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The Alternate Universe Weekly Challenge Thread


elliotcat

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Lodestone: Turning Point. 1900 words. Standard implicit vague SW Act 3 spoilers.

 

 

 

Wake up. Inventory: normal sleeping clothes, mild aches here and there from the close-range engagement with the SIS sniper the previous day. Nothing that would slow him down. Surroundings, warmth behind him, lovely lean-muscled arms around him. Sounds, her breathing, and someone moving past in the hallway. Crew was already up.

 

He rested for a little while anyway. Work could wait a little while.

 

In time, though, he turned around. Without leaving the warm circle of her hold, of course. Her eyes opened as if she had been waiting for him all along. For a little while they just looked at each other. She ran a hand around to stroke his cheek and jaw. He leaned into it while trying not to break eye contact. He very much didn't want to break eye contact just then.

 

"I like waking up in your arms," he informed her.

 

She smiled drowsily. "I like it, too."

 

Alas, time to move. He pushed up to get closer to her. "Ready for the day?"

 

She looked thoughtfully at him. "Yes," she said after a few seconds.

 

He leaned into a slow kiss. "I'll be with you."

 

It was with some reluctance that he got moving; he followed Ruth out to join the crew at breakfast. Jaesa pulled her aside when that was done. Wynston settled at his console to skim Holonet and comms chatter until such time as he was called to work.

 

A long time later, he looked up and around. The ship was dead quiet; nobody had passed through in quite some time.

 

He found Pierce settled in the armory, checking weapons over. The big man grunted greeting.

 

"Are we moving today?" asked Wynston.

 

"Once the Wrath's ready," said Pierce. "She's in the conference room. Goin' in there would be hazardous to your health."

 

He cocked an eyebrow. "Why?"

 

"Don't know. I only know the degrees of worried Jaesa gives off. Max power and humming when she stepped out of there."

 

"I see. Thank you." That sounded bad, and so naturally Wynston made straight for the conference room.

 

He found Ruth was sitting at the head of the conference table. She had been crying. She was staring intently at a small holoprojection of a recording of Wynston himself facing Quinn.

 

Quinn's image spoke. "My feelings for the Wrath are less conditional than you seem to think, agent."

 

She tapped the console. The recording skipped.

 

"Do you have any idea what you did to her?"

 

"More than you could know."

 

Skip.

 

"You must convince her to allow me to serve."

 

Skip.

 

"Jaesa recorded it," Wynston said quietly. "Prudent."

 

"Yes," she said distantly, not looking at him. "She thinks ahead."

 

"I do hope she succeeds," said Quinn's image. "I hope that when your operation ends and you have no further use for her, your disappearance from her side will cause her less distress than mine did. I have not forgotten that the closest she ever came to defeat was in one of your operations based on your faulty intelligence. If you are all the servant she is to have, you had better start living up to your own opinion of yourself. Do not fail her again."

 

Skip.

 

"It isn't what he says about you," she said leadenly. "Just the way he says it. He was that passionate all the time. He sounds so much like he cares."

 

"If you've only ever learned one act, you get to be good at it."

 

"I wanted him."

 

"I know."

 

She wiped her eyes. "This is why you were angry last night."

 

"Yes." He took a step closer. "Ruth, I told him I would talk to you, and here I am to say that no good can come of his survival. He'll only repeat the one lie he's got, and it'll only keep tearing you up."

 

She stiffened. "Should I feel better if he's dead?"

 

"It will hurt. I know that. But you've got to remove the blade before the wound can heal."

 

"You're less interested in that than in revenge."

 

As she would be if she were hard enough to really understand the concept, and for once he thought she could use that level of hardness. "Revenge by itself is a waste, but with some people you'll find it becomes a very satisfying thing to layer onto threat elimination."

 

"I'm not eliminating him." Her eyes finally moved up to him while the rest of her stayed still. "This isn't open for discussion. He will not die by my hand or yours."

 

"He doesn't deserve that mercy."

 

Her lip curled. "I thought you people wanted me to stay merciful."

 

"Not with him! He'll only come after you again sooner or later. We both know he doesn't give up at anything once he's sunk his claws in."

 

"You don't know anything. You haven't understood a thing he was doing or saying since day one." She lifted her chin and took on that air of command she used on other people. "This isn't something you talk me into, by argument or by charm, so don't try."

 

Her insistence was too cold to be childish, too childish to be cold, and too much of both to be anything he thought she would've called love for Quinn. Love, as had amply been demonstrated of late, was simply that which made a mark act against its own best interests; Wynston never thought it would look this harsh from her.

 

With an effort he got a hold of himself. "I didn't mean to presume, darling. I'm sorry. If you could see the hurt on your own face right now you would understand. We all hate seeing it. And he's the one who did it to you."

 

"Then he's mine to deal with. Isn't he."

 

He shouldn't keep talking. She was only getting more defensive. "He's a monster and still a threat," he said.

 

Her whole face twisted. "I know what he is! Better than you ever did, better than you ever will, no matter how hard you're trying to be a point-for-point replacement!"

 

"I'm not a replacement," Wynston said, with more calm than he felt. "For one thing, I'm here–"

 

"To do a job, you've said repeatedly. I'm on good terms with your masters so far. Shall we just hope that continues?"

 

"I told you they're not my masters anymore. Neither they nor anyone can make me hurt you."

 

"And I'll believe you just because you're good to me? Because I want to? You think I'm that stupid?"

 

He didn't have proof of his goodwill. There was none he could have and they both knew it. "You're not stupid, Ruth. Believe me because what we've given each other is real. When I'm with you–"

 

"You enjoy it, I'm sure." Her lip twitched again. "So do I. I can't think straight when you get close, you know that. But you're not controlling me, Wynston, not in anything. Especially something you understand as little as this."

 

How could she be that willfully wrong? "I understand he tried to kill you. How can anything else matter?"

 

"You don't get to ask that question! I won't take his offer if that's what you're worried about. But you don't get to harm him." Her gaze flicked back to the frozen holorecording. She activated it again.

 

"My understanding of the matter isn't in question," said Wynston's image.

 

"Quite right," said Quinn. "It's no use questioning what isn't there."

 

She stopped playback. "You sounded like you care, too," she said.

 

"Yes. I do."

 

"I want to believe you." Her blue eyes sparked when she looked up at him. "But that's attachment, isn't it? You're good at this. The comfort's been nice. Perhaps I needed it. Now it's time for you to get out."

 

His stomach turned inside out. "No," he heard himself say. "Don't ask me to leave you." He started towards her, struggling to marshal an argument centered on her. "Don't try to do this alone."

 

The force on his throat ended his progress and shoved him backwards. "Stop trying to manipulate me," she spat. "Get out and don't come back."

 

The only manipulation he was trying was for the good. He wanted to argue he wasn't trying to manipulate at all. He was trying to…he stopped. Save? Patronizing. Love? Irrevocable. Help? Not enough. Not nearly enough.

 

"You take direction so well when it's something you want," she said in a low hard voice. The next Force shove slammed into his heart and propelled him almost to the door, leaving him to stagger the last couple of steps. "You're so kind when I do what you say. So sweet as long as I act like the harmless child you enjoyed."

 

"Ruth, I care for you any way at all."

 

"I care enough to repeat, get out. That's the last chance you get."

 

It took everything he had to step backwards and let the door fall shut between them.

 

He stood still for a few moments. He felt dizzy for no good reason. There was almost nothing he could do. But he had to do something. Perhaps a quick walk over, around the corner, and he could end the source of the seeping poison. It would destroy all hope of going back, but in the end it would be better for her.

 

Except that her hate would remain for Intelligence and the new organization, too. The Wrath might come around to stability, but she would never be their ally. It'd be a failure of one mission and total prevention of many more. And it was the mission that mattered. Yes. The mission.

 

Fool. If he was going to pretend this was about the mission he should've sent Vector. Or any other Cipher Keeper could direct his way. Or anybody at all, because if Ruth was going to lash so hard at anyone who came, it would've been better for the person who came to not care.

 

He went back to Ruth's quarters and picked up his bag. He was always packed to move.

 

He ran into Vette on his way back out. "Uh, hi," said the Twi'lek, eyeing his luggage. "You going somewhere?"

 

"Yes." He kept his voice cool and steady. "I'm glad I caught you first, I'll need your holofrequency."

 

"Oh, no. You're not leaving now. There's still more crazy than me and Jaesa can beat."

 

"I'm not being given a choice. Give me your holofrequency, I'll be in touch." He spoke quickly to discourage the hurt she was doing a good job of not showing anywhere but in her eyes. "I'm not giving up, Vette."

 

"Yeah," she said in her flat unconvinced tone. "Well, look on the bright side. You're better off than the last guy she dumped." She took out her holo and tapped it. "Call any time you want, as long as it's soon."

 

He hurried out of the suddenly stifling ship into the hangar bay. His mind raced along safe colorless practical lines. He'd better get back to his own ship. Pick up any extra gear he needed. Continue the situational monitoring he had started. The Wrath still had a job to do and he had to help. It wasn't in his nature to do anything else.

 

 

 

 

 

Oh, hi, Ruth's sore spot. (She really liked waking up with Quinn, too.) And hi, just enough personal anger to make Wynston push beyond the limits suggested by caution. And hi, suspicion and parallels coming to the forefront the moment she's steady enough to feel she can reject support.

 

Also hi, Jaesa probably meaning to highlight Wynston's defense and ending up underestimating Ruth's continued attachment to the person she is very very angry at.

 

This might be the hardest piece of fic I've ever written.

 

 

 

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Lodestone: Do the Math - Subtraction. Woo, advanced math. 800 words.

 

 

 

She just let the recording loop for a while. Jaesa had told her she should see this conversation. What Jaesa hadn't said was that this was Wynston going behind Ruth's back at the first opportunity. How excited the Chiss was. And how terribly, terribly determined Quinn was.

 

He always had been. The passion, the focus, the arrogant way he stepped in because there was simply no one who could do it better. She hated that. Near the end it hadn't been so arrogant at all, just…right. She hated that, too.

 

Damn Wynston. Damn him for being here, for being determined, for being almost perfect only to turn around and start making demands. He didn't have any right to meddle in Ruth's affairs, with the father of her child least of all. Quinn was a traitor, a liar, a threat and a thief, but even so, even knowing she had to cut him out of her life the moment his master was eliminated, she couldn't lose him to such a final thing as death. And it didn't matter how much Wynston offered her if he was just going to turn it to whatever murky combination of his precious job and his patent grudges he was angling for.

 

She pulled herself together before anyone else could barge in. Time to go, before someone else decided an intervention was a good idea.

 

She barged out to the refresher and scrubbed her face raw. In time she gave up on waiting for the tears to stop. It would all go under a mask anyway.

 

What she had been delaying all morning was the search for the Sith Entity. Once it was cut away from Baras, Vowrawn had – not said, but heavily implied – that she could turn her attention to Baras himself. Damn heavy implications, too. She wanted straight answers.

 

She headed out to the hallway; Vette was loitering near the ship's exit.

 

"Oh," said the Twi'lek, looking almost suspiciously neutral. "Hi."

 

"We're going," said Ruth.

