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The Life that's Left


EverSteam

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More than Gault or HK or anything else, grief is her constant companion. Seems like it walks up and hits her in the face sometimes and other times it slinks back and hides in shadows, but it's always there.

Very true and at times it shows more than others.

Hng, my feels... so delicious.

:o

 

 

-----

 

 

8 hours later...

 

 

I notice three things simultaneously when I wake. The first thing I notice is that my face aches. My eye is sore and my jaw throbs. I force it to unclench where as soon as I stop thinking about it, it clenches again. My back teeth cut into freshly cut gums and I can taste my blood.

 

The second thing I notice is I'm not where I fell asleep. I'm still on the floor but I have a pillow under my head and a blanket over me. I sit up and look at my open cupboard. Everything else is as I left it. I unclench my jaw again and firmly rub my cheeks with my fingertips. It doesn't help with the ache. It only causes quickly bleeding cuts to form on my cheeks as I forget about my nails.

 

The third thing I noticed all the while is that my head feels clearer and only a dull sadness and anger that comes close to numbness throbs in my chest. I don't want to think of the next time my emotions will boil over. For now, I only feel annoyed and ashamed of myself.

 

I pick myself up with a brisk irritation at finding myself in such an inconvenient and useless position. I walk to the desk, pick up the discarded syringe and fill it up again. I don't feel relief, a sigh or a groan threaten to escape my calm hold as I inject the bright liquid. But calm isn't the right word. It's more a blankness where thoughts can't pervade or grow and feelings are dull impulses that are easily laughed at from a distance and behind a cover of fog.

 

I take a deep breath and walk to the door. I look to the refresher room straight ahead and then I look down to HK who has emerged from Gault's room. The blood drips down onto my shoulder and I withhold a sigh at what's only going to be a delay.

 

I walk down stairs. HK is stalking through the ship to the exit.

 

'Stop, HK. Did you disobey order 3A last night?'

 

'Negative, master.' HK starts to continue his stalking watch but I call him to a stop again.

 

'Did Gault come aboard last night?'

 

'Affirmative, master. Should I liquidate him the next time he tries to, master?'

 

'Negative, HK. Inactivate tactic 9C and follow tactic 9A until orders change and follow order 3B instead of 3A. That is all. Continue all other orders the same.'

 

I walk to the cockpit with assured and impatient steps. Once I settle this, it has never happened. I feel disgust and shame at my lapse in control. I need to be stronger. I should be stronger. Now the grief has recede like water left to cool after it boils, there's a little bit less water and a little bit more heated air. I promise myself that it will never happen again. How many more times will I make and break that vow?

 

The chair that used to be Mako's squeaks quietly under me as I swiftly swing myself into it and my goal. I pull up the security camera holovids from last night. I watch Gault arrive on the ship from one camera, a grin on his face. Watch him enter the cargo bay in another and ask HK if I'm back. I fast forward through their banter. HK continues his march and Gault leaves the camera. Another watches him walk up the stairs into my room. I growl in frustration with myself at dismantling the one in my room. But it is beyond doubt. My state wasn't something I ever wanted Gault to see. Why?

 

'Missing me that much already?'

 

'In your dreams, Gault,' I heatedly reply. I clench my fists and close the playback.

 

'Well, you know what they say, my dear, dreams do come true.'

 

I turn around and see Gault leaning against the bridge doorway as always. I glare at his mocking smirk and raised eyebrow.

 

'Not in this universe they don't.'

 

Gault shrugs and pushes off the doorframe. 'I don't know, babe, I've had my share come true,' he replies with a sly smile.

 

'Like what?'

 

'Well, if I tell you, they might just stop coming true.'

 

'Right, Gault. And was one of those dreams that came true sneaking into my room in the early hours of the morning?' I raise my eyebrow and lean back in my chair. I cross my arms and my fingers trace the edge of the plating over my lungs, the silk singlet slipping easily along the metal.

 

'Let's both keep our secrets, my dear.' I narrow my eyes at Gault into something too soft and suspicious to be a glare. 'By the way, you know you've got some stuff all around...' He moves a finger in the air in the shape of a circle around his mouth. 'Right?'

 

I scowl and curse at him as I touch my cheeks. The blood has mostly dried. I'm sure my face is an orange mess.

Gault chuckles and turns away. 'Glad to see you're feeling better, my dear.'

 

And then Gault leaves the ship. I don't think a worse good bye could have been said.

 

I shake my head and put thoughts of Gault out of my head as I walk to the refresher. I'm surprised to see that my reflection is smiling a little under the blood. I get out the small first aid kit kept in there and begin to treat my small cuts. All the while, that small little smile of slightly parted lips and white teeth doesn't fade.

Is this what feeling better is?

 

 

-----

 

I don't know how good that was but I figure I should just post it an move on. Gah, so complicated. :confused:

And darn life keeps interfering with my writing.

 

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Looking forward to seeing where this winding road leads :)

You are very correct in the winding part ;) and I'm happy about the rest :)

*wants to hug Leer, but also wants to live*

:D;)

 

-------

 

 

 

Two weeks later...

 

 

 

'Blizz need Boss. Blizz friend's need Boss help. Boss need to be scavenger then pirate for Blizz.' The Jawa looks over his small shoulder and nods his head at a voice I can't make out.

 

'Please, Boss.' He chitters hastily. The small, grainy figure is gone but the plea echoes in my ears and rattles in my empty chest.

 

I clench my fists, crushing the edge of the holo panel. I distantly feel the pain of some of my nails breaking and others bending backward. Not my fingers that leave me hissing from a sting. Blizz...

 

My eyes are wild and needing as I look around the bare room. I let out a growl and clench my fingers further into the metal. Hear HK's footsteps. My fingers worm there way out of their metal cave. Leave six inhabited with a nail.

 

Slink around the corner of the door to the top of the stairs and see that HK is approaching the bottom from across the cargo bay. I move back to behind the doorway and wait for it. When it begins it's second step into the cargo bay, I attack with a sharp kick to his back that sprawls HK to the ground. Isn't enough. I'm still angry. Words too small for the livid outrage I feel. Think most of it is against myself. For what I'm not doing and what I will continue not doing.

 

'Need to be better than that, HK,' I taunt as it lifts itself from the floor. 'Droid, initiate training protocol 3.'

 

HK moves to attack and we begin a dance. Not like training with... I pause the thought for a brief moment which almost allows HK to land a sharp blow to my side. Censoring what I think isn't becoming easier. Wonder if it would be better if I just allowed myself to think or say his name.

 

Don't have to hold back with HK. It doesn't bruise or break in most places. Doesn't feel pain or take as long as an organic to heal. It's my hard punching bag that fights back. When I cancel the training, my body aches in different places. Worst is my chest. HK had nothing to do with that.

 

Look my body over and see minimal bruising. Head's a little clearer. Not much room for thinking when sparring with HK. Too even for that. Look HK over and see it's rather fine.

 

'Continue previous orders.' HK takes it's dismissal in silence and continues his sporadic trek through the ship.

 

The cockpit is silent when I enter it. Always used to wish it was silent. At this moment, I wouldn't mind any of the people absent being in it. I sit in Mako's chair again and access my account. Money for the politician and his son have been transferred. I send half of it to Blizz with a note.

 

I pause before sending. The note seems to glare at me. Maybe it's because I feel like glaring at myself.

 

'Hope this is enough. Leave the planet and start over on a new ship with your friends. That's an order.'

 

What right do I have to order him? I wipe the message and stare at the blank space. Know what my heart wants to fill it with: news that I will follow the credits; the confession that I miss him; the request for him to join me; the pledge that I will kill the men that betrayed and stole from him. Promises I won't and can't keep. Can't type those anymore than I can think his name without choking on air. When did you become so fracking soft? I know the answer. I know it far too well.

 

'Hope this is enough to compensate you and your friends.' I hesitate before typing the next words. 'Good luck, Blizz.'

Good luck because I won't be there, I think bitterly. I shake my head. It's good luck for him that I'm not. He doesn't need me. Liar.

 

With that word my anger at the men that robbed from and betrayed Blizz is back. My hatred of myself returns like the rising of the second Tatooine sun. Know HK won't be enough. Know I can't repeat Corellia. What I need becomes clear. How many days will I have to spend out there until I'm better?

 

Even like this, know there's something I have to check first. How can I think so clearly when all I want is to feel enough things die under my hands so this anger becomes something bearable? Until exhaustion takes its toll and this livid, burning feeling is something that isn't tearing me apart from the inside? How do I put the inferno in my chest out again now that he's gone? You go and help the friend you love.

 

Not an option. Not a fact. Temporary relief. And I know that I don't want to stop hating. I don't want to stop this anger that walks with its hand through mine. After all, if someone took the anger and hatred away, what would be left?

 

I tap my leg and expect to feel a pocket. I growl in pointless aggravation when I don't feel one. Make my way into the other room to the holo terminal with heavy steps. Bring up the number I want quickly. Within moments of calling, the dark red Devaronian is standing above me in grainy blue.

 

'Gault.'

 

'In the holo flesh, babe.' He gives me a distracted leer as he takes a few steps which blurs his figure. 'But as much as I love calls from you I'm kind of busy with work at the moment.' He looks over his shoulder quickly then back at me.

 

'That's nice, dear,' I satirically reply with a patience and humour I don't feel. Really couldn't give a **** what he's doing. I clench my fingers at my sides. 'So you aren't going to be home for dinner?' I raise an eyebrow and clench my fists a little tighter.

 

'No, babe. Don't stay up for me,' he replies with an absent grin and another glance over his shoulder. Good, I can leave the ship unguarded.

 

'Ok. I'll leave your dinner on a plate.' I smirk up at his large figure. I've never cooked my crew dinner. Unless in HK's point, oiling it is classified as a meal.

 

'No, don't worry, my dear. I won't be home again for a few nights. Will you miss me?' Gault gives me his full attention for the first time and more than a little mockery.

 

'As much as a Selkath would miss the desert,' I reply with exaggerated pleasantry and sincerity as I look up at him.

 

Gault begins his usual objections, his work apparently forgotten. I shut off the holo. Small smile begins to crack my mouth open. Clenched, white teeth peek through the gap. I shake my head more at myself then Gault and leap over the banister, landing lightly in the cargo bay. Did Gault always manage to make me smile no matter how angry I felt? Guess that would make someone wonder about their feelings for a while or make anyone else think they need to meet more people. Only makes me think about removing the one I have.

 

'HK, we're going hunting!' HK separates itself from the shadows and exclaims it's slightly chilling joy. 'I know. Been too long since we went hunting together.'

 

'Agreement: Three weeks is far too long, master.'

 

'I said I know, droid.' My impatience to leave is back. I'm a bomb that's ticking and is about to explode. Only hope I can make it out of the city before I do. 'Get whatever you need together. We leave in five minutes.'

 

I run up the stairs and into my room. Leap across the bed and land in a crouch in front of two different crates. Quickly type in the code to unlock one and open the lid eagerly. Inhuman grin pushes the corners of my lips up and apart when I see the shining wood of my crossbow. Lightly trace my fingers along its surface and feel the grooves under a thick lacquer, my need to run and kill momentarily forgotten in the melancholy of a long held off reunion. The wood came from a branch in Kashyyyk. Least that's what the General told me: a fifth year anniversary present.

 

Feel the same stab of disgust that had kept me from opening it. More stimulant is added to my blazing rage. Take it out roughly and strap it back on. Try not to feel a sad pang at my rough treatment of it. Hate how much I love it. Hate why and by who it was given to me by. But it's craftsmanship, the feel of it on my back and in my hands... don't know how I went the last few years without it.

 

Open the other crate and pull out the bolts, still in a quiver I attach onto my belt. I stand up and strap it on. Walk through my room. Heading for the door. For a reason I can't define, I stop in front of my mirror. Stare at myself: my eyes moving up and down my body, taking in my torn pants so the legs sit high up my thighs and my cut shirt that is more like a black, shabby vest, before fixing my wandering gaze onto my eye. Look like how I used to in the Organisation only something's off. It will take me months to realise what. When I do, I will wish I had realised a lot sooner.

 

I meet HK at the exit. I give it a vicious grin and we walk down the exit ramp together. Lock the entry with a new code. Don't want to risk Gault coming back early.

 

Turn to HK and hitch my crossbow up my back. Give him a fiercely sadistic smile, a chuckle bubbling out of my throat.

 

'Let's go hunting.'

 

 

----

 

See! I haven't forgotten little Blizz! ;)

It also occurs to me that she puts a lot of faith in working things out through violence... I wonder when she'll completely realise and admit for the final time that it doesn't work. (yes, I think of my characters like there real people I don't control. :p;) )

 

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BLIIIIIIIZZZ!!!

 

Ok... uhm... yeah. Enjoying as always. It's funny how knowing the answer to her problem doesn't solve the problem yet. I'm looking forward to every rampage-trip she'll have until the end.

There will be more Blizz to come (maybe ;) )

I'm glad because there will be a lot more. :D After all, she wouldn't be who she was if she wasn't as unstable as *insert witty and preferably Star Wars related simile.*

She's gone bonkers ;D <3

I believe you mean she's gone bonkers again ;)

 

 

-----

 

 

Unknown number of days later...

 

 

I pull myself up onto the highest branch that can hold my weight. It isn't the tallest in the jungle and doesn't break through the canopy but the sky can be seen through the leaves. I rest my back against the tree trunk and feel something slimy on my shoulder. I learnt a few days ago that wiping things only makes them spread. My legs and hands are still stained a bright blue that I am hoping will wash off.

 

I look down below and see HK standing guard at the bottom of the trunk. What else was I going to tell him to do? Everything worth shooting for the next mile is dead and being eaten by scavengers and I spent a day searching for HK after he left to hunt while I slept briefly with no orders to do the contrary.

 

I can't think of the last time I climbed a tree. Maybe I've never climbed one. I think I like it though. I look around me and all I can see are shades of green amongst twisting brown. There is something liberating about being this high. It's different from being at the top of a tower. There is nothing to stop me falling.

 

How many days have I been in the jungle? I'm not sure. I know Iziz is now a few hours march away since I turned around yesterday. No matter how long I've been here, it's been over three weeks since Nar Shaddaa though it feels like a lot longer. I don't know why, but Nar Shaddaa seemed to be where things changed. Maybe it is in my head, but I feel things slowly escalating.

 

As my thoughts wander to Blizz, they become interrupted by a sound I don't understand. I wasn't sure if it was there at first. But then It kept coming, and coming, and coming. I look around the jungle. Three beeps, a pause and then three beeps again. I swing onto lower branches but it doesn't seem to take me closer to the sound. I turn in circles trying to find the location of the noise.

 

Once I am only ten metres above the jungle floor, I realise what the sound is and stop. I shift my weight and look myself over. I find the pouch that has the noise and pull out my holo. So that's where I left it...

 

I answer. I'm surprised by the lean man that flickers to grainy blue and grey life in my palm. It had been over two weeks. I didn't expect the call. Though I never let myself think it, I wanted it. It was a dull feeling in my chest, a tugging that never abated.

 

'You are quite under clad for Iziz.' Damin's eyes narrow and he leans forward slightly. 'Too dirty as well.' His back straightens again and his eyes widen to normal.

 

Two things occur to me to point out to him. The first is the missed greeting and pleasantry. I think I looked forward to this call most to hear my name. But I feared this call. Everything started to fall apart once Damin entered my life again and said my name. Do you really believe that's where you started to lose it?

 

I ignore the first point and only express the second. 'In the jungle actually.'

 

'With no armour.' Was that a small smile? Not sure. Connection is bad out here. Surprised he even got through.

 

'I don't need it.' The boast of my life.

 

'There are six puncture wounds on your arm.' The observation isn't even delivered with concern or a movement of the eyes. Instead, the package of his words come wrapped in a smugness and otherwise neutral features.

 

I look down at the arm holding the holo. 'Bloods not mine.' Retort comes with my own smugness.

 

Damin doesn't shake his head or take his small holo eyes from mine. He doesn't smile or frown. He's only a flickering, arrogant statue.

 

'I referred to your right arm.'

 

I look at my other arm and see he's right. The six punctures making the shape of a crescent are deep and I can see smooth metal where they finish. I peer closer at it and am satisfied to see no damage to my wiring or veins. Lucky.

