*sniff* Scuse me, there's....something in my eye. Allergies...yeah, that's it.

Damn those allergies

@EverSteam Very tense sequence. Losing one's only communicator in a scenario like this must be a nightmare.

Most definitely! And that just gave me an idea for a new piece for later... *quickly goes and writes a draft* thanks!

@Eversteam, What a horrible, terrifying thing for Corso and Audra. Not being able to make contact after an event like that would be awful. I especially liked the two wish pieces.

I'm glad, I liked those two best as well. I was a little worried about writing Corso crying...

Also, I love your BH to pieces.

10 hours after the destruction of Coronet City:

Corso watches the men with wary eyes. They are similar build, similar height and by their words, he guesses they're brothers. It seems they both came here to look for the same woman that had been sleeping with both of them. All secrets come out eventually. One lady's mistake isn't a reason for two brothers to fight.

Corso stands to his feet when the shoving starts. The camps fire crackles as the last of the nights wood finishes burning. The sun dawned an hour or so ago now. The men push dangerously close to shallow pit of embers. Only a few people that face Corso's direction see him coming and give him a glance.

When the first punch flies, Corso runs to break them up. He catches the swing of an elbow on his now and is knocked to the ground. He's dimly aware of the crack his nose made as he falls to the ground. The blood begins to gush from his nose that was already irreversible crooked but the pain of his fall quickly overtakes the pain of his nose. The men continue to brawl, ignoring the fall of the man.

Corso lands with his head in the fire. He raises a hand to push of the ground but it only sinks into the burning ash of the fire. He would like to think his scream was manly but it wasn't. It was a pure holler of agony and it was quickly followed by gasps of onlookers. It isn't until Corso's hair starts burning that the two men stop their blows. Corso's instinct was to touch his hair to remove what was causing the pain but all it earned his hands were second degree burns and a removal of all their hair. Corso tries to pat the fire out as it quickly eats his dry, dirty dreds.

Before the fire can consume his entire head and spread to singed shirt, a young girl throws something (Corso isn't in the frame of mind to notice what) full of water on him. He quickly reaches his burning hands to the bald, blistering surface of his skull to cover ever inch in the soothing, clear liquid. A man runs towards him with more water and his help quickly breaks the bystanders trance. They all rush to get water and a few with vague medical training run to his aid.

Corso lies there and touches his now bald head as water is poured on him. They're gone, is all he can think. They're gone. It's all gone. Everything he has is gone.

12 hours after the attack:

In the ruins of a hanger, two women and four men uncover the broken carcass of a ship after seven hours clearing away the rubble that crushes the body. That morning, the smallest of the men broke through into a bedroom where a voice can be heard. He stoops down and answers it and can see the flickering disfigured form of a woman standing. He can't make out anything clearly but he can hear her voice.

'Corso? Corso are you there?' she desperately demands. 'Can you hear me? Corso? Riggsie?' she pleads in a voice spiked with static and supported by white noise. She sounds Imperial but that is strange since this comm is in a Republic hanger.

She pauses and the skinny man tries to tell her that Corso isn't here but he can hear her. Her voice cuts through his reply.

'Corso, I can't hear or see you but...' her form looks around and she shifts on her feet. 'Corso, I need to tell you something even if you can't hear me. I love you, Corso. I love you so much. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I just... you take my words away, Riggsie.'

The small man touches his cheek with his free hand and feels the sticky wetness of tears. He's crying for this woman who didn't tell the man she loves that she does. He's lost people too but he has been able to find their bodies at least, but that is only a mark lower on the scale of horrible.

'Please, please find me,' she begs. 'I'm working with the cleanup crew but we haven't broken through to our sector. My holo is broken but it shouldn't be too hard to find me. There aren't many people left. Take care.'

She hangs up then and the man puts the holo away in his pocket encase she calls again. He looks around the bent room and doesn't see any body. He looks to the small cramped space of the door way and knows they'll have to break into each room separately. They've already broken into three of the rooms. The engine room was luckily relatively intact so the ship never caught fire. Only a dead Mon Calamari, a critically injured Zabrak and a critically injured Wookie. The latter two were found four hours ago.

The Zabrak now floats in one of three undamaged kolto tanks left in the sector but she's not local and she's an alien. She will be moved as soon as another survivor is found. They are rare. Those who were hit are dead and those that somehow made it only have a few bruises. Only twenty people are alive in their sector. They don't know about the others. By the sound of the woman's message, his team aren't entirely alone.

The plea of the woman drives the small man to climb up through the hole and continue his search with more vigour. He wants to find her man and he wants to find him alive. If he can't, he'd like to find her and tell her that himself.

15 hours after the destruction of Coronet City:

'Riggs,' a young woman calls.

It's stupid but Corso turns to the call of his last name with hope in his eyes. It's the wrong voice (he knows that), it's the wrong tone (he knows that too) and it's the wrong woman. But he still hopes. When he turns, those hopes are disappointed for what won't be the last time. Everyone here calls him Riggs.

'I'm told you're the man to see about...'

Corso listens to her attentively. Her blue eyes are red from crying and she pulls at the bottom of her shirt uncomfortably like a child trying to comfort themselves in the absence of their favourite toy. Corso runs his hand over the bandages that cover his head and winces at the stinging pain it causes. It had just gone away.

Things have changed since he tried to stop that fight. He became a person for that camp to treat in the absence of their loved ones and after hearing their stories, Corso set about trying to solve their problems in any way he could. He needs to help others and he needs to try and find her. They went from caring for him to respecting and following him easily. They aren't used to a polite and effective leader and the people needed a leader.

Corso shakes his head and brings his mind back to the skinny, delicate woman in front of him. He can't help her any more than he can help himself but he won't stop trying.

'Darlin', you need to...' Corso begins. He repeats what he will repeat to another ten women that day. None of them are the one he wants to be calling his name.

'I'm curious, Quinn.'

The Captain doesn't turn his head to look at her or pause from his calculations. He knows what he will see will only irk him: her slim body sitting in a black slip with her bare, long feet on the control panel. He hasn't ever needed to say anything to that effect for her to know how it makes him feel. It's all part of a game that is part of something close to a friendship. He has no doubt she will tire of him once the game is over like she does all her pets and then discard him like she did them. He cannot be sure that he isn't expendable despite everything.