 

"No Chiss-boy?"

 

"He's out," she growled.

 

"Huh. I kinda thought so. You know that you're kind of an idiot?"

 

"Door's right there if you want to join him."

 

"Looks to me like we're all going out that way. It's the same fight waiting."

 

"No, it isn't. It never was."

 

"You do know he really really likes you?"

 

Jaesa and Pierce finally showed up, drawn by the sounds of conversation. Broonmark ghosted behind them. Ruth steeled herself for the next round.

 

"It's time to go," she said, turning for the door.

 

"Where's Wynston?" asked Jaesa.

 

"He won't be returning. Come on."

 

Jaesa paled. And, to Ruth's chagrin, took a step toward the conference door as if expecting to find him in there.

 

"What's wrong with you?" snapped Ruth. "He's fine, he just left. We're going."

 

"What happened?"

 

"I saw what you wanted me to see, Jaesa, and I talked it over with him. We had some differences regarding how the captain is to be disposed of. At my suggestion Wynston left."

 

"I just wanted you to know what was going on while you were out. I wanted you to see how he was sticking up for you."

 

"I did."

 

"Then she got an attack of the stupid," said Vette, "and kicked him out."

 

"Why are you on his side?" demanded Ruth.

 

"Beeecause he's on your side?" said Vette. "And I'm on your side. It's a big side. Good for a whole crowd when you're not kicking people off it."

 

"Silence." Vette had always taken Wynston's part anyway. She probably liked the company of fellow judgmental whiners. "Lieutenant, we've got more tracking to do today. Any word from Vowrawn's people?"

 

Pierce nodded, ready as ever for business to start. "Couple of messages came in this morning, milord. We have a starting point for looking. Still quite a few Republic blocks between us and anything that might help."

 

"We know what to do with those." She shot Vette and Jaesa dark looks before slipping her close black mask on. "Follow my lead. Let's play it quick and as clean as we can. We're after answers today, not fights." Because she could do that to get this over with. Get the Entity over with, get all of it over with, just get it done, finished, Baras and Quinn and all the rest. She didn't even want blood right now, she just wanted an end.

 

And she could play it clean. She didn't need Wynston around to get things right. She could be something that was neither as pliable as the ingénue he was hallucinating nor as ugly as the butcher he was mad at. And she could do it without the string-laced help he offered.

 

*

 

Ruth made little progress that day. She kept herself under control, even if she wasn't cordial about it. When she returned to the ship that evening she found her room as she had left it, minus one bag: clean and bare but for her own possessions in the half of the room she had kept for herself the whole time. She should have kept more.

 

It was a relief to sense no one else nearby when she lay down. It was simpler this way. Cold, difficult, but simpler. No surprises.

 

 

 

 

 

Vette gets math points for the transitive property: if a = b and c = b then a = c. a, b, and c are all on the same side of this fight.

 

 

Edited by bright_ephemera
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And Lodestone: Do the Math – Parallel. This runs right alongside Subtraction. Agent endgame spoilers. 1700 words.

 

 

 

 

Wynston kept a stiff upper lip on his way through the spaceport concourse. There was work to do and he couldn't afford to sabotage it further through another lapse in self-control.

 

He shouldn't have pushed. He shouldn't have challenged her, not on anything that wasn't absolutely critical, not while things were so delicate. It was just that he thought they were working well together. She was so reasonable about everything else, just not Quinn.

 

Then again, hadn't that always been the way?

 

Enough. He should check his correspondence. Call Vector, see that the Tenebrous was prepared for when Wynston…finished? Gave up? For when his business on Corellia was concluded. See that Ensign Temple was staying out of trouble; he still hadn't decided what to do with that sometimes alarmingly by-the-book creature now that he was going off the books entirely. Check in with Keeper.

 

Find someplace to dance and drink.

 

Stupid idea, that. Too much to do. He had a lot to catch up on and then he had to negotiate a re-approach. Ruth knew she could trust him, and he knew she knew it. It was just a matter of…of something. Getting over the defenses again. Finding the right leverage. It wasn't enough to just be himself, cute though that idea seemed. It never had been enough, never would be, and he was old enough to know that.

 

There was a way to fix this. There had to be.

 

Don't draw rash conclusions from what had happened back there. Think clearly, dammit, if he had to think on the subject at all. Rejection was nothing new. This one hadn't even involved knives, projectiles, or legal action; it should be easy. So much for the girl, move on. The only matter left to resolve was the job. If support was required for any practical end, there were ways. He considered. Extravagant repentance involving gifts and flowers, not likely to work. Torrid forceful approach, definitely ineffective. Crawling servility she wouldn't accept. Straightforward professionalism with a brief apology for trying to make it personal, she wouldn't go for it even if he could stomach saying it. She didn't think she needed professionals.

 

None of the scripts were likely to work, and going off script had made her suddenly decide he was being manipulative. He was out of tricks. Time to send in a contrasting agent to take over the op? He didn't have a whole lot to draw from. And nobody else knew her, her strengths and weaknesses, the things he couldn't just put into a briefing and the things he wouldn't. Nobody else would be there for her sake such that they could come close to the transparency that would keep her from shutting them out.

 

Right. Because his honesty had been so bloody effective.

 

What the hell was it about Quinn that had set her off like that? Even she had to know that Quinn's continued existence was a bad thing. Wynston couldn't just pretend otherwise. If he had registered the opinion and then just stopped pushing…that would've been the smart thing to do. Don't let anything, even something that significant, get in the way of the op.

 

"Op" didn't feel like the right word, but he wasn't ready to deal with that yet. Instead, as he reached his own hangar, he turned his attention to the perimeter and ship-exterior check: nothing new or unusual. A little wear showing on the ship's underside; he made a note to have that looked at. For that matter it had been a while since the auxiliary power system had gotten a once-over; he should look up whatever Fixer Keeper could recommend as non-Sith-owned and have them take a look. Yes. And, on the topic of keeping the ship in order, he made a note to restore Imperial ration type D bars to the droid's regular supply shopping list. Kaliyo had hated the stuff, hated even the smell of it, to the point where she'd made a policy of throwing any such ration bar she could find directly at Wynston's head until he gave up trying to stock it. Well, she was gone and he could have them back now.

 

He wished his own base didn't have these associations. It left very few safe topics to think about.

 

He made a round of the ship's interior, not really doing anything, just checking that everything was as he expected. Then he headed to the holo to make a call.

 

"Keeper," he drawled as soon as she came up, "you're a sight for sore eyes."

 

"Cipher," she said crisply. "How are you liking Corellia?"

 

"About as much as I did the first time around," he said. Pyromaniac bosses and torture interrogations had been bad for his physical health, but at least they hadn't been personal.

 

"I'm sorry to hear that." As well she might be, given whose idea the interrogation plant had been. "Any progress securing an alliance with the Wrath?"

 

Steady, he reminded himself. "It's touch and go. Her attention is fully occupied in the Sith infighting game, tearing down Darth Baras's people." Then, the number one takeaway he had to hand Intelligence so it wouldn't actively line up contingency plans for an uncontrolled power as big as the Wrath: "I'll have something by the time he's down. She is understandably gunshy, it may take time."

 

"Time isn't on our side. Matters with the Dark Council are moving quickly. There's a short list of targets I'd like to point her at if we get the chance. But of course Baras comes first."

 

"Absolutely." After that it was Ruth's call. He wasn't going to tell Keeper that right away. "In the absence of any better way to prove our goodwill, I'm working on resolving the Baras situation as fast as possible. Keep me informed as to what resources you can scramble on Corellia without bothering your own neighborhood Sith."

 

She sighed. "That may as well be nothing, but I'll do what I can."

 

He cracked a smile. "I know you will. I can tease what I need out of my own neighborhood Sith, so don't let my priority weight interfere with holding the rest of your duties together." It wasn't like anything she could arrange for him could change the part that mattered to him anyway.

 

"You know, when you move on I'm going to miss having an agent as low-maintenance as you," she said.

 

"You can call anytime. Not many people get to do that, you know. At least, not many I'd pick up for."

 

That finally got a returning smile, albeit an anxious one. "I'll call if I have to. Otherwise I expect your attention is needed more in the field."

 

The conversation wandered to lesser logistical details for a little while; then, eventually, he bid Keeper farewell and ended the transmission. There. That was one person who thought he had it together. The knowledge that someone was falling for it made him feel better.

 

Now for Vector. The Joiner couldn't see his aura over holo, and if Wynston was careful he was pretty sure his aura was the only thing that betrayed disquietude.

 

Vector picked up the holocall in short order. "Wynston," he said warmly, or as warmly as he ever said anything. "We hope the situation has improved on Corellia since your last visit."

 

"The Empire appears to be slightly worse off than it was," Wynston said levelly. That applied to the larger strategic situation, too. "I'm working on it."

 

"We would be glad to join you. Our vacation, while pleasant, has done very little to improve matters for others."

 

"No. If you're going back to work I need you on the Tenebrous getting things in order for when my assignment here is finished."

 

"Ah. And how is the Wrath? She seemed nearly as popular with rival forces as we were on Voss."

 

Of course Vector would think to ask. He, being both decent and sane, genuinely liked her. Which made evasions feel a little wrong. "She's getting by." Not so wrong that Wynston wouldn't give them. "Darth Baras isn't pulling his punches, but he can't keep this up forever, not at the rate we're hitting his power base." Never mind the absence of apparent progress over the past three days. "She's cautious about newcomers right now, which is why I think you're better off elsewhere. I can say hello for you, though."

 

"Please do. We look forward to seeing her in less stressful times."

 

"Don't we all." Wynston steered the conversation away then, to Vector's off time, to plans for the Tenebrous, to the changes in operation that would happen when Wynston was fully set up with an out-of-the-way base of operations and a disguise generator that would let him remove the last trace of himself from his dealings. Good material, all of it. Promising. Disappearing sounded really good.

 

When he was satisfied with all that, he cut the line. That made two people he could still work normally with. Now it was time to get to his own task, identifying and removing major elements of Baras's support. He wanted to be near Ruth for it. That, he reminded himself sternly, was impossible. The only thing he could do was help with the job.

 

*

 

The following morning: wake up. Inventory: normal sleeping clothes. Pain: heavy, choking. Spiking now that he was paying attention to it. Nothing physical. Nothing that would slow…nothing that would…nothing that would slow him down, idiot, he was perfectly capable of finishing that sentence, he lied for a living. Move on. Surroundings, his own room, cool, clean. Sounds, nothing at all.

 

Ruth, his brain added unhelpfully, missing. In pain, hiding all her brilliance and warmth, and definitely, emphatically not wanting him. Himself, torn. He had opened up to her for a few short moments, more than he had to anyone since he was half this age and a thousand times this stupid. And she had tugged it all out, demanded more, taken a hard look, and decided she didn't want it. Necessity had driven him to perform a dazzling variety of chemical and surgical operations on himself in the past, but he didn't know how to stitch himself back up this time.

 

Stop it. Irrelevant to the status report, to side support activities, and to leisure prospects. Not actionable. Move on.