 

'Didn't notice. Must have happened yesterday. It will be fine.'

 

'From here, it looks like they have gone to the bone. If you don't want it to get infected, I suggest you return to Iziz and get it treated.'

 

I could almost laugh at the idea of being treated by a medic. What could they do to help? 'A medical expert, are we?'

 

'Yes.'

 

'Well, then, aren't you perfect?' I roll my eye and move to lean against the tree trunk. My cross bow presses uncomfortably into my back but I refuse to wriggle until it is more comfortable.

 

'I like to think so.' That doesn't surprise me. He pauses and tilts his head to the side a little. 'You are not going to go to a medic.'

 

'Not in a hundred years,' I affirm with a self satisfied smirk.

 

'You may then lose the arm,' he warns. Was that a concerned frown?

 

'No, it's metal, it will keep.' I look up at the sky. I can't see much of it but what I do is dark with rain. I can hear thunder in the distance. 'Though it might rust if it rains.'

 

Damin silently evaluates me. I can tell he is thinking 'truth or not?' No nod or shake gives away his conclusion and the mask of indifference remains. I know he has placed the information into a file in his mind and will take it into his predictions in the future. I think he would hate having to start them with 'if'.

 

'I have some information you will be interested in but the connection is getting worse,' he asserts. He isn't wrong. He is flickering more and his voice is now starting to become distorted. But a Cipher never has a single reason for anything. Like this call, it isn't to keep an idle acquaintance or to fulfill a promise. This light banter was bound to end and something like business was destined to be discussed. I don't fool myself into thinking Damin has something near affection for me. Then why did he look, touch and speak to you how he did? I only wish I could fool myself into thinking I have no affection for him.

 

'Are you asking me to return to my ship? The ship I would have to pass a dozen medics to reach?'

 

'That would be appreciated, yes.' He enters parade rest and nods his head. I smirk at him quickly before looking to the sky again. You're still your father's little boy.

Rain is getting closer. Rusting was a joke but I don't fancy being here when the forest floor is mud that we will sink ankle or even knee deep into. And I was on my way back anyway.

 

'Fine. Call you when I get there.'

 

'Thank you, Leeriah.' Was that a charming smile he gave me before disappearing? I groan and shake my head and refuse to let Damin enter it again until I reach the ship. He is a complication my life cannot afford to have.

 

I look to the sky again and think of Blizz. Did you get them? I ask the sky as if this one will somehow know what another sky across the galaxy is seeing. Did I disappoint you, Blizz?

 

I sigh, swing down a few branches and jump the rest of the distance. My feet sink into the leaf litter.

 

'Come on, HK, it's time to go home.'

 

 

-----

 

 

I'll leave you all to imagin the mayhem she caused in the jungle. ;):p

Also, for anyone who read the Damin fic on the short fanfic weekly thread, it is set once she gets back to the ship and speaks to her. I hope that was alright, I don't like explaining there previous relationship very much. :confused: They are still quite complicated and... odd. She wants a friend (not that she would admit it) and he wants things that shall remain a secret for now. There is a significant thing of their past that I will reveal but that is something for later. ;)

 

Edited by EverSteam
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Home bound? :D

Quite ;)

 

 

-----

 

 

Six or so hours later...

 

 

'You are in your ship.'

 

'Yes, but I can't talk long.' I glance to the two entrances to the holo room.

 

The doors are closed but I feel tense. I feel like something is out of place but I'm not sure what yet. The feeling and the dread of Gault waking are something I can't quite connect. It has wiped the memory of a four hour trek through rain and mud and a two hour walk through a sea of conspicuously staring and immaculately dressed people. I lost count of how many times HK offered to liquidate the citizens that called me a 'dirty whore' among other sentiments.

 

'You are not alone.'

 

'Interesting statement. Normally pose it to myself as a question though. This case, Gault is on board but sleeping.' I can't hide the frustration from my voice. Don't want Gault here to overhear this discussion. Also annoyed he managed to slice my security.

 

'You want to keep our communications a secret despite your strong friendship.' His eyebrow slightly raises in amusement at my contradictions.

 

'Interesting theory. Have any others?'

 

'Many.' He pauses and his expression softens a little. 'How are you, Leeriah?'

 

'You mean apart from having a drexl larvae bite on my right forearm?' I frown up at him seriously, my eyebrows almost meeting in a look of serious puzzlement.

 

'Naturally,' Damin comments with a faint smile but a neutral voice.

 

'Completely insane.' I grin at him despite the sting of my honest words. 'How about you?'

 

'Similar.' Damin hesitates, his lips flattening out as he looks around him. 'This call is being monitored,' he informs me in that well practiced, flat voice.

 

'No, it isn't.' My counter comes with a smirk and I look at my nails with smugness. Only, they aren't long, clean and perfect. They're covered in mud, blood and all but two are broken bellow the skin. I cross my arms and hide them. You can hide anything if you try hide enough. You can hide grief if you try hard enough.

 

'You put this forward as a fact.'

 

'As most do when they say a fact.' The calculations being made are clear in his eyes and I smirk as I begin my explanation. 'See, when I left there, Damin, I left it in a better state then you and-'

 

'You rendered me unconscious and left me on the ship after setting it on course for Dromund Kaas.' The interruption is delivered in that infuriatingly level voice that gives nothing away.

 

But I can hazard a guess at his feelings. 'Is that anger and bitterness I hear?'

 

Damin frowns at my holo image and I can tell his teeth are clenched as his forces the next four words out. 'Continue with your explanation.' I know he is thinking a different four: I haven't forgiven you.

 

I ignore the harsh sting that comes when I think of that parting and continue as he asked. 'I was able to endorse the assistance of Helpers to take some supplies that were not conspicuous and-'

 

'They were?'

 

'Do you interrupt your superiors this much?' I growl in irritation. Guess it's what remains of my time with my parents, but a desire for people to follow the codes of civility is ingrained in me. Interruptions and skipping pleasantries are amongst the things that irk me most. But killing people isn't any civility code?

 

'Never.'

 

I smile and shake my head. Never thought a man's arrogance in obedience could be endearing. 'A cross bow, some armour, five crates of blasters and a flame thrower among other things.'

 

I remember the weeks I spent stealing ship after ship, spending hours transporting my crates from one ship to another. Most were weapons. Three contained different armour sets. I dread the day I have no choice but to wear one of them. I unconsciously scratch my forearm, my fingers getting caught in the puncture wounds and taking of the skin around them. I don't notice Damin's concerned look as he watches my hand move up and down, up and down.

 

'I'm sure you found the ten crates of blasters that were always kept on the shuttles?'

 

'Continue,' is the only cold answer I receive.

 

'Guess you didn't.' I leer at him before continuing but I want to know what he's thinking. Why put up with my insolent teasing? I begin to scratch harder. 'A device is also kept on all the shuttles that stops third party intrusions on calls. Don't know how it works. Only know how to install and uninstall it.'

 

'Interesting.' Damin suddenly becomes engrossed in his thoughts and I wait with a raised eyebrow. 'I would like to examine the device one day.'

 

I raise my eyebrow higher at the deferential order. I cross my arms across my chest again and feel a slight smooth wetness where they touch. But all I can notice is Damin: this room has no dirty, dented walls; no discarded and stained blankets or bottles; no new seats that boast a wealth that doesn't show in anything else; no doors that keep out the world and one of the closest people to me: it has nothing but us.

 

'I'm sure you would. Maybe on that day you will also realise that almost three weeks is not two weeks.' Where did the anger in my voice come from?

 

'I apologise, Leeriah. I was detained with work.' He looks around again and takes a step closer to his holo terminal. When he speaks, it is in a low, earnest voice. 'I pray you do not hold the boldness of telling you I have missed you against me.'

 

'Depends on the honesty of the sentiment.'

 

'It is honest,' Damin assures me with an Imperial accent around his plea. Never thought that sound and action could go together.

 

'Because Cipher's are known for their truthfulness.' He winces at my cynical scoff.

 

'Leeriah...' Damin's eyes beg an understanding I refuse to submit to and his gentle call make my arms tighten around my stomach. He composes himself and looks over his shoulder. 'I am sorry to hear you feel so. Would I be intruding on you to call you once a week?'

 

'Miss me that much?' I sneer in return. I don't see him in grainy, blue grey holo: I see him as he is. And what is he?

 

'Yes. I have been missing you for ten years.' The earnest confession falls flat on me.

 

'Smooth lie, Damin, but I don't think our situation warranted any feelings of reminiscence.'

 

'It does for me.' Do I imagine the crackle in his voice as it rises in anger? I know I don't but I can't believe it. His words and the emotion don't fit: two pieces of a puzzle that will never be compatible no matter how much you force them together or cut them to fit.

 

'Your hidden eye calls your lie.'

 

Damin's shoulders stiffen and a hand breaks free of the others grasp behind his back. It never reaches right his eye. He regains control of himself and joins it again with the other. Was that such a low shot?

 

'You still do not allow anyone to get close to you. I must confess to wonder at how someone worked their way close enough to you for you to agree to marriage.'

 

'Seems everyone thinks that,' I reply with a careless shrug I don't feel. Damin isn't the only one that can hide what they feel when it suits them. But it is harder, so very much harder, to hide emotions than to hide the physical scars. What clothes can you put over your heart to hide it's scars? 'Don't think I know a single being that hasn't.'

 

'Including yourself.'

 

'Undoubtedly.'

 

'Did he?'

 

I look away from Damin's eyes but don't let mine wander so far as to the door that hides the view of my quarters. I am not quite all on the ship again. My memory has drifted to Corellia.

 

'Makes me wonder how you got her to marry you,' Corridan comments casually.

 

'Ask myself that every day. Surprised I'm alive.' Never wanted to recall those words again. Think in everything he ever said, those and those that follow, hurt the most. Scrunch my eye tightly shut in a useless attempt to stop the next words from coming.

'But worth it. Do anything for her or to protect her. Not that she would ever need it.'

 

How could I not see the resolve in him? How could I not see anything after all that he said on Voss? After the vision I received on Voss? How could I be so incredibly blind and foolish? I should have known. I should of watched my own back.

 

'Yes,' I whisper. The weakness of my voice recollects me to where I am and who I'm talking to. I clear my throat and look back up at Damin with defiant eyes: they challenge him to call me out on my unshed tears and to do his worst.

 

Damin only gives a sharp nod and a glance over his shoulder. 'None the less, I would like to call you every week.'

 

'Do what you like,' I apathetically reply.

 

Damin takes in a breath as if to let it out in a sigh but with strains himself. 'If only.'

 

Damin straightens and takes a step back. He runs a hand through his hair. His fringe stays back even when his hands become clasped behind his back and I can see his black eye clearly. I unconsciously rub the implant above my left eye in remembrance of that day. I didn't mean for it to happen like that.

 

'This isn't just a... social call. I know something you might be interested in.' Ah, the real point of his call. How could I have been swept away by him and forgotten where I really stand? Where I need to stand.

 

'Thrill me,' I reply with a challenging smirk.

 

'Maybe if I live through the next few weeks, I will.' He smiles in that sad way and shakes his head. His fringe falls back into place; his black eye hidden once more. I dig my teeth into my tongue to stop any reply or change of expression. He's still taking me apart with every word.

 

'Leeriah.'

 

It's all I hear. The rest is static, white noise that's deafening yet everything is silent all at once. I see his lips move more and his business air crumble into concern as I begin to shake. I take steps back but soon run into the couch. I sit down on it, out of the holo range.

 

I watch but don't register Damin pressing controls, trying to see if there was a cut in the line. Either he gives up and hangs up or we really do cut out because the light in the room leaves with his holo image.

 

So soon... why?

 

 

-----

 

dun-dun duhhh ;)

 

Meanwhile, it is after this conversation that Damin's pov comes in.

I may cross post it to here though I think I like writing from him so I may start a Damin thread similar to Torian's especially since he is very close to Act 2 and I like divulging their past through him. But this is an idle whim that may not happen. I am not sure as to how much of a good idea it is. :confused:

 

Edited by EverSteam
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Don't mind me I'm just sort of shipping Damin and Leeriah... Don't do anything that feels like too much work. You can just post his PoV entries in this thread, appropriately marked. Don't have to start up a whole new one. And, as always, I enjoyed reading. :):o
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  • 3 weeks later...
Don't mind me I'm just sort of shipping Damin and Leeriah... Don't do anything that feels like too much work. You can just post his PoV entries in this thread, appropriately marked. Don't have to start up a whole new one. And, as always, I enjoyed reading. :):o

I have no comment on the Damin/Leeriah front ;)

I'm glad you're liking it :D

 

My subscription ran out but I've been writing like crazy and the ideas are coming but then I'm having problem phrasing them and argh! Anyway, here's a few posts.

 

-------

 

Damin's POV

Set at the end of part one of Leer/Damin holo call

 

 

Her figure disappears and my fingers linger for a moment of the controls. The hardest part is yet to come...

I take a deep breath. It is not the time to think of it now. I have company.

 

'Master Hyllus, you can approach now.'

 

I turn around and lean against the holo terminal, resting my hands on the terminals edge. I smile at the Joiner as he walks out of the doorway to stand before me.

 

'I am sorry, agent. We did not mean to pry. We only felt strong emotions that sung so loudly to us we could not stay away.'

 

'It's alright, Vector,' I assure him with a smile. If I did not want any listeners I would have bought a new holo. If Intelligence wasn't listening, what would be the point in our conversations?

 

'Would you mind if I call you 'Vector'?'

 

'Not all, agent,' the Joiner replies with a small bow.

 

'I would request you also call me by my first name but given our occupation and the difficulty of speaking Cheunh among others, I think we will have to settle with 'agent', 'cipher' or whatever else current missions dictate.'

 

I keep my smile gentle and friendly. I mean it as much as I can. I don't relish in the news I will have to give Leeriah and I would rather keep my thoughts away from it. There is only one person in the galaxy who calls me 'Damin' and her memory is the only record of that name left. My own parents call me by full name or only 'son'. I think that latter is grossly ironic when it resounds from their cold lips.

 

'We understand, agent.' An interesting statement. What exactly does he really understand? The Joiner sees more but doesn't the hive impair his understanding of emotions and expressions?

 

'We did not think Cipher's kept a single mate,' the Joiner suddenly states.

 

'She isn't and has never been anything like that.' Indifference, agent, where did it go? You need some in your voice at the moment.

 

Vector returns my frown and a weak mimicry of apology colours and shifts his features. I tighten my hands on the terminal edge and attempt to control myself. It is always hardest when it concerns her.

 

'We are sorry, agent. We did not mean to offend or misunderstand.' The sincerity in the Joiners voice seems to come from large distance away or down the end of a dark cave: it is only a faint noise or echo of a humans emotion.

 

'I believe 'it's alright, Vector' is going to quickly become all I say to you.' I force a small laugh and another smile. Fooling the Joiner will prove a personal challenge I look forward to and relish in. It only seems I am off to a stumbling start and a handicap.

 

He gives me the smile of someone on a spice trip and I am pleased he didn't fail to misunderstand such a small joke.

 

'We hope not, agent. But before you are occupied with other... people, we would like to take a moment of your time to discuss our position upon your vessel.'

 

Maybe I have been in the coarse company of Kaliyo for too long but the Joiner's company is soothing and at present, a welcome distraction from less favourable problems and thoughts, and an idle amusement to pass my wait with.

 

'Please, sit, Vector. We have plenty of time. I have hopes that we will become very close.'

 

I usher him over to the closest lounge in the room and sit down with a crossed leg and an arm over the back. Vector takes the space I face and sits strangely stiffly, turning his torso so he can face me and keep his feet firmly on the ground. I take this frigidity to note and place it away so I will be able to remember it for future operations. I do not want to be in a cantina and have Vector speak like a man on a spice trip about auras while he sits with an inhuman rigidity.

 

'So do we, agent. We have finished finalising everything with the diplomatic service. We are now yours entirely.'

 

'Mine and the hives,' I correct with a faint smile. It doesn't come with malice or suspicion. It is merely a realistic analysis of the situation. I feel I will have as close to trust in Vector as my nature, history and occupation will allow and though I will be playing him like a conductor leads an orchestra, I will enjoy every moment with as much friendly warmth as I can allow.

 

'Our loyalties are not divided by two opposing forces. We are hoping for an alliance in time between the killiks and the Empire.'