Quinn glances at the clock and sees it reads 02:48. The silence extends but he doesn't look to her or query what she meant. Eventually, the Sith Warrior continues.

'Are you aware, Captain,' she begins in the tone that barely contains laughter, 'how many times you have yawned in the last two hours?'

'No, my Lord,' he replies steadily. He is aware though of how many times she has crossed and uncrossed her legs in the past three hours she has been sitting there. 18 times he believes.

'Twenty two.' She says the number as if she's making a bet or placing down a card that might win a game but she isn't sure yet, doubt niggling at her mind.

'Are you tired, Quinn?' she asks seriously.

Quinn glances at her open face that stares into his and retains a stoic expression as he disassembles her meaning. It is unclear to what else she could be referring to but sleep and he feels this may end with an offer to join her in her quarters again. Nothing she says is ever as it seems and eighty three percent are pre-planned traps. He likes her impromptu ones the most.

'I have been receiving adequate sleep, my Lord,' Quinn stiffly replies, returning his attention to the terminal.

'That's good to hear, Quinn,' she replies with a thick layer of sarcasm. 'Now we come to what I am curious about,' she says with seductive giddiness. She moves her feet from the control panel and turns her chair to face his, leaning forward. Though it brings her face close to Quinn's, he doesn't move back and doesn't dare glance down at the ample cleavage she is showing.

'Are you going to remain in that chair, awake and working, for as long as I sit here?'

'I haven't thought about it, my Lord,' he calmly and formally replies immediately.

'I'm asking you to think about it now, Captain.'

The friendly look evaporates from her eyes and lightening crackles at her fingers. Sith are known for their mood swings and quick tempers but her display of mood changes are logical tactics that work to a goal that she never loses sight of it. This has earned Quinn's respect and she knows that he sees through her melodramatic demonstrations. It's a quiet, unspoken joke between them and every time she makes a display of the Force, she winks to Quinn and he can't help but giving a small knowing and approving smile in return. It never fails to get results. In private, the joke continues.

'I will remain ready for your orders at whatever time they are given, my Lord,' Quinn carefully replies.

'That isn't an answer, Malavai,' she scolds. 'Does the thought of sleeping while I'm awake scare you?' The lightening disappears and the teasing look returns to her eyes as she levitates a datapad Quinn had been keeping on hand.

'No, my Lord,' Quinn easily denies. He doesn't spare a glance to the datapad. 'If I am asleep while you are awake I will not be able to perform any task you need me to.'

'So you do only stay awake because I am here and not because absently typing reports is just very important?'

'No, my Lord, I-' Quinn begins to defend. She waves a hand that silences him.

'But you just told me you stay awake so you can follow my orders while I'm awake thus you are staying awake because I'm here. Did you just lie to me, Captain Malavai Quinn?'

'No, my Lord,' Quinn calmly defends with almost a hint of a smile. 'You merely misunderstand me.'

'Ah, so I'm a misunderstanding fool now?' she queries.

Her eyes seem to glow a little redder and her lips that are a dark purple stretch into a grin. Quinn doesn't stiffen or show any sign of fear. He has mentally catalogued the meanings of each of her expressions such as her varying smiles and recognises that one as safe laughter.

'No, my Lord,' Quinn disagrees as his brows knit together. He can't imagine how to work his way out from this but their repartee is best when it flows from one line to another with no plan. 'I never said or implied that.'

'But you did, Captain Quinn. Two lies in one night,' she scolds as she holds up two fingers. 'I think that's a new record.'

'I wasn't aware that misunderstandings were being counted and recorded, my Lord,' Quinn replies with the shadow of a smile.

'Oh, misunderstandings aren't,' she replies as she waves the two fingers dismissively. 'But lies are.' The fingers still themselves again.

'I am always honest with you, my Lord,' Quinn assures with a tint of indignation in his voice.

'Three in one night!' She claps her hands in sardonic excitement and flings herself into the back of her chair, bringing her knees up to her chest. All of her naked slender legs can be seen and Quinn slowly diverts his eyes to the screen he had been reading something he doesn't even remember off.

'Quinn,' she gently calls. 'I'm not going to cut your arm off for looking at me. If that's how it worked, Pierce would be minus so many parts I would have run out weeks ago,' she remarks with a smile and a laugh.

It strangely doesn't suit her - or more her occupation - as it is gentle and smooth with each sound melodiously following the last with no erratic and disgusting disturbances. She eyes Quinn as she smiles and wonders what his laughter sounds like. She has feelings for a man she has never even heard laughter from and only seen 15 different shades of contrite, scorn, formality or stoicism. Often they are rolled into one. She certainly knows how to pick them.

'I don't know what you're referring to, my lord,' Quinn stiffly replies. His lips twitch upward at the edges at the thought of Pierce in many pieces though. 'I beg your pardon, my Lord, but I am working.'

'Pardon not given,' she harshly refuses.

It took him by surprise when they first met how a Sith could give orders with the skill of a Moff. It earned his respect immediately and her thorough knowledge of tactics and military protocols only made that respect grow. Despite her games and dramatic displays of emotion, she is calculating and cold except for her rage that is slow to build. She is someone who could actually lead the Empire and not be distracted by the political squabbles of her brethren. Something in him stirs and hopes that she will live past her master.

Despite her refusal she doesn't speak again for a long while. She turns her chair around slightly again to face the window more and she watches the stars go by. Tonight she puts ambitious thoughts from her mind as she sits and considers herself and her Captain. None of the crew would believe that she feels happier and smiles more with Quinn than them and she doubts they know of their late night... meetings? Though he never laughs in return, there's times when she fancies he smiles and has attempted to hide them more than once. Every now and then, she thinks he does smile when she walks in to the bridge to sit with him for hours. She has even allowed herself on occasion to think that he may stay wander there after the crews dinner only to wait and see if she will come.

'I sense his feelings for you, Sith. His devotion goes beyond professional duty.'

She wanted to laugh at that but couldn't. The words have echoed through her mind in the past months but she hasn't placed faith in them. Quinn has never led her to believe in them. His demeanour though not exactly cold is uninviting and part of the game or not, he has never accepted her. Wanted her, yes. But lust is not devotion and she is wary of him. Their relationship may have strayed from professional to a friendship of sorts but that is not devotion.

