Scourge woke to the sound of the com beeping, he was alone. He rose from his bed, thinking it odd not to see a small red haired woman curled up on her side. He answered the com in the next room, the ghostly image of his apprentice appeared. He folded his arms across his chest.

“I’ve been thinking.” Coremi began.

“And you could not do that here?”

“No, I couldn’t.” she agreed quietly, “Once I stopped the medication, I felt too much, I needed to be away from you just to put two thoughts together." She seemed embarrassed by the admission but took a deep breath and continued, "I wanted you to know that I wasn’t running, I’m transmitting my com frequency so you can contact me.”

He scowled, “And what of your training?”

“I’ll keep in practice, but I’m also tracking down some leads that might help us with our problem.” She would not talk specifics over an open channel. She tilted her head, “Honestly, would you prefer to have me weeping and raging at you right now?”

He narrowed his eyes at the projection. “No.”

Her lips quirked into a half grin, “Call me if you want me for something, I’ll let you know if I find anything on my end.” She did not wait for him to acknowledge or approve. “Go back to sleep, Sith.” She said and ended the connection.

He returned to his bed thinking of the previous night, he held her while she cried, cursing him for his lies, her face buried in his chest. He shifted restlessly every position seemed wrong, his arms were empty and the presence that had grown so familiar was gone. It was not what he would have preferred.

Aboard Fury-class starship

11 ATC

“I fixed the food prep unit,” Vette announced.

K’hera looked over at the machine. “So you did. Nicely done.”

“You’re welcome,” Vette said dryly. “Does this mean I’m the unofficial cook?”

“Considering that if it weren’t for that thing, we’d all die of starvation, yes,” K’hera said lightly.

She and Vette had developed an odd sort of rapport. She wouldn’t call the Twi’lek a friend, not exactly, but she was tolerable company. K’hera couldn’t help but admire her spirit.

Anyone who dares talk back to Lord Malavai is in my good books, she thought. And he really was Lord Malavai now—Baras had granted him the title. Either it was her imagination, or he was even more insufferably arrogant now than he had been before.

Vette glared at the food prep unit. “I’m sick of this stuff,” she complained. “What I wouldn’t give for a nice blumfruit…” She sighed. “Oh, well. Guess it’s better than prison food.”

K’hera shuddered faintly, remembering the dismal state of what little she’d eaten during her incarceration. “You could always make yourself something if you’re that bored,” she said, trying to distract herself. “It’s not as though we don’t have any supplies.”

Vette frowned. “If I do that, you’ll all start making me do it all the time. I am not a chef, and I am not your slave.”

K’hera looked pointedly at her shock collar.

“Okay, maybe I technically am a slave,” Vette conceded. “But I’ll be damned if I do anything more than I have to for you people. That includes cooking.”

“It’s your funeral,” K’hera said with a shrug.

“Uh oh,” Vette whispered suddenly, looking towards the doorway. “Clown-face is on the prowl.”

K’hera glanced over to see Jaesa entering the galley. The fallen Jedi regarded the two of them with what was probably intended to be a haughty expression. The vivid violet makeup smeared clumsily across her eyes and mouth ruined what little effect it might have had.

“What do you want?” K’hera demanded curtly. She had no patience for fools, and Jaesa Willsaam definitely fell into that category.

“What are you two gossiping about?” Jaesa demanded. She had adopted a shrill facsimile of an Imperial accent; it made K’hera’s teeth hurt to hear it.

“Nothing that concerns you,” she returned coldly.

Jaesa’s over-exaggerated sneer twisted into a sulky glare. “You should be more respectful when addressing your superiors.”

“You are not my superior,” K’hera snapped.

Vette snickered softly.

Jaesa put her hands on her hips. “I am a Sith,” she declared. “You need to show proper deference.”

K’hera’s control over her temper was rapidly eroding. “You may be Lord Malavai’s apprentice,” she said through gritted teeth, “but you are not a Sith.”

“How dare you?” Jaesa half-shrieked. “I should punish you for your impudence!”

“Tell it to someone who gives a damn,” K’hera retorted, then deliberately turned to face Vette again.

“Lord Malavai will hear of this,” Jaesa hissed.

K’hera looked over, raising a brow-ridge. “And what will you tell him? That you were trying to push me around and failed miserably? I’m sure he’ll be most impressed.”

For a moment, she thought that Jaesa might explode with rage. But instead, the young woman made an angry squawk, and stomped out of the galley.

“Sheesh,” Vette muttered. “You have to do something about her.”

K’hera frowned. “Why me?”

“Because, as you oh so accurately pointed out, I am a slave,” Vette said dryly. “I have no power over her.”

