given me some warning?”

Theron dragged his hand down his face. “This is going to sound like an excuse, Lana, but honestly? I simply forgot.”

“You forgot?” Lana said, emphasizing each syllable.

“You were Minister of Sith Intelligence. I was part of the SIS. I’m not going to apologize for for doing my job back then,” Theron said, a note of anger creeping into his voice. “So yeah, maybe after you left Intelligence and we started working together, I should have told you.” He leaned forward, resting his forearm on the window. “But I was a little preoccupied and I didn’t give Kovach a second thought.”

Lana took a deep breath through her nose, trying to find her center. “So you forgot that you had a high level Sith Intelligence mole that reported to the Chancellor on a regular basis.”

Theron stilled at that. “The Chancellor? Lana, what the fuck are you talking about. None of our contacts for the SIS reports to Saresh. We all report to Marcus Trant.”

Her temple started throbbing slightly. This had just gotten far more complicated. “Theron, my people have been investigating Kovach thoroughly since he was placed on the watch list. He communicates with a contact in the SIS, but he also makes regular communications to the Chancellor’s office. More than he contacts the SIS, to be honest.”

Theron’s jaw clenched as his hands curled into fists. “Damnit, he shouldn’t have access to Saresh. He must be playing the SIS. Probably telling Saresh everything about them. I need to warn Jonas.”

Lana placed her hand on Theron’s arm to stop him from leaving. “We have a bigger problem than that, Theron. He was one of my main sources in Sith Intelligence. He and I have discussed the Alliance in detail,” she said. His eyes grew wide and she was glad. Let him understand the ramifications of his actions. “Do you understand now why I’m so upset? We have no idea what Rane has told Saresh about the Alliance.”

“We need to find out,” Theron said, his voice pained. “Tell me you haven’t dropped him down a dark hole somewhere.”

“I have not,” Lana said, though she very much had wanted to. Oh how good that would feel… “I wanted to discuss things with you first before I made a move.”

“Suppose I should thank you for that,” Theron said, scratching the back of his neck. His tell for being nervous. Good, Lana thought. Let him be nervous. Let him worry about what she might do next. “Damnit, this is a mess.” He held up his hands. “Yeah, you don’t need to tell me. A mess that’s my fault.”

Lana waited a moment before answering, trying to stay calm. “Do you think you could arrange a meeting? Bring him here? Then we can interrogate him.”

Theron looked wary at that. “Darth Marr interrogation or Satele interrogation?”

“Lana Beniko interrogation.” Theron’s eyes widened and Lana wanted to scream. How dare he judge her? Especially when she was picking up the pieces of his bloody mess. “I’m not going to torture him, Theron. But I will get the information I need.” She used the word I very deliberately. Let him wonder if he would be part of her plans from now on. That would be a decision she would have to make soon. But not now.

“Fair enough,” Theron said, bringing out his holocom. “I’ll make the call.”

#

Luring Kovach to Port Nowhere was surprisingly easy.

Theron made a few promises, played up their old connection, and two days later, Kovach walked into their trap.

“Theron?” Kovach’s voice sounded confused as he entered the darkened room. Good, Lana thought as she waited in the shadows. Let him be confused.

The moment the door closed behind him, Lana spread her fingers wide, enveloping him in a stasis field. A purposely weak one, giving Kovach a bit of movement. His eyes grew wide and she could sense the sudden scent of fear. He was terrified.

Good.

Theron walked over to Kovach quickly and through the field, handcuffed him with his hands in front of his body. “Sorry about this, Rane,” Theron said in a low voice. But then he pushed Kovach towards the single chair in the room, harder than he should have. Lana clenched her jaw, willing Theron to stick to their plan. She would be the big bad Sith and him the sympathetic SIS agent. But if Theron let his anger overflow, it would ruin everything.

“Sit,” Lana said, her voice a command. It was a voice that no one who valued their lives would ever think of disobeying. Kovach sat at once. Smart man.

“I know what this is about,” Kovach said, his chin held high. Lana tilted her head at that. Interesting. How quickly he settled on a strategy for himself. “You’ve discovered that I worked with the former Chancellor.”

“Pretty impressive, I have to say,” Theron said. “You team up with her before or after you started working with the SIS?”

When Kovach took a moment to long to answer, Lana sent a small shock towards him. Nothing that would the man at all. Just make him a bit uncomfortable. “I would answer quickly,” Lana said as he jumped slightly in his seat.

“That really necessary?” Theron asked, glaring at Lana. He looked annoyed enough that she didn’t think this was part of the planned routine. Lana simply crossed her arms over her chest and ignored him.

“I went to Saresh first,” Kovach said, wetting his lips. “Then she ordered me to infiltrate the SIS as well. She didn’t feel the agency was providing her the complete picture.”

Theron shook his head. “Damnit, Rane. Why wouldn’t you come to the SIS? We would have helped you.”

