Ninety Seven Percent

Poor Quinn I feel bad for him.

Why is Syla being a ***** to him if she light side.I can understand dark side but she not the why making sound. I mean I know Quinn try to kill her but he had reason to do it and Baras is care of dick and lie to him.

Ovech is right about this Syla will end up killing Quinn if he not careful.

Syla is light side, but she is still Sith. She'll explain herself later. Non-violently, of course.

In which Quinn corners Pierce...

The next week passed by with little incident. Pierce continued to avoid him quite expertly for a man his size. Whenever Quinn tried to speak with him and no one else was around, Pierce would brush past him. If others were around he would quickly start up a conversation he knew would take hours to complete or he would go and pester Syla for “another round in the sack”.

Quinn was finally able to corner Pierce in the conference room one morning and block the exit, much to Pierce’s dismay. He could easily pick Quinn up, he was, what, a credit seventy-five? Instead, he crossed his arms and waited.

“I wanted to speak with each member of the crew personally about my actions aboard the transponder station and those concerning Darth Baras,” Quinn recited.

“No need, I understand,” Pierce said gruffly.

Quinn must have given him a quizzical expression because Pierce sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes.

“Imperial Intelligence ain’t the only ones with access to Castellan restraints, mate,” he explained with a sigh.

“That information is highly classified.”

“Not highly enough. I knew Cipher Nine before she dropped off radar,” he shrugged.

“You knew Cipher Nine?” Quinn asked in astonishment.

“Had sex a few times,” Pierce grinned. “Boy, the things they teach those Intelligence girls.”

Quinn looked at Pierce with a newfound respect. Not for his having nailed Cipher Nine (though she was quite pretty and he himself would jump at the chance, if only to pick her brain a bit), but for the fact he actually knew anything about Quinn outside of a “stick-up-the-*** killjoy in a grey uniform” (Pierce’s words, not his). Then, suddenly, a thought occurred.

“I haven’t told anyone about Baras’ use of my keyword,” Quinn said. Indeed he hadn’t. It was in his file, but that was for the eyes of the Dark Council only. In fact, Baras had to use the keyword only a handful of times before he trusted Quinn enough to carry out his will. Fear of a painful death caused by overuse of the keyword was what drove him most; his loyalty to the Empire came a sad second in his mind. What use what his loyalty if he didn’t have a mind left to be loyal with?

“I may have accessed a few files using Syla’s decryption codes a few times,” Pierce said shortly.

“How did you-?” he stopped when Pierce gave him a penetrating glance. Quinn snapped his mouth shut. He cleared his throat roughly and continued, “Alright then. That was all I had to say.”

“You owe me an apology,” Pierce said coarsely.

Quinn opened and closed his mouth several times. Pierce was right, of course. He owed everyone an apology, but getting them to listen to him was an entirely different matter. He pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger and squeezed his eyes shut. He never thought he’d apologize to Pierce for anything. With great reluctance, he straightened his stance and looked Pierce in the eye.

“I apologize for compromising the crew with my actions,” he announced hesitantly.

Pierce stared down at Quinn for a long moment. That was probably the best he was going to get from the small man under the circumstances. He grunted and waved Quinn off. He didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of being forgiven, even if Pierce understood the reasons behind Quinn’s actions.

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Quinn said sincerely.

Pierce merely grunted and pushed passed Quinn. It was the longest conversation he had with anyone on board since being reinstated and it wasn’t filled with death threats. Something began nibbling at the back of his head. Why were they being so… calm about this?

***

Quinn accessed his personnel file later that evening in the relative privacy of his personal quarters. Curiosity, nothing more, he convinced himself. The file had been recently accessed and edited. Not good. With a measured breath, he opened his file and read the glowing screen.

Malavai Quinn, formerly Watcher 27. Removed from Watcher duty at the request of one Darth Baras. Tests show Malavai Quinn’s brain operates at ninety-seven percent capacity. Possible overexposure to SLV-16, Castellan restraints. Subject programmed at early age.

