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Prologue - A Wrath Rises

Korriban

Jaesa Willsaam sat with her hands folded in her lap, her head bowed, breathing deeply. It could have passed for a meditative pose if not for her white knuckles as she clenched her hands tightly together and the occasional nervous glances she darted around the room. Anxiety seared through her, despite her best efforts to remain calm.

Across from her, Vette was slouched across her chair, toying with one of her blasters. Jaesa could sense that the Twi’lek was just as nervous as she was, although she did a considerably better job of hiding it.

Pierce was standing by the hallway that led to the hatch, watching the feed from the exterior camera. Jaesa didn’t sense any fear from him, just a sense of wariness.

Her lightsaber was digging into her side; she shifted her position in her chair. Their instructions from A’tro had been perfectly clear: Stay with the ship. If I’m not back in six hours, or if anyone unfamiliar approaches, leave. Jaesa had all but begged to accompany her master, but A’tro had adamantly refused.

One of the components of Vette’s blaster shifted with a loud click, and everyone started.

“It’s been an awfully long time,” Vette said. “I hope she’s okay.”

“Lord A’tro can handle herself,” Pierce said, glancing towards where Vette and Jaesa sat. “She’ll show Baras what’s what.”

“Yeah,” Vette said uncertainly. “She’s probably fine. Right, Jaesa?”

Jaesa looked up. “The Force is strong with her,” she said, trying to sound confident. I just hope it’s strong enough, she thought.

Several long moments passed in silence. Broonmark emerged into the common room and took up a station next to the entrance to the medbay.

“Where the hell is Quinn?” Pierce asked abruptly.

“On the bridge,” Jaesa answered.

Vette snickered softly. “So what else is new?”

Jaesa shook her head. Quinn had seemed unusually quiet, of late, and she couldn’t help but wonder why.

Something happened after Voss, she thought. Ever since he and A’tro went to that transponder station, neither of them has been the same. She supposed that she could use her power to get some answers, but she was reluctant to do so. It felt like cheating, somehow. Besides, she had a feeling that if A’tro ever caught Jaesa using her ability on her, there would be hell to pay. The Sith had been extremely temperamental since Corellia; Jaesa could sense a great deal of anger simmering inside her, barely held in check.

She felt a presence approach into her sensory range behind her, and turned around. Quinn was emerging from the bridge.

“Look who decided to show up,” Pierce muttered.

“Sensors indicate a single life-form entering this airlock,” Quinn said briskly, ignoring Pierce’s comment.

Vette straightened in her seat. “Is it A’tro?”

Pierce looked at the hatch camera feed. “They’re not in view yet.”

Jaesa tried to reach out with the Force, but her nervousness was wreaking havoc with her concentration. Vette stood up, casually reaching for her other blaster.

“It’s her,” Pierce announced.

Jaesa let out a sigh of relief. “Thank the Force.”

They heard the hatch open, and a few moments later A’tro strode into the room.

The Sith Pureblood woman looked to have been in a serious battle. Her armor was marred with several new blackened furrows that could only have come from lightsaber strikes, and small burns peppered both her clothing and her coppery red skin. Her red hair was in disarray, and she carried a faint scent of ozone.

“It’s over,” she said. “Baras is dead. The Dark Council has acknowledged me as the Emperor’s Wrath.”

She sounded calmer than she had in weeks, and Jaesa could feel that the anger that had been seething within her was gone. In its place was an aura of cold, implacable power.

“So, are we supposed to bow or something?” Vette asked, grinning broadly. “Now that you’re a big-time Sith and all…”

A’tro looked at her skeptically. “You’ve never bothered with that sort of thing before.”

Vette shrugged. “Just checking.”

“I believe congratulations are in order, Master,” Jaesa said with a smile. “This is quite an accomplishment.”

“Thank you, Jaesa,” A’tro said graciously. She looked around the room. “Thank all of you, actually—I doubt I could have come this far without your support.”