Kovach let out a bitter laugh, one that Lana felt shiver down her spine. “After what the SIS did to Cipher Nine? I think not.”

Lana had to admit she understood. When she was head of Sith Intelligence, she had read all about the truth there. She didn’t blame Fraeja for killing the entire SIS team she had infiltrated, not at all. Chances were Lana would have done the exact same thing. It did beg the question, though. How exactly had Kovach discovered that information? To call it classified understated the matter. And she didn’t believe that Kovach and Fraeja were close enough for her to share that information. But that was yet another problem for another day.

“So you thought you’d go over Lana’s head and work directly with Saresh? How’d that work out for you?” Theron asked, shaking his head.

“I had to do something,” Kovach said. Pleaded, really. “I abhor slavery and I figured I could do best working on the inside. I won’t apologize for that.”

“Your answer to fighting slavery was to lead the Republic to Ziost where they could become slaves to Vitiate?” Lana asked with a scoff. Her patience was wearing thin. She wanted to demand he provide her the information she wanted, then kill him.

“And then you fucked it all up,” Theron said. “Saresh didn’t actually take your advice, did she? And no one else was there to tell you what a bad idea this was. When did you switch to survival mode?”

“Saresh wasn’t the only one who knew about me on Ziost,” Kovach said, his voice growing desperate as his eyes darted back and forth between them. “The Jedi Order knew. If they wanted to stop me, they could have easily.”

Lana’s heart froze. Besides the Sixth Line, the only other Jedi on Ziost was Maebry. Maebry couldn’t have known about Rane. She couldn’t. “What do you mean they could have stopped you?” she asked, steel in every word.

“Master Maebry. She caught me speaking to Saresh on Ziost-”

Lightning left Lana’s fingertips before she could control herself. The blast hit Rane right in the chest and Lana tried not to rejoice in his suffering. “Liar,” she all but snarled. “She would never-”

“Beniko, what the fuck are you doing?” Theron asked, grabbing her arm.

Lana struggled out of his grip easily, needing to release this sudden surge of anger that threatened to overwhelm her. “He is lying,” she said through ground teeth. “Maebry would never have done that-”

“He’s telling the truth,” Theron said softly.

She deflated at once, all the fight in her body disappearing, leaving only an empty shell. Theron took her arm and Lana let him lead her away from Kovach, until they were far enough away that he couldn’t overhear. “How do you know?” she asked, willing his words not to be true.

“I was there, Lana,” Theron said and she all but recoiled at the sound of pity in his voice. “When I met up with Maebry on Ziost, Rane was there and he had already told her, cause they were on the same side in his mind. If it helps, she didn’t tell me about the Saresh bit.”

“It doesn’t,” Lana said without emotion.

For so long, Lana had clung to the hope of finding Maebry and perhaps even starting up a proper relationship, one built on their shared attraction and goals. And trust. All these years, Lana had assumed that Maebry trusted her, just like she had trusted Maebry. To find out now that it was all a lie, when she couldn’t even confront her lover about this betrayal…

“Lana, back when you were head of Sith Intelligence, if you had a chance to put a spy in the Jedi Order, would you have hesitated for even a moment?” Theron asked.

Lightning danced at her fingertips and she could hear Kovach muttering to himself behind her. “I don’t believe in hypotheticals,” Lana said slowly. “I’m getting the information I need from him and then I’m going to kill him.”

She waited for a protest of some sort, even a token one, but all Theron said was, “I won’t stop you.”

“Good,” Lana said. Any protest he made would have been meaningless; they both knew she could overpower Theron easily if she wanted. He wouldn’t be able to keep her from her goal.

Lana took her time walking back towards Kovach. He watched her with his jaw set. Perhaps some of those interrogation lessons all Imperial Agents were required to have were finally kicking in. “What did you tell Saresh about the Alliance?” she asked, chin raised.

“Nothing,” Kovach said quickly. “I swear on my life. You’re doing good work, my lord. Someone needs to stand up for the rest of the galaxy and Saresh doesn’t seem to want to be that person.” His head dropped, probably because he knew his usefulness was at an end. “So I haven’t said a thing. She doesn’t even know that you and I have been in contact these past few years.”

Strangely enough, Lana believed him. Not willing to leave anything to chance, though, she reached out through the Force and could only sense the truth from Kovach.

She thought of Maebry. What had her lover hoped to accomplish by allowing Kovach to spy on both Sith Intelligence and the SIS? Perhaps that another way for her to help with the war effort. She needed to remember that when Jedi hoped for peace, what they were truly hoping for was the extinction of Lana’s entire order. Maebry tried that herself, asking Lana to become her padawan, asking her to give up everything she had ever known.

Closing her eyes, Lana pictured Maebry in her head, with her dark skin and purple heather hair. How long had it been since she looked at the holo of the two of them? Too long, if Lana was willing to kill Kovach without a second thought. Maebry would never forgive her.

Could Lana live with that?