 

He moved.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Vector's the bestest. And, I think, still makes for the best life partner Wynston could possibly have. Sorry, ladies. And, of course, sorry, Quinn. :p

 

Wynston has a limited set of problem-solving tools. I mean, it's an extensive spread for the job, but he doesn't do not-job. Just simulated not-job. It gets difficult when that proves to be insufficient.

 

 

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"That sounded bad, and so naturally Wynston made straight for the conference room."
Never let it be said that Wynston is the type to shy away from explosive situations, but :(
"It wasn't enough to just be himself, cute though that idea seemed. It never had been enough, never would be, and he was old enough to know that."
And this level of matter-of-fact cynicism is sad. Wynston never does get to be himself - it's always who he needs to be.
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Lodestone: Goals and Ambitions, 1000 words.

 

The timeline to date (this accumulates fast when it's my only active project):

 

 

Short Fic Thread leadup (Ruth!verse canon):

L-3: Kaliyo's personal quest blows up

L-3: Wynston calls Ruth

L-2: Wynston talks with Keeper and the Minister (in Lodestone, this occurs while Wynston has queries out for the action that kicks off his AU)

AU thread:

L: Faith, Hope and , in which Wynston catches up with Ruth

L: The dream changes

L+1: Wynston talks to the crew

L+1: Wynston sees DS Ruth in action and calls her on it

L+2: Ruth leaves Wynston behind

L+2: Quinn proposes something to Wynston

L+2: Ruth and Wynston get cozy

L+3: Ruth takes exception to Wynston's recommendations

L+3: Ruth alone, day 1

L+3: Wynston alone, day 1

L+4 and change: Ruth alone, days 2 and then some

L+4 and change: Wynston alone, days 2 and then some

 

 

 

 

 

There was little Ruth could do. She avoided Vette's accusations and Jaesa's efforts to talk. Darth Vowrawn's people were actively investigating the next target; her own skills weren't in intelligence gathering. She spent days building alliances with middling level Sith Lords and with Vowrawn himself, doing favors by virtue of the firepower that few others could match. Monsters and Imperial loyalists alike, she made connections, laid preparations for the future. These alliances would be important as she took her place in the upper echelons of Sith society.

 

It felt cold. She held it together, for her friends' sake, for the sake of the self that her father had always encouraged her to preserve in clarity. It was all…necessary, she supposed. If nothing else, she had to arrange for her child to be born in safety. No one else was going to care about it as much as she did.

 

She shouldn't talk to Quinn. She had already interrogated him on the history of his use of her. The reasons for betraying her, despite her vocation, the one they were supposed to have shared. There was nothing more to say. As soon as his master Baras was dead and he had no further orders to harm her she would return him to military service. He was a great soldier. He always had been. The Empire could use him. He just had to be away from her.

 

She was curious on one point.

 

He shot to his feet and bowed when she came to his cell in the cargo hold. "My lord."

 

"Sit down, captain. My answer to your request is no." She would have none of his support in the planning and execution of the coming days. Or ever.

 

"Ah." He sat gingerly on the sole bunk. "I must confess I'm surprised the question reached you."

 

"Jaesa made sure of it. Did you know you had an audience?"

 

"I expected I might."

 

"Why did you insist on picking that fight? You already knew I have no further use for you." Bastard. But an oddly insistent one.

 

"I wish to assist. You've forbidden me to give the reason, my lord." That was as close to a claim of love as it was physically safe for him to make and they both knew it. Maybe part of her still wanted the assurance. "I have said it is your strength that will shape the battles to come. I do not wish for your cause to be lost now."

 

Well. As she had expected. Time to give him the treatment he had earned. "Your wishes mean nothing."

 

"Of that I am aware." He looked at her in that way she loved, intense, questioning, the way that threatened to overwhelm her senses every time. "I can still aid your cause."

 

"It's too late for that," she told her world, and turned away.

 

"Don't trust him." He almost choked on the words as she reached the door. "A man who serves that many masters is of no use to any of them."

 

"You would know. That threshold starts at two, captain."

 

"I'll tolerate that comparison if it forces you to see him for what he is."

 

"You'll tolerate anything I dictate," she snapped, "or had you forgotten your position?"

 

"No, my lord," he said, subdued. "I have not forgotten."

 

She left, and felt her head clearing even as she stepped out the door.

 

That hadn't been very helpful. Nor very smart.

 

Funny, that even after everything that had happened Quinn still both hid himself and evaluated others in terms of master and servant. While Wynston was unrelenting in his pursuit of the mission, it always seemed he answered to no authority beyond his idea of right. What was more certain, between him and Ruth there had never been a master, nor any pretense of one.

 

Odd, that. The Empire bowed to Sith. She received deference by default from Force-blinds. Coming as she did from a very informal household, she liked encouraging ordinary citizens to treat her as an equal, but only a few close friends really tried that. Vette. Jaesa. Sometimes Pierce.

 

Wynston.

 

Hell, the reason she had gotten to know him was that his reaction, upon finishing some day labor outside Kaas City, was to ask the strange Sith out to dinner. She had often wondered whether it was just that he wanted the notch on his bedpost. It hadn't felt like that. It never felt like that with him.

 

It must have been terribly easy to play on her feelings.

 

She liked him as he had been between lectures the last few days. Cool and expert in support, warm and…almost tentative…when they were alone. Tentative wasn't quite the word. He really seemed to be trying to express something he hadn't shown her before. He gave her answers, like Quinn hadn't, like every Sith she'd ever met hadn't. He gave her what she craved and truly seemed to like it.

 

He knew just how to get to her. And she wanted the illusion he offered, wanted it so much it hurt. If only he could keep it perfect, not let the real parts of his agenda show through.

 

As the days passed she had to admit that she would throw everything away if he would only keep that illusion whole.

 

But self-preservation had held, and he was gone. There was little more she could do. She avoided Vette's accusations and Jaesa's efforts to talk. Darth Vowrawn's people were actively investigating the next target; her own skills weren't in intelligence gathering. She spent days building alliances with middling level Sith Lords and with Vowrawn himself, doing favors by virtue of the firepower that few others could match. Monsters and Imperial loyalists alike, she made connections, laid preparations for the future. These alliances would be important as she took her place in the upper echelons of Sith society.

 

It felt cold. She held it together, for her friends' sake, for the sake of the self that her dead father had always encouraged her to preserve in clarity. It was all…necessary, she supposed.

 

 

Edited by bright_ephemera
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Lodestone: Communication Breakdown. Thinking through this stuff depresses me (is method writing a thing? like method acting?), so I want to offer some more cheerful material courtesy of the inimitable kabeone. Inspired by a picture of a very happy turtle, we have a reminder that Wynston has tackled wonderful impossible things before and will very likely do so, and prevail, again:

 

 

http://i.chzbgr.com/completestore/2012/2/8/14e2819a-27c8-43a6-b01a-3b640aafba2d.jpghttp://24.media.tumblr.com/ed052f39cb6af0ec8ceb34ba8b344f45/tumblr_mexouzZQd71rc6qsko1_400.png

 

 

 

Now, the story! 800 words.

 

 

 

He moved. In the confused hierarchies of Sith forces and regular military suddenly burdened with hundreds of haphazardly placed Intelligence émigrés, it was possible for a fast talker with a high clearance to get more information than he gave and then get out without having to actually take on assignments from anyone. Nobody was happy to see him – most assumed he was a taskmaster sent by new military or Sith authority to inspect the new operations and deal out punishment – but they really didn't have to be happy to see him. That wasn't the point.

 

Queries out. Rumors in. Small favors given. Small blackmail scraps gathered. The little transactions Corellia could so richly provide. Nothing was direct here, nothing certain. He could play those difficulties. What he wanted was information on closed spaces, stable in ownership for at least a couple of decades, that Baras or his proxies consistently defended or showed interest in. He let slip, by means not likely to be traced back to his face, that some powerful treasure of Baras's was on planet, ripe for the taking; a few middling-level Sith Lords were seeded with the word. Let them help in the search; either they would weaken Baras's forces in finding it or they would die in getting close to it, and some degree of location fix could be acquired either way.

 

He sought out the most crowded of cantinas in which to take his meals, but he ate alone. Socializing with strangers was too much right now. He knew his limits, if only by the sound they made on the too-frequent occasions he went sailing past them.

 

Time, space. Perspective. These would make matters easier. Wynston had gotten too invested in the job, or else picked up a job where he was too invested to wisely start, and either way, giving himself some distance while maintaining acceptable work throughput was the thing to do. He had told Ruth he would help; they hadn't exactly signed promises but at a minimum it seemed prudent to help her clear Baras out. That seemed like a solid basis for future work with Intelligence and the new organization.

 

He would transition Vector onto the job. She would understand. No ambiguity that way; she wasn't likely to accuse Vector of having dark personal motives. The man invited trust. Far more than a member of a potentially competing civilization's hive mind ought to. That was in no way a bitter observation; it was just one of the amazing things about Vector. Furthermore he was the one for long-term arrangements such as Intelligence wanted with the Wrath. Vector wasn't one to show up, strike, and vanish; he kept one name, one persona, and used it to build truly lasting relationships and alliances.

 

Wynston wasn't the one for trust, not in the long run.

 

So there was a plan in place. Short-term delivery. Transition to an appropriate contact. Long-term cooperation via the liaison she wouldn't blow up at. She would be fine. She would be fine.

 

This hadn't started as a job. Somehow it had turned into one. That had seemed right, it was what she expected, what got her to let him in. It was the thing he could do. It was what worked. Now he doubted there was anything he could say to change it back.

 

Well, he could guess at what to say. It was just that he was pretty sure she would say no.

 

The more he tried to push the thought of her away the more the scent of her haunted him, a whisper of leather and lilies, slamming his thoughts for fractions of a second any time he turned his head. The bright-eyed thoughtful and not at all derisive way she looked at him when he laid out what he was thinking. The way she moved with him, subtle and natural whenever they were in the same room, like a dance partner who'd been practicing with him every day since the first time he'd coaxed her onto the floor.

 

The look on her face when she snarled that he was trying to control her.

 

If he kept it a job he could fix it. He would get a usable lead for Ruth's crew, and then he would call Vector in and move on. Women had stayed on his mind before; it would fade. Once he got started the small unique beauties of other people would crowd it out, remove it to the considerable hall of things past their time and past their power to hurt.

 

Days. Queries out. Rumors in. Small favors given. Small blackmail scraps gathered. Rivals manipulated into doing his scouting for him. Time, space. Perspective. Walking wounded was half the fun. It kept things interesting. He still wasn't used to falling asleep alone.

 

 

Edited by bright_ephemera
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Poor Ruth :( The ability to trust is so hard to regain once it's been shattered, especially for people who refuse not to see reality. And poor Wynston. Him dealing with this emotion thing is so sad and sweet. Just want to hug him. (The reminder that he's good with impossible stuff made me grin. Kabe's pics are always awesome :D)
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Yay Wynston! You save the galaxy ?3? times you can work through feelings I know you can.

 

Feelings make total sense! You pick out or induce them as necessary or fun, enjoy them in small intense doses, then get the hell out of Dodge because oh hi there are very interesting things to do elsewhere. At any time, the mildest difficulty is cause to find an alternate solution to the problem at hand then skip right to getting out of Dodge.