Recently transferred back into the care of Lord Syla. Lord Syla has agreed to leave Subject Malavai Quinn intact for study of long term-effects regarding Castellan restraints. Subject is believed to be operating below ninety-seven percent. Main cause appears to be post-traumatic stress from a near death experience involving Lord Syla. Opportunity to study subject’s brain may arise in the near future.

Quinn tossed the datapad across the room in disgust. It clattered to the floor, innocently still glowing with information. An unwitting test subject. Darth Baras. Everything in his life circled back to Darth Baras and his damned manipulations. When he didn’t die on the transponder station, Baras contacted him, gloating that no mere Imperial could take down all he had built. Didn’t he know better by now? Foolish boy. Syla would destroy him. Slowly. Baras would enjoy his pain until the day he could strike Quinn down permanently. Personally. Driving his saber through his Imperial skull.

The crew. The crew was avoiding him because he wasn’t worth the effort. A cracked Imperial, hyped up on medication to keep him mostly calm who suffered from night terrors and who would soon be dead anyway. Why bother with him? He wasn’t worth their time, their effort, their emotion. He wasn’t worth anything. Not to Baras. Not to Syla. Not to the crew. Not even to himself. Well, if that’s how they wanted to play it fine. No one would get to study his brain if he had anything to do with it. He would die worthless and stay that way.

He grabbed his datapad from the floor and began to gather his things. Lord Syla would leave in four minutes for Corellia and he wanted to be there in the thick of things. If he was lucky, he would freeze up and a kindly Sith Lord would chop his useless head from his shoulders. Ninety-seven percent, indeed. He met the crew at the airlock as they waited to depart. He nodded to Lord Syla. He was ready. She flashed him a toothy grin and opened the airlock. Pierce clapped him on the back in a friendly manner, if a bit hard (he refrained from breaking into a coughing fit by sheer will) and the rest of the crew silently accepted him into their ranks. He walked down the docking ramp with grim determination. To battle, Malavai.


Notes:

It makes so much sense that he'd be controlled to have done what he did, and the failed watcher line-- brilliant!

Can I haz moar plz?

He does have anger issues. I don't want to ruin anything, but

Spoiler

the Darth Baras thing will come in to play later.

I think Watchers are bred with sticks shoved in their nethers. Newer generations have them shoved up a bit further.

Of course. I just need to re-read what I have (literally just) finished and I'll post it. Stay tuuuuuuuuuuuuuned.

In which Jaesa invades a dream and Quinn finally sleeps...



Corellia was a confusing tangle of battlegrounds and city streets. He had everything mapped out, naturally, but the nature of war was chaos. His plan of attack was largely ignored, which was why he found himself on his back with a hole in his stomach. It was just as well. He had known they would ignore his plan and, instead, do the exact opposite. He had planned on it. Counted on it. Hoped on it. They could handle the assassins on their own, he was sure of that.

Vette let out a victory shout as she shot down another Republic fighter.

“Hah, that’s thirteen, Syla! How many you up to?” she hooted happily, firing twin shots at a war droid.

“We countin’ droids?” Syla yelled as she flipped into the air and slashed a nearby droid.

“If it doesn’t breathe, it doesn’t count!” Jaesa yelled as she finished off a Republic military droid.

“Forgot about your weird killing thing,” Syla shouted.

“It’s not weird!”

“So weird!” Vette teased.

“Oi! I’m glad you ladies are bonding over bloodshed. Hot, by the way,” Pierce bellowed. “But we’ve got a medic down over here!”

Jaesa looked over her shoulder to where Pierce’s yelling had come from. Quinn was lying on the ground, and, oh dear, there was a lot of blood.

“Pierce, switch!” she shouted to him.

Vette huffed in annoyance, but laid down suppressive fire while Pierce took up Jaesa’s area for targeting. Jaesa ran to Quinn’s side quickly and knelt next to him. He still had his helmet on; his normally white gloves were stained red with blood as he tried to hold in his internal organs. He had been in this position before, on his back, trying to hold his insides, well, in. It still amazed him how little death actually hurt when one was at the cusp. He vaguely felt Jaesa shaking his shoulder in an attempt to rouse him.

“Captain?” she asked the blank screen covering his face.