She picked up her holocom, already knowing the answer. Damnit, Maebry. “Ballen,” Lana said into the device. She asked him to be on standby for this meeting, in case his services were needed. She hadn’t expected them to be so. Just another thing Lana had gotten wrong.

Ballen replied at once. Yes, my lord.

“Have Rane Kovach stripped of his Imperial citizenship immediately,” Lana said, not looking at either Theron or Kovach. “Forward the information you have to your contacts in Republic space and make sure he’s ineligible to apply for Republic citizenship. Beniko out.”

Taking a breath, Lana turned and looked at Kovach. The relief on the man’s face could be read a mile away. Somehow that made things worse.

“I think with Saresh out as Chancellor,” Theron said smoothly, “it might be pretty hard to get anyone to overturn that citizenship ban. Good luck in Hutt Space.” Theron undid Kovach’s restraints. Quickly, probably to make sure Lana didn’t have a chance to change her mind. “Now get out.”

“Right away,” Kovach said, his voice shaking as he stood up. He didn’t even look back as he all but ran out the door of the conference room.

A silence as thin as a thread about to snap settled over the room. Lana walked to one of the big picture windows and looked out into the stars, trying to gather her thoughts. Her mind seemed to be overflowing at the moment and she wasn’t quite sure what she would need to do to contain everything. So she stared out the window and focused on a star. She had no idea what star, but it was enough to calm her.

“Lana, I’m just going to say it,” Theron said, sticking his hands deep into his pockets as he walked over to her. “You took this way too fucking personally. I get that you and Master Maebry had a thing-”

“It wasn’t a-” Lana stopped and closed her eyes. How in the galaxy could she actually try to explain? Perhaps to everyone else, her flirtations with Maebry had been just that. Flirts. But she and Maebry had forged a bond during their time together. A bond that Lana had been willing to follow to the end of the galaxy. “I loved her, Theron. And she loved me, I’m sure of it.”

“You barely knew her,” Theron said, frustration lacing his voice.

Lana stilled at the accusation. Barely knew her? As if Maebry hadn’t been entwined in her life from the very moment they met? Even when Lana had first spoken to Maebry through a holocall, when the Manaan base was about to go down, she had sensed their connection. Barely knew her?

Anger swelled through her chest, but somehow, Lana manged not to lash out. She would need to find a place to release some lightning and soon. “I would like to think I have a better grasp on my relationship with the Jedi Master than you, Theron,” she said as she clasped her hands behind her back. She needed to be away from Theron, away from everyone. She needed to breathe. “I believe we’ve set out what we hoped to accomplish. Kovach has been neutralized.”

How she managed to sound like her entire world hadn’t just been ripped apart, she didn’t know.

“Shit, Lana, I didn’t mean…” Theron trailed off.

To his credit, Lana actually could hear the apology in his voice. It did not help the situation. What he said wasn’t true. She knew a great deal about Maebry, mostly from the files Sith Intelligence had on her. But all she truly had needed to know, Lana had learned through their bond. And through that bond, Lana knew that Maebry loved her. Loved her. Lana didn’t need to know anything else.

Lana wondered what Maebry would do in this situation, if she had been betrayed by one of her companions. The answer was obvious. Maebry would forgive them and welcome them back to the fold. Could Lana do the same? Could Lana sweep this under the rug, work as though Theron had never done anything wrong? Another obvious answer. She had no choice. There was too much at stake for grudges. If she could find someone more suited to the task than Theron, perhaps then she could be selfish. But until then…

She turned and looked Theron in the eye. “Professionally, I think it best we put this behind us,” she said softly.

“Wait, really?” Theron asked, sounding confused. “I mean, I’ll take it. But are you sure about this?”

Lana thought to how their lives would be different if the Eternal Empire had never invaded. She and Theron would be on separate sides, each one most likely still trying to destroy the other. How could he have resisted the chance to put an agent in her ranks? Truth be told, if she could look past the anger and embarrassment of this, Lana was quite impressed that Theron had the audacity to do that. “I’m sure. Are there any other agents I should know about?”

Theron shook his head. “None that I know about. But you know there are probably other moles in Sith Intelligence, right?”

“I know,” Lana said. She would pass along a message to Ballen that Sith Intelligence might want to do some loyalty checks. Thorough ones. “And I’m sure Sith Intelligence has moles in the SIS.”

The room threatened to overwhelm her. She needed to be off of this station. Now. This very moment. Not bothering to look at Theron, she started walking towards the door, stopping right before it would automatically open. “I’m going to focus on finding the Alliance a base.” She half turned back to Theron, but didn’t meet his eyes. “For the time being, please only contact me in regards to official Alliance business.”

“Lana,” Theron said. The slight crack in his voice gave her pause and she raised her chin, locking her eyes with his. “I’m sorry.”

She left the room without another word.

#swtor #lana beniko #maebry hindemith #hippo writes fanfiction