 

Ruth's the one being unreasonable here, being all herself and stuff. And inducing mush in a very careless inconsiderate way. That's just not playing fair.

 

I never wrote up Wynston's first three galaxy-saving ventures. In fact, I had no idea they'd even happened until while I was writing RMC's final scene. Author favorite? Who? Huh?

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Archives and indexes up to date.

 

@Striges Perfect Darmas. I like the idea of Darmas and Rixik circling each other sniffing each other out and Rixik allowing Darmas to think he's jealous and possessive. I also find it pretty interesting that Rixik realizes Darmas is out of his league.

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Lodestone: Life and Death. Because this one Warrior NPC always reminds me of life and death. Sith Warrior Corellia spoiler setting. 550 words.

 

 

 

Another special shuttle. They seemed to have more shuttles off the books than on these days, and there were enough on the books to carry out on full-scale war. The rest constituted the most turbulent, noisy, comedically high-profile shadow war Wynston had ever observed, and he'd been on Nar Shaddaa during Hutt flare-ups.

 

See? Right there. Perspective. Also she was doing fine. Someone would've called if she weren't.

 

The shuttle's chosen landing spot confirmed the area of interest that had come up amidst the grasping Sith Lords' investigations. Wynston still wasn't entirely sure what was arriving. So, as it came in for a landing, he went to find out.

 

He made his way up the huge block of a Corellian skyscraper to the rooftop where the shuttle was set to land. There were guards on every level; Wynston kept his stealth generator up and his movements quiet.

 

The shuttle that touched down was blatantly emblazoned with Sith emblems: no specific office, but the thing was made to look Distinguished. The ramp hissed and lowered, revealing a tall, broad-shouldered man. Bald. Robed. Cyborg, more by way of repair than of choice judging by the scarring. Very slightly stiff carriage, but he carried a lightsaber; combat capability should not be discounted.

 

Wynston had minimal chance to evaluate that. As the guards came forward to challenge the newcomer, said newcomer waved one hand and swept them like so many leaves off the edge of the roof, multiple meters away.

 

Hm. One of those types.

 

Wynston trailed at a distance as the Sith stalked downstairs, wordlessly flattening anyone who got in his way, ignoring the rest. Once on the street he made straight for one particular building within Wynston's marked area of interest: a broad one, low by Corellian standards, and currently guarded by some of the regular troops earmarked by Baras.

 

Noted.

 

Wynston headed to an out-of-the-way corner, released stealth, and called Vette. The Twi'lek answered oddly quickly.

 

But when she spoke, of course, her voice was bored. "You. Up to anything fun lately? If so, please share, the Wrath's been kind of a drag."

 

"I witnessed an interesting landing. Individual agent, cyborg. Big. Sith. Powerful in the Force. I have every reason to believe he's Baras's and he's heading for a location that I have reason to believe houses your Sith Entity."

 

Vette's look turned appraising. "Out of curiosity. Do you actually have hobbies?"

 

"Helping my friends remove murderous neighbors is a perfectly valid pastime."

 

"Uh-huh. Well, send me the coords, I'll let her know. We'll see you there, right?"

 

"I was going to scout in the area, keep things clear for you, and stay out of the way." he said. "Wynston out."

 

He didn't want to show his face around Ruth; nor did she want to see it. He could still help. Store up at least a little goodwill to hand off to Vector or someone she could stand to talk to. He couldn't get on site to rig the battlefield, not with the cyborg there, but he could keep the perimeter clear. And if things got bad, he could step in to bring some attacks to bear on the big guy. The Sith had been pretty heavily modified, enough that anti-droid equipment might be appropriate. Necessary, even; Wynston needed every advantage he could get against Force users.

 

He turned his steps toward the spaceport. Time to grab the appropriate gear and get to work. Everything was clearer now that the objective was in sight.

 

 

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Lodestone: Deadly Sins – Wrath. There's a lot of places this sin could suit; this entry will do. Sith Warrior Corellia spoiler setting. 1200 words.

 

 

 

"And you got this information where?" Ruth said sharply.

 

Vette stuck out her chin. "Anonymous tip."

 

Ruth scowled and gestured. "Is 'Anonymous' about yea tall, dark blue hair, in the employ of a highly questionable organization?"

 

"Might be a trap," said Pierce, "but not likely. Any tip's better than none at the rate we've been going, milord."

 

"It's Wynston. It's not a trap," said Jaesa.

 

Ruth hadn't exactly left him good reason to want to work with her. Then again, the job was the one thing he never gave up on.

 

What job, though?

 

No. She already knew she was going to investigate this possible Entity location. She called Darth Vowrawn, arranged the rendezvous, and hit the road.

 

With Vowrawn and her crew she entered a broad, relatively squat building in Corellia's government district. She descended with them into a sub-basement, where they found an enormous hall, lavishly draped yet bare of furniture.

 

In a column of red light hovered a woman's figure, an image that absorbed the light and released nothing but a velvety heat of Dark Side energy.

 

"Is she not beautiful?" Vowrawn said happily.

 

"I've never sensed anything like it," Ruth admitted.

 

The answering voice seemed to rasp from multiple directions at once. "Come closer. You are here to aid. Baras knows. I cannot resist." Her captor sensed that so soon? "I am bound. Every extraction pains. If you fail, he will punish me. For welcoming you."

 

Ruth wouldn't let that happen. Not to another.

 

"Don't fear, Entity," said Vowrawn. "The trial is over. I know the incantation. Now it is a simple matter."

 

"No. You do not understand. We are not alone."

 

Ruth and Vowrawn turned in unison toward the newcomer they sensed. A big man, seemingly more cybernetics than flesh, but something of his ruined face was familiar.

 

He extended a hand and Vowrawn simply crumpled under a cloud of red painful even to Force sense.

 

"At last," said the cyborg, and the voice was that of Baras's old apprentice Lord Draahg. "I've caught up to you again. I told you, I cannot be killed."

 

She didn't know how he was back. She had killed him on Hoth, after he had announced Baras's displeasure with her. She couldn't let fear cloud her senses now. Sheer returning arrogance seemed to be the way to go. "Are you not tired of failing yet?"

 

"Pain sustains me," he said thickly. "I ate of suffering as you watched me burn. I drank of anguish as Baras rebuilt me. My eyes are no longer flesh. I see in a new way now. And the sight of you sickens and delights me."

 

"Hm. I can return half of that."

 

"In minutes the great Darth Vowrawn and his hard-won knowledge will disintegrate. Then the Entity will forever be in Baras's control."

 

"Truth," grated the Entity. "The death field is powered by the machinery of Draahg's."

 

"But I'm forgetting myself," added Draahg. His face twisted and puckered around the dark cybernetics when she smiled. "Your father sends his regards. I must say, he didn't put up a very impressive fight."

 

Her heart seized up. By arrogance alone the statement might just have been a taunting lie, but she felt truth in it, the truth that had robbed her of her father the day before she had come to this forsaken planet.

 

Combat preparation was not a breath, not a focus. It was red.

 

Draahg laughed when she raced in to meet him. She deflected his first push of raw Force energy without thinking and was dimly aware of something collapsing some ways to one side as a result. She swung into battle at Force-enhanced speed, observing a couple of very slight stiff elements in the big cyborg's motions.

 

She found out quickly enough that his raw power more than made up for that weakness.

 

Everything blurred. He struck at her. He struck at her friends. He struck because she hadn't stopped him the first time. And although she fought back, he was bigger than she, and he hated as much.

 

Somewhere after she knocked him away from Pierce and closed to lock him down, he suddenly reached in and grappled with her, seizing her mask. She tried to back away; he gripped and pulled, tearing the mask away, and when he saw the look on her face he laughed aloud.

 

A blaster yelped from the doorway. She maneuvered quickly to find – Wynston interfering again. He was actually walking toward the melee combatants. If he was planning something stupid she could neither help nor hinder him, not right now. She had her hands full with Draahg.

 

She made sure his hands were full with her. She threw everything she had into twin saber strikes, bludgeoning Force blows. He was still laughing, but at least, at least she had him in one place.

 

Suddenly he yelled and arched backward, nearly toppling. Sparks arced from some device planted on the exposed circuitry of his back. It was enough to get her an opening. Not even the savagery of the Force pushback that flattened her friends could stop her when she went in for the kill. She swept, struck, knocked him to his knees, kicked him to the ground, struck again. She felt it with her whole being when Lord Draahg died.

 

Ruth stood over him and let her hatred boil. None of this could make up for losing her father. But at least she had torn away another of Baras's tools.

 

Just in case, and she kept a shield of fury up because she knew she would break and get sick if she left its protection, she started dismembering the fallen foe. Good luck coming back from being cut limb from limb. She cut, nudged aside, cut, nudged aside, keeping herself not numb but angry. As a last stroke she severed Draahg's metal-shelled head. Then she kicked it away and looked up. People were waiting.

 

As, for example, Wynston, who met her eyes when she turned to him.

 

He was some ways away, holding a blaster pistol at his side. When she faced him he took a few steps towards her, stopped. If there was an expression on his face it was sorrow. Stars. He was going to yell at her again. She did what she had to, the only thing that made sense, and he was going to hate her for it all over again. That shouldn't hurt, but it did. A lot.

 

Before she could turn away he held forth one hand, just as if inviting her to take it.

 

She stared. The battle was over. With the last of the slashing done she already felt some of her rage draining away. He was here, and he wasn't shying away or getting angry from having seen her. Instead he was waiting.

 

Maybe things would be all right.

 

"Oh, Wrath," called Vowrawn, "don't cool down just yet. That connection will be necessary; I'll require your assistance to complete the ritual."

 

Of course. The Dark Side and its continued demands were waiting. Neither Wynston nor the crew would understand it, but it was necessary. She surged with something that felt like shame. She turned away from Wynston and stalked over to contribute whatever it was Vowrawn needed to release the Entity and push the mission onward.

 

 

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Lodestone: Virtues – Courage. Since 'Harassment' isn't a prompt. Sith Warrior Corellia spoiler setting. 1100 words.

 

 

 

 

Ruth turned away.

 

Wynston clamped down on his gut reaction before it could overwhelm him. The reaction to losing her. Enough. She was alive and she had the day's objective; he would contact the crew for further instructions later. For now he was useless. This was a Sith matter, and he was useless.

 

He turned away from that skin-crawling dark tableau and headed toward the exit. His holo beeped before he had exited the great hall.

 

Vette, who he knew was standing not more than twenty meters behind him, wrapped one arm across herself while holding her holo with the other hand. "I will kick your *** if you take another step," she said.

 

"My task here is done," he said flatly.

 

"I'm a good enough shot to take out both your legs at this range," she informed him.

 

"Are you really going to force the stress of my presence on her at a time like this?"

 

"You're really bad at basic instructions. Do I have to start a countdown here?"

 

"If she says go, I go. That's not negotiable."

 

The Twi'lek just made a face and hung up. So he turned around and started grimly toward her and the rest of the crew.

 

*

 

Vette pocketed her holo and watched the Chiss approach. "If she says go I'll kick her ***, too," she announced.

 

*

 

When Wynston got close he noted something off in Pierce's stance. "You intact?" he inquired.