Broonmark burbled something, and A’tro nodded at him. Jaesa had tried the Force trick that supposedly would let her derive shades of meaning from alien speech, but she couldn’t seem to get the hang of it.

“And you finally finished off Baras,” Pierce said. “Wish I could’ve seen it.”

“Oh, it was quite a fight, believe me,” A’tro murmured. “Baras did not die easily.” She put a hand to her head, wincing faintly.

“What happens now?” Vette asked.

A’tro looked up. “We continue to fight the Empire’s enemies. There’s a war going on, after all.”

“Wonderful,” Vette muttered. “Fighting, fighting, and more fighting.”

Jaesa found herself glancing behind her, towards where Quinn stood by the entrance to the bridge. He hadn’t said a word, but he watched A’tro intently, his face composed into its usual expression, or lack thereof.

What happened between those two? Jaesa wondered. Someday, somehow, she was going to find out.

“Now that you’ve all seen that I’m alive and well,” A’tro said briskly, “I need to be getting back. The Council is reconvening, and I really don’t want to miss it.”

“But, Master, your injuries—“ Jaesa started, frowning in concern.

“They’ll keep.” The Sith moved towards the hatch. “Just stay put. This shouldn’t take long. If we’re lucky, that Sith Thanaton’s been complaining about will show up and put an end to his incessant whining.”

With that, she exited the ship, cloak swirling behind her.

“Looks like she’s back to her old self,” Vette observed after a moment of silence. “Good. The whole grim-and-dark thing she’s been doing since Corellia was starting to scare me.”

So I wasn’t the only one to notice that, Jaesa mused. Aloud, she said, “This is quite a victory. I’m not surprised she’s in a good mood.”

“Yeah, well,” Vette sighed, “I was hoping now that Baras is dead, we could take a vacation. Guess that’s not going to happen.”

“There’s a war on,” Pierce spoke up suddenly. “Knowing A’tro, she’s going to want to be in the thick of things.”

Vette shrugged. “Hey, I like shooting things as much as the next person.” She glanced over at Pierce. “Okay, considering present company, maybe somewhat less than the next person. I just wouldn’t mind a little time to relax and recuperate, you know?”

Jaesa looked around and realized that Quinn had left the room without her noticing. Normally, her life sense picked up on approaching and departing presences. She mentally chided herself for not paying attention.

And that's where I stopped.

Why did I cut these scene? Frankly, I just couldn't get through it. I decided that it would be better to scrap the whole thing and write a different scene that I was more enthusiastic about, rather than forcing myself to continue.

Still, it's a decent scene, and it gives some much-needed character development to Jaesa. Unfortunately, she never receives such attention ever again. It also served to establish that in this story, the Quinncident was a secret, and showed a bit of A'tro's character. However, as first impressions of our lovely protagonist go, I felt that it could be better. Much better. So into the deleted scenes file it went.

Occupational Hazards, Version I

Anak’ar lay flat in the ventilation shaft, surveying the hangar below through the scope of his sniper rifle. The Sith ship had arrived right on schedule. Now it was up to him and his partner to see to it that its passenger did not depart the hangar alive.

Thinking of his companion, he turned the scope towards where Jiila stood below, pretending to sort through a pile of crates. She had gained access to the hangar by disguising herself as a slave; the shock collar on her neck was a fake, loaded with explosives and designed to be used as an impromptu bomb.

Anak’ar looked at the ship again. The boarding ramp was slowly descending. In a few moments, the Sith would emerge, and he and Jiila would kill him. The two Rattataki had done similar work in the past. They hadn’t been told who their target was, only where to go. Anak’ar didn’t much care. Credits were credits, and while taking on Sith targets was risky, the profit was considerable—enough to finance the purchase of high quality explosives for Jiila’s “collar” and a military-grade sniper rifle for Anak’ar himself.