 

My cynicism is stronger than my training for a moment. I am a Chiss-Human. My existence is not a symbol of the Empire's tolerance only my parents ambitions. I removed outward displays of xenophobia in the Academy by blackmail and when there was no real evidence to incriminate another, I would create some so flawlessly that no one could find it's fraudulence. Such a thing earned my mother's respect for a time though my father preferred brute force. I learnt early on it was impossible to appease two entirely opposite people who only share a common love of the Empire and themselves.

 

There is a two second pause that is two seconds too long before I can continue civilly.

 

'You are a very welcome asset to our small team, Vector, and I do not question your loyalty to myself or the Empire.' Not out loud, at least. 'I am sure your actions will only further prove that my confidence is not misplaced.'

 

The Joiner bows slightly and I appreciate his civility and formality that is very lacking when speaking to the Ratattaki.

 

'We thank you, agent. We ensure that our duties as Dawn Herald do not interfere with our duties as an Imperial.'

 

'I would appreciate it if you removed my ignorance around the duties and meaning of Dawn Herald.' I loathe ignorance and I am not a stranger or blind to the Empire's faults: when it comes to alien cultures, the Empire is an expert in wilful ignorance.

 

'The Dawn Herlad is a warrior and emissary for the nest - one who confronts the unknown. We retain a sense of individuality and it is also why we are useful to you. We honour the killiks gift and we are content.'

 

Content? What is such a feeling really? Does it just mean you are not restless or unsatisfied? Whatever it is, I have never felt it and Damin feels a squirm of jealousy the agent will not allow.

 

'Interesting,' the agent says through gritted teeth. There must be something in the way I say it because the Joiner tilts his head and gazes with what I think could be perplexity.

 

'Surely everyone carries over rituals and habits from their life before Intelligence?'

 

'No. Having a history makes a person vulnerable. Habits should be forgotten: connections severed.'

 

The answer is automatic as if it comes from a brain washed reflex. I have severed the connection to my parents but they refuse to do the same to me. It is not out of any form of parental attachment or concern. They do not want their possibly spy son to slip through their fingers and fall out of reach.

 

'We cannot believe that you feel this way when you keep in contact with a woman who you care so much about.'

 

'I do not care for her. She is an assignment like any other.'

 

Vector nods like bird giving a testing peck to a strange seed. 'We are sorry to make you angry, agent. We will not mention her again though we would be interested in hearing of your past.'

 

I sit straight and move my leg down the black silk of the sofa. 'This conversation is over, Vector.'

 

'As you wish, agent.'

 

Vector stands to leave but when he does, the rational agent returns again and I realise I cannot leave things like this. Vector is not Kaliyo or a trained operative. The probability of being betrayed by him intentionally or otherwise is slim on both fronts. But I have not made it to 'Cipher' by playing it unsafe.

 

'I have met an agent, though,' I begin with a grin. Vector turns back around to me and retakes his seat. 'Who still claps their hands twice after anyone sneezes because their mother always told them a sneeze is how evil spreads. You should see what they have to do when they sneeze.' I force a perfectly practiced and neat laugh that is an exact copy of a genuine laugh.

 

'You're habits and rituals are still strange as these things go though, Vector,' I gently tease.

 

'You cannot blame us for trying, agent,' Vector replies with that same spice trip smile.

 

'I don't, Vector,' I reassure him. I don't blame him because if I had something that made me content, I would damn my training and damn my job. I give him a rare grin and unknowingly begin the basis of a friendship that would become closer and more important than I could have ever thought it would be.

 

'Now,Vector, did anyone ever introduce you to the composer...'

 

 

--------

 

 

Damin POV cross post from short fanfiction thread.

Takes place at the end of their second call.

 

 

The last loud note is struck before it fades to strings and wind. The calming and hopeful flute makes me remember the hope of escape. The strings leave me feeling the fear of years past. My finger worms its way into my hair and twists my fringe around and around it, unwinds and then twists again. With each note and each instrument, the memories take on different hues. With each change in tempo so did the memory I watch.

 

I see her come to my cell that night. I see the Guard dead outside the door with his or her blood eagerly running through the open doorway as if it was tired of being trapped in skin and wanted escape. I remember thinking it was heading in the wrong direction.

 

As the flute draws longer notes, my memory shifts to her as she moves toward me. Each step seems long and her footfalls match the winds ending notes.

 

What was it I felt when I saw her? I can't remember. I remember her unlocking my chains and letting me go. Her cold hands held my arm too tightly as she helped me stand and left bruises that would last for weeks. I never noticed how average her height was until I was looking down into her eye. I remember my free arm raising a hand to touch her cheek in what I was thinking was a moment.

 

She flinches away then and lets my arm go. She takes hurried steps away and leaves the room. I ran to follow with stiff legs that ungainly limped. But there was no need. Her chest was heaving then with laboured, heavy breaths as she stood just around the corner of the door. I didn't need to see more of her than her straight, shaking back to know she was crying.

 

Her head shakes slightly and she calls to me. 'The Guard is changed only five times every twenty six hours. I've made a clear way from here to the elevator but we need to go to the first floor. Undress the Guard and put his clothes on. No one will question us.'

 

I do as she says. She never turned around and I was slow and anxious to follow her orders from anxiety about anyone coming by despite her reassurance. The left shoulder and collar was wet with blood but it didn't show. In my relative innocence or sense of prudence, the clammy touch of it on my skin made me shiver.

 

She turned to me once I was finished despite my lips remaining closed. She smirked at me with a perfect raised brow.

 

'You look just as piss weak as any new fish around here. No one will know.'

 

I smiled despite my disgust at my disguise and the fear of getting caught. Her smirk became a smile that's gentle and sad. I remember her white skin blending in with the seamless white walls, leaving only her tight, small black clothes to give her definition and physicality.

 

I clear my throat and look up and around my clean white surroundings. The door to my room had closed shut and only the small rectangle window let me know there is a room there at all.

 

'Aren't there camera's around here?' I ask.

 

I remember that look of contempt for my question and the way she turned on her heel. 'Mask down, 329.'

 

I move my mask down and walk behind her. My knees don't shake and my back is straight. A General's son knows how to march without fear even when pee drips unseen down his leg. She was correct: no one challenged us. I notice the salutes she receives and the stares of fear. I wonder what it would be like to look at her and feel fear.

 

'I have attained clearance for you,' she begins as she types her code into the hanger security door. I follow her through and feel tiny and vulnerable in the large open space. I feel I should stick to a wall and find somewhere smaller. How many months was I here? Over a year or less? I lost track despite my most sincere efforts.

 

'I signed your papers for service leave due to an ailing spouse this morning,' she explained with an amused smirk. Her nose twitched and it made me wonder if she could smell fear.

 

'I do not have a spouse.' Was your voice smooth and flirtatious or did you have no emotion? Did you make that connection at the time that she killed a man who she knew well enough to know he had a wife and feel sad at his death? When was it later that cynicism took over the memory and you saw that she had waited until it was that Guard on duty because no other would have worked?

 

'Don't tell them that. 329 had a wife. Aren't you 329?' I slowly nod my head. It is the first alias I had ever undertaken: the first time I stole another's identity. I watch her and stand there not knowing what to do now that freedom is twenty paces and few buttons away. How was this so easy?

 

'Get on it or die: either way you have to hurry.' Her voice was gruff and annoyed. I now wonder if she still uses anger and apathy to hide her true feelings. I find no condolence in knowing that I may have been the first to see through her.

 

'General is expecting me in half an hour.' She looks over her shoulder to the door. Do I now imagine the flinch around her eye?

 

'You don't have to go to him.' Did my voice sound so level and reasonable then or have I changed the plea to what would make it easier to live with?

 

'And the sun doesn't have to rise.' I never new in those months that she could be so wistful, but I knew she could be that bitter. 'Get out of my sight. I hate the colour blue.' She turns her back on me and I know if she isn't crying now, she soon will be. If I leave, I will never be able to take her tears away again.

 

I lift my mask up and take a small step to her. 'Leeriah.'

 

She stiffens and looks up to the hanger ceiling. From here, the night sky can be seen though it is tinted pink by the force field.

 

The music I only dimly hear reaches its crescendo. The voice of my memory has taken me away and I am there in the place I think of most, with a timidity so un-Imperial stopping me from taking another step forward toward her. What did she look like in that moment? What was her expression? I wish she had turned around.

 

And then the question comes.

 

'I want you to leave with me, Leeriah. Will you?'

 

I draw in my breath and wait for her response. But it never comes. A different woman and a different voice speak from a different time.

 

'What's with the music, agent?'

 

I don't bother to look at her as she leans in my doorway. I keep my eyes on the ceiling where the memories I had been watching no longer dance slowly across the metal in time to the music that now sounds only loud and vulgar.

 

'It helps facilitate my thoughts,' I reply after a lengthily silence.

 

Kaliyo walks across my room to the screen displaying the song. The impertinence annoys me as much as it did the first time she did seven months ago. Commenting on it will only increase the behaviour from a daily behaviour to an hourly behaviour.

 

She laughs at me and reads the song title aloud as a belittling question. 'The Force of Destiny?'

 

'Quite,' I passively reply.

 

'Are you still mooning over her?'

 

'Specifics would be helpful in my deduction of who 'her' is, Kaliyo.'

 

'You know who. I wouldn't say that tracking someone is exactly 'destiny' at work, Damin.'

 

'The conclusions you spring to!' I marvel in sarcastic amazement. I hate how Kailyo says my name. She says it was the same mocking as 'agent' only that does not bother me. I only want one woman to ever say my name.

 

'So, what's the play, agent?' She reminds me of a hunting beast that once on a trail of one prey, cannot be taken of it by the scent of another.

 

'My play in what, Kaliyo?' I know from experience that not responding to her only leads to the opposite desired effect: it makes her stay longer. I desire to be back with my memories. There are things I need to analyse and a future I need to predict from them.

 

'You're play with her. You've been tracking her since before I met you, you finally meet her where you knew exactly where she'd be, don't sleep with her, keep in contact and seem to have no financial benefit. So what's the end game, agent? She betrayed you and now you want to kill her in some twisted way?'

 

'We don't all travel the galaxy killing our exes.' I rebuke myself for the hint of accusation that enters my voice. This is one of the few times since I refused to follow such an unorthodox and time wasting scheme that she has spoken to me without a glare. I don't miss it. The only benefit is not half waiting for a knife to be pulled behind my back.

 

'You want her back?' Kaliyo asks. She hasn't even erred to rebuke me for that.

 

'Kaliyo-' I alter my heavy reproach before it begins. There is no gain for me to illustrate to Kaliyo her short comings in human understanding and begin a hostile lecture on the complexities and subtleties of emotions, duty and human relations.

 

'Let's go for a drink.' I continue with no pause and sit up, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. 'I think we need to celebrate our new crew members arrival.'

 

I look over at her and see her glare. My eyes wander to the point under her left eye where there is a slight hitch in her tattoo. The lack of symmetry in it offends me and makes looking at the Ratattaki that little bit more irritating. I continue to silently question the Keeper's decision to assign such a companion to my ship and crew. I would prefer another agent, Cipher, or at least an Imperial Academy graduate.

 

'We will talk about this again, agent. It isn't over.'

 

She slips away, walking warily backward in a way I don't think she even thinks about anymore. Things are never over until one side is dead and I am determined to make sure that is never me.

 

Kaliyo was right. I did know Leeriah was in the warehouse that day. But it isn't the first time in a decade I had seen her or we had shared the same planet. But things were never as dire as they are now. She is angering the wrong people on both sides. I know why I approached her and my reasons are more selfish then love.

 

I know my play is why I can never thank her for saving me. My only unrecognised thank you was keeping her and her location a secret. I can't tell her she's the only woman I've ever loved. I remember her then: young, hurt, angry, passionate, torn, righteous and so beautiful. I loved her as soon as she walked through the cell door and glared at me with so much hostility in that blood shot, arrogant and challenging eye as if she was the one in the chair and was challenging me to do my worst.

 

I wasn't wrong when I told her she hasn't changed. She's still that girl only I know she's crying over a different man. Why were agent's never trained against jealousy? Because they are trained not to love and not regret. That training was too little and two years too late.

 

I look up to my ceiling and see too many things there that still cut. My hand fixes my fringe, making sure it covers my eye. I never thought I was insane until I found myself loving her. I have heard wives say to their husbands and husbands to their wives before I kill either or both of them that they still love them no matter what they did to bring this to their house. I wonder if their testaments are as strong or true as mine.

 

I run my hands and fingers quickly up and down my scalp, gripping and pulling at my hair as I throw myself back onto my bed. My head hit's the hard edge of the frame and I groan and roll over. You're a Cipher. Start thinking like it or you know what happens. Are you ready to die?

 

No. I'm not.

 

I take a deep breath and roll off the bed. I switch the music off and walk to join my crew of two with refreshed resolve. Force of Destiny disappears with the touch of a button. I only don't know that changing fate isn't as easy as flicking a switch.

 

 

-----

 

Force of Destiny is a 1862 Overture by Verdi

Edited by EverSteam
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Well, I wrote this for the prompt 'Hide and Seek' but got nervous so I'm only going to post it here instead. I also thought at least here everyone knows the situation and Gault/Leer complicated, bizarre relationship where boundries are very flexible. But I do not know, I may post it there later...

 

-----

 

 

He doesn't hear her approach. His thoughts are absorbed in cracking the code before she notices. She can walk silently when she chooses even though the underside of her feet are plated in metal. It isn't until she speaks that he realises her.

 

'It's a little late to be making repairs in the engine room, isn't it?'

 

Her voice is loud when she asks though there is now only a hands width between them, her chest almost brushing against his back when she silently inhales. He curses in his mind and wonders how she knew when he had been so careful and so silent. He takes a step back and then to the side, as far away from her as he can be in the narrow corridor. He feels the metal walls on the side of his shoulders. They reassure him he's in a corner with nowhere to run.

 

'This is the engine room? I thought it was my room. All doors look the same, babe, when you've had too much Tarisian ale,' he pointlessly justifies.

 

She looks him over solemnly and nods her head. She can't smell ale on his steady breath. He only looks into her eye nonchalantly. It's colour reminds him of ice in vodka and he refuses to get intoxicated by her from staring into its crystal depths.

 

She holds her arm crookedly out to him. 'I'll escort you to your room then,' she offers with a smile that shows her perfect white front teeth a little.

 

It's stiff gentleness makes the Devaronian uneasy though he refuses to shift his feet or flex his fingers. Only his eyes can't help but shift around looking for an escape that only his tongue can make and he notices the upward flicker of her lips, the open and alert watch of her eye as she catches ad waits for a movement. He can't remove the feeling that she can smell fear on her targets like a clawbird smells death and putrid meat.

 

She wants to get him away from the door as quickly as she can and she wants to get away from the door. Carbonite, metal and a high tech alarm system can't make security encase her mind or lock out the fear and hatred of what's on the other side from entering her heart. It's presence is an odour that stops her ship having the comfort and safety of a home.

 

'No, my dear, I think I can manage the three steps without your help,' he replies with pseudo calm and an easy smile.

 

Gault begins to take the steady steps easily to his door to prove his point. He enters his room and begins to get undressed as if she wasn't standing there and as if this conversation is over. Inside, he is entirely aware of the gaze of her cold, crystal eye. He doesn't let his hands shake as they begin to untie his black boots. He's never been scared to take his clothes off in front of a woman before. He's never felt so vulnerable or desirous of their approval. All the women in the galaxy... why does it have to be that one? he thinks exasperatedly.

 

'Taking off your clothes pretty easily for someone that should be seeing pink banthas or passed out on the floor.'

 

Gault puts his now removed boots at the end of his bed and begins to take off his jacket. He has to move slowly to keep his body steady.

 

'And you're very patient considering you have blue-boy on hold up there,' he retorts with a smirk.

 

She doesn't make a biting reply or even return his smirk. He frowns a little at the edges of his lips but though she notices this, she doesn't think of it. She notices everything that passes across his face and every change in his body's rhythms. But seeing isn't always understanding and when it matters most, she is blind.