 

"Mostly," said Pierce. "One leg's hit, was going to patch it up when we got back to the ship."

 

"Let me take a look."

 

It was a bad saber wound, the product of one of Draahg's spinning strikes. "One moment." He started unpacking his medkit, his movements swift and sure and familiar and therefore soothing. Well, as soothing as looking at lightsaber-slashed flesh could be.

 

Vowrawn, Ruth, and the strange dark figure had some interaction Wynston couldn't make much sense of. At length the figure…dissipated; Vowrawn took his leave; and Ruth came to face the crew. She avoided eye contact with them.

 

"Let's go," she said, and walked past.

 

Wynston stayed a step behind her. She was still radiating something disturbing. "Are you all right, my lord?" he said carefully.

 

"Yes, thank you," she said distantly.

 

"With your permission I'll see the lieutenant back to your medbay, make sure he's taken care of."

 

"That would be most helpful." She scowled at the doorway ahead. "Any further commentary?"

 

"No. No, that's not what I'm here for."

 

"Good." She sped up.

 

Wynston hung back with the crew. Vette kept giving him looks that seemed to indicate any flight attempt would be met with deadly or at least seriously inconvenient force. Jaesa made a couple of quiet attempts to engage Ruth in conversation, but Ruth was having none of it. Pierce stayed silent and alert. Broonmark stayed, at least, silent.

 

On the ship Wynston took advantage of Ruth's medbay supplies…once he figured out how the hell they were organized…to finish patching Pierce up. The big man grunted thanks and headed back to his quarters.

 

Ruth was loitering in the holo room when Wynston came in. She tilted her head after Pierce and said, with admirable cool, "Thank you."

 

"You're welcome. Unfortunately Pierce may be slow in action for a day or two." His mind was either racing too fast to follow or stopped in place, he wasn't sure which. "It's a bad time to be down a fighter. This mission, Baras, it's still to everyone's advantage to see it resolved in your favor."

 

"Are you offering to help?"

 

"I'd like to. If there's room on the ship. Quarters. It's a question of professionalism."

 

"Naturally. I think that's for the best."

 

"So do I."

 

This was fake. Their earlier talks hadn't been fake, but this definitely was. How was the wrongness of it not driving her crazy right now?

 

She had her own problems, he reminded himself.

 

She left the room; he stayed behind, settling at the console he already had credentials set up on. He could get some work in before bed. Work made sense. It was something he could do.

 

Jaesa showed up not long afterwards to sit opposite him.

 

"Good evening," he said. He had a bad feeling about this.

 

She gave him one of her lovely doe-eyed looks. And said "You're a coward, Wynston."

 

He smiled blandly. "I've been called worse." It didn't change what was necessary. Nor did it change the limits in place.

 

"Thank you for helping with Lord Draahg. That was very nice. It's also practically a footnote in the list of what's wrong right now."

 

"I'm not sure I agree. It was challenging for a footnote," he said, looking significantly over toward the medbay. He didn't know whether Jaesa could read Chiss eye directions – it didn't come naturally to most humans – but he guessed she would figure it out.

 

"Combat power isn't the point right now. She can get that anywhere."

 

Not so; reliable staff wasn't that easy to come by. "Disingenuous doesn't suit you, Miss Jaesa," he said coolly.

 

"You're scared to do the important part."

 

"I'm not qualified to do the important part. Ruth does need a friend. She trusts you. She hasn't attacked you. You've been here the whole time and I know your intentions are true. More to the point, she knows it. If anyone should be with her right now, it's you."

 

"I've tried."

 

"So have I," he said, allowing sharpness into his voice.

 

"She's changed the last few days, you know. It's hard, but until this evening she hasn't…lapsed. If there were a Force signature for stubbornness she'd have it, and it wasn't there before you showed up. You did something."

 

"I'm glad for that, but I don't think I can do more in any personal capacity. Do you really think she needs more things to be conflicted over right now?"

 

"She's conflicted over literally everything. Only a few of those things spend any time making her happy."

 

"Jaesa. In my professional evaluation the probability of improving anything by trying to get closer to her again is low enough that any action beyond field support would be inadvisable."

 

"And your personal evaluation, Wynston? Or are you going to tell me you don't have one?"

 

He was tempted to tell the young woman just that, but she was glaring at him in a way that suggested she would inflict some Jedi mind trick if he didn't cooperate. "In my personal evaluation any action beyond field support is the worst idea imaginable." No matter what good it might do, or how much some kind of reassurance might help, or how much he wanted to see her turn back to him, or how much he wanted her to want to, or…he turned his attention back to the console and waited for Jaesa to go away.

 

 

 

 

 

Status, for those keeping score: Ruth: Miserable, wishing she could settle into a comfortable illusion of niceness. Wynston: Keeping an eye on the mission, having no idea how to make this anything else, but wishing he could have the chance to make it something else.

 

 

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Vette, who he knew was standing not more than twenty meters behind him, wrapped one arm across herself while holding her holo with the other hand. "I will kick your *** if you take another step," she said.

 

"My task here is done," he said flatly.

 

"I'm a good enough shot to take out both your legs at this range," she informed him.

 

"Are you really going to force the stress of my presence on her at a time like this?"

 

"You're really bad at basic instructions. Do I have to start a countdown here?"

 

"If she says go, I go. That's not negotiable."

 

The Twi'lek just made a face and hung up. So he turned around and started grimly toward her and the rest of the crew.

 

*

 

Vette pocketed her holo and watched the Chiss approach. "If she says go I'll kick her ***, too," she announced.

 

*

 

 

I love Vette. So much.

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*squeezes her eyes shut; pulls the trigger.* Lodestone: Culture Shock. Because that's one way of putting it. Usually I try to stay strict with my points of view: one observer per *-demarcated section. Here, however, I felt it was important to switch off without disrupting the text. I hope the narrative remains coherent.

 

References to an Agent Act 2 spoiler. 3400 (!) words.

 

 

 

 

Wynston finished up with his work on the console, grabbed something to eat, and then went to the spare quarters Vette helpfully indicated. Bare: a bunk with a thin mattress, a faint smell of cleaning chemicals. He sat for a while. He thought. He couldn't start with convincing Ruth of his own intentions until he had helped her through what had clearly been the raw ordeal of the day. But she wouldn't let him talk about the ordeal until she trusted his own intentions. If he tried to start on the day's events it would turn into work again. If he tried to start on himself…well, there was nowhere to start. No way to win.

 

Ruth, in spite of her efforts to meditate, kept coming back to the way Wynston had reached out to her, quiet, steady. Pained but not angry. The one good thing in that damned chamber. It seemed he was ready all over again to help her, whatever his reasons, and the thought that the requirements of her path might have cut off the last real chance – how cold he had been after she had finished the Entity's Dark Side ritual! – was far from the relief that her suspicions said it should be.

 

Wynston moved fast in an effort to stay ahead of his own doubts. He darted out into the hallway and around the corner, where he very nearly ran facefirst into Ruth.

 

Her hand bumped into his and she shied back, intensely aware that he had frozen in place. "Oh," she said, her voice too loud in her own ears. Frozen, cold, not safe, pointless, she shouldn't have come. "I was just…looking for you. I just wanted to say that, once the Baras matter is resolved, we should talk about future arrangements. With Intelligence, like you mentioned, because I do owe you." The job. The job was safe to talk about.

 

"I just wanted to say that I want this to go differently," blurted Wynston. Ruth looked startled. But she wasn't stopping him, so he raced to get it over with. "This isn't about work and it isn't even just about wanting you and as soon as I figure out what it is about I'll tell you. I want it to go differently."

 

She did, too. It was just strange to hear it this way from him of all people. With an effort of will she held her head high and maintained eye contact. "How would we make that happen?" she asked quietly.

 

We. She hadn't even hesitated in saying it. He pushed a hand across his hair, fiddling with the part. "Is there someplace private we can talk? That doesn't have a bed?" A new statement coming from him, but that easy natural thing would be a bad sidetrack. A useless script, albeit a tempting one. Being out of an actual bedroom context would force half a second's thought before falling into anything and he needed that.

 

That was a new statement coming from him. She wasn't sure what it meant, but it was Wynston asking, so she didn't hesitate to answer. "We can go to the bridge."

 

He followed her there. They sat on chairs a couple of meters apart, turned to face each other. Wynston leaned forward a little, resting his forearms on his knees and clasping his hands tightly to keep them from shaking. She looked pale and anxious and…intent. At least she was paying attention.

 

She watched him just sitting there. Being alone with him made her feel terrible all over again. "I'm sorry," she blurted, bringing a hand to her throat, where she had Force shoved him away days before.

 

"It's all right," he said reflexively.

 

"No. It's not." Everything about the tension in him now confirmed that. "You've only been looking out for me. It was a poor way to repay you."

 

Continuing to dismiss it was the practical low-maintenance thing to do, the thing that made people comfortable, that let him keep operating. "Please don't do it again," he said instead.

 

"I won't." Unless I have to, her mind added, but that was a reflexive echo she didn't feel like listening to right now. She didn't think she would have to do it again. She didn't want to.

 

Wynston silently ran through a number of increasingly nonsensical possible starting points in his head. Ruth was watching him. Finally he muttered "Sod it" and cleared his throat. "I don't know where to start," he said. "Just stop me if I've convinced you I've gone completely insane because I don't want to waste your time. I've asked you for something quite selfish on my part twice before. At times and places where you had the power to do me serious harm. Do you remember?"

 

Of course she did. "You said coming to me just recently was something you needed."

 

She'd been paying attention. He was a little surprised, given how understandably preoccupied she had been with her own problems. "That's right, and that's one."

 

Odd way to look at it, she thought. "It wasn't all that selfish, Wynston. I got something out of it, too."

 

"I'm glad. It meant a great deal to me. All of it, your listening especially." Not the work. And not just the sex. Listening, like she always did. Well, he was about to find out just how much needy rambling she could tolerate. "Do you remember the other time?"

 

"Quesh," she said immediately, and saw his red eyes dimming in confirmation before he said a word.

 

"Yes," he said, carefully suppressing specifics of the recollection. "Quesh."

 

Ruth remembered that he had bid her stand watch while he did something with some kind of chemicals in an out-of-the-way lab. He had asked her not to ask questions. She had done it, of course, because she had been trusting like that. And he, looking wearier than she had ever seen him, had finished his errand, thanked her, and walked away. "You never told me what was going on there."

 

"No. I never did. I'm not at liberty…" He cut the usual line short. "That's not true. I don't want to talk about it, darling. Maybe someday, but not yet." One tremendous humiliating and potentially painful rough edge at a time. "Suffice to say that your being there was what convinced me you were more than just a happy accident. You helped me, with no hesitation, at no benefit to yourself, at a time when…I didn't think that could happen. Now I'm asking you, a third time, for something very selfish, that would make a very great difference to me." He took a deep breath. "I want you to believe that what I'm about to tell you, however nonsensical, is as real as I know how to make it."

 

Ah. A lot of people wanted that. "Belief is hard to come by nowadays," she said.

 

Wynston hated that her smile didn't touch her eyes. Eyes like those were too pretty for pain. "I know. I can back off. I'll do the job if you can use me and shut up about the rest."