He trained the rifle on the boarding ramp. The anticipation was always the hardest part. He ran through a series of breathing exercises to calm his nerves and steady his trigger finger. With luck, he would be able to down the Sith with a single shot.

Any minute now…

At last, a dark-armored figure strode down the ramp and started across the hangar. Anak’ar zoomed in on the Sith’s face with the scope and was somewhat startled to see a Sith Pureblood woman. Age was always difficult to tell with Sith, but Anak’ar guessed her to be in her late twenties. She had coppery-red skin, red hair and golden eyes. The distinctive ridges on her forehead and cheeks gave her a predatory look.

She was moving, but slowly. Anak’ar focused the targeting reticule for a headshot.

His comlink twittered softly.

“Ready when you are,” Jiila’s voice whispered into his earpiece.

“Taking the shot,” Anak’ar replied quietly.

The Sith woman was right in the crosshairs. He eased his finger over the trigger.

“No, wait!” Jiila hissed suddenly—too late. He’d already fired.

Focused as he was on his target, Anak’ar hadn’t seen the Imperial officer exit the ship behind the Sith. The man had hurried to catch up to his commander, then slowed alongside her—directly in Anak’ar’s line of fire.

The shot aimed at the Sith’s head took the officer in the shoulder. He dropped to the ground, and the Sith shouted something. Anak’ar swore and readjusted his aim. So much for a quick and clean kill.

The Sith drew two lightsabers, scarlet blades blazing to life. She deflected Anak’ar’s next two shots with ease, sending the blaster bolts ricocheting away with casual flicks of her wrists.

He zoomed out hastily as she stepped out of his sights. He continued to fire, not bothering to be precise; he only needed to distract her. From his vantage point in the vent, he could see Jiila creeping up behind the Sith, taking cover behind a large spool of hose, explosive shock collar in hand. Even a lightsaber couldn’t block a bomb.

The Sith made a gesture in his direction, and the grating covering the vent started to rip free of the bolts that held it to the wall.

“Now, Jiila!” he muttered tersely into his headset.

Jiila glanced up at his hiding place. He saw her manipulate the switches on the disguised bomb.

The grate in front of him tore free of the wall and crashed to the ground.

Jiila finished arming the detonator and made ready to throw it.

An invisible hand plucked Anak’ar from the vent and dropped him. The floor rushed up to meet him. He screamed.

The Rattataki hit the ground hard and did not move again. A’tro nodded in satisfaction and extinguished her lightsabers, replacing the hilts on her belt. She turned to Quinn, who was slowly getting to his feet.

Abruptly, her danger sense flickered. She whirled around to see a Rattataki woman emerging from behind a coil of hose, her face twisted in rage. She was holding something that A’tro couldn’t see clearly, but what she guessed to be an explosive of some sort.

Reflexes taking over, A’tro gestured, reaching out with the Force. The device tore free of the woman’s hands to fly across the hangar. Before it had gone very far, it exploded into a spectacular fireball.

The Rattataki let out a shriek and threw herself at A’tro, pulling a vibroknife from under her shirt as she went.

The Sith’s Force-enhanced senses were reeling from the sound and shockwave generated by the explosion. She reached numbly for a lightsaber, too slowly.

Quinn stepped in front of her, blaster in hand. His first shot took the assassin in the leg, making her stumble. With a snarl, she lunged forward, knife held high. Quinn grabbed her wrist with his free hand and used the leverage granted by her wounded leg to force her to her knees. She struggled wildly, trying to break his hold on her arm. Using her other hand, she pulled out another knife and stabbed him in the side. Quinn staggered, then collapsed as the assassin jerked free of his grip.

A’tro’s earlier disorientation vanished in a rush of adrenaline. She took several quick steps towards the assassin, igniting both lightsabers as she went. The Rattataki raised her knives, and A’tro neatly sliced off both her hands with a single stroke of a blade.

“I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me who sent you?” she asked. Cold rage seethed deep inside her, fueling her power.