 

He frowned because he hates it when he fails to make her smile with dark, amused cynicism or chuckle with pessimistic scorn in the way that always unsettled her husband. He hates the laugh she always had for him: the breezy laugh of indulgent, happy delight that was like the tinkling of metal in the wind or of a gentle stream falling into a pool. Gault likes her harsh view of the world, her ready, sharp and pessimistic wit and their banter that makes her just as happy. He isn't mistaken, is he, in thinking that she is happy with him?

 

He walks to his wardrobe and hangs his jacket up. She feels the heavy tension between them (though it is as far as her understanding can extend when others emotions concern her) as each wait for the other's accusations to begin. Only Gault has the power here. And she hates that. Three options are before him:

 

1. Stay silent about his suspicions and a) forget them, b) ignore them or c) wait until she tells him

2. Stay silent and continue to attempt to break into the engine room

3. Come out and blatantly ask what is in there.

 

She can't do anything about the first. Second, she can only continue to stop him. Third, she can kill him or leave him. If he doesn't leave first. It's a fear she has in the unexplored region of her hearts: the fear of abandonment and the fear of being alone with herself. When it comes down to it, she's scared of herself and her grief and waiting alone for her death.

 

'You know how this works: you mind your business and I mind mine.' How is my voice so level? she wonders to herself. Her stubbornness to deny her feelings comes in waves and right now, it's current has a strong grip on her. She won't acknowledge that she is just as terrified of what's in the engine room as she is of Gault finding it. She's desperate but resolute to ensure he never enters that room.

 

Gault hardly even glances at her as he walks to sit on his bed again. He feels curiosity chew on his mind and stomach and make his fingers twitch. His imagination gets the better of him when he imagines what's behind that door but he can't shift the feeling that it is something dangerous and best left on the floor of the Shadowlands or in the depths of Manaan's oceans. But despite this, all he wants to do is know.

 

'Don't see me dabbling in your accounts or territory,' she ends her friendly warning with. There is no need for a charade. She is a horrible liar.

 

'I wasn't aware that you had secretive business in the engine room, babe.' Gault begins to unbutton his grey shirt as he speaks. It seems to attract his entire concentration but she knows his mind is as much in the conversation as hers is. However, if she could hear his thoughts, she would know that it was only entirely in the conversation half of the time.

 

She could never have stood so firm if it was... not Gault who she was hiding It from. How can you still recoil from his name? You're weak, she accuses herself. How can you deny the accusation of your heart?

 

'I don't. We're talking about Damin.' She leans against the door way as she speaks and her eye takes in his slim, crimson body with critical evaluation. She doesn't miss the slight tremble in his hands that is now shown. She can think of no explanation for it. Nervousness couldn't account for it, nor fear or anger. In less than a month, she will be forced into the realisation of how little she knew of Gault and what he feels.

 

'So you won't mind if tomorrow morning I make some repairs in there?' Gault asks her as he throws his shirt into a pile in the corner of his otherwise neat room. She wonders if he ever plans to wash them or only continually buy replacements.

 

'I would. It's my ship. I make the repairs.'

 

He knows her well enough to know when to back off. This is one of those times for tonight. He reminds himself tomorrow is a new day and he will be at the lock again. Or if not tomorrow, then maybe another tomorrow or on a new week.

 

He stands up but doesn't entirely face her. He faces the corner with the clothes next to the door way, ready to throw his pants on top of the pile as he takes off his belt.

 

'Sure, babe. Never been good at fixing things anyway.' Gault stops his hands at his hips to take off his pants. He turns his head to face her and gives her an evocative and amused smirk that shows his sharp, white teeth. 'What were you saying about minding each other's business?'

 

She returns the smirk and raises a perfect eyebrow, her implants rising with it. 'I wasn't aware watching you strip was a business. You never told me about that.'

 

He chuckles and in the pause that follows he begins to feel uncomfortable. It isn't his place to stand like this before her.

 

'Well, maybe I will some other time, babe,' he avoids. 'You better get back to blue-boy.' She misses the bitterness in his voice and hears only the scorn. She's come to understand that he only likes people as sleazy, self-serving and underhanded as himself.

 

'Well, since you've drunk so much ale tonight already I'm sure you won't want to join me for some Corellian whiskey in half an hour.'

 

'Well, if you're begging I guess I can't refuse.'

 

She only laughs in the way he likes and leaves him alone to finish getting changed. He releases a breath he always seems to be holding when she's around and then his mind turns to the engine room again. Maybe it was a fancy, but he feels like he can feel malice coming from the engine room and through his open door. He takes the two steps to the doorway warily and shuts and locks the door before taking his pants off.

 

She walks upstairs and sees the hold button is still glowing in the murky light. She wonders what will happen if she never presses it. If he waits for her answer that never comes. Will he keep calling her in the way her husband would have? All she can do is mistrust and question the Cipher. All she can do is press the button and find out.

 

If only things out of sight were out of mind.

Edited by EverSteam
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To recap...

 

'This isn't just a... social call. I know something you might be interested in.' Ah, the real point of his call. How could I have been swept away by him and forgotten where I really stand? Where I need to stand.

 

'Thrill me,' I reply with a challenging smirk.

 

'Maybe if I live through the next few weeks, I will.' He smiles in that sad way and shakes his head. His fringe falls back into place; his black eye hidden once more. I dig my teeth into my tongue to stop any reply or change of expression. He's still taking me apart with every word.

 

'Leeriah.'

 

It's all I hear. The rest is static, white noise that's deafening yet everything is silent all at once. I see his lips move more and his business air crumble into concern as I begin to shake. I take steps back but soon run into the couch. I sit down on it, out of the holo range.

 

I watch but don't register Damin pressing controls, trying to see if there was a cut in the line. Either he gives up and hangs up or we really do cut out because the light in the room leaves with his holo image.

 

So soon... why?

 

 

 

------

 

 

 

Less than an hour later...

 

 

'Great Hunt starts in two months. When can we expect you?'

'Be there in three weeks. Got a few things to wrap up here.'

Brandon frowns a little. 'Can't be sooner? Cutting it a little close.'

'I like it close.'

'We're not like Eidolon, right? We're different?'

'Huntmaster declared her Grand Champion.'

 

'Try to keep up, Torian! You might learn something from the Grand Champion.'

'Kellian Jarro. You took down the 'Mandolorian Killer'?'

 

'It's nice to see a professional in action.'

'Twenty two Talz, four Wild cats and five Wampas. I would say that's a tie, Champion.'

 

'What would you like to be called, Champion?'

'Grand Champion, Corridan Ordo.'

 

'Why did you enter the Great Hunt?'

'Next hunt that's called, I'm going to enter.' So much to prove.

 

'Don't think there's better than Mandalore's daughter and Grand Champion of the Great Hunt in one.'

 

'Will need new recruits. Another Great Hunt might be earlier than usual. I know if you entered you would win. Planning too still?'

'Yes. Hope this war doesn't get in the way.'

 

'Stay safe and careful, Champion.'

 

'What kind of guy does a Grand Champion of the Great Hunt go for?'

'They have to be able to kill. And like to kill. That would be necessary. And strong. Loyal. Genuine. Honest. Have a great body. Someone like you.'

 

'I'll be with you then, Champion.'

 

'Have fun out there, my dear?'

 

I look to my right. The voice didn't fit. It was new and clear and loud. When the present returns, it is a controllable wave. Gault stands in the doorway of the holo room. I've forgotten that I was angry with him for slicing my security. I forget that I am angry with myself for leaving it unguarded.

 

'I did actually. Nice of you to ask.'

 

I come out of my daze enough to know to pretend to be here: smirk, breathe, meet his eyes. How can you not see that I'm falling apart before your eyes, Gault? Are you that blind and shallow? I move myself up and cross my legs. I pat the seat next to me but Gault doesn't take it. He swaggers closer and leans against the holo terminal, folding his arms and look at me with a stern and curious evaluation in his eyes.

 

'Hey, something came for you while you were gone.' Gault pulls a small, rectangular metal crate from his pocket. It isn't as lengthy as his skinny, long fingers and it isn't as wide as his palm. Gault tosses me the crate and I catch it in my right hand on reflex. I can feel the damage to the muscle as they try to pull come up short. It doesn't change anything as long as my metal is intact.

 

'What happened to your arm? And the rest of you as well now that I look at you.'

 

'You know how it is,' I reply with a sly smile and a wink. I turn the crate over in my hand and wonder what it is. 'They just don't make clothes like they used to.'

 

'And for that I am very grateful,' Gault assures me with a vigorous nod of his head and a long leer at my too exposed chest. I hadn't noticed. I should have checked what I looked like before calling Damin. Do you really care?

 

'Keep your eyes up and away, Gault, or you'll lose them.' The threat comes without thought. My mind is on the strange crate Gault has given me. It's marked in the same way all postal boxes are marked. The only thing that makes it strange is that Gault is giving it to me.

 

'No promises, my dear.'

 

'I never expect any.' He chuckles but I only frown down at the crate further. 'This has your name on it.'

 

Gault shrugs and crosses his arms. 'Ah, yeah, only because I picked it up.'

 

'And bought it I'm assuming since I haven't bought anything in months.' I raise an eye brow and begin to examine Gault as carefully as I examined the box.

 

'Yeah, well, just open it already.'

 

I open it and look inside with contained curiosity. I'm surprised to see the comet set vile I that I had been thinking of buying for months. The process of making it hardens the glass but 80% making it stronger than steel but it also increase the price by 987%. Atonement isn't cheap and indulgence is expensive. Still, it would be better than the fragile glass cylinders I carry my serum in on long trips. Three vials broke while I was in the jungle. How many I have left is rapidly decreasing and my need is speedily increasing.

 

I look up at Gault and raise an eye brow as I tip it into my hand. I hold it up, my elbow on my knee as I lean forward and cross my other arm across my chest.

 

'Alright, I bought it for you. I saw you looking at it on the Galactic Trade Network and thought... you spend far too much money on farmers and paupers.'

 

I scowl at him and he only grins as he mooches closer, sitting on the still vacant space next to me. I make a 'hmph' sound and look back down at the item that is feeling heavier and heavier in my hand.

 

'What's the angle, Gault?'

 

'What angle? I never have an angle with you.'

 

I roll my eye and smirk at him, easing away and facing him. 'And I never plan to kill you in your sleep.'

 

'Well, that's a relief because I had been left thinking sometimes that you were.'

 

I shake my head and wonder not for the last time what's under all that indifferent, perverted slime.

 

'Gault, we've been together for over two years and in that entire time you haven't even bought me a drink.'

he shrugs and raise his empty hands. 'What's the hurry?'

 

'Usual.' I hold up my bitten forearm. 'Constant life or death situations.'

 

Gault moves his arm as if to move it around my shoulders but looks at the blue, red, brown and green on me closer and decides against it. I notice he is wearing yet another new shirt.

 

'Well, I've only gone through fifty of my two hundred years. I'm planning on living for the next one hundred and fifty of them. What's two years mean in that time?'

 

I bite back any retort that two years is actually 6% of my life and the less than a year left will make it 9.67742% of my life. I only sigh and recline my head on the back of sofa. I can imagine the hell it is going to be to get the dirt, slime and blood out of the dark blue suede.

 

'What have you been doing while I was gone?' I ask instead.

 

'Only the usual things that running a crime empire involves. Though I did receive an interesting call,' Gault too casually says.

 

'Mmm?' I ask as I massage my temple with my free hand and lean as far back as I can. Too many things to think about and even more that I don't want to think about. I will leave for Duxn tomorrow. Why did you have to tell me, Damin? I can't make a connection between that news and Corridan's insistence on seeing me. 'Much too discuss', huh? Well, even if it is part it can't be everything.

 

'A Jawa by the name of Blizz called, maybe you remember him?'

 

'You know, Champion, I know your secret.'

 

'Rings a bell,' I lightly and warily reply. I curse myself silently for being so stupid as letting my thoughts wander to Duxn when Gault is being so...

 

'Well, he seems to remember you. He was most excited that his call was answered and seemed very eager to talk.' Gault's dark red eyes are cold and serious as they gaze at me and I wonder if his lip curls slightly up in a disgust that doesn't come from what I'm wearing.

 

'Say anything interesting?' I ask overly casually as I toss the vile from one hand to the other. My eyes watch it's silver, shimmering progress between the two as it is tossed back and forth: left to right, right to left.

 

'It depends. Were you aware that four days ago you sent him over half the money you earned on your last bounty?' Left, right. Right, left. Left, right.

 

'Yes, I am. Isn't any business of yours though.' Left, right. Right, left. Left right.

 

'Maybe not but he had other interesting things to tell me.' I don't answer and the gift feels like a very large and heavy weight in my hands as it passes between them and what is left of my vest and shorts feels far too tight and far too small. If I had a heart, I know it would be beating very, very fast.

 

And then the anxious silence is over: the question I didn't want to hear is said and the truth that was so easy to hide and so easy to uncover is out.

 

'Did you know Torian is dead?'

 

I almost don't move anymore: my lungs become empty of air and I don't fill them up again; my mind becomes black and dark; red plays across my vision; my right forearm finally begins to hurt with a torrent of constant, intense pain that spreads to my shoulder and my finger tips. But the vile continues to move from left to right.

 

Gault continues mercilessly.

 

'Yeah, it seems he died on Corellia or more specifically on the Chancellors' flag ship almost seven months ago. So of course you must know since you were there, just the two of you. And of course whoever killed him.'

 

I can't speak. I can't say anything. Never meant to not tell Gault. I just can't say it. I can't even say enough to acknowledge it. I'm so tired of thinking it every waking moment. Past months with Gault has alleviated the constant agony to a small pang that though it can't be ignored, it doesn't consume my consciousness. Except for that one slip. One always seems to be a very large number.

 

I begin to sway or at least I think I do as the world begins to spin as it moves from side to side. Gault pulls me closer to his side, kissing my cheek and my forehead quickly as he pulls me across onto his lap which I numbly sit across.

 

'Why didn't you tell me, my dear?' he whispers harshly.

 

My mouth won't open to speak the words I haven't yet thought of. It has always been my way to keep my pains and wounds inside. Why bother to break a habit of a life time twice? It will only hurt more.

 

I lie as a dead weight in his arms and he remains still, not rocking or moving his hands or arms, just still. Some part of my thinks about all the filth I'm getting on his shirt and pants. My face is against his chest and his breathing is calming despite the loud flurry of its quick beat. I slowly fall asleep from exhaustion.

 

When I wake, I lie still for a long time trying to discern my surroundings as the happy memory fades. I thought I was back in my room or the cargo hold, Torian holding me in his arms after a nightmare. But these aren't Torian's arms. They are too lean and spindly with none of the warm muscle of his arms. And I'm not in the cargo bay or my room. I'm still in the comm room. And Torian is dead.

 

'I thought you would never wake, my dear,' Gault quietly says with a smile that hides the two rows of his sharp teeth. He loosens his arms around me a little more but I don't move. In this moment, I don't want to move.

 

'Wish I didn't.' Didn't mean to say it. Why did I say it?

 

'Hey! I-,' Gault pauses and the indignant, conceited retort he was about to say fades from his lips. 'Yeah, I know,' he mutters bitterly instead, arms slightly stiffening.

 

'Blizz tell you anymore than that?' I ask eventually.

 

'Only that he wants to hear from you soon and some other jibberish. I recorded the conversation so you can listen over it.'

 

'Not what I meant. Did he tell you how it happened?'

 

'No, my dear. But I know you well enough to imagine how it went. Let me guess, Torian died doing something foolishly heroic and after it you came back to the ship, killed Skadge because of some taunting and cruel statement, then Mako which I don't mind at all, then made Blizz leave and then assassinated our dear old friend Sith, Tormen, and used his fleet to successfully level Coronet City and give the Republic an opening to destroy the Imperial fleet. Am I close?'

 

'I actually asked Blizz to leave before killing Mako,' I correct. 'He doesn't know about that. I thought it might upset him.' How can I smile and half joke when the darkness of reality is pressed upon me and we're talking of my husband's death?

 

'Ah, well, my lips are sealed.'

 

A retort concerning his kiss earlier enters my mind but then it fades. There wasn't anything in it. There isn't anything genuine in our relationship.

 

'A Jedi attacked me from behind but Torian moved to take the blow. He was burnt with the Mandalorians on Correllia.' When I finish my small narration, a long shuddering breath escapes me. It hasn't lifted the heavy burden. Don't people always say you feel lighter after revealing a secret? I only feel it has gotten heavier. I now have to live my reality and I am feeling it's great weight already.