He groaned metallically. Gently, she slipped her fingers under the helmet and tugged it over his head. She set the gray helmet to the side and examined his face. His eyes were closed, his face pale and covered in a thin sheen of sweat, a small bit of blood rested on his lower lip.

“Captain?” she asked again.

“Don’t worry about me, Miss Jaesa,” he said softly.

“You’re bleeding pretty badly.”

“Shrapnel,” he stated.

“How do I work your healing probes?”

“You don’t.”

Jaesa stared at him in confusion. He opened his eyes just a tad to look at her. She had seen that look before. That resigned-to-his-fate-I’m-dying look.

“You’re just going to give up then?” she asked harshly.

“Yes,” he said matter-of-factly. “I have no illusions about my status amongst the crew. Even you, Miss Jaesa, rebuffed me as I tried to apologize for my actions.”

She hung her head. It wasn’t like her to be so harsh, but the rest of the crew was adamant that she avoid any and all contact with the man for whatever reason. Pierce had been the first one to break that rule, but he broke all the rules and girls should stick together. At least, that’s what Vette said. Quinn closed his eyes and she feared the worst until he started talking again.

“I don’t have anything here,” he said, straining with barely suppressed agony. “I’m not worth saving. Complete the mission. Defeat Baras. Get Syla officially recognized as Emperor’s Wrath.”

He broke off into a hiss, clutching at his stomach. It was starting to hurt again. Jaesa shook her head at the man on the ground and raised her hands above his wounds. She hadn’t had much training with Force healing, but she had enough to do something, anything. He grabbed her hand to stop her, instead he found himself clutching at her desperately. He didn’t want to die. Not like this.

“How do I work your medical probes?” she asked one last time.

He exhaled raggedly. “Right wrist. Display will pop up. T-target self. Green… green…”

His grip suddenly went lax. She caught his hand before it fell. It felt cold even through the glove.

“Captain?” she asked meekly, tugging on his arm. He didn’t respond. She squeezed his hand as hard as her natural strength would allow. Still no response. She channeled a bit of the Force through her hand to his. Nothing. Focusing, she sought his Force signature. It was smaller than usual, but it was there, flickering unsteadily in the dark. She nodded her head in determination. Right wrist, pop-up display, something about targeting and a green… something. She let out a frustrated breath, puffing her bangs from her face.

“What’s taking so long over there?” Vette shouted impatiently.

“He’s dying!” Jaesa shouted back.

Syla paused her attack at that, giving an opening to the droid in front of her. It swung its vibrosword at her head. She Force pushed it halfway down the street then trekked to where Jaesa was hunched over Quinn.

“These droids are relentless!” Vette yelled in exasperation.

“Quit b*tching and keep shooting,” Pierce shouted from his spot in cover.

“Hate you, Pierce!”

“Hate you, too, babe!”

Syla knelt on the other side of Quinn. Jaesa eyed her wearily.

“Let him die,” she hissed at Quinn’s pale face.

“But, master-!“ Jaesa started.

“No buts!”

***

Jaesa jolted herself awake. She could hear Vette snoring across the room in her bunk. When sheer force of will didn’t send her back to dreamland, she decided to head to the storage space to make sure Broonmark was resting and not murdering Captain Quinn. Captain Quinn. She felt guilty about ignoring him. That had to be why he had taken the place of their replacement medic during their battles on Corellia. She sighed softly and turned the corner into the cargo bay.

Quinn was awake and organizing everything in sight. For the twelfth time. The other crew had long since gone to bed and Broonmark was nowhere in sight. All of them stayed out of his way. He had yet to figure out exactly how (not that it bothered him… much).

“Hey,” Jaesa said softly.

“Miss Jaesa,” he acknowledged. He continued his inventory of crafting materials, largely ignoring Jaesa’s presence. She softly padded into the room, wrapping her sleep robe around herself a bit tighter. She studied Quinn’s back quietly. His movements were imprecise and jerky. He seemed restless. She moved to a nearby crate to get a better look and sat down.

“Can’t sleep?” she asked softly.

He stared at her sidelong. “I don’t sleep most nights, Miss Jaesa. If I do sleep, I wake up screaming and alone. It’s not productive. I’m better off awake.”