“I don’t know!” the assassin gasped. “Didn’t see a face!”

“Was it a Sith?” A’tro demanded. With clinical precision, she drew the tip of her left saber across the woman’s torso, leaving a blackened furrow.

The Rattataki woman cried out in pain. “Yes,” she said hoarsely. “A Sith.”

“I thought as much,” A’tro concluded grimly. She stabbed both lightsabers through the woman’s torso, then used the Force to send her flying into the wall. Her body impacted the permacrete with a dull crunch, and left a bloody smear as it slid limply to the floor.

A’tro paid no heed. Returning her lightsabers to her belt, she dropped to her knees beside Quinn. His uniform was dark with blood, his eyes had fallen half-closed, and he was breathing shallowly.

She cursed softly under her breath. The hangar was empty—no doubt the assassins’ mysterious Sith employer had made arrangements for the security forces to be elsewhere.

“I guess I’ll just have to take you to the Alecto’s medbay, and hope you last until I can find a real medic,” she said, thinking aloud. The hatch was only a few meters away.

With a combination of her own muscle power and the Force, she managed to pick him up, doing her best to avoid disturbing his injured shoulder. The remainder of her willpower was spent trying not to think about how she was holding him against her as she half-levitated, half-dragged him up the ramp, through the hatch, and into the Alecto.

He’d better be unconscious, A’tro thought grumpily as she deposited him in the medbay.

“Don’t you dare die,” she told him. “If you do, I’ll—I’ll bring you back and kill you again, don’t think I won’t.”

Was it her imagination, or had his eyelids fluttered at that? She searched through a medkit with hands that were trembling ever so slightly. She slapped pressure bandages over his wounds to slow the bleeding, then fumbled for kolto.

“Just don’t think that this means I care,” she said hastily. “Because I don’t.”

Sure you don’t, whispered the small voice in the back of her head. She ignored it.

“I don’t care,” she whispered. “I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care…” She repeated it under her breath like a mantra as she took out the kolto.

A’tro leaned forward and carefully undid the fastenings of Quinn’s jacket, kolto at the ready. She found herself remembering other, better times when she had performed that action, and felt her face grow hot. She slid the blood-soaked garment off and applied kolto packs as quickly as possible, then pointedly turned her back and took several deep breaths to steady herself.

There was a time when I seriously considered deflecting a few blaster bolts his way so I would have an excuse to do that, she reflected. How things change.

After one last peek—just to make sure Quinn was stable!—A’tro strode briskly towards the holoterminal and entered Jaesa’s comm frequency.

Jaesa answered almost immediately. “Yes, master?”

“I’m at the spaceport,” A’tro said tersely. “There’s been an incident of sorts.”

Jaesa’s eyes widened as she took a good look at the older woman. “Master, you’re covered in blood!”

A’tro hadn’t even noticed. “It’s not mine,” she assured Jaesa. “But it would be very helpful if you could come to the spaceport straightaway…and bring a medic.”

Why was this scene changed? I felt that the last part was a bit weak, so I rewrote it. I also reworded a few things here and there. Upon re-reading, I suppose it's not that bad, but I still prefer the final version.

Darth A’tro stood outside her father’s townhouse, feeling suddenly apprehensive. The street, located in one of Kaas City’s wealthier neighborhoods, was deserted. A light rain misted down, dampening her hood.

As far as her father knew, she was dead—killed almost four years ago when her starfighter crashed out in the jungle. The crash had been a set-up, a desperate ruse to throw a treacherous Sith Lord off her trail, and it had worked. A’tro had changed her name, spent a year wandering on the fringes of Imperial space, and when she heard that her nemesis was dead, returned to Korriban to start her life anew.

It had been less than four years, but it felt like a lifetime.

A’tro approached the door warily. Would her father even recognize her? Or worse, would he mistake her for her sister?

She reached for the keypad and rang the bell. Hopefully, he’d be in a good mood. It would be nice to have someone to talk to every once in a while.