 

'*********** Mando idiot,' Gault mutters.

 

I move a finger to Gault's lips and he stares into my eye with weary confusion. I extend my blade and shallowly cut his lips with it.

 

'Ow! Wh-'

 

I slide off Gault's lap and spin to face him. My punch cuts off the rest of his sentence. Gault rubs his jaw and I sneer at him.

 

'Well, I can't say I really did deserve that,' he comments dryly as he pats his lips, looking distastefully at the blood it leaves on his fingers; small bubbles of crimson liquid, lighter than his skin. He looks around for somewhere to wipe it and settles for his own pants that are already stained with the slime and filth of myself.

 

'That was for kissing me. And if you dare kiss me or touch me again, I will tear your horns off with my own hands before I carve your lips off your face and I will do things you can't even imagine and make you feel pain you have never known before if you ever insult him again.'

 

I stand over him and become aware of the gift that is still held in my clenched fist. I wonder at how it hasn't broken. Guess it really is worth 36000 credits.

 

'That what this was, Gault? A pity present?'

 

'What? No!' Gault keeps rubbing his jaw and looks away from me as he shifts slightly in his seat. 'I bought it around two months ago. I'd been waiting for it to catch up to me ever since we landed in Iziz.'

 

'It doesn't change anything, Gault.'

 

I turn and begin to walk away from him.

 

'I know,' I think hear Gault reply with a sigh. But I don't let it falter my steps or allow myself to look back. I can only look back for so long.

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This is a little embarrassing for me, but what does that emoticon mean? I've asked six different people and they haven't reached a general consensus.

 

Hehe, it's something akin to extreme happiness. I missed your regular updates. I was excited to see more. ^.^

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Five minutes later...

 

I peel what's left of my torn shirt off. I wince when I feel the sting of hairs and skin being torn off from slime that slipped through gaps in the material and made it meld with my skin. It leaves my arm red and in some places bleeding. I throw it the trash can and sit down.

 

Are you packing your bags, Gault?

 

Lie on my back a moment, staring at the a black nothing and consider turning the light on. If I do, I have to see my reflection.

 

Is he checking the time for flights to Nar Shaddaa?

 

I lift my torso up, resting my weight on my feet, neck and head so I can peel my shorts and underwear from my arse. I hiss when it rips from my body and sit up. I carefully move it down my legs, trying to avoid it touching them. I'm unsuccessful.

 

Am I alone yet? I feel alone.

 

I stand up and toss the shorts in the trash can as well. I clap my hands twice and the lights come on. I'm careful to avoid the large mirror as I slip past it and walk into the shower.

 

Has he left yet?

 

Turn the water on and let out and involuntary scream at the pain. I turn the water off and my breath comes in fast gasps. Lean my shoulder and against the shower wall and feel myself sliding to the ground. Look over my body and see more scratches and tears than I thought I had. My transition is making me slip.

 

That's an excuse.

It is. Know it isn't entirely that. I'm reckless and careless. Why dodge claws when it won't break my arm? Why duck jaws when they can't tear off any limbs? Why live when Torian isn't here?

 

Stand up and turn the water on again. I bite down hard on the inside of my lower lip until my teeth cut through the skin and even then I only bite harder. My blood is sweet like melted honey in water. Eventually, the liquid needles stop biting and stinging my gashes and I let my teeth slowly leave my lip. There's no point is screaming. I've always been better at keeping things inside.

 

Do you even care, Gault, that he's dead or that I kept it from you?

 

I turn my head up to the water and open my mouth. Swallow it readily as if I've been thirsty for a very long time. I shake my head and begin to look my body over. All the while, I my tongue plays restlessly with skin that was almost bitten off of my lip.

 

My body looks like abstract art or a quilt of different colours carelessly knitted on with no sense of schemes or contrast. Take down a harsh cloth and begin to try and wash it off. After ten minutes, only the blues, greens, reds and browns are left. The pink that seems to be some sort of pollen resists water and I know I will have to use some sort of oil or if that fails, live with pink on my arse, left calf and right collar bone. Unless I carve the skin off.

 

Why did I keep Gault in the end and not Blizz? What did you have to say to me when you called?

 

Turn the water off and step out. Steady drips quickly form a puddle wherever I stand. Remember Mako used to make a fuss of it. Her appeals to Torian always fell on deaf ears. First time in a long time, I'm not using my hearing to keep track of my few crew members. Rather not hear Gault's departure.

 

Have you left yet?

 

Dry off my body as gently as I can, facing the blank wall. My back is to the mirror. Take a deep breath. I look at my hands that hold the soft towel in clenched fists. Straighten my back and prepare my body for the blow. Raise my hands closer to my eyes. I inspect my metal knuckles.

 

I don't have time to make it to the sink. Vomit escapes and flies from my mouth. Taste of it burns my mouth and makes my mouth uselessly numb. Fall to my knees and my body jerks again. Tremors rack my body after its over and my hand shakily wipes my mouth. Watch the puke leak into the water and spread.

 

Stand when my legs are assured and walk to the sink. Wash my hands thoroughly even when nothing is left. I wash my face again and again and again. When I feel a little cleaner, I look into the mirror. See for an instant what I will look like before a year is out. Probably won't even make half a year.

 

Look to my hands again and I can see it; there's a small part of my skin less than two millimetres pulling away from a metal knuckle. My body heaves again but I have nothing left to vomit.

 

I turn away from the sink and look at the mess. Walk out, naked but dry and standing, to the small cupboard across the corridor. Take a mop and bucket and begin cleaning the mess. When I'm done, I twist my leg so my foot reaches the sink and wash the vomit off it. My eye finds the same problem on my foot as it did on my hand. Only this time no heaving occurs just the feeling of sinking.

 

Only when everything is clean and away do I get dressed in long pants, a long sleeve shirt and gloves. Walk to my room and close the door. Spend the night standing there, just inside my locked and secure door. From there I spend the night staring at my breaking bed and the flower that still sits above it; spend the night looking at the wardrobe where his staff and clothes are still along with my bloodied dress from Nar Shaddaa; spend the night looking at my cross bow case, the bow sitting on top; spend the night staring at the cupboard where my failing elixir stays; spend the night staring at the objects that symbolise my desolation and what I lost.

 

Was stupid to believe him. Stupid to think we'd be happy until I had to go. I knew better. But then I would look into those blue eyes and feel his rough hand and I would believe in him. I did have faith in him. Faith gets you nowhere: faith is worthless.

 

I sit up with a jolt, all weapons active and ready.

 

I attack the wriggling thing next to me, the nightmare still clinging to my mind. Reality still distant moments from my mind. I spring onto the thing next to me, straddling it and holding a knife to its throat.

 

'Cyare.'

 

The word falls from somewhere under the white. It pulls at something too new for my past to know and I with strain it's reaching hand.

 

'What are you and why are you in my room?'

 

I press harder and the thing stops any movement. I become suspicious and pull the white away to reveal it: the blonde hair, the blue eyes that hold stern concern and the tight frown.

 

And then the dream passes, the other thing leaves and my memory and self return.

 

'Torian,' I breathe with a groan. I retract all my weapons and sit back on what turns out to be his hard stomach.

 

'What was it this time, Cyare?' His doesn't sound frustrated or harsh: only gentle and concerned. It doesn't fail to amaze and irritate me.

 

My arms cross, my hands finding a grip on lean triceps. I rub my hands along them and feel my own cold, smooth skin.

 

'The usual.'

 

That covers a range of sins and evil, doesn't it? It normalises something that can never be normalised and makes the unacceptable acceptable. I've been telling Torian only 'the usual' from the beginning, never defining, never elaborating. He never asks specifics as if he can understand what the horrors of 'the usual' are. And that makes me feel a little lonely, knowing that there are few people that will ever know how unbearable and terrible 'the usual' is and even lonelier that he isn't one of them. And if I can, I will never let him be.

 

'You can go sleep downstairs again if you want,' I quietly suggest. My voice is weak and pathetic in my ears when I want it strong and indifferent.

 

'Nayc, Cyare.'

 

'Don't you get tired of this?' I ask a little too wearily. I hold my arms tighter across my chest, finding little security or comfort in the thin shirt I wear.

 

'Waking to have you on top of me? Never, Cyare.' His arms emerge to hold my waist and he gives me a small grin I can't help but quickly return. I shake my head and lie down on him. I like his heat warming my skin so much it makes me feel like it's my own. But something about that feeling makes me disgusted with myself. It makes me feel like a parasite or leech and I suppose in too many ways I am.

 

He wraps his arms around me and holds me so tight that I feel them say 'I will never let you go'. I can only wish to believe them.

 

'Utreekov,' I scold with a smile he can't see. I can feel his own smile that's hidden in my hair. Neither of us say any more for a long while. He only holds me close and I feel my ineptitude at any of this. When other women wake their men with kisses and touches, I wake mine with a knife or hand to his throat almost every g** d*mn night.

 

'Do you ever go to bed with me and wonder if you won't ever wake up again?'

 

'Gev, Cyare! You know I never do.'

 

'I don't know it anymore than I know that I might not realise soon enough and I might kill you,' I coldly reply, glad I can't see the frustration in his eyes.

 

'Then you need more faith in yourself.'

 

'I have faith in my ability to kill people.'

 

Torian gently rolls me off him and onto my back, rolling himself on top of me. His hands move to my face and I'm forced to look into his penetrating, blue eyes.

 

'Then have faith in me, atin mesh'la.' His kiss if gentle and warm. His lips and tongue and hands try to remove my doubt. And they do. For these few moments or longer, I do believe him and that everything will be alright. He's alive tonight and tomorrow doesn't matter.

 

It's tomorrow now. I'm standing in it and it does matter. It matters so much.

 

Sometime in the early morning, I lean against the door and sit on the floor, my legs pulled to my chest with my head on the arms that rest on my knees. I cry because tomorrow matters more than I can stand and hurts more than anything I've ever felt.

 

I have faith that I will live through tomorrow and I have faith that tomorrow, and all the tomorrows after, will be that little bit more painful to live through than the tomorrow before. I have faith that everything will only get worse from here.

 

 

-----

 

 

Flash back is a cross post from the short fanfic thread.

Will update in 24 hours or so, I need to consider the next and already written 5000 word move some more.

 

 

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5 long hours after... (middle of the morning)

 

'You're still here.'

 

How does it sound to the Devaronian? Does her greeting sound surprised or like an accusation? Does it betray happiness? Is she angry? None of these. It doesn't sound like anything. She sounds like a woman commenting on unsurprising and mild weather. Or a droid.

 

He spins around in his chair with a creak to face her as she stands in the doorway with legs apart and arms crossed over ample chest. He lets his eyes linger there as he speaks before moving them up to take in her expression. His eyes look for dark lines under her eyes but her skin is as clear and porcelain as it is every day. He isn't sure if it is the face of a woman who spent the night crying or grieving.

 

'I am, my dear. I never said I was going to be anything else. Though I am also rather hungry. We need more food supplies.'

 

Gault gestures with a lazy and dismissive hand to a datapad that is on the control panel next to him as he explains. He does the jobs around the ship that are expected of him though that list has shrunk substantially and he never likes to give the impression he does. He knows if he left it to her, the galley would remain empty forever.

 

She arches her eyebrow in an expressive and regal way that beats even the most high bred Aleraanian. Yes, she definitely doesn't look like a woman grieving, he thinks with a mutter to himself. Is it because she's keeping it so close inside or is it because she doesn't feel anything? He knows it has to be the first. He doesn't think two stubborn, cautious people being in love could have been more obvious.

 

Gault doesn't understand how she could hide it for so long or how she could say nothing when he stood in this bridge and scolded her like she was misbehaving child and insulted her husband like he was a negligent father. If he knew, if he had understood then, then maybe he would have let her crimes slip and not tugged viciously on a lead he has no right to. But he didn't know and he didn't understand. All night he thought of everything he has said to her and all night he has admonished himself for them.

'I don't see why Torian isn't stopping you. He is supposed to be your brave and strong protector after all. Isn't he fretting that you're going to break a nail?'

 

Idiot, Gault silently cursed himself for. How could he not see her constant aversion, the stumble over his name and the bitterness and self-loathing in her voice every time he was brought up? The way she averted her face and her fists clenched? Now he knows it was so obvious, so clear.

 

'I guess since you say 'we' you aren't planning to leave anytime soon.' Her deduction is cold and rather accurate. She's tired on the inside and if this is a good bye, she wants it over with.

 

He grins at her in the most charming way he can and is rewarded by no change in her. 'Can't get rid of me that easily, babe.'

 

She frowns and her brow knits in confusion. The wrinkles it causes in her forehead and straight and dark with shadows. When she ever so slightly tilts her head without conscious thought, her hair comes free from one of her ears and falls as a wave across her face.

 

Her hair has gotten longer like how he preferred it, the Devaronian thinks with a scowl. He liked it shorter instead of the length now a little past her shoulders. She doesn't move it back and he wonders if it is because she is too single minded to notice such a small distraction from her interrogation.

 

'Even when I've spent three months lying to you?' she inquires incredulously.

 

She doubts him and is suspicious. She had expected his immediate departure and any reason he has to say cannot be a good one for her. He can't do anything to remove her distrust or take the walls around her down. All he can do is stay even when it isn't in his best interest and hope that if a day comes that she needs help, then he is there to help her.

 

'Four months and one week actually,' he corrects her. He didn't notice that he was keeping track of the weeks that went by with her. 'And hey! if that's the worst thing you've got in your closet then yeah, I'll be here for a while.'

 

Her frown turns to a scowl. It isn't a closet she keeps her secret in and it is far from the worst. If he stays as long as he always proclaims he will, either of her secrets will get him killed. She tells herself this isn't her concern. **** happens, right? Right?

 

He notices the reaction and it only makes his suspicion of something she never wants him to know being hidden in the engine room. And by the way she avoids ever being down stairs like the it was had the rakghoul plague, he guesses it isn't a secret she particularly likes. He wonders if it has anything to do with her Mando. He isn't sure about that though. It feels separate and... darker.

 

'If that's the case, you can come supply shopping with me.' Her neck and back straighten as she deals the order. It's a tick in her she has never noticed and never will: it's a left over habit from over a decade ago when she gave orders to scared men and scuttling women. Is Gault scared?

 

'After all, a weak and pathetic woman like myself needs a strong man like you to help carry all the boxes,' she mocks with a smirk. His body relaxes at the well loved expression and he returns it willingly.

 

Gault scoffs. 'I've seen you throw a grown Gamorrean out of a window from five metres away.'

 

'Used to be able to do seven metres.' Was that teasing joke or a disturbing fact? 'That was a good night. Hutta?'

This is how it should be. No secrets, no lies and no tension. Would it be a mistake for him to hope their banter will never end? Would it be a betrayal for her to never want it to end?

 

'No, Hutta was the Rodian and Twi'lek. The Gamorrean was Tatooine. First night I joined the crew and you literally brought the cantina down.'

 

'And you're still here,' she sighs with a smirk. Her eye seems a lighter now, like sunshine through a fractured window. 'Why are you here?'

 

Why is she never satisfied with his answer? What does she want to hear? He tells her the truth. It isn't a lie just because he doesn't say everything.

 

She's not sure why she keeps asking. She can only sense that he never tells her everything but doesn't have the understanding of people to fill in the small and obvious gaps. The only behaviour Gault could display that she could understand is his constant lechery and an anger at being lied to for over four months. She would walk out if she were him. Damin thought he would walk. She can't understand friendship.

 

'Do you really not know, my dear?' his sly smirk softens a little. Sometimes, she looks as young as she is and he feels the force of how horrible and long her corruption was. She's a fifth way through her natural lifespan but her emotional understanding is stunted at a tenth of it. But that only makes her more dangerous.

 

'I wouldn't ask a question if I knew the answer.' She's angry now. She hates anyone realising any gap in her understanding and knowledge.

 

He shrugs and holds his arms wide, palms up. There's nothing up his sleeves.

 

'You're good for business, that's all.' It's an answer she can understand. 'With the galaxy knowing Gault Rennow, galaxies uprising Crime Lord, travels with the infamous and loathed Leer aka. Ravager Haran aka. the Champion of the Great Hunt aka. Republic and now the galaxies Most Wanted, I have to buy and fight a lot less people.'