'I believe you know how I feel about you, my Lord.'

She's never asked him what he meant. She contritely told him those were the worst last words ever said before the door opened and mentioned it later in a similarly teasing and disgusted manner. She has meant to ask but that might change something; rejection or confession, their relationship relies on the implicit and unspoken. Asking won't change what they are and what they are is Baras' creatures. Forgetting that would be foolish. Wanting him would be reckless. Needing him would be dangerous. Loving him would be insanity. She's ready to be all of them. For a Sith, there a worse things you could be accused of and worse reasons. She glances at Quinn.

Quinn considers the ideal paradigm of the Empire that sits next to him. She is logical, witty, realistic and sane. She is almost as patriotic as him and never forsakes the goals of the Empire for bloodlust or personal gain no matter how large that can be. Her tactical mind extends to Sith power play and relationships as she treats everyone as little more than a game. She is brilliant tactically though her ideas are sometimes raw and broad with fine tuning needed that he can provide. She is powerful, reasonably expects respect and is willing to give it when deserved (a rare quality), listens to those around her and relies on more than brute force to achieve her aims. She is someone to be proud to serve under. She is someone he has come to... He glances to her.

Their eyes meet and she smiles with slightly hesitant, guarded contentment. Quinn catches himself as he begins to return it. He looks back to his terminal and she continues to watch him with increasing humour at his eagerness to avoid her eyes now. It hides a deeper ache.

'Captain,' she begins with a laugh, 'you sit here for hours but I don't think I've ever seen you look out that window except in battle.'

Quinn doesn't glance at her or the stars.

'I have no time for star gazing, my Lord,' Quinn resentfully replies. The last word is hardly spoken before she asks another question.

'Quinn, how many times have I given you an order that contradicts your desires or compromises you or our mission?' she asks sternly.

Quinn glances at her and feels the last trap has passed and a new one is being formed this second. He cannot understand how her mind turned from the frequency he looked out the window to the nature of her orders. He disregards the lack of connection that may possibly be made clear in time. His mind moves on to consider this, travelling through every moment they have spent together since they met on Balmorra and he can come up with no incident.

'I cannot think of one, my Lord, though please give me some more time.'

She laughs and shakes her head, content to drift back into silence and her meditations.

'While we are speaking on this though, my Lord, I have been aware that your actions- our actions,' Quinn immediately corrects himself when he sees her eyebrow rise archly in a way that he knows signals a quick, contemptuous victory from another's stupidity. 'Our actions are unprofessional. You are my commanding officer and I feel that if they continue, we shall both be compromised.'

Quinn stands up and paces twice before stopping and watching the back of her chair. What are you doing? part of his mind shouts in disbelief. This is right. This is following what he believes. He cannot go against that.

'Poor, Quinn! We can't have that now,' she teases. The warrior turns around in her chair to face him.

'No. We cannot, my Lord,' Quinn firmly confirms. 'I will not request a transfer yet but I must speak and act freely.'

Her eyes narrow on him for a moment and it tells him that she is suspicious. What are you playing at Quinn? she wonders viciously. This isn't any game she had planned for tonight and there is an earnest quality under the lofty dark blue of his eyes. She doesn't trust it and she can't see...

'You have two minutes beginning now,' she barks. She could deny him and win by default but she is curious and denying her Captain is something she's never been good at.

Quinn nods and when he speaks there is no hurry in his words. 'My Lord, you and thoughts of you have begun to... distract me. It impairs my ability to serve and concentrate and could compromise your campaigns. I cannot in good conscience carry on.'

No civilian would blame her for her eyes opening a little wider in surprise. She blames herself.

'I aim to be distracting. I'm glad it's working,' she teases with a smirk. She feels nervous and Quinn can see it if by a little by the subtle shifting of her shoulders.

'I wouldn't mind distracting you in a more... fulfilling way. But I shall attempt to respect your wishes if you want,' sincerely assures before winking slyly again. 'I am Sith though.'

She's frowning. Her eyes find his and they seem to be the dullest shade of red he had seen since meeting her. He wants to make them bright again.

'My Lord,' Quinn begins as he moves closer. Two things drive him to walk closer to her and one of them is wanting to remove the disappointed frown from her dark purple lips. Screw being compromised. It was too late to worry about that since the day he met her.

Quinn's boots clip on the bridge floor. She notes that they are spotlessly black as always.

'55 seconds, Quinn, if-'

'If you have anything more to say' is what she was going to say. Her words are taken away when Quinn kneels in front of her as he did when he swore allegiance to her. His lips move against hers with firmness and as she kisses him back and slips her tongue into his warm mouth, she knows she is now in check. Her hands had moved to his neck and tangled itself in his hair to pull him closer. Her mind distantly registered how surprisingly soft it was.

Quinn moves his hand to the back of her bare knees to pull her down onto him. She willingly moves down and feels how surprisingly warm he is. Quinn's hands move to her back to hold her closer and he tries not to smile. He's made her want him as he much as he wants her.

And then she slips through his fingers. She pulls away and he sees the glint in her red eyes that show as much sadism as desire.

'Your two minutes are up, Malavai,' she purrs as she moves a strand of his hair back into place. Check mate.

She stands up and walks to the bridges entrance. Quinn stands to his feet and enters the best parade rest he can arrange at this moment.

'My Lord,' Quinn calls before she disappears.

She stops at the door and smiles to him an odd way. It isn't the usual smile of victory he is used to.

'I'm going to sleep, Captain. Feel free to do the same. I won't be needing your services any further tonight.'

And then she was gone in a rustle of black silk and she had still won. Quinn shakily sits down on the co-pilot chair. He looks to the stars and doesn't see the appeal. He looks back to his terminal but no answer to this problem is there either or to why his heart won't stop beating so fast. Nothing says how she left him except a knowledge that he means nothing to her.

He had her and she slipped away. He had everything and then the time was over. Trying to win cost him more than he was willing to give. There's a slight twinge in his chest as if a muscle was twitching there or something was being *****ed. It hurts and though he runs through the possible physiological causes, he knows what it is. He didn't want to win. He just wanted her.

Quinn's gaze moves to the stars again and he suddenly feels that there isn't any more enjoyment in this game.