A few moments later, the door slid partway open to reveal a bronze-plated droid of humanoid proportions. Its green photoreceptors gleamed as it eyed her.

“I’m sorry, my lord,” it said in a synthesized female voice. “Lord Daemos Dhakar is not receiving visitors. Good day.”

“Wait!” A’tro said quickly before it could shut the door. “Tell Lord Daemos that the Emperor’s Wrath wishes to speak with him.”

The droid tilted its head to one side. “As you wish, my lord.” It shut the door, leaving A’tro standing outside in the rain, which was starting to intensify.

Maybe this wasn’t the best idea, she thought. Still, I’ve come this far…

She crossed her arms and waited. Several minutes passed. Finally, the door opened.

“This way please, my lord,” the droid said.

A’tro stepped inside, keeping her hood up, and followed the droid, eyeing her surroundings. At first, the house didn’t seem to have changed since her childhood. The furniture had not been moved, the décor was the same—but at the same time, something was different.

As they moved down the hallway leading to her father’s study, A’tro realized what it was. Everything in the house that had been placed by her mother was gone. The ornaments, the furniture, even the hall carpeting had been taken up and replaced. It seemed that in the years following his wife’s death, Daemos had done his utmost to obliterate any sign that Safiel Dhakar had ever existed.

All things considered, A’tro could hardly blame him.

The droid opened the door to her father’s study and ushered her inside, then left.

For the first time in years, A’tro found herself face to face with her father.

Lord Daemos Dhakar was a Sith Pureblood in his early fifties. Slight of stature, he had retained his warrior's physique despite his withdrawal from fighting on the front lines. Daemos had fought in the Sacking of Coruscant, his two lightsabers felling many a Jedi. After the Treaty, he had devoted himself to research, a pursuit that he seemed to have continued in the years following the death of his wife, the presumed death of one of his daughters, and the treason of the other.

“My lord Wrath,” Daemos said, bowing deeply. “To what do I owe the honor—“

A’tro pushed back her hood. “No need to bow, Father.”

Daemos’ golden eyes widened. “Well, I’ll be damned. K’hera, you’re alive.”

“Last time I checked,” A’tro quipped. She frowned. “How did you know it was me?”

Her father rolled his eyes. “You realize that you have a unique Force-signature, right? Besides, your sister isn’t stupid enough to show her face here, not after what she pulled.” Daemos gave her an appraising look. “I’d heard that the Dark Council had acknowledged someone as the Emperor’s Wrath, but I had no idea it was you. Of course, I had no idea that you weren’t dead before you walked in that door, so…”

“I’m sorry that I haven’t come to see you before now. I’ve been busy.”

“So you have.” Daemos stroked his beard-tentacles thoughtfully. “I almost wish that Safiel were here, if only so I could rub it in her face.”

A’tro grinned. “I was always your favorite, wasn’t I?”

“Of course. Your mother might have thought that your sister was the next coming of Naga Sadow, but I knew how to spot potential.”

“Admit it, you only favored me over K’saria because she was Mother’s darling, and you couldn’t bear to agree with her on anything.”

Daemos shrugged. “That was certainly part of it. It’s nice to see her finally proven wrong, even if she isn’t around to see it.”

A’tro looked at him intently. “You killed her, didn’t you?”

Daemos sighed. “Yes,” he said, meeting her eyes. “Yes, I did. Do I regret doing it? Not at all. Do I regret not doing it sooner? Definitely.”

She’d always suspected that her mother’s death, supposedly from an attack by beasts in the Dromund Kaas jungle, had not been an accident. Her parents had never gotten along.

“I suppose it’s the Sith way, isn’t it?” A’tro mused.

“Exactly,” Daemos agreed matter-of-factly. “Safiel proved her weakness when her precious protégé of a daughter defected.” He laughed softly. “You should have seen her face when we got the holocall. Best damn moment of my life.”