“Technically, I don’t either,” K’hera said awkwardly. “When it all comes down to it, she’s a Sith apprentice, and I’m…Force-blind.” The words tasted bitter, but she forced them out anyway. It was the truth, no matter how much she hated it.

“Then follow your own advice to the makeup disaster and talk to Lord Malavai,” Vette suggested.

“He’ll think I’m weak,” K’hera said darkly. “I need to stand up for myself.”

“And when the cosmetic catastrophe finally snaps and uses the Force on you?” Vette demanded. “What’ll you do then? Tell Malavai to rein her in.”

“He won’t listen to me.”

“Sure he will! He likes you.”

K’hera stared at Vette incredulously. “You’re insane. He hates me.”

Vette smirked at her. “You haven’t seen the way he looks at you when you’re not paying attention.”

“What in the galaxy do you mean?”

Vette’s smirk widened. “He looks at you all the time. I think he likes the way you fill out your clothes, if you know what I mean.”

“You’re delusional,” K’hera said frostily.

Vette shrugged. “Maybe I am. But I know how to follow a line of sight, and I’d bet good money I’ve seen him checking out your—“

“Enough, Vette.”

“Okay, have it your way,” Vette sighed. “Hide from the truth all you want…”

“There is no truth to hide from,” K’hera snapped. “Now if you’ll excuse me.” She turned and stalked out of the room.

Vette watched her go, chuckling softly to herself.

K’hera skulked on the bridge, trying to decide whether to approach Malavai about Jaesa. She hated to go to him with this problem—it would probably lessen his already-low opinion of her. No doubt he already considered her to be a useless weakling. Their sparring sessions had accomplished nothing in bringing back her Force-sensitivity, although it was nice to feel lightsabers in her hands again. She still hadn’t told him how she had lost her powers, and she didn’t intend to. If he knew that her master had been a traitor, he’d probably kill her out of principle.

She agonized over whether to speak with him for some time, but her decision was ultimately made for her as Malavai stepped into the bridge and walked over to her.

“I can sense a certain degree of turmoil within you,” he said. “Is there some problem?”

K’hera sighed inwardly. There was nothing for it, now. “My lord,” she said stiffly, “I would appreciate it if you could speak with Jaesa. Ask her to stop overstepping the bounds of her authority.”

Malavai frowned. “I have not noticed any discrepancies in her behavior.”

“I ask only that you clarify the chain of command, my lord,” K’hera said irritably. “I would rather not have to defer to that woman.”

“She is my apprentice, and a Sith, now,” Malavai pointed out.

K’hera frowned. “With all due respect, my lord, she’s hardly experienced. Even without my Force-sensitivity, I daresay I’m more competent a Sith than she is.”

Well, that came out bluntly, she thought. He’s not going to like that.

Malavai looked taken aback. After a moment, he nodded slowly. “Very well. I’ll inform her that you answer only to me.”

“Thank you, my lord,” K’hera murmured, bowing to hide her surprise. “I am most grateful.”

“Don’t mention it,” Malavai said softly. He took a step closer, regarding her with that intense blue stare that always made her feel distinctly uncomfortable. “I have been doing some research into potential ways to restore your Force abilities in my spare time. Suggested methods tend to vary between specific cases. If I knew the details of how exactly you lost your sensitivity, I might be able to—“

“No,” she snapped, stepping back.

Malavai frowned. “I understand that this is probably a sensitive subject, but it could be the key to finding a way to restore your powers.”

“I really don’t like talking about it,” K’hera muttered. “I’d rather not…”

“Surely the benefits restoring your connection to the Force far outweigh any temporary discomfort,” Malavai urged.

K’hera gritted her teeth. She’d known him long enough to know that once he got an idea in his head, he refused to let go until he had pursued it to the end of its full potential. “You really want to know?” she said quietly. “Fine. But you won’t like it.”

For a moment, she struggled, trying to determine where and how to begin. But as she looked up into his eyes, the words came pouring out, faster and faster, until by the time she had reached the end she was practically incoherent.

When she was finished, she took a long, slow breath and looked down at the floor. She felt strangely relieved, as though a great deal of tension had been bottled up inside of her, and by finally telling someone her story, she had released that tension.

Gloved fingertips touched her chin, and Malavai tilted her face upward. His own face was as deliberately blank as ever, but she could see rage flickering in his eyes.

“K’hera,” he said, as gently as she had ever heard him sound. “What was done to you was wasteful and pointless. Now the Empire is down a Sith, all for the sake of satisfying a few inquisitors’ sadistic urges.” He shook his head. “It sickens me.”

K’hera stared silently up at him, at a loss for words. Of all the reactions she had expected, this was not one of them.

“Thank you for telling me this,” Malavai said quietly. “I promise that I will do whatever I can to find a way to bring back your connection to the Force.”