 

"No," she said hurriedly. He was on to something. She didn't know what yet, but she wanted to know, wanted to know why he was afraid. "Talk."

 

"Very well. I want you to understand this. It's very important that you do." He passed his hand over his hair again. "You said I've been manipulating you, trying to control you. It's the nature of our world for things to work like that, but it's different with you, and has been for a long time. Listen. Yes, I've thought about how to affect you. I've done it in what I hope are benign ways in the past. I've thought through how to make you smile. I know, as I observe with most people, what authorities to invoke over you, what guilt to invoke behind you, what dreams to invoke before you, to nudge you toward doing what I want. I know a dozen ways to hurt you before I've started moving and several more after. I know how to make you laugh, how to turn you on. I know what to apply to get any result I desire, except…you."

 

She stared. That whole oration was consistent with every comforting calculated move he'd made since he had come on board, but she couldn't see why he was telling her now.

 

Wynston blinked hard and took another deep breath. This, well past the point of no return, was where he realized for sure that he had no way of redeeming it, not to her. It was just a practical way of seeing things, but it couldn't possibly do her any good to know about it. "I forget where I was going with this. But…I know all these things and they're tools. They're things I've used on people to get results. It doesn't mean I'm insincere every time but I am always at some level aware. If that alone damns me in your eyes, there's nothing I can do. No matter how I feel about you, the ways I have to say it can all look like that. Because they can all be that. Maybe that makes them multipurpose. Maybe to you it just makes them inadequate."

 

Ruth thought about it. The whole description reminded her of other things, other applications. "That makes sense," she said slowly.

 

That was the last thing Wynston had expected to hear. "It does?"

 

"When you say it that way. My father taught me you have to know how to use anything and everything as a weapon. A tool, like you said. That's survival. What's worthwhile is knowing that things have two natures, and while you should never forget the weapon one you should never stop looking for the constructive one." She drew her knees up to her chest and hugged them there. "It's just strange to make it so personal. I never thought I'd be applying it to things like 'making someone laugh.'"

 

Her expression said she didn't like it. She wasn't mad, but it wasn't comfortable for her. "Anywhere there's cause and effect there are tools to alter it," he said gently. "Exercising those tools isn't inherently bad."

 

That was an agent talking. "That's a very cynical thing to say."

 

"I know, darling. But it's all I have to offer." He caught himself. "May I still call you darling?"

 

She liked it better than most things people called her these days. In fact there were few things she would rather hear more. "I like it when you say it."

 

"I'm glad." Her. Stars. Sometimes the raw simplicity of the way she accepted him was…probably not going to last, he reminded himself. This wasn't what she wanted. Even if he tried being what she wanted he wouldn't have the expertise to make the experience right. Better to retreat. "So you know now. It doesn't have to change anything. I've always been on your side; I can still be your dashing secret agent. I'll make it as enjoyable as you want, you know I'd be happy to–"

 

"Don't be an idiot," she said. The old way wouldn't work anymore. It couldn't, not after the last few weeks. She wanted the charade but she knew she couldn't really keep it.

 

His heart sank. "I don't know how to be what you're looking for," he said softly. "The way I've been with you lately, just saying things, answering you as you come to me, it's probable I'll do something wrong. That's bad for business. You may get hurt. I may get hurt." He paused, examined his hands. "More than I care to think about." Then he looked back up at her. "If I stay tonight, if I try, I'm asking you to not make me regret it. It'll be in your power to do so."

 

Ah. Right. Humble begging was a technique. It was a good one. He'd never used it on her before, but he was clearly adapting to new times. Ruth swatted the thought down. If this was the story he wanted to tell, she would listen. For him she would listen. "Very well," she said with a small smile. "Permission to not be sure what you're doing, granted."

 

He blinked. "I didn't phrase it–"

 

The corners of her lips curled upward. Phrasing was adjustable. "Permission to have no idea at all what you're doing, granted."

 

The woman was actually teasing him. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "Stop that! It isn't that simple!"

 

She felt a little jolt of guilt for setting him on the defensive. "You're not done letting down your guard, Wynston," she said gently. "I don't know enough about this to know what button to press. But I want you to be with me–" an understatement too vast for words– "and I won't punish you for it." She tilted her head. "So what do I use to make you stop worrying?"

 

The question slightly alarmed Wynston. She wasn't supposed to embrace the alternative worldview quite that enthusiastically. "That isn't something I traditionally let other people do."

 

Of course not. In most matters he probably never worried in the first place. "There must be something. If you know all these ways of doing things to me you've got to know what to do about you."

 

He shifted. "Hm. Get me out of the room with the crazy woman in it?" he muttered. He was joking. Mostly.

 

Her heart skipped a beat. He was joking. Right? "Not going to happen," she ordered. Just in case.

 

He looked at her, and stood up and extended a hand again.

 

She was free to take it this time. He was still waiting for her and so she came to him, and in the second they touched it felt like for once nothing at all stood between them.

 

"I'm sorry to be doing this to you now," Wynston said soberly. "You have enough to worry about."

 

No. Whatever this was, she cared too much to push it aside. Besides, it was something that didn't drain her like the battle did. "Compared with everything else, it's…it's sort of a nice change of pace."

 

"Watching a glorified con man's psychological meltdown is your idea of a 'nice' change of pace?" She really was crazy.

 

"That's what this is?" she asked him, feeling a little smile coming up. Maybe this degree of control qualified by his lights. "A meltdown?"

 

He thought that one was self-evident. "I really don't have any other word for it."

 

She looked him over. "You look fine to me."

 

He grinned a tiny bit. "Well, it's a very handsome meltdown. That can't be helped."

 

She smiled and hugged him. He hugged her back, tightly, while she pressed one hand to his chest and the other to his back. "Hm," she told his neck. "Not to be crude, but your heartbeat's been more relaxed than this during intercourse." By a dramatic margin.

 

"Not to be crude, but I knew what I was doing during intercourse." The sound of her answering laugh was comfortably cheerful. Which, under the circumstances, almost reduced him to tears on the spot.

 

Ruth held him close for a few moments, enjoying the closeness of him, then backed away. "It's getting late," she said. She kept her hand loosely in his and drew him down toward the door to her own quarters. She paused outside and gave him a questioning look.

 

No. No, no, that would still be a mistake. "I don't…it would confuse things again, Ruth."

 

Maybe it would. She didn't think so, but she could understand worrying. "We don't have to do anything. But I like having you there."

 

As did he. Always. Even when it was a terrible idea. "You're sure?"

 

She opened the door and led him in.

 

Wynston didn't look at Ruth, much, while she changed. He stripped off his own shirt and boots, then climbed into bed and wrapped his arms around her. Anything more would be a sidetrack, again, short-term sweetness that might very quickly turn into ruinous instability.

 

She settled snugly against him. His lean wiry body was always far more comfortable than it looked. It was something about the way he moved with her. "You do want me," she murmured.

 

"Well, yes. You do that to me." No use denying that one. Furthermore if he was going to go transparent it was no use stopping now; he had a feeling she liked it. "I want you pretty much regardless of the circumstances, up to and including, I suspect, my being physically on fire. That's just you."

 

She smiled. "So here's your flattery. And the other thing, offering to stay away, that was you establishing trust by foregoing the obvious exchange."

 

It seemed sad coming from her, but she delivered it so lightly. "That is certainly one way to look at it," he said.

 

She wondered. "Is it how you see it?"

 

"I see a lot of things, darling, though I don't put equal credence in all views. I see that this could be building trust. It could just be saving us some exertion at the end of a trying day. It could be some kind of test where I'm secretly trying to determine how much you want me and being disappointed that you haven't jumped me already." He smiled crookedly. "It could be that it really is enough that you're here, because you are everything I want, at a time when I'm desperate for it, and while that raises a great many questions I cannot find a single angle from which it makes sense to leave your side right now."

 

She blinked rapidly for a few seconds while attempting to get her brain back out of puddle form. "What I want to hear, very nicely crafted to make me putty in your hands," she said, faux sternly.

 

"Crafted from the truth." Choosing the wording didn't automatically corrupt the idea. He needed her to believe that. He had been choosing wording all his life. "Is the result mutually beneficial?"

 

When he said these things? "Mm. Yes."

 

"Then is it wrong?"

 

The convenient words, the advantageous result…it did make her suspicious. It sounded too nice. Then again, she wasn't sure what the real thing would sound like, if not this. She was quiet for quite some time. "No," she whispered at last.

 

They fell silent. Wynston consciously relaxed as much as he could. She didn't believe him yet. Not entirely. The knowledge was a small stabbing pain with every breath. But it was a pain that might yet be removed without major damage. Maybe.

 

Ruth didn't believe him yet. Not entirely. This was still just another thing she wanted to hear. Because being informed of the many and various half-truths a man like Wynston employed had somehow been deemed something she wanted to hear? It had felt right, oddly. Hmph. So it was something she hadn't known she wanted to hear. It felt like progress – at least he was playing on some of her new understanding instead of the old material – but it couldn't be as simple, as terribly direct as he made it sound. It couldn't be that simple, but he made it tempting.

 

This entire exercise was both terrifying and stupid, but he couldn't stop himself. No. Not true. He was choosing it. Not even because it felt good, because right now it didn't, except in the way she felt in his arms. He was choosing this because…because it was the only way to get her to let him in? And that was important in its own right. But there were too many unknowns and too few of them were protecting him. This was a mistake. He was dying to know what would come of it.

 

Wynston's heart rate wasn't slowing any. Ruth wondered why. She didn't think he was afraid of much. Was this whole session preparation for another dramatically reluctant betrayal, one that he genuinely felt bad about? Or was there some other risk going on? Was this latest batch of words, tools for a man like him, something she could do real damage with? Every possibility but one made her want to pull him closer and assure him that, absolutely, he was safe and wanted with her. But she couldn't just make the one possibility go away. Instead she held still and drifted toward sleep.

 

He told himself that her hesitation stemmed from her own situation, not anything about him. And he wished she could know that, absolutely, she was safe and wanted with him. But there was nothing more he could do to make her believe it. Instead he held still and drifted toward sleep.

 

 

 

 

 

While this started as 'I'm trying to justify myself in relation to something that isn't the job and I don't really know how and augh,' it ends up handing Ruth an important contextual anchor. She got her hard introduction to manipulation and the use and abuse of trust. She can't go back to ignoring that perspective now. She can only try to make sense of it.

 

Wynston is a guy who thinks those terms are totally normal. And goes about his life anyway, because really, what else are you going to do? You see the structures and machines of the world, you learn what makes them work, you recognize that you're part of that system too. And you go ahead and live.

 

Conveniently, this minimizes actual direct talk of feelings for the time being. Some sense of...reality? perspective?...has to be agreed upon before assertions of feelings start sounding credible again anyway. Maybe by then one of them will know what to say.

 

 

Edited by bright_ephemera
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Being Wynston is a lot like seeing someone's hand while you're playing poker. Imagine you know all their tells and they don't guard their cards. Now play honestly as if you did not have that knowledge. You can't. You'd have to play stupid and I can understand why he can't do that. The hard part is telling someone, "I can see your cards all the time and I know all your tells." Then waiting to see if they still want to play with you.