A’tro chuckled. “I wish I could have seen that.”

“But enough about them,” Daemos said. “Where have you been these past few years, K’hera? Why haven’t I heard anything about your rise to power?”

“First of all, because my name isn’t K’hera anymore,” A’tro said. “It’s A’tro now—Darth A’tro, technically speaking. For all intents and purposes, K’hera Dhakar is dead.”

“Darth A’tro, hmm?” Her father raised a brow-ridge. “I like it. My daughter, a Darth…”

“I suppose I should start at the beginning,” A’tro said. “It’s a long story.”

“Of course, of course. Feel free to sit down.” Daemos waved a hand around the cluttered study. “If you can find anywhere to sit down, that is.”

A’tro located a chair, moved the stack of datacards on top of it with a flick of her wrist, and sat. “You see, I deliberately crashed my starfighter,” she said. “I had to make sure that everyone thought I was dead—especially Darth Evendre.”

“But Evendre was your master.” Daemos frowned. “Don’t tell me you were plotting against her, botched it, and had to run for it.”

“Quite the opposite, actually. Do you recall how Evendre died?”

“Evendre’s dead? That explains why she never returned that paper copy of Darth Zariel’s autobiography that I lent her…”

A’tro rolled her eyes. “Father, you are utterly oblivious sometimes. About a year after my supposed death, Evendre disappeared. Ravinia told me—“

“Wait a minute,” Daemos interrupted. “Ravinia knew that you weren’t dead?”

“Yes, she did.”

“You told Ravinia about your little ruse, and not me!” Daemos said indignantly. “How could you?”

“Ravinia is an Academy overseer. Having a contact on Korriban was too useful to pass up,” A’tro said patiently. “Besides, I didn’t want to risk Mother finding out that I was alive and Evendre was after me. For all I knew, she would have turned me over to her out of sheer spite.”

“And why, pray tell, was your Sith Master suddenly out for your blood?” Daemos asked dryly.

“Because she was a light side heretic in secret communication with the Jedi,” A’tro said flatly.

“Emperor’s blood,” Daemos swore. “First your sister, then your master…”

“Tell me about it,” A’tro muttered.

“So, let me guess: Evendre found out that you knew her little secret, and tried to silence you, so you faked your own death to escape her.”

“It was the only thing that I could think of,” A’tro sighed. “I knew I couldn’t beat her—we dueled, and she almost killed me.” She touched the scar that ran across her right eye from her forehead to her cheek. “I’m lucky she didn’t take my eye out.”

Daemos shook his head. “Still, you fought a Sith Master and survived. That’s impressive.”

“After the crash, I fled to the very edges of Imperial space,” A’tro continued. “Only Ravinia knew that I was alive, and about Evendre’s treason. After around ten months of wandering from one outpost to another, she told me that Evendre had been hunted down and executed in secret by the Imperial Guard.”

“Taken out by Force-blind soldiers? How embarrassing.”

“After Evendre died I wasn’t sure what to do. As far as anyone besides Ravinia knew, I was dead. A Sith apprentice without a master isn’t going to get anywhere. I had already started going by A’tro, and I decided that I would just start my life over, so to speak. I called Ravinia, she pulled some strings, and next thing I knew one of the most influential overseers had personally summoned me to Korriban.”

“Don’t tell me you went through the Academy again.”

“Oh, I did,” A’tro sighed. “It was a damn sight easier the second time around, I have to say. I was light-years ahead of the other acolytes. The poor fool who set himself up as my rival never stood a chance. Also, I swear that I will never touch a training saber again. Those things have nothing on a real lightsaber.

“Anyway, while I was breezing my way through the trials, I attracted the attention of Darth Baras.” A’tro raised a brow-ridge at her father. “That name sound familiar?”

“Older, schemer, mask,” Daemos mused. “Negotiated the Treaty of Coruscant, made quite a name for himself when the war re-started, but ended up getting skewered by his former apprentice—“ He came to an abrupt halt. “Ah.”