 

'And how does the galaxy know this?' Her scepticism is unfounded and her ignorance to their fame is endearing. Take away her hate and anger and there's something... not so bad.

 

'Don't you ever read the holo net, my dear?'

 

'Not what you seem to.'

 

'Well, the funnies are for an acquired taste.' She doesn't laugh at his joke and waits for an explanation, still standing rigidly over him. 'Every time you kill someone, it's all over the holonet news. Every time we're seen together in public, it's all over the celebrity gossip.'

 

'And why would that be?' She raises her eyebrow as she always does and it distractedly crosses his mind that her eyebrows and a dark brown while her hair is a deep, dark red.

 

'My dear, maybe you haven't noticed, but you're almost more famous and feared than the Emperor. You certainly are more seen and directly kill a lot more people. Don't tell me you actually thought no one knew anything about what you do? You aren't an assassin anymore, babe. You're in the limelight now. I'm merely basking in the reflection of it.'

 

'And reaping it's rewards apparently.' She quickly smirks before it fades and her expression relaxes. She turns this information over in her mind. Her gaze goes blank and Gault is reminded of a wait to a terminal generating an answer to a search or installing a new program.

 

'So tell me what exactly the gossip on the net says about us?' She eventually asks.

 

'Nothing spectacular. Only that you're my bodyguard, hired killer and then some.' He waves his hand and picks up one of his many discarded datapads, skimming through the net and searching for the best example of proof she could want. He seems to be able to tell them apart despite no immediate difference in appearance.

 

'And then some?' she inquires. She knows the Devaronian is keeping something he finds amusing from her and is enjoying toying with her. It annoys her in the way a cat is annoyed with dangling of a string that keeps escaping it; only this cat has very dangerous, very sharp and very quick claws.

 

'Yeah, only speculations on our relationship: married or not? That kind of thing. General consensus is that we're *********** though.'

 

He knows the best way to get a reaction from her and he finds her coming anger amusing. So he doesn't leer at her or smile suggestively. He only waves his hand dismissively as if it were nothing.

 

'Despite the fact I already am married?'

 

'Well, you didn't exactly go put that down into paperwork, did you?'

 

'Mando'ad don't need to. Our word and oath is strong enough.'

 

'You're-' Gault shakes his head at how she can hate something, become it, reject it and freely accept it at random moments. 'Right, whatever you say, my dear. The point is that no one who isn't a Mando doesn't know it.'

 

She nods and then leers at him in the way that show the white, long pointed teeth in the back of mouth.

 

'Poor Hylo must be heartbroken by these reports,' she mischievously sneers.

 

'And so must your blue-boy.'

 

She scowls. He meets her every offence with another. He could never count her in combat but he always can in words. She guesses that's why she keeps him around. She always likes a challenge. But she also hates losing. It makes her very, very angry.

 

He smirks. Her hit was wide with Hylo. He won this round and he always does like winning.

 

'And these rumours have been around for how long?' she asks coldly.

 

It's a strange contradiction the way her voice becomes gentle and soft when she's angry like fine velvet covering your ears. She's a reflection in a broken mirror: she's the same as other women but she's broken and fractured and sometimes you realise how opposite she is. Sometimes, you realise she isn't human.

 

'Well, they didn't care about you till after the Great Hunt though I think the military on both sides found you irritating. And then you had the Mando and everything and I wasn't a crime lord then so... they've only been around for the last four months.'

 

'And you were never going to mention them to me?' she clarifies in that soft voice that is warm and sweet like fresh honey from a hive.

 

'I didn't know they were worth mentioning. I thought you knew.' He always supposed until this conversation that she was aware of them and didn't care. If anyone in the galaxy could genuinely say they cared for no one's opinion of them, it would be her. He finds it amusing that she couldn't be and was possible the only person in the galaxy who wasn't.

 

'Of course I didn't know!' she snarls angrily.

 

'If it will make you happy, the next time an article is written on us, I'll read every false and saucy word of our steamy affair.'

 

She glares at him and her deep red lips slightly pout. He groans inside and curses how oblivious she is to how beautiful she can be even when missing an eye. If she ever guessed even half the things he imagines she would have killed him long ago.

 

'You really have no idea how famous you are, do you?' he asks with a chuckle, letting his eyes return to the datapad. 'You know, it's kind of adorable how unaware of yourself you are.'

 

She extends one of her blades and reaches her arm out to point at him. It isn't close to him in that is a hairs width away or even a hands width away, it is that it is out at all and pointed to him that makes it too close and his heart start drumming a little quicker. The blade is clean and shining but all he can see is the blood of many men.

 

'Take that back now,' she warns.

 

She wonders for a moment what Gault would do if he ever really tested her. Could she still kill him like she could of once? She isn't sure but she knows she hates the accusation more for how uncomfortable it made her than anything else. The thought of her being 'adorable' in any way even if it is only 'kind of' to anyone is repulsive and confusing.

 

'Come on, honey, no need for violence,' he calms in an acted husbandly voice. He doesn't even look up from his datapad.

 

She scowls and retracts her blade.

 

'At least this explains a lot,' she growls. She begins to pace the four metres from one side of the cockpit to the other and Gault refuses to let his amused eyes follow her.

 

'You mean all this time you thought people stared at us because we're so devilishly good looking?' he asks with a smirk.

 

'Something like that,' she concedes with a pout, continuing her pacing without pause. She honestly thought it was more her armour or the blood on her arms. Never for this. How could she ever think it was for this?

 

'Are you even aware of yourself enough to realise how oblivious you are?' he muses, allowing himself to watch her for a moment.

 

He knows he can push a little further. He doesn't know why, but he feels he does need to assure her that nothing has changed because he can feel that it has. He found out what she wanted him to never know so she could continue her make believe. She can't run away from what happened for ever.

 

'Shut it, Gault,' she spits.

 

He smirks at her a little larger and returns to looking through the holonet.

 

'Now I know why Corridan wants to see me,' she mumbles to herself. She stops at the end of her pace and looks at a small blank wall panel. She punches it quickly and continues her walking, leaving the badly dinted panel to fall with a loud clang.

 

'You think the big Mando daddy wants to tell you off for sleeping around?' he leers at her.

 

He's enjoying this and these rumours are the closest he's ever going to get to sleeping with her. It hasn't changed that. And he likes the idea of someone trying to tell her off. He's tried and it almost killed him. He values his life and her honour too much too try again.

 

'So many things were wrong with that question Gault,' she says with a shake of her head and a scowl. She stops pacing and moves into the pilot chair next to his. 'So why do they even think this?'

 

Gault turns his ready datapad to her with a repressed chuckle. Under the heading 'Galaxies Most Dangerous Couple in Danger of Splitting' are three images of Gault and her from five weeks ago on Nar Shaddaa. First, it looks like she's sitting over Gault and no more than a horn and slither of his leg, torso and arm can be seen. There are many possibilities to what they could be doing from that angle and all would be incorrect and more than a little unseemly. The second is her moving away from Gault's arm with a glare to the wall. The last shows her walking away from the booth with a frown and Gault looking after her with a glare.

 

She scowls at the datapad and Gault takes it out of her reach. He can sense when she's about to destroy something and that time is about now. Eventually, she takes a deep breath and smirks at Gault with an amused arched brow.

 

'So we've split up, huh?' she asks with a terrifying chuckle.

 

'Nah, if you look at the news two weeks ago it's us in the alley here on Iziz. Apparently I was begging you to have me back. Though, I think we both know it would be the other way around.'

 

She smiles and laughs with scorn before shaking her head and scowling again. She would never beg anyone for anything. Unless begging would bring him back, she thinks.

 

'This is f***ed! Those photos were completely misleading!' she protests. Her mind turns to their conversation that night and takes her to Damin. Have you seen them, Damin?

 

'Don't you think it's better they think we were having a tiff over something like the man hitting on you at bar instead of what we were really talking about?'

 

'Shove it, Gault. You're not married.'

 

'And not a day goes by that I'm not thankful for it,' he confirms as he leans back in his chair, hands and datapad behind his head. So that's what she had been thinking about, he muses. Mando honour and all that ****.

 

'Oh? Forgotten about the woman you're so madly in love with?' She inquires with a leer and kick of his leg.

 

'Nah, I could never do that,' he answers as he rubs his lean leg. She didn't mean to kick him so hard. She strangely never means to hurt Gault. 'Marrying her would be light years beyond insane and impossible.'

 

She didn't seem to be listening to him because she shakes her head and her reply has again returned to the reports.

 

'Don't understand. Don't they see you hitting up every dancer in every city, every night when we're landside?'

 

Gault nods and presses a few buttons before showing her a new picture and article title. It reads 'Rennow to be Haran's next target?'. The accompanying picture is Gault walking out of a cantina with two twi'leks on his arm. It was also taken on Nar Shaddaa and by the date it was taken after the last ones.

 

'You're loving this, aren't you, Gault?' she asks in irritated astonishment.

 

'Completely,' he assures with vigour and a grin.

 

She chuckles in the way he likes and shakes her head. She looks up to the blank metal ceiling of removable steel plates with a sneering and content smirk.

 

'I hate you, Gault. You do know that, right?' How can a woman who has killed so many and hates with so much vigour sound so sweet no matter what she says?

 

'I never doubt it,' he swears with a self-satisfied grin. They both know it's not true but it's easier to say than anything else. True friendship doesn't need to be announced.

 

'Good. Now come on. I leave for Dxun in the morning.' She stands up and turns to him considering the best way to make him stand from his reclining position. She decides to only kick his leg again as she makes her demand. 'Let's go get those supplies.'

 

He looks down at the datapad he's still holding. He examines the back of it and doesn't look at her as his leg aches with a whitening bruise.

 

'Sure but it's going to cost you.'

 

'How much?' she demands in disbelief.

 

'Not that much,' he reassures as he turns the datapad over in his hand examining it. She knows there is something wrong when he doesn't smile, call her by an endearment or flirt with her in any other way. She thought they were ok. She thought it didn't matter.

 

'No credits at least. I was thinking more along the lines of no more secrets or lies especially about dead spouses.'

 

'I can't do that, Gault, and neither can you,' she frostily replies.

 

'My mother always told me I should try new things. Or did a twi'lek dancer tell me that? Either way, it's worth a shot. We might find we like having no secrets from someone else.'

 

He flashes her a grin as he picks up the datapad containing the list and puts it into his back pocket. It's a little sad but he's trying to play it cool. He wants her to know for once that he is serious. He never has been entirely honest with someone but then he's never stuck around with anyone this long or through so many life and death encounters. Maybe...

 

'Last man I promised it to ended up dying. Had three secrets from him in the end.' Her voice that can be so warm like honey in tea is now cold and sour. She knows it will be the same with him. Their friendship won't allow it and he knows less of her history than her husband had.

 

'Don't worry, my dear,' he promises with a lopsided smile. She can see something intent in his expression but it doesn't melt the ice in her eyes or heart. 'I'm really not the heroic sort.'

 

Gault takes a step closer and reaches a hand to touch her cheek. She stands her ground and allows the movement. It makes her skin tingle and she feels ashamed of the unwanted blush that blossoms from under it. It assures him she is alive in there somewhere and some part of her must feel still. The Mando thought she was worth the risk of a blade in the gut or a blaster bolt in the chest. Gault won't go that far but... guess he'll look out for her in a brotherly or fatherly way.

 

'We all die some day,' he quietly tells her. 'It's not your fault. There isn't any shame in continuing your life or feeling happy.'

 

'You're obviously not a Mando'ad then,' she sneers. She leans back a little and Gault let's his hand move to her shoulder. 'And there isn't anything to be happy for or about.'

 

'Think about it and you'll see that's not true. Sometimes you need to let the past lie, my dear.'

 

'No! I can't.'

 

'Have you ever noticed that the people with power in the galaxy - any person that actually matters - has had the shortest straw in their past? Survival of the fittest and only the fittest make it to the top. We, my dear, are at the top. The past has done its job in getting us here and now we can let go of it and reap the rewards.'

 

I can't say anything to this. What is there to say? That she had spent hours every day and every night ensuring that her man was at the top as well? It was her guard that was down and it was her unfit mistake that should have led to her death. She will never let the past rest and her past has given her no rewards except the ability to get revenge for all the horrors it brought her for the rest of her drastically shortened life.

 

So she turns her mind back to the real topic at hand.

 

'Gault, you lie to me on approximately three times every conversation. And on the secret front, you won't even tell me why you're really here.'

 

He drops his hand and snickers at her as he crosses his arms. He leans against the control panel next to him, careful not to press any buttons.

 

'I've told you, my dear, I never lie to you. And why I'm here isn't much of a secret. Anyone could know it.'

 

'Except for me?'

 

'You're a little slow, my dear. But don't worry, I won't tell anyone that.' He winks at her and it only makes her glare deepen.

 

'Thanks,' she sarcastically returns.

 

He chuckles but then it goes and his frown and intensity is back. All she wants from this friendship is light banter and someone to keep the darkness a little at bay. Someone to keep her company while she's human enough to appreciate it.

 

'I don't ask for much but I'm asking for this.' Gault's sober expression vanishes and he grins at her with sly mischief. 'Plus, we make such an adorable and much loved couple.'

 

Gault turns the datapad he still holds toward her and she sees a picture of Gault and her here on Iziz walking down the main street arm in arm. He's leaning down to whisper in her ear and she's smiling at what he was saying. The title reads 'Is it love?'

 

'You were telling me your predictions of the fetishes of other women in the street. I'd hardly say that counts as a romantic conversation,' she drily comments.

 

'Ah, but they don't know that. I must say, we have a much more turbulent and passionate relationship on the holonet. It almost makes our real life look dull and disappointing.'

 

'Really, Gault? I've hit you on the head far too hard and too often, haven't I?' she asks in disbelief. She can't understand how he can take it all so lightly. She can't understand how someone could look at it from that angle.

 

'Well, yes, but that's not the point.'

 

'No, the point is that there are people writing speculative crap about us and that there are other people taking photos of us!' she growls. She can't see the it with vaguely amused indifference or conceited cynicism. It's far too serious to her for that.

 

'Price of fame, my dear. Could be worse. I could be Skadge.'

 

'Don't make me vomit or I will kill you,' she spits. 'I'd rather my current state of marital bliss over either of you.'

 

He has nothing to say to this. There's no words of comfort he can provide and the knowledge she prefers a dead man over him is a blow below the belt. He can never compete and he isn't sure if he even wants to. A woman like her can only **** a man up or get them killed. There is evidence for the latter and he would rather not be evidence for the former.

 

'Let's just go get the supplies. Make a list?'

 

He pats his back pocket and grins. 'And I've checked it twice.'

 

'Don't exaggerate,' she scolds.

 

'I'm sorry, my dear.'

 

'Don't lie.'

 

'I'll try, babe.'

 

'Don't call me "babe".'

 

'Whatever you want, honey.'

 

'I really hate you, you know,' she sighs in exasperation. She turns and walks away from him but he is as quick and sly in following as always.

 

'Yeah, yeah. If you think that's enough to make me leave though, you're mistaken.'

 

'Never give up hope.' He frowns at the saying and she only laughs with twisted, dark humour at it. What hope is there for her now he's gone? What hope did she ever have?

 

But she isn't alone. Not yet. And she doesn't want to be until the end and she's surprised she isn't after what she has done. She stops at the exit but doesn't turn to look at Gault. She doesn't have enough courage and she has too much pride.

 

'Gault, thank you,' she quietly and firmly says to him as he stands at the ready behind her back.

 

'I'm sorry, my dear, what did you say?' She looks back at him then and he waves the datapad at her with something serious and distant in his eye, a frown on his forehead and a smirk on his lips. 'I got distracted by this ad for a twi'lek slave girl. Say something important?'

 

She smirks and shakes her head. 'No, nothing important.'

 

'Good to hear.'

 

He moved it too slow for its page to miss her eye. There wasn't a twi'lek in sight. It was a picture of them on the Imperial fleet seven weeks ago surrounded by soldiers, cantina patrons and bouncers. She's standing in front of Gault with her blasters drawn and Gault's hand is on my hip a blaster in his other hand and he's leaning in to me to whisper an escape plan. He always likes to restrain the number of people she kills. The heading caught her eye and burnt into her memory: 'More than a body guard?'