“I had a bad dream myself,” she said as she fidgeted with her hands.

Quinn laughed harshly. Jaesa stared at him in surprise. She had never heard him laugh before. It sounded… angry, bitter. Hollow.

“You sound like you could use a hug,” she said gently.

“What I need is to be left alone,” he said lowly.

“It helps to have someone to talk to.”

He laughed again, setting down the demicot silk he was folding. He turned to face her, crossed his arms, and leaned his hip against the crate of silk.

“I have no one,” he said bitterly. “You’re only here to assuage your guilt from your cold brush off earlier today. Or yesterday.” He tilted his head to the side to calculate the time. He shook his head when nothing added up in a coherent manner.

She stared at him uneasily. His stance was strange and oddly… unprofessional. This wasn’t the Captain she was used to.

“I have no illusions about my status amongst the crew,” he continued. “To believe I am a treasured member is folly.”

“I’m sorry,” Jaesa said sincerely.

“Quiet,” he spat angrily, turning back to his organizing.

“I mean it Captain,” she said softly.

Quiet descended quickly. The only sounds echoing through the bay were the sounds of fabric being vigorously folded, shaken out, refolded, repeat. It dulled his senses to focus on one thing, one object at a time. No need to think. Fold, shake out, fold again. Fold, shake out, fold again. Fold, shake out, fold again.

“I had a dream you were on Corellia with us,” she said suddenly.

He paused his folding briefly. “And?”

“You died,” she said morosely. “I tried to figure out your probes, but you wouldn’t tell me how to work them.”

“Green button,” he said quietly.

“Yes, that’s what… Did you have a similar dream?”

He calculated his next move. “I know you were there, Jaesa. Don’t do it again.”

“I didn’t mean-“ she started.

“Of course you did!” he yelled, turning on her. He reached her in three short steps. “Do not do it again.”
He held her in place with a cold stare. She shivered and averted her eyes from his. He was frightening when he was worked up like this. She had seen him get angry before, when he offed the Moff, but to have it turned on her personally… her blood ran cold.

“Now leave me, I need to concentrate,” he said lowly. He didn’t bother to look at her as she scurried from the room. Let her run. Let her run from his reality. At least one of them could get away. Secure in the knowledge that she was finally out of his hair, he continued his obsessive folding and unfolding. The only thing he focused on was the shifting fabric. Nothing else. No dreams. No memories. No guilt over being a bit rude to Jaesa. He should apologize. He tossed the fabric down with a resigned sigh. He had much to apologize for.

He left the cargo bay for the one room Jaesa would go when she was in a snit: the medical bay. She had locked the door with her private access code, but, as Captain, he could easily override it. He approached the door, raising his hand to knock politely when he felt it. She was pulling in the light side of the Force as she meditated. He released a shaky breath. It felt good. It was warm and comforting, something he hadn’t felt in so long. He pressed his forehead to the door and inhaled deeply. His thoughts were cleared, his stomach warm. He placed his hand against the door and exhaled. The more contact he had with the door, the calmer he felt.

Jaesa was aware of his presence at the door. She felt his small Force signature reach out to her own. She tugged it gently to the warmth of the light. It relented, if only a little, to her persistence. She smiled and he felt it. He felt her smile tingle against his skin.

“Jaesa,” he whispered to the door. “I’m sorry…”

“I know,” her voice echoed gently in his ears.

“Thank you.”

He left shortly thereafter to sleep. And he slept. Peacefully. Right through his shift. When he finally woke up, his datapad beeped with a message.

Heard you were finally sleeping. Don’t worry, covered your shift.
– Pierce

He arched an eyebrow at that. Strange.

Notes:

Thar was so cute of between Quinn and Jaesa.

Ok i know u said this but why would Syla leave Quinn to die. I mean I know Quinn try kill to her but I think she took to far on poor Quinn for light side sith. I think change her being dark if that how she going to conutie with it.

Just my oiption don't worry about it.

The italic text at the beginning is a dream Jaesa and Quinn shared.

Syla did dump nearly dead Quinn on Balmorra and I'll get to why soon (besides the obvious "You stabbed my back, you English pig dog!"). Even the nicest person in the world has a breaking point.