“Exactly,” A’tro said with a predatory smile. “I spent a year and a half running around the galaxy doing his dirty work, then he betrayed me. We backstabbed each other back and forth until finally I challenged him in front of the Dark Council.”

“And won, obviously.”

“Well obviously.”

Daemos regarded his daughter with an odd expression on his face. “K’hera—A’tro—I have to say…I always suspected that you would go far, but I never imagined that you would do as well as you have. I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you, Father,” A’tro said quietly. “That means a great deal to me.”

Daemos nodded slowly. “Now, what exactly did you do while you were serving Baras? I want to know every detail.”

Why was this scene cut? It served largely to provide exposition on things that the reader would have already known by this point in the story, and I didn't feel like rewriting it. Also, I felt that having it there was a bit of a tangent--interesting, to be sure, but somewhat diverting from the main flow of plot. It seemed to me that the first few chapters were moving extremely slowly, and something needed to be cut. And so this scene ended up on the chopping block.

Still, it's an interesting scene, and provides some details about A'tro that we don't see in the posted story--namely, the nature of her relationship with her family, as well as how her parents' dynamic and Daemos himself were likely to have influenced her. It also provides a bit of closure on just what happened to A'tro's mother, Safiel; we see her break K'hera's wrist in the prologue, but never hear anything more about her ever again. This scene shows that she met her just desserts.

I also had a lot of fun thinking about just how family dynamics would work for Sith. These are Purebloods, the Empire's elite, and the Dhakar family in particular is a very old one. They would be fiercely proud of their heritage, they would put an enormous amount of pressure on their children to uphold the glory of that heritage...but I do think that on some level, at least for some of them, there would be affection. It's an interesting concept to think about.

A’tro sat at her desk in her office at the Imperials’ main base of operations on Telos. She re-read Jaesa’s latest report for the fourth time, trying to distract herself. After three days of grief and rage, a peculiar numbness was setting in. She was not sure what to make of it.

Someone tapped on the door.

“Enter,” she called absently. She heard her visitor walk in, the door sliding shut behind them. With an inner sigh, she turned around to deal with whoever it was.

“Reporting for duty, my lord,” said Malavai Quinn.

He looked rather worse for wear; his uniform was peppered with small burns, he had a bandage on one arm, and there was a nasty-looking bruise on his face. But it was him, and he was alive.

A’tro felt her mouth drop open in shock. “You made it,” she breathed, her heart fluttering.

“I apologize for not coming to see you sooner,” Quinn said. “I encountered Major Merrik on my way here, and she ordered me to report to the medcenter first.”

“If she hadn’t, I would have,” A’tro said, stepping closer to him. The tension of the past three days slowly ebbed away, leaving her feeling strangely buoyant. “You look like you’ve been through hell.”

Quinn grimaced faintly. “Yes. Well. After we were separated, I stumbled upon the Republic’s armory. I was able to use some of their ordinance to break through the base’s wall and allow me to escape, while the enemy believed that I had not survived the explosion. Not one of my better plans, I’ll admit, but—”

A’tro strode up to him, eyes blazing. She grabbed him by the collar, and yanked his face down close to hers.

“Don’t—ever—do—that—again,” she whispered, then kissed him.

After a long moment, she stepped back. Quinn was staring at her, a faint blush creeping up in his cheeks.

“My lord, this is hardly appropriate,” he protested, but he did not sound very upset.

“I couldn’t care less what’s appropriate,” A’tro retorted.

Quinn frowned, taking a step back. “On Voss, you made it quite clear that you wanted nothing more to do with me.”

“I lied,” A’tro said bitterly. “I’ve done nothing but regret those words ever since I said them.” She moved forward, closing the distance he had made between them, and looked up into his eyes.

Now or never, she thought.

“I love you,” she said softly.

“Even after…” he started, then paused.

“Even then,” she answered simply. Her heart was pounding with nervousness.