 

She doesn't understand why but he lied to avoid her gratitude. She knew better than to push it and her pride and their relationship would also not allow it. Why moves beyond her mind as questions she had never considered enter her mind.

Is that what we look like to others? she asks herself seriously for the first time. Is that how you saw us? I'm so sorry, Torian. I never knew. Gault is right, she realises as they walk through the street, bartering with sellers and bickering with each other, him leading her by the hand away from a brewing fight or her pushing him away from every woman slightly rich or attractive in the market. If she were to allow him to flirt and buy a drink for all of them, they would still be attempting to buy supplies a week later.

 

I have no clue when it comes to myself, she has realised before they return to the ship. What else have I never noticed? And how do I start to?

----

 

Gah! I'm not sure about all of that but... there it is! All 5000+ of it!

The fame part was inspired by one of the prompts and there's going to be a mildly diverting Damin (spoiler :rolleyes:) follow up with everyone's favourite Ratattaki (probably only because there isn't any other :rolleyes:). I don't really know why it's third person but I didn't think it was too bad :confused:

 

Edited by EverSteam
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Damin's POV

Six hours later on Alderaan...

 

 

My eyes do not open. I keep them closed even though my face is softly implanted in my pillow and hidden from others view. I reach under my pillow for the blaster slowly ensuring the movement won't catch my watchers eye. I retain the heart rate and breathing of someone asleep. Whoever watches me doesn't move from the door way. However, I am patient and willing to wait.

 

Eventually, I hear their movements and I do not know how, but I feel like something is coming toward me. I turn quickly, sitting up and shoot at what comes toward my head. The blaster bolt hits it off course.

 

I hear the female snicker I loathe and groan. I spread my arms wide and lie back down in my black silk sheets.

 

'Nice shooting there at a harmless datapad, agent.'

 

'What do you want, Miss Kaliyo?' I ask with as much pleasantry as my hangover and irritation at being awoken can allow. I would also not call a rather hard and cornered object being thrown with considerable malice towards my head 'harmless'.

 

'Not to see your naked *** in the afternoon, agent, that's for sure.'

 

I don't need to open my eyes again and look at her to know she leans in the doorway where she always does. The doorway is empty in a very pleasing way when she is not standing there and that pleasure is far too infrequent.

 

I grope my hand around the bed near my outstretched hand and when I find a grip on my covers I pull them over my body. I feel it necessary more as an observation of general decorum among business associates than any discomfort at someone seeing my naked body. An agent who suffers from self-consciousness, nervousness or timidity is not a very good (and thus not a very successful) agent.

 

'Would you please tell me what you want from this discussion, Miss Kaliyo?' I ask again. The politeness of my language improves but the testy irritation in it has increased.

 

'I just wanted to make sure you read all the latest news so I was doing a special delivery.'

 

'How thoughtful, Kaliyo. Well, if that is all, could you please show yourself out and inform Vector that our discussion planned for this afternoon will have to be delayed to the evening after we have made the job to hyperspace?'

 

'I'm not your messenger, agent.'

 

I hear Kaliyo walk off and I am left to despise and mull over her many contradictions. After I have completed these thoughts and found Kaliyo to be one of the most aggravating hypocrites in the galaxy, I then begin to consider what to do to alleviate my hangover.

 

I eventually decide to sit up and drink the glass of water that was readily waiting beside my bed for this predicted affliction. I was able to prove to Kaliyo I could drink more Tarisian ale than her and still walk in a straight line though it seems she is better suited for the side effects of such a challenge.

 

I pour more water from the ready jug and scull it. On the fourth refill, I merely swill it around and around, watching the clear liquid made a dusty blue by my hand, move into a vortex.

 

I move my hand to hold the glass from the top and hold it up to the burning, bright light of my room that Kaliyo so joyously left on for me. The way the light moves through the distilled water reminds me of the shine in Leeriah's eye and I am left to shake my sore head in melancholy and self scolding. She cannot escape my thoughts in idle moments now that we have met again and I wish I had less idle moments.

 

I rest my elbows on my knees and hang my head. I run a hand through my fringe as is my habit when thinking of a difficult or perplexing problem. I pull at the roots and think of what I should do about her as I swirl the undrunk water.

 

I analyse the effect the news had on her and take in her current situation, location and general personality and come to the conclusion I should call her before we make the leap to hyperspace. I must ensure that telling her this well-founded rumour has not endangered our relationship. And that she is ok. I shake my head and drink the glass of water, putting it down on the table a little too hard. I cringe.

 

It was foolish of me to drink so much last night. Vector's conversation, Kaliyo's summations and Leeriah's... everything effected my judgement more than I care to admit. I must not make the same mistake again.

 

The thought of Kaliyo reminds me of the datapad which has remained in my peripheral. I bring it close enough to me to pick it up with my bare foot. The screen flickers and I doubt it is still working. Before I place it neatly in the bin under my desk, I see the screen work and display the latest celebrity news.

 

As soon as I notice the effect the image and article are about to have on me, I lower my heart rate and breathing. Before I read it I consider the rationale for why Kaliyo would decide to show me such an article and can only come to the conclusion that she still doubts my indifference to Leeriah and seeks to aggravate me for her amusement and possibly as a form of revenge for either beating her at drinking or the refusal to join her crazed crusade against her short list of exes that all resided in different ends of the galaxy.

 

I carefully examine the image. She's on Iziz still from the clothes of those around her and the architecture. It is early afternoon. The only other information they can offer is that she is in a market place. I had thought her leaving for the Mandalorians soon.

 

I let my eyes turn to him first. I critically take in his expensive grey shirt and black pants which are both cut according to the latest style. I notice with little interest that his horns are slightly long for a Devaronian and they are well groomed. The latter is of little consequence: all Devaronian's take pride in their horns. Though I believe there was a time when he was a bounty hunter that it was broken by a target in an explosion.

 

His expression is what interests me. The picture is grainy when closely examined and doesn't give the nuances I desire most to dissemble his expression as he watches her. There is no doubt he is amused by whatever she or he is saying and no further than that can I tell. It ads little to my understanding of their relationship. If I cannot understand it, I cannot end it. However, my eye doesn't fail to notice how close they stand.

 

I don't want to dissect her like I do everyone else but I know it necessary and inevitable. I look to her clothes first and see she is in armour. It is the same as on Nar Shaddaa and as in most of her recent photos. It is painted a dark blue and always polished. I find the symbol on the chest fascinating and wish I had clearer images to scrutinize it. She has bare biceps like only she would dare but her forearms and hand are covered in matching dark blue and silver wrist guards that leave her fingers free. She wears black pants with not armour and black durasteel boots.

 

I notice the boots under the stall with a wry smile and let the memory of a time when she only wore boots to smuggle me kolto patches, food and water to distract me for an indulgent moment. I take a deep breath and let the memory leave with the air. She's an infection that needs to be removed from myself and the galaxy.

 

I take in the large sniper rifle she's touching and about to pick up as she looks at the Devaronian with a smirk and raised eye brow. I shake my head. Their expressions and proximity ad nothing new, only confirming previous observations. I think of the other images of them strewn across the holonet and frown slightly. Though these images are most likely taken away from context, I cannot help but feel that they are still evidence for the intimacy that I and half the galaxy believe exists between them.

 

I am curious as to know whether she is aware of these articles and how she can never notice someone with a camera pointing toward her. I consider this and pin it down to her eyes only looking for threats or prey and a camera is neither to her.

 

More curious is why she keeps him as a companion. If I believed Leeriah materialistic it may provide an explanation but credits are something she has always been easy with. I could almost say with certainty his attachment to her is founded in finance. All other reasons would always be second from the reports of his character that I have received. I find it hard that such a shallow materialistic being with a known tendency for deceit and betrayal would care for her. Given their age difference, a certain fatherly affection or indulgence is possible especially given that I believe 'Gault' to be far too shallow to look past her metal enhancements to garner any sort of aesthetic pleasure from the sight of her.

 

I read the article which adds nothing of worth and contains only ridiculous extrapolations from one supply trip. Is it such a mistake to feel a little twinge of irritation that is similar to jealousy or regret? I know I could never persuade her to act in any way other than she did and her objections were founded. I know it was highly likely to occur how she must of imagined and I was only later forced to realise through my parents loss of trust in me. But there is still the doubt and the slim chance that would defy terrifying odds that it could have worked. Maybe, for just a little while at least, I would have felt something similar to Vector's contentment. Damin believes against reason and probability that even a short period of time would be worth whatever the consequence instead of a life where the closest thing to happiness is self-satisfaction in another perfectly completed mission in deceit, subterfuge and/or death. But such emotions aren't to be bourn long and are quickly cast aside by the agent. Damin doesn't exist anymore.

 

I straighten my back and place the datapad in the trash. I pull clean and perfectly folded clothes from their appropriate draws and head for the refresher. All I want is another drink.

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It continues, yes! Interesting how Blizz' last holocall turned out.

 

But the piece I love most is this one.

 

 

5 long hours after... (middle of the morning)

 

'You're still here.'

 

How does it sound to the Devaronian? Does her greeting sound surprised or like an accusation? Does it betray happiness? Is she angry? None of these. It doesn't sound like anything. She sounds like a woman commenting on unsurprising and mild weather. Or a droid.

 

He spins around in his chair with a creak to face her as she stands in the doorway with legs apart and arms crossed over ample chest. He lets his eyes linger there as he speaks before moving them up to take in her expression. His eyes look for dark lines under her eyes but her skin is as clear and porcelain as it is every day. He isn't sure if it is the face of a woman who spent the night crying or grieving.

 

'I am, my dear. I never said I was going to be anything else. Though I am also rather hungry. We need more food supplies.'

 

Gault gestures with a lazy and dismissive hand to a datapad that is on the control panel next to him as he explains. He does the jobs around the ship that are expected of him though that list has shrunk substantially and he never likes to give the impression he does. He knows if he left it to her, the galley would remain empty forever.

 

She arches her eyebrow in an expressive and regal way that beats even the most high bred Aleraanian. Yes, she definitely doesn't look like a woman grieving, he thinks with a mutter to himself. Is it because she's keeping it so close inside or is it because she doesn't feel anything? He knows it has to be the first. He doesn't think two stubborn, cautious people being in love could have been more obvious.

 

Gault doesn't understand how she could hide it for so long or how she could say nothing when he stood in this bridge and scolded her like she was misbehaving child and insulted her husband like he was a negligent father. If he knew, if he had understood then, then maybe he would have let her crimes slip and not tugged viciously on a lead he has no right to. But he didn't know and he didn't understand. All night he thought of everything he has said to her and all night he has admonished himself for them.

'I don't see why Torian isn't stopping you. He is supposed to be your brave and strong protector after all. Isn't he fretting that you're going to break a nail?'

 

Idiot, Gault silently cursed himself for. How could he not see her constant aversion, the stumble over his name and the bitterness and self-loathing in her voice every time he was brought up? The way she averted her face and her fists clenched? Now he knows it was so obvious, so clear.

 

'I guess since you say 'we' you aren't planning to leave anytime soon.' Her deduction is cold and rather accurate. She's tired on the inside and if this is a good bye, she wants it over with.

 

He grins at her in the most charming way he can and is rewarded by no change in her. 'Can't get rid of me that easily, babe.'

 

She frowns and her brow knits in confusion. The wrinkles it causes in her forehead and straight and dark with shadows. When she ever so slightly tilts her head without conscious thought, her hair comes free from one of her ears and falls as a wave across her face.

 

Her hair has gotten longer like how he preferred it, the Devaronian thinks with a scowl. He liked it shorter instead of the length now a little past her shoulders. She doesn't move it back and he wonders if it is because she is too single minded to notice such a small distraction from her interrogation.

 

'Even when I've spent three months lying to you?' she inquires incredulously.

 

She doubts him and is suspicious. She had expected his immediate departure and any reason he has to say cannot be a good one for her. He can't do anything to remove her distrust or take the walls around her down. All he can do is stay even when it isn't in his best interest and hope that if a day comes that she needs help, then he is there to help her.

 

'Four months and one week actually,' he corrects her. He didn't notice that he was keeping track of the weeks that went by with her. 'And hey! if that's the worst thing you've got in your closet then yeah, I'll be here for a while.'

 

Her frown turns to a scowl. It isn't a closet she keeps her secret in and it is far from the worst. If he stays as long as he always proclaims he will, either of her secrets will get him killed. She tells herself this isn't her concern. **** happens, right? Right?

 

He notices the reaction and it only makes his suspicion of something she never wants him to know being hidden in the engine room. And by the way she avoids ever being down stairs like the it was had the rakghoul plague, he guesses it isn't a secret she particularly likes. He wonders if it has anything to do with her Mando. He isn't sure about that though. It feels separate and... darker.

 

'If that's the case, you can come supply shopping with me.' Her neck and back straighten as she deals the order. It's a tick in her she has never noticed and never will: it's a left over habit from over a decade ago when she gave orders to scared men and scuttling women. Is Gault scared?

 

'After all, a weak and pathetic woman like myself needs a strong man like you to help carry all the boxes,' she mocks with a smirk. His body relaxes at the well loved expression and he returns it willingly.

 

Gault scoffs. 'I've seen you throw a grown Gamorrean out of a window from five metres away.'

 

'Used to be able to do seven metres.' Was that teasing joke or a disturbing fact? 'That was a good night. Hutta?'

This is how it should be. No secrets, no lies and no tension. Would it be a mistake for him to hope their banter will never end? Would it be a betrayal for her to never want it to end?

 

'No, Hutta was the Rodian and Twi'lek. The Gamorrean was Tatooine. First night I joined the crew and you literally brought the cantina down.'

 

'And you're still here,' she sighs with a smirk. Her eye seems a lighter now, like sunshine through a fractured window. 'Why are you here?'

 

Why is she never satisfied with his answer? What does she want to hear? He tells her the truth. It isn't a lie just because he doesn't say everything.

 

She's not sure why she keeps asking. She can only sense that he never tells her everything but doesn't have the understanding of people to fill in the small and obvious gaps. The only behaviour Gault could display that she could understand is his constant lechery and an anger at being lied to for over four months. She would walk out if she were him. Damin thought he would walk. She can't understand friendship.

 

'Do you really not know, my dear?' his sly smirk softens a little. Sometimes, she looks as young as she is and he feels the force of how horrible and long her corruption was. She's a fifth way through her natural lifespan but her emotional understanding is stunted at a tenth of it. But that only makes her more dangerous.

 

'I wouldn't ask a question if I knew the answer.' She's angry now. She hates anyone realising any gap in her understanding and knowledge.

 

He shrugs and holds his arms wide, palms up. There's nothing up his sleeves.

 

'You're good for business, that's all.' It's an answer she can understand. 'With the galaxy knowing Gault Rennow, galaxies uprising Crime Lord, travels with the infamous and loathed Leer aka. Ravager Haran aka. the Champion of the Great Hunt aka. Republic and now the galaxies Most Wanted, I have to buy and fight a lot less people.'

 

'And how does the galaxy know this?' Her scepticism is unfounded and her ignorance to their fame is endearing. Take away her hate and anger and there's something... not so bad.

 

'Don't you ever read the holo net, my dear?'

 

'Not what you seem to.'

 

'Well, the funnies are for an acquired taste.' She doesn't laugh at his joke and waits for an explanation, still standing rigidly over him. 'Every time you kill someone, it's all over the holonet news. Every time we're seen together in public, it's all over the celebrity gossip.'

 

'And why would that be?' She raises her eyebrow as she always does and it distractedly crosses his mind that her eyebrows and a dark brown while her hair is a deep, dark red.

 

'My dear, maybe you haven't noticed, but you're almost more famous and feared than the Emperor. You certainly are more seen and directly kill a lot more people. Don't tell me you actually thought no one knew anything about what you do? You aren't an assassin anymore, babe. You're in the limelight now. I'm merely basking in the reflection of it.'

 

'And reaping it's rewards apparently.' She quickly smirks before it fades and her expression relaxes. She turns this information over in her mind. Her gaze goes blank and Gault is reminded of a wait to a terminal generating an answer to a search or installing a new program.

 

'So tell me what exactly the gossip on the net says about us?' She eventually asks.