----

When she leaves the bridge she runs quietly to her room. You're an idiot, she says to the mirror as she passes it to go to her bed. She flicks her wrist and the Force motion locks the door. She throws herself onto her empty and large bed and growls into her pillow.

She takes a breath. It didn't mean anything to him. You know it didn't. Nothing he said was real. Remember who is. Remember, remember, remember. And you didn't show how you feel. You rejected him. It's ok, it's ok, it's ok.

What does it matter? You're compromised entirely, she thinks with a sigh and a restless roll onto her side. She curls up and stares at the door that seems to taunt her. She can still feel his fingers on the back of her knees, his lips on hers, his hair in her fingers, his hand on her back and the irremovable promise and rightness that came with being in his strong arms. Suddenly the game is no longer fun.

Wynston left early in the morning. Another job done, another goodbye, even if this one was harder than most. Pacha took it well. She took it like a woman who knew what disaster was and knew this wasn’t one. Even in leaving he admired her.

His ship was empty as it hadn't regularly been since before he met Kaliyo. That seemed fitting for a fresh start. And it was a fresh start; not everything was resolved but for once it felt under control, like he could handle it. Without crutches. Some of…no, a lot of what he had tied up in losing Kaliyo was free again, free for him to use where he needed it. He flew alone and didn't call the Tenebrous until he needed to request docking codes.

Apparently that was warning enough for some parties, because both Vector and Ensign Temple were waiting for him in the hangar. Vector strode forward first. "Wynston. You might have called ahead."

"I was just enjoying the quiet before I got back to work." He leaned forward, rocked back, made up his mind, leaned forward again to shake hands. "I owe you an apology," he said. "I…." Words temporarily abandoned him.

Vector smiled. "Apology accepted," he said. Gracious as ever.

Wynston stepped aside to face Temple. "You, too. I was out of line."

"Oh, I know, sir." She snapped a salute and beamed. "All the same. It's good to have you back."

Buoyed by a swell of relief, he walked with them to the command center to pick up the job of managing the Tenebrous. For perhaps the first time, Wynston felt entirely ready for it.

A small gilded pin bearing the Imperial crest was delivered to Fixer Thirty-Four's box. A note was enclosed.

Pacha,

Not to draw out the goodbye, but I wanted to give you something. I told you I don't own much, but the Minister of Intelligence gave this to me in token of services rendered, and I prized it enough to keep it. Now I offer it, not for any service, but because it's one of the very few things I can truly call my own. It's for you.

I will remember you.

– W

She stared at the note for close to a minute before setting it aside and affixing the pin to her uniform, over her heart. Then she went about her job; the ordinariness of it was just what she needed. She meant to have a word with Keeper about the kind of assignments she’d prefer to avoid in the future. One was enough.

Corresponding like that? He never does. Letter-writing isn't his thing. Also, the pin was one of his possessions from a much older story; it was stored among less valuable insignia in his wardrobe rather than on the shelf he inventoried earlier in this arc.

He was lounging in the pilot's chair, feet propped up on one of the Fury's consoles, when she stalked into the room. He didn't bother to turn around or even open his eyes; even in some of her fouler moods, the boss knew that he demonstrated respect in more subtle ways than merely standing at attention.

That didn't mean he was allowed to completely fail to acknowledge her presence, though. "Hey."

She didn't make a sound, and for a few seconds he thought that he might be imagining her presence. But when he opened his eyes and turned around, the Miraluka Sith was standing there against the back wall, eerily silent and still. The only indication that she was alive at all were her hands, which slowly clenched and unclenched as though at the throat of a particularly annoying and recalcitrant prisoner.

He narrowed his eyes and scratched his scalp. "What's up, boss-lady?"

"Don't," she growled. "I'm...not in the mood. Just get us the kark away from this planet."

She turned to leave. Under the circumstances, saying anything else would probably be ill-advised, but what the hell. He called after her, "Any, uh, any place in particular you want to go?"

"Does it look like I give a damn, Niki?" she asked. Then she disappeared around the curve of the passageway.

He shrugged. It was a decent point. For a few seconds, he ran through his memory, trying to think of interesting places near Taris. Then he turned back to the navicomputer and started the calculations for a jump to the Sumitra sector. He knew enough Boordii to order a drink, start a fight, and hook up. And really, what else did you need?

---

Sakaria went straight to her room and locked the door behind her. She needn't have bothered; nobody could see what she was up to anyway. But the feeling of extra privacy, real or not, was worth it.

"Oh, apprentice," cooed Darth Zash. "Are you feeling down?"

"Shut up," she mumbled, but there was no venom in her voice. She sank down onto her pallet, and Zash's Force-ghost sat down beside her, resting her immaterial arm on her shoulders.

"Three weeks," she said finally. "Only three kriffing weeks without ghosts in my head. And now you're here."

"Please, apprentice. Did you seriously think that I didn't have a backup plan to escape the white room? Especially after what happened the first time?"

"Go to hell."

Zash examined her fingernails critically. "Make me," she said playfully.

"Maybe I will," Saki shot back.

The Force-ghost rolled her eyes. "We both know that if you really wanted to do that, you would. After this last year, you have total power over Force apparitions, and there's nothing I could do to prevent you from destroying me. But the truth of the matter is, you simply can't bear to not have me around."

Saki said nothing, too exhausted to get angry.

"Is it maybe a touch of infatuation?" the witch continued. "A young girl, entranced by the uncorrupted perfection of my...original body?" At this last, she preened a little bit - her apparition, not subject to the ravages of the dark side of the Force, was as pretty as she had appeared when first she met her former apprentice.

"I can think of a few places where you can jam that 'infatuation'," she offered.

"If only, apprentice. If only," said Zash agreeably. "Now, where were we? Ah, yes. Perhaps that might have played a role, but I think that you were looking for something else."

The Miraluka woman wrinkled her nose. "I was mostly looking for you to use my actual name instead of just 'apprentice'."

"Oh, but you will always be my apprentice," Zash said affectionately. "There is a strong Force bond between well-matched masters and apprentices that stands the test of time. Even a member of the Dark Council, at the pinnacle of power and authority, might still have a close relationship with her old master."

"Yeah, well, we didn't have that Force bond, did we?" she said bitterly. "You were just trying to kill me and turn me into your meat puppet from the start. You didn't care about me at all."

Zash smirked. "Ah, but you cared about me."

"Shut up."