Quinn looked at her for a long moment, seeming to debate with himself.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” A’tro muttered. Her words seemed to snap Quinn out of his reverie.

“My lord,” he said slowly, “I do not think that renewing our relationship would be advisable, considering your position and…” He trailed off, then shook his head. “No. I don’t know what will come of this, my lord, but I do know that if I let you go now, I will never forgive myself.”

A’tro raised a brow-ridge. “Does that mean what I think it does?”

Quinn gave a small smile. “Whatever you like, my lord.”

She smiled back, hesitantly putting her arms around him. He drew her against him with one arm, reaching out with his other hand to touch her face.

“I suppose I ought to mention that I love you too,” Quinn said dryly, his fingers brushing gently across the ridges on her cheek.

“Oh, shut up and kiss me already,” she told him.

Quinn complied with a will, kissing her fiercely, as though he would never have another chance to do so. His hand remained on one side of her face; he tangled his fingers in her hair as she pressed herself against him. She could feel his heartbeat pounding rapidly.

Neither of them heard the knock on the door.

Shari Merrik glanced into the room. “My lord, I just—“ She stopped short as the scene in front of her fully registered with her brain.

“Um. Was there something you wanted, Major?” A’tro asked awkwardly, stepping away from Quinn.

Merrik’s eyebrows had shot up towards her hairline. “I was going to inform you that Quinn was back, my lord, but it seems he’s beaten me to it.” She glanced between the captain and the Sith, looking embarrassed. “I’ll—I’ll be going now, my lord,” she said quickly, and left the room.

A’tro found herself unable to meet Quinn’s eyes. “Well,” she said uncomfortably, “I suppose Merrik isn’t one for gossip, so we needn’t worry about that…”

“Yes, she’s quite reliable when it comes to discretion,” Quinn agreed quickly.

“Next time, I’ll lock the blasted door,” A’tro muttered.

A discomfited silence fell, to be interrupted after a moments by A’tro’s holocom chiming over on the desk. She activated the device, thankful for the distraction.

Darth Nox’s image appeared above the surface of the table. “Hello, Wrath,” she said cheerily. “How’s Telos?”

“About as well as can be expected,” A’tro said, waving a hand. “Is there something you want?”

Nox shook her head. “The Dark Council will be meeting in two hours—I thought you might want to attend.”

“Of course. Thank you for informing me.”

“Don’t mention it,” Nox murmured. “I’ll see you at the meeting.” She closed the channel.

A’tro looked over at Quinn. “It seems I’d best be heading to the Alecto. I’ll see you later—actually, no. Come with me.”

“My lord?” Quinn asked.

“Once I’m done with the Council meeting, I believe that you and I have unfinished business,” A’tro said. A sly smile spread slowly across her face. “Business best suited to a more…private…location than this. Unless you’d rather not…?” she added, feeling suddenly nervous.

“No objections, my lord,” Quinn said hastily. “No objections at all.”

Why was this scene changed? I remember re-reading this scene many times and having it just not feel right to me. I read it, and read it, and read it, and finally it dawned on me...Quinn is totally out of character. I think this is a clear example of me writing him as being far too nice, something which I have been told I have a tendency to do... So I changed it completely, muttering to myself all the while, "The man is a jerk, Ves. A cold, calculating, evil jerk. BEAR THIS IN MIND."

And then I wasn't happy with the second version either, so I changed it yet again, creating the draft that was eventually posted. I'll be putting up the second draft probably sometime later today. In the meantime, enjoy my early flailings at getting Quinn and A'tro back together! Also, astute readers may notice that a couple of lines from this made their way into Chapter Twenty-two, because I have a tendency to recycle dialogue. Because I can.

Edit: Why does Merrik walk right in to the Wrath's office? Because she's Merrik and she doesn't care, and because I had to come up with some way to separate A'tro and Quinn at that point, or they would have just stood there making out forever.