 

'Nothing spectacular. Only that you're my bodyguard, hired killer and then some.' He waves his hand and picks up one of his many discarded datapads, skimming through the net and searching for the best example of proof she could want. He seems to be able to tell them apart despite no immediate difference in appearance.

 

'And then some?' she inquires. She knows the Devaronian is keeping something he finds amusing from her and is enjoying toying with her. It annoys her in the way a cat is annoyed with dangling of a string that keeps escaping it; only this cat has very dangerous, very sharp and very quick claws.

 

'Yeah, only speculations on our relationship: married or not? That kind of thing. General consensus is that we're *********** though.'

 

He knows the best way to get a reaction from her and he finds her coming anger amusing. So he doesn't leer at her or smile suggestively. He only waves his hand dismissively as if it were nothing.

 

'Despite the fact I already am married?'

 

'Well, you didn't exactly go put that down into paperwork, did you?'

 

'Mando'ad don't need to. Our word and oath is strong enough.'

 

'You're-' Gault shakes his head at how she can hate something, become it, reject it and freely accept it at random moments. 'Right, whatever you say, my dear. The point is that no one who isn't a Mando doesn't know it.'

 

She nods and then leers at him in the way that show the white, long pointed teeth in the back of mouth.

 

'Poor Hylo must be heartbroken by these reports,' she mischievously sneers.

 

'And so must your blue-boy.'

 

She scowls. He meets her every offence with another. He could never count her in combat but he always can in words. She guesses that's why she keeps him around. She always likes a challenge. But she also hates losing. It makes her very, very angry.

 

He smirks. Her hit was wide with Hylo. He won this round and he always does like winning.

 

'And these rumours have been around for how long?' she asks coldly.

 

It's a strange contradiction the way her voice becomes gentle and soft when she's angry like fine velvet covering your ears. She's a reflection in a broken mirror: she's the same as other women but she's broken and fractured and sometimes you realise how opposite she is. Sometimes, you realise she isn't human.

 

'Well, they didn't care about you till after the Great Hunt though I think the military on both sides found you irritating. And then you had the Mando and everything and I wasn't a crime lord then so... they've only been around for the last four months.'

 

'And you were never going to mention them to me?' she clarifies in that soft voice that is warm and sweet like fresh honey from a hive.

 

'I didn't know they were worth mentioning. I thought you knew.' He always supposed until this conversation that she was aware of them and didn't care. If anyone in the galaxy could genuinely say they cared for no one's opinion of them, it would be her. He finds it amusing that she couldn't be and was possible the only person in the galaxy who wasn't.

 

'Of course I didn't know!' she snarls angrily.

 

'If it will make you happy, the next time an article is written on us, I'll read every false and saucy word of our steamy affair.'

 

She glares at him and her deep red lips slightly pout. He groans inside and curses how oblivious she is to how beautiful she can be even when missing an eye. If she ever guessed even half the things he imagines she would have killed him long ago.

 

'You really have no idea how famous you are, do you?' he asks with a chuckle, letting his eyes return to the datapad. 'You know, it's kind of adorable how unaware of yourself you are.'

 

She extends one of her blades and reaches her arm out to point at him. It isn't close to him in that is a hairs width away or even a hands width away, it is that it is out at all and pointed to him that makes it too close and his heart start drumming a little quicker. The blade is clean and shining but all he can see is the blood of many men.

 

'Take that back now,' she warns.

 

She wonders for a moment what Gault would do if he ever really tested her. Could she still kill him like she could of once? She isn't sure but she knows she hates the accusation more for how uncomfortable it made her than anything else. The thought of her being 'adorable' in any way even if it is only 'kind of' to anyone is repulsive and confusing.

 

'Come on, honey, no need for violence,' he calms in an acted husbandly voice. He doesn't even look up from his datapad.

 

She scowls and retracts her blade.

 

'At least this explains a lot,' she growls. She begins to pace the four metres from one side of the cockpit to the other and Gault refuses to let his amused eyes follow her.

 

'You mean all this time you thought people stared at us because we're so devilishly good looking?' he asks with a smirk.

 

'Something like that,' she concedes with a pout, continuing her pacing without pause. She honestly thought it was more her armour or the blood on her arms. Never for this. How could she ever think it was for this?

 

'Are you even aware of yourself enough to realise how oblivious you are?' he muses, allowing himself to watch her for a moment.

 

He knows he can push a little further. He doesn't know why, but he feels he does need to assure her that nothing has changed because he can feel that it has. He found out what she wanted him to never know so she could continue her make believe. She can't run away from what happened for ever.

 

'Shut it, Gault,' she spits.

 

He smirks at her a little larger and returns to looking through the holonet.

 

'Now I know why Corridan wants to see me,' she mumbles to herself. She stops at the end of her pace and looks at a small blank wall panel. She punches it quickly and continues her walking, leaving the badly dinted panel to fall with a loud clang.

 

'You think the big Mando daddy wants to tell you off for sleeping around?' he leers at her.

 

He's enjoying this and these rumours are the closest he's ever going to get to sleeping with her. It hasn't changed that. And he likes the idea of someone trying to tell her off. He's tried and it almost killed him. He values his life and her honour too much too try again.

 

'So many things were wrong with that question Gault,' she says with a shake of her head and a scowl. She stops pacing and moves into the pilot chair next to his. 'So why do they even think this?'

 

Gault turns his ready datapad to her with a repressed chuckle. Under the heading 'Galaxies Most Dangerous Couple in Danger of Splitting' are three images of Gault and her from five weeks ago on Nar Shaddaa. First, it looks like she's sitting over Gault and no more than a horn and slither of his leg, torso and arm can be seen. There are many possibilities to what they could be doing from that angle and all would be incorrect and more than a little unseemly. The second is her moving away from Gault's arm with a glare to the wall. The last shows her walking away from the booth with a frown and Gault looking after her with a glare.

 

She scowls at the datapad and Gault takes it out of her reach. He can sense when she's about to destroy something and that time is about now. Eventually, she takes a deep breath and smirks at Gault with an amused arched brow.

 

'So we've split up, huh?' she asks with a terrifying chuckle.

 

'Nah, if you look at the news two weeks ago it's us in the alley here on Iziz. Apparently I was begging you to have me back. Though, I think we both know it would be the other way around.'

 

She smiles and laughs with scorn before shaking her head and scowling again. She would never beg anyone for anything. Unless begging would bring him back, she thinks.

 

'This is f***ed! Those photos were completely misleading!' she protests. Her mind turns to their conversation that night and takes her to Damin. Have you seen them, Damin?

 

'Don't you think it's better they think we were having a tiff over something like the man hitting on you at bar instead of what we were really talking about?'

 

'Shove it, Gault. You're not married.'

 

'And not a day goes by that I'm not thankful for it,' he confirms as he leans back in his chair, hands and datapad behind his head. So that's what she had been thinking about, he muses. Mando honour and all that ****.

 

'Oh? Forgotten about the woman you're so madly in love with?' She inquires with a leer and kick of his leg.

 

'Nah, I could never do that,' he answers as he rubs his lean leg. She didn't mean to kick him so hard. She strangely never means to hurt Gault. 'Marrying her would be light years beyond insane and impossible.'

 

She didn't seem to be listening to him because she shakes her head and her reply has again returned to the reports.

 

'Don't understand. Don't they see you hitting up every dancer in every city, every night when we're landside?'

 

Gault nods and presses a few buttons before showing her a new picture and article title. It reads 'Rennow to be Haran's next target?'. The accompanying picture is Gault walking out of a cantina with two twi'leks on his arm. It was also taken on Nar Shaddaa and by the date it was taken after the last ones.

 

'You're loving this, aren't you, Gault?' she asks in irritated astonishment.

 

'Completely,' he assures with vigour and a grin.

 

She chuckles in the way he likes and shakes her head. She looks up to the blank metal ceiling of removable steel plates with a sneering and content smirk.

 

'I hate you, Gault. You do know that, right?' How can a woman who has killed so many and hates with so much vigour sound so sweet no matter what she says?

 

'I never doubt it,' he swears with a self-satisfied grin. They both know it's not true but it's easier to say than anything else. True friendship doesn't need to be announced.

 

'Good. Now come on. I leave for Dxun in the morning.' She stands up and turns to him considering the best way to make him stand from his reclining position. She decides to only kick his leg again as she makes her demand. 'Let's go get those supplies.'

 

He looks down at the datapad he's still holding. He examines the back of it and doesn't look at her as his leg aches with a whitening bruise.

 

'Sure but it's going to cost you.'

 

'How much?' she demands in disbelief.

 

'Not that much,' he reassures as he turns the datapad over in his hand examining it. She knows there is something wrong when he doesn't smile, call her by an endearment or flirt with her in any other way. She thought they were ok. She thought it didn't matter.

 

'No credits at least. I was thinking more along the lines of no more secrets or lies especially about dead spouses.'

 

'I can't do that, Gault, and neither can you,' she frostily replies.

 

'My mother always told me I should try new things. Or did a twi'lek dancer tell me that? Either way, it's worth a shot. We might find we like having no secrets from someone else.'

 

He flashes her a grin as he picks up the datapad containing the list and puts it into his back pocket. It's a little sad but he's trying to play it cool. He wants her to know for once that he is serious. He never has been entirely honest with someone but then he's never stuck around with anyone this long or through so many life and death encounters. Maybe...

 

'Last man I promised it to ended up dying. Had three secrets from him in the end.' Her voice that can be so warm like honey in tea is now cold and sour. She knows it will be the same with him. Their friendship won't allow it and he knows less of her history than her husband had.

 

'Don't worry, my dear,' he promises with a lopsided smile. She can see something intent in his expression but it doesn't melt the ice in her eyes or heart. 'I'm really not the heroic sort.'

 

Gault takes a step closer and reaches a hand to touch her cheek. She stands her ground and allows the movement. It makes her skin tingle and she feels ashamed of the unwanted blush that blossoms from under it. It assures him she is alive in there somewhere and some part of her must feel still. The Mando thought she was worth the risk of a blade in the gut or a blaster bolt in the chest. Gault won't go that far but... guess he'll look out for her in a brotherly or fatherly way.

 

'We all die some day,' he quietly tells her. 'It's not your fault. There isn't any shame in continuing your life or feeling happy.'

 

'You're obviously not a Mando'ad then,' she sneers. She leans back a little and Gault let's his hand move to her shoulder. 'And there isn't anything to be happy for or about.'

 

'Think about it and you'll see that's not true. Sometimes you need to let the past lie, my dear.'

 

'No! I can't.'

 

'Have you ever noticed that the people with power in the galaxy - any person that actually matters - has had the shortest straw in their past? Survival of the fittest and only the fittest make it to the top. We, my dear, are at the top. The past has done its job in getting us here and now we can let go of it and reap the rewards.'

 

I can't say anything to this. What is there to say? That she had spent hours every day and every night ensuring that her man was at the top as well? It was her guard that was down and it was her unfit mistake that should have led to her death. She will never let the past rest and her past has given her no rewards except the ability to get revenge for all the horrors it brought her for the rest of her drastically shortened life.

 

So she turns her mind back to the real topic at hand.

 

'Gault, you lie to me on approximately three times every conversation. And on the secret front, you won't even tell me why you're really here.'

 

He drops his hand and snickers at her as he crosses his arms. He leans against the control panel next to him, careful not to press any buttons.

 

'I've told you, my dear, I never lie to you. And why I'm here isn't much of a secret. Anyone could know it.'

 

'Except for me?'

 

'You're a little slow, my dear. But don't worry, I won't tell anyone that.' He winks at her and it only makes her glare deepen.

 

'Thanks,' she sarcastically returns.

 

He chuckles but then it goes and his frown and intensity is back. All she wants from this friendship is light banter and someone to keep the darkness a little at bay. Someone to keep her company while she's human enough to appreciate it.

 

'I don't ask for much but I'm asking for this.' Gault's sober expression vanishes and he grins at her with sly mischief. 'Plus, we make such an adorable and much loved couple.'

 

Gault turns the datapad he still holds toward her and she sees a picture of Gault and her here on Iziz walking down the main street arm in arm. He's leaning down to whisper in her ear and she's smiling at what he was saying. The title reads 'Is it love?'

 

'You were telling me your predictions of the fetishes of other women in the street. I'd hardly say that counts as a romantic conversation,' she drily comments.

 

'Ah, but they don't know that. I must say, we have a much more turbulent and passionate relationship on the holonet. It almost makes our real life look dull and disappointing.'

 

'Really, Gault? I've hit you on the head far too hard and too often, haven't I?' she asks in disbelief. She can't understand how he can take it all so lightly. She can't understand how someone could look at it from that angle.

 

'Well, yes, but that's not the point.'

 

'No, the point is that there are people writing speculative crap about us and that there are other people taking photos of us!' she growls. She can't see the it with vaguely amused indifference or conceited cynicism. It's far too serious to her for that.

 

'Price of fame, my dear. Could be worse. I could be Skadge.'

 

'Don't make me vomit or I will kill you,' she spits. 'I'd rather my current state of marital bliss over either of you.'

 

He has nothing to say to this. There's no words of comfort he can provide and the knowledge she prefers a dead man over him is a blow below the belt. He can never compete and he isn't sure if he even wants to. A woman like her can only **** a man up or get them killed. There is evidence for the latter and he would rather not be evidence for the former.

 

'Let's just go get the supplies. Make a list?'

 

He pats his back pocket and grins. 'And I've checked it twice.'

 

'Don't exaggerate,' she scolds.

 

'I'm sorry, my dear.'

 

'Don't lie.'

 

'I'll try, babe.'

 

'Don't call me "babe".'

 

'Whatever you want, honey.'

 

'I really hate you, you know,' she sighs in exasperation. She turns and walks away from him but he is as quick and sly in following as always.

 

'Yeah, yeah. If you think that's enough to make me leave though, you're mistaken.'

 

'Never give up hope.' He frowns at the saying and she only laughs with twisted, dark humour at it. What hope is there for her now he's gone? What hope did she ever have?

 

But she isn't alone. Not yet. And she doesn't want to be until the end and she's surprised she isn't after what she has done. She stops at the exit but doesn't turn to look at Gault. She doesn't have enough courage and she has too much pride.

 

'Gault, thank you,' she quietly and firmly says to him as he stands at the ready behind her back.

 

'I'm sorry, my dear, what did you say?' She looks back at him then and he waves the datapad at her with something serious and distant in his eye, a frown on his forehead and a smirk on his lips. 'I got distracted by this ad for a twi'lek slave girl. Say something important?'

 

She smirks and shakes her head. 'No, nothing important.'

 

'Good to hear.'

 

He moved it too slow for its page to miss her eye. There wasn't a twi'lek in sight. It was a picture of them on the Imperial fleet seven weeks ago surrounded by soldiers, cantina patrons and bouncers. She's standing in front of Gault with her blasters drawn and Gault's hand is on my hip a blaster in his other hand and he's leaning in to me to whisper an escape plan. He always likes to restrain the number of people she kills. The heading caught her eye and burnt into her memory: 'More than a body guard?'

 

She doesn't understand why but he lied to avoid her gratitude. She knew better than to push it and her pride and their relationship would also not allow it. Why moves beyond her mind as questions she had never considered enter her mind.

Is that what we look like to others? she asks herself seriously for the first time. Is that how you saw us? I'm so sorry, Torian. I never knew. Gault is right, she realises as they walk through the street, bartering with sellers and bickering with each other, him leading her by the hand away from a brewing fight or her pushing him away from every woman slightly rich or attractive in the market. If she were to allow him to flirt and buy a drink for all of them, they would still be attempting to buy supplies a week later.

 

I have no clue when it comes to myself, she has realised before they return to the ship. What else have I never noticed? And how do I start to?

----

 

Gah! I'm not sure about all of that but... there it is! All 5000+ of it!

The fame part was inspired by one of the prompts and there's going to be a mildly diverting Damin (spoiler :rolleyes:) follow up with everyone's favourite Ratattaki (probably only because there isn't any other :rolleyes:). I don't really know why it's third person but I didn't think it was too bad :confused:

 

 

 

 

I just had to laugh at their battle of words. It is so beautiful. And when I wondered why Gault was still alive, for some reason a certain other liar (and traitor) came to my mind who never gets killed as well. It somehow changed my viewpoint on many fanfics about said traitor and his class-master.;)

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