"Oh, don't bother pretending," said the Force witch. "We share a body now, after all. And even though I can't take control like I could with your Dashade, I can still see your thoughts, feel your feelings, peruse your memories. You have no secrets from me."

"Then," said Saki heavily, "you know how deeply I hate you."

"The line between hate and love isn't as solid as you would like to think," pointed out Zash. "I had thought you were more hard-nosed than this, apprentice. Stop this petulantly childish behavior and admit it."

"Well, what was I supposed to think?" she yelled. "Only two people in the entire kriffing galaxy treated me like an actual person. One was my best friend. And the other was you." Then she put her hand over her mouth and rocked back, shocked at the vehemence of her own outburst.

Zash just smiled. "Exactly, apprentice. Exactly."

"I hate you so much."

"But it wasn't that I acted like you were more than 'just a slave'," she continued. "There were interests in common, weren't there? Somebody else who loved to shove her nose in a book, pore through the arcanest of rituals, seek hidden power through sorcery wherever it could be found. 'Thou thoughtest I was altogether such a one as thyself'."

"And look at how wrong I was."

The witch snorted. "If that were true, you wouldn't still be wrapped up in self-loathing. Because despite everything, you can't let me go, can you?"

Saki grit her teeth. "You're doing a very good job of trying to make me do just that."

"You're breaking your poor little apprentice's heart and you know it," Zash said. "Everything she's done for you, and everything you've done for her, and you're still so in love with me that you hold onto my ghost like a drowning man grasping at driftwood."

"And you're telling me this...why?"

"Oh, I think it's just delicious," she said cheerfully. "Darth Sakaria, the tyro sorceress, a colossus bestriding the Dark Council...you're one of the most powerful beings in the galaxy, but deep down you really are still just a slave girl. Not like those idiots Harkun, Skotia, and Thanaton believed. They thought that it meant you would obey a master's whip. No, you were hardened to that. But affection..."

"Thanaton thought I was weak, too," Saki murmured. "Look where that got him."

Zash sighed. "I'm not threatening you, apprentice. I'm not even trying to change who you are, even though I do think that the ice queen act you had going before Alderaan was much better than this sentimental mess you've made of yourself since then. I see the immense power you have now, and then imagine how incredible you would be if you fully embraced the dark side again...but no, I'm just enjoying your misery while I can. Without control of a body, it's really the only pastime I have left."

The sightless Sith rolled off her pallet and stood up, pacing around her chamber aimlessly. Zash's apparition remained on the bed, regarding Saki with faint amusement. Eventually, she came to a stop and faced her former master with her arms folded, the fingers of one hand drumming a tattoo on her forearm.

"You know, that works both ways," she said finally.

"What?"

"You're in my head. I don't have any secrets from you. Right," Saki went on. "But it also means you don't have any secrets from me."

Zash's brow furrowed. "So?" she asked suspiciously.

"So I know how you feel about me. At least," she said wryly, "when I'm not so wrapped up in my own feelings to notice. But you're not the detached evil witch you're trying to make me think you are."

"Don't kid yourself..." the Force-ghost started, but Saki cut her off.

"I know just how much it hurt you to try that dark ritual. You felt a connection there, too."

"You're being ridiculous."

"But when you had to weigh my life, and your feelings for me, against your own life, you made your decision and you carried it through. You had the will to do what you felt like you needed to do."

Zash chuckled with false confidence. "Yes, well, things have changed quite a lot since then, and you can rest assured that I don't..."

"I'm going to do the same thing," Saki decided. "I'm going to move on with my life."

Her eyes briefly widened, but she got them under control and put on a display of bravado. "You can't kill me," she sneered. "You won't."

The Miraluka woman nodded. "You're right, I won't. But I don't have to. All I have to do is move on. Find a healthier relationship, instead of wallowing in the past, hoping things might somehow change between us. I'm going to talk to Ashara."

She keyed the door open and started to walk out, but then she paused and turned back to Zash, still on the bed in shock. "Thank you." Then she trotted down the hallway and was lost to view.

For a few minutes, Zash's Force-ghost remained where she was, motionless. Then, she rested her ethereal head in ethereal hands and started to cry.

This story takes place shortly after the quest "The Escape", after the end of the Inquisitor's Chapter III line, in which Zash forces the issue and tries to take over Khem's body once and for all - with the price of failure being eternal imprisonment in a Rakata mind trap, the so-called "white room". In this story, Khem was victorious in their little battle, but instead of being sucked into the mind trap, Zash managed to anchor her consciousness to Sakaria.

Sakaria is the Alyverse's Inquisitor, but she hasn't really shown up in my short-fic posts before. She makes a minor appearance in the chapter "Apocalypse" in Beyond Good and Evil here, shortly after Alderaan and Zash's "death".

If the Inquisitor's crew were characters from The Tempest, Zash would be Sycorax, Khem would be Caliban, and Ashara would be Miranda.

Robert Browning, noted Victorian poet, wrote a sort of Tempest fanfiction called "Caliban upon Setebos" back in the 1860s, wherein Caliban meditated on his god, "the many-handed as a cuttlefish". Zash quoted that poem when she said "thou thoughtest I was altogether such a one as thyself".

@alaurin: I've written a few other stories. You got down my two Marade (no need to add in her last name ) stories, The Turning Point and Threnody. But I also wrote a story with Skani and Alypia called The Fiddle Game, and two with just Alypia called Butterflies and Stomach Punch. And now there's this one. Thanks a bunch for taking up the duty of maintaining the index!

@bright: Vector would never have done that, but it'd have been nice to see him make Wynston squirm and try to actually articulate why he was apologizing.

@EverSteam: I, for one, prefer the trolling/countertrolling part of any relationship to the part to any other. At least it lasted for a good long while.

@Yoshi: Well, that was...depressing. Cathartic, but depressing. The difference between courage and insanity is rarely cut-and-dried.

@Adwynyth: Aly would disagree in the strongest terms (especially considering what happens next chapter ), but I don't think the likes of Tarro Blood deserve a fair bare-knuckle brawl.

@kabe: I hope that when Remi's thing is finally over with, some butt-kicking of a certain douchebag captain ensues.

@marissalf: I'm such a sucker for sentimentality. I mean, er, Mel's such a bad person. Does she have the "homewrecker" title?