 

This was really great I loved the flow and it wasn't confusing at all and the parallel at thoughts at the end... <3

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Being Wynston is a lot like seeing someone's hand while you're playing poker. Imagine you know all their tells and they don't guard their cards. Now play honestly as if you did not have that knowledge. You can't. You'd have to play stupid and I can understand why he can't do that. The hard part is telling someone, "I can see your cards all the time and I know all your tells." Then waiting to see if they still want to play with you.<3

I love the poker analogy. Summed it up better than I could.

 

I feel for Ruth. She's dealing with the fallout from the emotional nuke Quinn set off and goes right into dealing with Wynston who can be manipulative and devious and disingenuous - learning to trust again is hard enough without the extra challenge of learning to trust Wynston.

 

I probably shouldn't enjoy Wynston's distress as much as I do (I do love you, Wynston!) but watching him squirm at having the attention on what HIS buttons were was just too funny.

as soon as I figure out what it is about I'll tell you
This. I laughed for entirely too long. Entirely. :D
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Oh, Wynston is hilariously unqualified to restore Ruth to a sense of security and any semblance of innocence or a transition to a more stable confidence. Meanwhile the way she intuits what might actually be good for him, combined with the way he's so utterly used to running the show and effacing his own needs, does entertain me way more than it should.

 

All this gives her an opportunity for some of the…nurturing?...and close affection that she gave up trying to exercise in her prime universe. There's a lot of impulse toward caring that her career all but snuffed out.

 

kabe, I, too, love the poker analogy. Usually Wynston uses it to clean house or else throw the game in favor of somebody useful...attempting to offer a fair shot is weeeeird.

 

 

 

Okay, I'm sorry if the prompts seem a little disjointed this week. I do wish to continue the NotLP, and then I wanted to cross-pollinate with the SFC thread to help assure that prompts I keep intuitively writing for on one thread weren't actually only posted on the other. The actual original prompt this week is inspired by iamthehoyden.

 

Week of 12/14/2012

First Day on the Job: Some of our characters have very long, very colorful employment histories. Others picked a job or had it picked for them when they were very young. Pick one of the jobs your character has held and describe the day they came to it.

From the SFC thread, Confessions: Everybody has things they don't like to admit. Sometimes it's big, sometimes it's just something small. Sometimes it's nice to finally let it out. What secrets does your character hold in this universe? What does s/he need to admit - and to who?

 

Night of the Living Prompt: Keep on using any prompt you like! Check out the list at http://www.swtor.com/community/showpost.php?p=5060021&postcount=2 .

Edited by bright_ephemera
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Lodestone: Allies again because I'm not really responding to prompts as such. 1600 words.

 

 

 

Wynston woke up the second Ruth moved. Hold still. Status: half dressed, physically fine. Surroundings, perfect. Less certain than they had ever been, but she had stayed in his arms. Perfect. Her lips brushed his forehead before he admitted to being awake.

 

As he opened his eyes she smiled dreamily. "That was a very strange conversation we had," she said.

 

"We can forget about it," he drawled, keeping his manner casual. "I thought it might be nice to take your mind off other things temporarily, that's all."

 

"That's not all. You were serious. You jerk me around all the time, and you think feelings are all cause and effect, and you tease all this sympathy out of me at the same time you're admitting that you see it all as something useful." She traced the hollow of his throat with a fingertip. "Also you say you don't know how to be sincere. But then you're there when you're needed. For things you believe in. For me. You do so much good and that's the one thing you haven't admitted to yet."

 

He didn't trust his voice for speaking. He squeezed her tighter instead.

 

She considered his face. "What you said. It was hard for you. If changing to be what I'm supposed to want is too great a risk, you don't have to do it."

 

He suddenly felt very awkward. "That…honestly never occurred to me." He was too used to morphing into what was desired for the scene, too used to seeking the satisfaction of a pleased partner. He was entirely too used to responding to her.

 

"The effort is nice. You're giving me answers like nobody else ever has. I need those."

 

He kissed her. She was sweet, and soft in ways that that lean-muscled scar-laced body couldn't account for.

 

She backed off a tiny bit. "When did you stop lying to me?" she asked in a tone of nothing harder than curiosity.

 

"About a week ago," he admitted. Whether she would buy that, he didn't know. "I didn't tell any active lies on Voss but even there I left out a lot of significant context."

 

"I guess we didn't exactly have a lot of heart-to-hearts there, either."

 

"True. Your heart was rather decisively elsewhere. Which you had every reason for."

 

Her lip twitched in a momentary, bitter sneer. "It was stupid."

 

"It was amazing to see. I've been from one side of this galaxy to the other and I can tell you that almost every individual I've ever met will live and die without ever knowing something like that." He ran his fingers through her hair, studied her eyes. Once again marveled that anyone who knew her could try to break her. "I've been from one side of this galaxy to the other and never met anyone who'd be stupid enough to throw that away once they found it."

 

"I met one," she said quietly. "What I had was nice, but I'm not sure I could do it again."

 

"Not to worry. Nobody's asking you to."

 

"Oh?" She started to say something else, then stopped and smiled a little instead, not quite meeting his eyes. "Well. At least tell me, does it ever feel real again after the innocence goes away?"

 

"I've told you I'm not the person to ask. If anyone could do it it'd be you, but that will take time. And the right partner."

 

"I see," she said. It sounded like she knew he wasn't referring to himself.

 

He looked away. He shouldn't have let the conversation turn this way. Whatever this was, he still knew that love implied not leaving. He couldn't make that expectation. He wanted her to have it with someone someday; she was made for loving. He wasn't. He knew his limits.

 

"This, now, is good," she added tentatively.

 

"I agree wholeheartedly." Steer away. He ran his fingertips down her forearm to clasp her hand. "Did you sleep well?"

 

"I did."

 

"Good. I was worried about you. Not quite worried enough to skip dropping all my problems on you at once, but I worried."

 

"It's better with you here. And you're better with you telling me what's going on." She squeezed his hand. "It was a hard day before that. I'm hoping I can work my way around any future…similar requirements."

 

"Me too." He kissed her forehead. "If there's anything I can do…"

 

"You're doing a lot already," she said. "In theory at some point I should start being nice in return."

 

"Tolerating the mess that was last night counts for a lot."

 

"You letting me see it came out in my favor."

 

"I'm not sure I understand how that was in any way good for you."

 

"I thought we established that." She gave him an arch look. "It further cemented trust. Established vulnerability so I would have the comfort of not feeling alone. Presented an interesting thought puzzle that might keep me occupied. It was in every way ideal for making me feel included, and important, while challenging me enough to keep me from rejecting it as too perfect."

 

He reminded himself to keep breathing. She was going to string him up with the rope he had handed her. And this was why one should never ever talk without having one's cover story in place.

 

She looked more thoughtful as she went on. "I think you were giving me something you don't give out lightly. You were right, that it wasn't about work and wasn't just about wanting. It was something you could do to tell me that you're trusting me, and that's…it's an honor to know." She was so very still. "This is a lot of readings to think about at once."

 

"It is," he said hoarsely.

 

"Not all of them were necessarily your intent."

 

"Not all of them."

 

"It's unwise to pick out just the ones that come naturally. That feel right."

 

It was unwise to push conspicuously self-interested interference into this delicate line of thought. "Do it anyway. Here at least." He pulled her a little closer.

 

She focused anew on his face. "I want you here no matter what." She dipped in to touch her nose to his. "I'm glad we talked. I'm glad you told me. And I'm glad you're with me now. That said, when you look at things like this, how does the bad possibility not drive you insane?"

 

Hedge against it. Learn to ignore the weakest odds. Plan against the others. Never stop looking over your shoulder. Learn to cut your losses. Give up on feeling bad about it. "You get used to seeing both sides," he said lightly.

 

"And it stops tasting bitter?"

 

He hesitated. That question depended wholly on the person. For the people in his line of work who were sensitive to start with, it didn't stop until they burned out and gave up caring about much of anything. Effective colleagues, but he had to watch them. "Ruth…it took me years, and I never want you learning your way around it the way I had to. There are more comfortable ways of looking at life, comfortable ways that still work. You don't have to see it this way."

 

"Worried I'll catch up with you?"

 

More than she knew. "You were made for better things."

 

She smiled bleakly. "Remaking is happening these days, or hadn't you noticed?"

 

He stroked her cheek to make sure the tiny instinctive beginning of a real smile was still there when he touched her. "Then you'll remake yourself for better things, darling. What we talked about last night, that's just what I am." He was a particularly high-functioning sanitation worker, not a philosopher; he could let her see the machinery he lived with but he couldn't grant her the perspective necessary to live with it herself. "It's not what you have to be, not if it hurts you."

 

"This is a better start than I have on anything else," she said. "It's something to keep in mind, at least. Besides. You think that way, and I still think you're amazing. You do a lot of good."

 

"Just think how much more you'll be doing in the days to come," he said warmly. "Can I double-check something for my own peace of mind? You heard all this rambling. And you know that everything I say and do could very reasonably be construed to be hiding a horrible motivation. And…you're letting me near you anyway."

 

"Yes," she said firmly.

 

Even as she acknowledged the other thing. It was as close to trust as he was going to get. He only hoped the strain on her didn't hurt. "I'm grateful. Deeply grateful. But out of fairness I should point out, if it's too great a risk you don't have to do it."

 

"That…honestly had occurred to me," she said with a small smile, "but I think we're both better off this way."

 

Yes. Yes, they were. He took a minute to just enjoy the look and feel and everything of her. "No matter what happens today," he murmured, "you'll have me." He very nearly swore it as a promise outright. "Also I'm dying to kiss you right now."

 

"Mm. That's acceptable."

 

He was better at expressing himself this way, and the lessons were far, far better for her spirit. Or, from an alternate perspective, she simply felt good.

 

 

 

 

 

It isn't throwing love away if it wasn't love to start with, so Wynston's evaluation of Quinn's idiocy is entirely unselfconscious.

 

In fact, Wynston is willing to "No true Scotsman" the everloving **** out of love with respect to himself. Whatever he's developing may have some characteristics like love, but there are CLEARLY specific characteristics that love has that this doesn't. This is a well-meaning exercise if your…person you care about…would be critically dependent on authenticity in her Scotsmen. I think this just became my favorite paragraph about logic I've ever written.

 

Anyway, re: his reluctance to think of her internalizing deeply cynical mechanistic thought, I think most adults have life lessons they've learned that they can't explain or directly pass on, that are important, but that they would do anything to spare their loved ones' (or much-liked ones') having to go through the process of learning.

 

 

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Whatever this was, he still knew that love implied not leaving. He couldn't make that expectation. He wanted her to have it with someone someday; she was made for loving. He wasn't. He knew his limits.

 

 

The crying... it won't stop. :(

I wasn't going to say anything and just sit and read but... you just keep making me cry and feel so sad! :mad:

I'm really, really loving this AU. :o

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Lodestone: Goals and Ambitions (2?). Almost everything about the circumstances on Corellia is sad, but there's hope there, too. It's not "shiny scrub away all the difficulty right now" hope, but it's hope.