@Irishfino, Ucles and Geltie are like a one-two punch in the feels, but it’s a good hurt. And,

It always amazed him how people could convince themselves that a man who bought child slaves to fight for money cared for his family.

A very accurate observation. For enough credits, those kinds of people would sell their own mothers.

I do enjoy punching feels. [<.< >.>]

Scro's brother will find out the hard way (by super death) just how much his brother cares for him. (Spoiler: not at all )

@Irish: GREAT pieces, sir. Short, but I was still emotionally invested 1/4 way through. Especially with Geltie.

Thank you! I do enjoy writing feel punching pieces that punch the feels in such a way as they are still enjoyable.

And I'm a lady.

And ow, my feels (Ucles and Geltie).

[puts away feel rocket launcher] Nothing to see here, move along.

If being trapped in the Deshade was torture then this was the void. An alien. A self-righteous, insistent that she still is a Jedi alien with headtails and… alienness. She almost wanted to die. Almost. Not quite. Really, she shouldn’t complain too much. After dealing with the failed ritual, living in the Deshade, and doing a stint in a Rakata Mind Trap, being back in a female body was bliss. And the headtails weren’t all bad if she tied them back while awake and propped them properly while asleep. She would thank the idiot’s body she now inhabited, but that was rather hard with said idiot quite dead. She shouldn’t have touched that box.

Zash giggled to herself. As lost in thought as she was, she forgot she was at the conference table with the others who were debating over what to call her. At her giggle, they turned their attention to Ashara turned Zash and waited. She shook her head and waved her hand at them. Gelt arched a brow.

“We can’t call her Ashara,” Gelt murmured thoughtfully.

“You still called her Zash when she invaded my body,” rumbled Khem.

“That’s the sexiest description of that incident to date,” Andronikos quipped.

Khem made a threatening motion at the pirate.

“Now, now, gentleman…” Talos said gently. “There is no need to fight over this.”

“What about Azasha?” Gelt asked, ignoring the majority of the squabbling.

“No,” Zash said quickly.

“Yes!” Andronikos laughed. “I like it. Azasha!”

Khem laughed. “I agree with this name.”

“Azasha it is,” Gelt said.

“Don’t I have a say in this?” Azasha asked pitifully.

“You tried to kill me, you were trapped in my Deshade, we put you in a Rakata Mind Trap, then you tricked my apprentice into touching the damn thing and killed her. No, no you don’t get a choice in the matter. Get used to it, apprentice.”

Azasha pouted. “You’re not fun at all.”

“Go work on your katas, the rest of you are free for the day.”

Azasha continued to pout at the table as the rest left the conference room. Back to being an apprentice. And an alien one at that. An alien apprentice who had tried to kill a good portion of the crew she was now part of. It would have been a mercy to kill her.

It seems her former apprentice was no longer merciful. She had taught him well. With that thought she happily skipped her way to the cargo hold to begin practicing her saber forms. And, yes, she really skipped.

“I’d have all kinds of cool clothes and jewelry, a big fancy house with a swimming pool inside and outside, and servants. I would be famous and throw fun parties every weekend!” Fourteen year old Bella told her sister, Mallay as they sat in their bedroom. Bella was braiding Mallay's hair for her track meet, “and boys from all around the galaxy would be fighting to marry me!”

“Why would you want that?!” thirteen year old Mallay snorted, “boys are so gross!”

“They are not!!” Bella cried, “boys are cute!!!”

“No, they are stupid!” Mallay insisted, “and they do mean stuff like put snakes in your lunchbox!” Mallay, who was terrified of snakes, shivered.

“That was mean, but Jaysen got in big trouble, and you did slug him in the face!” Bella agreed as she finished braiding Mallay’s hair, “and not all boys are stupid like that. Besides, that happened last year, boys are different now.”

Mallay got up, looked in the mirror and smiled. She loved when Bella braided her long hair before a track meet because it made her feel pretty. Being short and skinny, Mallay didn’t often feel pretty like her older sister. Her long, thick, wavy auburn hair was the one thing she liked about herself and she’d always kept it long, wearing it back only when playing sports.

“Well, I don’t care,” Mallay argued as she packed her running shoes and some snacks into her backpack, “I don’t need any stupid boy to make me happy and there are better things I would do with that kind of money!”

“Oh,” Bella smirked, “What would you do with a billion credits?!”

Mallay sighed, a dreamy look on her face, “I would take more lessons and become a famous dancer! People would come from all over the galaxy to watch me perform.”

“That’s all you would do?!” Bella shook her head, “come on, there has to be more.”

“Not really,” Mallay admitted, “Well, I do like to read, so I’d have lots of books, too.”

“How are you going to be a famous dancer?” Bella wondered as she checked her appearance in the mirror and added more lip gloss, “You’re always so shy around people! Do you really think you could handle being famous?!”

Mallay hadn’t thought of that, “Yeah, you’re right,” she sighed, “I’d still take lessons though….I like dancing. Maybe I’ll be a soldier like Dad instead.”

“You don’t need money to be a soldier though,” Bella told her as they went downstairs, “so what would you do with the money….think of something fun!”

“Hmmm, maybe I would get a super-fast speeder!”

“That’s it?! Dancing lessons, books, and a speeder?!” Bella stared at her sister, “Are we really related?!”

“It sounds a lot more fun than clothes, parties, and boys!!” Mallay retorted, “Besides, you’d probably talk me out of at least half of the money anyways.”

“Boys are fun!!! When you finally get around to kissing, you’ll know what I mean!” Bella shot back, then grinned, “You’re probably right about me talking you out of half though.”

“Gross!!” Mallay cried, making a face, “I am so never going to kiss a boy….yuk! I mean, there are germs and stuff!!!”

“Trust me, sis, if the boy is any good at it, you won’t be thinking about germs!” Bella giggled, thinking of her most recent experience.

Mallay just shrugged as they joined their parents, the twins, and baby Kit outside. As the family left the house to go to the track meet, Bella kept giggling and making kissy faces at Mallay, who swore to herself, there is no way I'm going to let a boy kiss me…..ever….ick!

“We should have sex,” Azasha said as she successfully pushed Gelt into a corner.

Gelt shuddered and swallowed down the bitter bile that rose in his throat at the thought. “I told Ashara no and I will tell you the same. I’m not attracted to…” he looked her up and down then returned his gaze to her face. “Learn to stay in your own body.”

“I want you in my body.”

“No, you wanted to be in my body.”

“I’m confused.”

“I thought Ashara was dead.”

“I dislike you, apprentice,” Azasha drawled.

“It’s mutual, trust me,” Gelt replied, bored with her antics. He pushed at her shoulders. She yielded and let him exit the corner. “Get back to work on your forms. You won’t get your saber back until you’ve mastered them again.”

Azasha sighed, batted her lashes one last time then left him in the brief peace her practice gave him. Truth be told, he made her practice for hours on end just to get her out of his space. He really should kill her.

Shenanigans continue with Azasha!

@Adwynyth,

Another of Mako's ice cubes landed on his chest, and he jumped from the sudden cold. "Shut up. We're enjoying ourselves."

Whether he likes it or not! And I can absolutely hear Mako saying that.

@Yoshi, Great story! I love the description of the physical changes Thran'thar goes through, along with the emotions for all involved.

@alaurin, You are awesome! Thanks for picking up the index torch!

@Kabeone, I like the thing! I thought the exchanges between Remi and Scourge were brilliant. It's all too easy to misunderstand someone through written communication anyway, let alone when someone’s out to sabotage you. And “pompous preening”... great phrase.

@EverSteam, Ah! Continuing to make me sad (in a good way)! “It was a pure holler of agony...” It’s such a small thing, but I love that you used the word “holler” there. It feels like something Corso would say.

Wanting him would be reckless. Needing him would be dangerous. Loving him would be insanity. She's ready to be all of them.

Eeeee!

@Bright, I smiled at Wynston’s reconciliation with Temple and Vector. It’s exactly the way I imagined they’d react. And the gift and note were touching, especially since that's not something he does. Also,

so after that anything could happen.

This prospect is exciting

@Euphrosyne,

“deep down you really are still just a slave girl. Not like those idiots Harkun, Skotia, and Thanaton believed. They thought that it meant you would obey a master's whip. No, you were hardened to that. But affection..."

That’s an interesting observation. Makes sense that someone who was treated badly for so long would get pulled in and tied to the one person giving them affection.

@Irishfino,

NotLP: LF1M

Characters: Geltie and Zash

Woo! Azasha shenanigans! This whole thing, I like it.

@Adwynyth,

Honest to God, halfway through this, I thought maybe she had just been fantasizing the first part. I still don't know whether the disguise is so Mako won't see her reaction, or whether it's a disguise and he doesn't know who she is.

Ya know, now that you mention it, I can totally see how it would read that way. And the scarf was completely for hiding herself from him. That it hid her reactions from Mako was an added bonus. She's got some trust issues, that one.

@Bright,

@marissalf, I loved Melodai's piece. Loved.

Thank ya!

@EverSteam,

Also, I love your BH to pieces.

Thanks! I have big things planned for her

@Euphrosyne,

Does she have the "homewrecker" title?

Hehehe, she should...though there may or may not be a whole lot of home there to wreck.

@Irishfino,

Scro's brother will find out the hard way (by super death) just how much his brother cares for him. (Spoiler: not at all )

Yippee! Oh crap, that probably makes me a bad person. Eh, oh well

"Dad!"

Aaran threw himself down the ramp of the transport ship, embracing his father fiercely. Behind him, Tate rolled up to Tee-seven and beeped happily. Aaran finally released his father and smiled at Jasin. The Hero of Tython, killer of the Emperor, now had a mane of white-gray hair, and he still kept his rakish soul-patch goatee neatly trimmed. He had wrinkles around his eyes and nose, and laugh lines on the sides of his mouth.

He looked great.

"Aaran!" Jasin said happily. "How are you?"

"I'm great, Dad," Aaran replied, beaming.

"You never call, son."

"Sorry," he said with a smile. "Living in seclusion on Alderaan doesn't provide much access to a holocom."

"I know."

Jasin grinned and wrapped his arm around Aaran's shoulder, leading his son out of Coruscant's bustling spaceport. Tee-seven and Tate followed, beeping happily. Aaran noted that his father had traded in his armored robes for the traditional brown fabrics of the Jedi. His lightsaber was still prominently on his left hip, but he looked every bit a peacekeeper rather than a warrior.

"Times have changed, huh, Dad?" Aaran said.

Jasin nodded. "Yes, they have. But," he added, "for the better."

He led Aaran into the lobby. Kira raced forward and embraced Aaran. Unlike Jasin, her hair still had some color, but it was graying at the temples and roots. She had fewer wrinkles, but they were still there, especially near her eyes and mouth.

"Hey, Mom," Aaran said.

"My boy," she said proudly.

Rusk, Doc, Scourge, Gareb, and Uncle Methic stood on the other side of the lobby. Rusk had purple veins showing in his neck and on his forehead, and Doc's hair was receding and graying slightly. Scourge looked exactly the same as he always had. Gareb's hair was pure, snow white. Methic had trimmed his hair conservatively and removed the Sith tattoo–that wouldn't go over well in Republic space–but there were still flecks of black amidst his white hair and beard.

Methic and Gareb took turns hugging Aaran, and Rusk and Doc patted him on the back. Scourge gave him an approving nod. Aaran nodded back.

"Well," he said with a deep breath, "I'm back."

The last line was stolen shamelessly from the last page of Lord of the Rings: Return of the King.

@ Kabe - someone stole my comment, I think, but I certainly hope some comeuppance is in order! The breakdown between Remi and Scourge was sad, though.

@Adwynyth

"I know, I know...it's not a good idea." He sighed and went back to hating the poolside refuge Mako had insisted upon. "I'd rather be killing stuff."

 

Another of Mako's ice cubes landed on his chest, and he jumped from the sudden cold. "Shut up. We're enjoying ourselves."

Ah, Star Wars lovers' quarrels...

@Yoshi: Talos reigns supreme! In your JK piece, Doc would totally dye his hair. Let's be real

@Eversteam: Poor Corso....although like Bright said, it makes sense that he'd try to keep himself distracted. Also, seeing "Riggsie" in your second story admittedly put a smile on my face. Might just steal that one;) I really enjoyed your Sw/Quinn piece too (especially the snide remark about Pierce).