 

Also I just recently realized/noticed that an element of RMC is going to add something very positive to the Ruth/Wynston dynamic a few months down the line. You know, on top of their enjoyment of snuggles. Forward! 900 words, stuff ripped directly from Sith Warrior endgame.

 

 

 

Ruth kissed Wynston a last time – well, not last at all, not if she had any say in it – and the two of them headed out to breakfast. The crew turned in unison to look at her as she entered.

 

"Are you all right?" said Jaesa.

 

"Yes," she said. "Thanks. It's good that Draahg's gone. I hope it'll send Baras a message."

 

"We can deliver that one in person," rumbled Pierce. "Least I hope so; these hoops we've been jumping for prep aren't getting any more exciting."

 

"We'll check in with Vowrawn," said Ruth. She wanted it over with, too. She had better things to be thinking about.

 

"If he tells us we have to get his groceries before we're ready for the showdown, I can't be held responsible for my actions," said Vette.

 

"Groceries wouldn't be entirely amiss," Wynston said mildly, scanning the shelves. "For us, at least. Am I reading this right? Is this entire shelf earmarked for the lieutenant?"

 

"Don't you forget it," Pierce said happily.

 

"Let him eat," Ruth told Pierce. "We need him."

 

Wynston grinned and waved one dismissive hand. "No, there's enough non-Pierce property." He grabbed a small tray and headed for the microheater. "So how do you people contact Vowrawn?"

 

"We call him directly," said Ruth. "He's good about picking up."

 

"Either he really likes her or he really doesn't trust his secretary," said Vette. "Either way, hey, direct line to the Dark Council. The part that isn't trying to kill her, even."

 

"But we're checking in with the Hand first," said Jaesa. "Right?"

 

"Right," said Ruth. She was hoping they wouldn't hold her back. Or push her in the wrong direction.

 

"I see," he said impassively, and moved on to other things. He kept on with easygoing conversation, catching up now that the crew was together in something approaching a relaxed way. She found herself more than once almost fuzzing out to the sound of his voice. She liked the way he acted here. Confident, not arrogant, contributing at least as much as he absorbed. Slightly sweet, sometimes almost teasing toward Vette and Jaesa. Cagey with Pierce, but not quite in a hostile way. Furthermore he seemed to understand Broonmark's occasional blipping without difficulty.

 

They finished breakfast. Wynston passed close to her on the way out the door. She reminded herself that she wasn't going to kiss him in front of the crew. He gave her a knowing smile, one that told her he liked her anyway. A lot. Then he moved on through.

 

They gathered around the holo, all but Wynston, who hung back out of cam sight. He suddenly had his business face on. She nodded at him and placed the call.

 

The two Sith Servants appeared. Servant One, as ever, took the lead, looking down at her with that air of calm command. It wasn't the command of someone at the top of the ladder, but it was certainly his idea of authority over her. "Wrath. Baras's leverage is gone. Vowrawn preserved. Baras's bid to be named Voice of the Emperor will be crippled. What remains of Darth Baras is yours. He has gone to Korriban. Do as you must."

 

Korriban. It seemed fitting. She nodded. "He doesn't have long to live."

 

"Darth Vowrawn returns to Korriban as well. Baras dares not strike at him within sight of the Dark Council."

 

"The hinges are gone from the door," croaked the hooded Servant Two.

 

"Vowrawn will authorize your clearance to land. From there, the battle is yours."

 

"Unleash the Emperor's Wrath," said Servant Two, in a voice that sent a creeping cold up Ruth's spine.

 

They ended the transmission.

 

"Clear enough," Ruth told her crew. "Lay in a course, Pierce. It's time to finish this."

 

Pierce grinned and headed out to the bridge. Wynston moved to join Ruth.

 

"Tell me that second one isn't calling the shots," he said.

 

"No. Orders come from higher than that."

 

"I see." His smile was a little strained. "Well, I'm yours to command."

 

"You're going to be conducting an independent review of my employers the second this job's done, aren't you." That was so very him.

 

The grin took on a little mischief. "Someone's got to do it, darling. This is going to be very, very important going forward."

 

Her stomach twisted up. "When you draw conclusions, let me know. Before you decide to do anything dramatic."

 

"Oh." He sobered. "Ruth, yes. Absolutely. I wouldn't…I can reason with you. I know if the cause is right you'll listen. Targeting you would be both a waste and a crime." He stepped forward to take her hands in his. "You are not the enemy. Nothing's going to convince me otherwise."

 

She reminded herself she wasn't going to cry in front of the crew.

 

The ship's engines rumbled and whined in the transition to hyperspace. Wynston squeezed Ruth's hands. "Where do you want me?" he asked.

 

On her side. "It's time for a gear check," she told him. "We're about to go to work again."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Vette doesn't come easily to me. I think she ends up lovable, but I find her humor difficult.

 

 

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Wynston and Ruth (even given their emotional mess) make me happy :) Wynston's character growth is intriguing. How far will it go? o.O And I like that Ruth can be supportive here, it's much more her - well, happy-her. And finally, I am thoroughly looking forward to Wynston with an infant, cause omgadorable.
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Gah, parenting! I am the worst at parenting. We'll see how the kid turns out :eek:

 

Now, Lodestone: First day on the (officially recognized Wrath) Job. Sith Warrior endgame setting. 1000 words.

 

 

 

It came down to single combat under the eyes of the Dark Council. Upon seeing Ruth's old master again, hearing his dismissive words, and knowing how much he had taken from her – for no reason, in spite of her loyalty, in spite of everything – she joined battle swiftly and brutally.

 

He met her in kind.

 

Her rage rushed in from all sides, feeding off everything Baras had done to herd her here. Every cut, every lie, all of it. She raged, and he met her with a dark implacable hate that made her fresh fury seem like the weakest wave of irritation.

 

Something to learn, she told herself, fighting. Something to break and take for herself, because that's the way it's done. But she found that her frenzied attacks weren't breaking through Baras's defenses. He held, and struck, and held and struck. It was with an almost bored gesture that he swatted her saber aside with his own and flung a searing purple lightning that slammed through her energy defenses to char armor and flesh.

 

She twisted free, intercepted the stream with her saber, but her neck and chest were screaming pain and the raw power of his attack hadn't lessened any. When she staggered back a step, the old Sith laughed. "Had enough, child?" he bellowed. "Can you feel your grip on life slipping?"

 

No. It won't end like this.

 

"Why persist in this futile gesture of vengeance?" he continued. She could barely hear him over the crackling of pain. "Let go. Embrace your death."

 

Vengeance? That wasn't all she had going for her. She flicked her gaze to the crowd of her crew. Her friends. Their Force signature was bright in Ruth's awareness; Jaesa pulsed with small intentional warmth when Ruth met her eyes.

 

Something rose up beyond the anger.

 

Ruth returned her gaze to Baras. She had many more years' training in focus than in rage. In control than in aggression. And in protection than in revenge.

 

It was much more than just her that pushed him backward, steadied her on her feet, drove him back in a shower of sparks and light-warping Force waves. But hers was the will and the direction. What was lost, her hate could not recover; but there was love yet to work for.

 

She felt the small stab of Baras's fear when she flung his lightning back at him. He was a master in the hatred he had fed her, but he wasn't ready for anything else.

 

She fought. She prevailed. And before the eyes of the Council and the Empire, she gave Darth Baras his execution.

 

She stood straight, not bothering to watch as Baras slumped and fell. Instead she turned slowly to meet the eyes of the Council. This was her vindication.

 

"At last, the end of Baras." Darth Vowrawn's easy conversational tone made less sense than ever, but at least there was respect running under it. "The air clears, and my lungs breathe deeply again. You have proven that you are truly touched by the Emperor. The Dark Council knows that the Emperor's Wrath has free rein."

 

Darth Marr's words were dim in her roaring ears. "You are acknowledged, Wrath. Your actions will not be challenged as long as they do not contradict our own."

 

Vowrawn beamed. "You are answerable only to our ultimate master."

 

She wished her father were here to see it. She had meant to climb to get to where she could do more good. This was it.

 

No one could stop her.

 

She owed the Council some acknowledgement. "I look forward to working with the Dark Council for the Empire's benefit," she announced. And working in spite of it if she had to. She would deal with that as it came.

 

She held her head high and let her friends fall in behind her as she left the strongest masters in the Empire. Her peers.

 

She headed straight to Darth Baras's offices. She remembered starting here. It would make a statement to take it again.

 

She did a quick check around the room, sharply dismissed a cringing acolyte who had been doing something in the hall – cringing didn't mean harmless – and shut the door once her friends were in.

 

Wynston was at her elbow in an instant. "Your burns. How do I take the mask off?"

 

She helped him start on removing her mask. The flex panel that sheathed her neck came next, and that's when she was harshly, vividly reminded of the pain pulsing down her neck and shoulder. Wynston's movements were quick and precise as he picked away the rest of the armor necessary to reach her Force-burned skin. His hands were warm, the kolto jarringly cool against her flesh while he worked.

 

He met her eyes. "You did it, Ruth," he said, slowing one pass of kolto application into something like a caress.

 

"And a sight it was," opined Pierce.

 

Jaesa just smiled at her.

 

"You're not completely roasted, are you?" said Vette.

 

"I'm still breathing," said Ruth. She laughed a tiny bit. And sobbed. Both motions were painful.

 

Wynston put a free hand on her back. "Steady, darling," he whispered.

 

After her effort to maintain rigid pride before her rivals his manner seemed overly familiar. Ha. Sith thinking, that. She leaned into him a little and let her adrenaline rush slowly wear off. He was quick in getting her patched up, alternating between frowning at the damage and flashing gentle smiles at her. When he finished and backed off a little, Ruth straightened and looked around; she saw Vette was examining the furnishings of Baras's office.

 

The Twi'lek examined a vase. "So can we sell this stuff?"

 

"Sure," said Ruth. "I don't want it."

 

"Have I mentioned you're the best Sith I ever worked for?"

 

Ruth's laugh was less edgy this time. "I'm glad someone approves. I've just officially earned an Empire full of people who will eat me alive if they get the chance."

 

Pierce snorted. "Think they'll find chances are tougher than expected."

 

Wynston gestured back toward the Dark Council chamber. "Anyone who underestimates the Wrath in the near future is rather badly slow on the uptake."

 

"That…would describe some Sith I've met," said Vette. "See a chance to kill? Why let a little thing like self-preservation get in the way?"

 

Ruth took a deep breath and clipped her armor back into place so as to look impressive for the walk back to her ship. "Come on," she said. "We're going home."

 

 

 

 

 

Home is the Niral complex on Dromund Kaas. Ruth's crew has already visited it once, right after Baras turned on Ruth. Wynston's never been. (Wynston has at this point been about eight nights of sexytimes, five of them on Nar Shaddaa which clearly doesn't count for relationship purposes, and a handful of professional jobs ever; not exactly bring home to Father material.)

 

Why did this fight turn LS? Part of the difference between the canon fight (DS smackdown) and this is that she hasn't been spending every spare minute stewing over Quinn. Just staying connected with human company instead of brooding-self-company is huge; it both weakened her hate and strengthened her connection to nice things. Even with the shadow of doubt.

 

 

Edited by bright_ephemera
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