@Bright - Happy to see Wynston's return to the ship, and I liked Fixer/Pacha (who looks great in Kabe's drawing too).

@Euphrosyne - the idea of Zash being tied to the inquisitor is simultaneously intriguing and disturbing (for the inqusiitor mostly)

@Irish - speaking of something that is both intriguing and disturbing...Khem laughing:rak_02: Also

“Learn to stay in your own body.”

 

“I want you in my body.”

 

“No, you wanted to be in my body.”

@alaurin - as mentioend above, greatly apprecite the index. As for your 'If I were" piece, I'm going to pretend I never had similar conversations. EVer.

Considering we were currently on one of the seediest planets or moons in the galaxy, I was pretty impressed that Jorgan had found a place that still managed to disgust me. Patrons were all over the place – passed out on tables, the bar and floor – and the entire place was filled with a stench that seemed to be a mix of equal parts vomit, alcohol and bantha dung.

I made an expressive gesture around the room as we settled into what passed for a booth. “Nice place you got here Jorgan. Come here often?”

He ignored that, flashing that smile he always had plastered on his face when he was going to be annoying. “Would have picked a nicer place if Dorne was coming, but since it’s just us two, I figured it’d be better to find a place where we fit in.”

I frowned and took a sip of my ale, not sure if he was trying to bait me or not. Deciding to be an optimist, I gave a sly grin and clinked my glass against his. “Good choice, then. Some of these guys are almost as ugly as you.”

Jorgan grimaced and took a gulp of his beer. “You mind if I ask you a question? Ayrs?”

Kark. Calling me by my first name, must be serious. “Fire away, Jorgan.”

He looked decidedly uncomfortable as his eyes avoided looking at anything that wasn’t far from mine. “I’ve been wondering. You’re related to the Martells back on Kuat. Why didn’t you go back there when the news about your…your family came in?”

I sloshed some foam around in my mouth. “My family was on Ithaca. I might be related to the Martells on Ithaca but I’ve never met them in person and only a couple of them even gave my family the time of day when it came to Holonet calls. Bunch of ******es, really.” I made a jerking motion with my hand, which garnered a small flash of teeth from Jorgan. “Sure, they’ve got money, but what’ve they done with it?”

Jorgan made no move to speak up, so I kept going.

“My great uncle, or whatever he is, has millions of credits, but he sits on his *** on Kuat while the galaxy burns. Didn’t lift a finger for my family all those years, either. When the news came out about Ithaca, he offered a ‘position’ within the family’s corporate holdings.” I belched loudly into the air. “What a karking joke.”

He made a face, though I wasn’t sure if it was at me or his drink. “Why didn’t you take it?”

“Why would I?” Why doesn’t he understand, he of all people should. “I didn’t want to sit around making money while wearing a suit, I wanted my life to have a purpose. I wanted to get back at the bastards who did this to my family. Staying in the service gave me that purpose and maybe it’ll let me get my hands dirty a bit. Working as a corporate shill for some old fart that only recently took interest in what happened? Fat chance.” I made a rude gesture, carefully though – didn’t want to have anyone else see it.

Jorgan took a big gulp of his drink. “Ever wonder what life would have been like if you took his offer?”

I had. More often than I liked to admit. “Once in a while. I can picture it easily enough. Corner office in some office building on Kuat, overlooking the city. Secretary that keeps me out of trouble while maybe getting me into more, depending on how she looks. Spend my days drinking and my nights drinking more, I imagine.”

“You already spend your nights drinking,” Jorgan noted with a sly grin.

I gave a half-smile. “None of that stuff matters , though. Money might buy me a nice speeder, fancy clothes, all the stuff my family on Kuat has. Is it going to bring my dad back from his secret Jedi mission? Am I going to get a holo from my mom? Are my little brother and sister going to rise from the dead? Is my other sister going to miraculously be free from Imperial slavery?” I paused to collect myself. “**** him. **** his money too. Neither of them are going to fill that hole in my heart."

Jorgan didn’t say anything. An awkward silence might have followed, but for the ambient noise that kept us nearly deafened. I was saved by the beeping of my comm. I pressed my finger against my ear to improve the call quality.

“Sir? This is Sergeant Dorne.” Hearing her smooth, professional, tones soothed my nerves a bit. Or maybe it’s the alcohol. “You received a holo-call from a Demetrius Martell. I informed him you were…indisposed.” I wasn’t quite sure I liked the undertone of amusement in her voice.

“Thanks, El-Sergeant. I’ll head back that way.”

I clicked the comm off and rolled my eyes at Jorgan, who looked puzzled.

“Old man’s probably going to try to offer me a job again. Doesn’t have a karking clue.”

"So you're telling me you'd give up being a hunter if you scored a big enough payday?" Mako sounded incredulous.

"Definitely. Find a nice place to settle down. See if Aric wants to join me, take it from there." Her mouth had only opened further as I spoke. "Tired of spending my life hunting and killing people. It's a life, but it's no way to live."

Mako eyed me suspiciously.

"Well...there's one last trophy I'd want to mount on my wall." Our eyes met, then moved in unison to Skadge. I nodded.

"I did not realize we could afford a hunting safari, my lord." Malavai's eyes were unusually shifty; he had been strangely off-kilter since our first...encounter. I wondered if it might also be the accidental broken jaw from long ago that might have left him perpetually uneasy in my presence.

"Do not worry, Malavai. I was careful not to overspend." I fixed my face into my best approximation of a warm smile. "I even filled out the 2-1R requisition form for you, to ensure you can have the maximum amount of time to hunt."

He smiled tightly, then winced as his jaw reacted unfavorably to the action.

"So, O Terrible One, what're we hunting today?" I had not noticed Vette approaching. "Some endangered species? Captured Jedi? Rivals from the Sith academy?"

I frowned slightly, then shook my head. "I had my family arrange for finer targets." All three of us turned to face the shrouded containers. At my signal, their covers dropped away to reveal the prey inside. "Evocii, Talz, and Wookies. All for our amusement, shipped at great expense from various zoos around the Empire. There is no greater prey than one that thinks and wishes to live."

After a long silence, I turned to face my companions. Vette's eyes were bugged out and her jaw was dropped; Malavai seemed to be calculating something and finding no answer he liked. I could not understand why they were reacting this way, it was as if they did not appreciate the effort and expenditure required.

People are strange.