“I’m the one who should be thanking you,” she whispered. “My lord.”

He seemed to realize that he was still touching her face, and quickly dropped his hand as though burned. “I’ll be sure to speak with Jaesa,” he said quickly, then turned on his heel and all but fled the bridge.

K’hera stared after him. What the hell just happened?

Either I'm crazy, or everyone feels slightly OOC in this. But I really don't want to go back and rewrite it all, so... I'll leave it as it is. Feel free to criticize.

Belsavis

Monitors beeped and chirped, he knew the results just by listening. He glanced at them and made adjustments for the next experiment. Of all the places an escaped prisoner would hide, a prison planet seemed unlikely, exactly the reason he chose it. Here he need only guard for his safety from the wildlife and other convicts, his activities would go unremarked.

The weapons and supplies he stole from the Republic made convenient bait for the escapees. Those that made it past his defenses into his lab were deemed hardy enough to become test subjects. Most of them wished that they died from turrets.

The man known only as Watcher X was pleased to have such a range to work with. In the Empire, the species available were always limited and the rarer ones were always sickly slaves. Here a menagerie of every species in the galaxy, most robust, even clever, with their survival instincts intact.

He gazed at the voiceless screaming faces of the men and women who had tried to attack his home. “What shall we learn today?” He would ask them when he was in the mood for humor. Otherwise he never spoke, he only observed his lab and the greater lab that ran wild outside through slices in every datafeed. He even saw an old friend and followed her progress through the twisting warrens of the prison. Coincidence was fascinating, he would study it one day.

A secure message drop indicated activity. The sender did the only thing that would garner a response. She gave him an interesting problem. He cleared his console and entered parameters for a new problem, rattling off a quick message inviting her to meet with him. It had been long since he had real company, at least this would be interesting.

If you'll recall Watcher X and Coremi know each other from the Life and Death Drabbles

Aboard Fury-class starship

11 ATC

K’hera sat in a chair on the bridge, her head propped on one hand, staring aimlessly out at the mottled whirl of hyperspace outside the viewport. Spacer superstition said that staring too long into that void would cause insanity; she couldn’t care less at the moment.

She was alone. She found that she rather liked it that way, sitting there half-hidden in the shadow of the chair, all by herself with no one to disturb her thoughts. It was peaceful, so much easier than having to deal with the rest of the galaxy. People complicated things.

People…like Lord Malavai. K’hera didn’t know what to think about him. She had believed for a while that he disliked her, but it was starting to become apparent that that was not the case. This troubled her. Hatred was an easy emotion, one that she had been taught to cultivate. Anything else was more difficult, more confusing.

The problem was that when it all came down to it, Malavai Quinn simply was not all that dislikeable. Certainly, he could be an arrogant bastard at times, but so were most Sith. Unlike most Sith, however, he had proven to have a sense of honor that she found herself admiring. He was far from a perfect man, but he was not a bad one either. Try as she might, she could not make herself hate him. In fact, she was beginning to realize that the opposite just might be true.

That only made everything harder.

Each new report to Baras made her feel worse and worse. She felt dirty, a traitor to Malavai like Evendre had been a traitor to the Empire. More than once, she had considered telling Baras that she had had enough, but the thought of what he would do to her then made her quail in terror.

He’ll send me back to the inquisitors, she thought, shivering at the memories of what she had endured in that place. I can’t face that again. I can’t.

So she would continue to be Baras’ spy, no matter how guilty it made her feel, because compared to the alternative, a little guilt was nothing. She slouched deeper into the chair, as if it could hide her from reality.

Footsteps sounded softly behind her. K’hera tensed instinctively, then turned to see Malavai. She slowly got up and walked around the chair to stand in front of him, forcing her body not to shake as her surge of adrenaline drained away.

“Is there something I can do for you, my lord?” she asked, clasping her hands behind her back to conceal any involuntary tremors.

Malavai hesitated for a long moment. “K’hera,” he said slowly. “You’ve caused me some difficulty, and I would like to clarify a few things.”

What the hell is that supposed to mean? K’hera wondered. Aloud, she said, “I apologize if I’ve given you any trouble, my lord.”

“You don’t have to drop the title every sentence,” Malavai said awkwardly. “You’re neither my apprentice nor my slave. I do not require a constant confirmation of your deference.”

K’hera frowned. “I can certainly do that. Was that what you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Actually, no,” Malavai admitted. He paused, taking a deep breath. “K’hera, I…I must be honest with you.”

Where is he going with this? she thought confusedly.

“I am not sure how to tell you this,” he said quietly. “But I find myself thinking of you more and more with every passing day. It’s beginning to distract me.” He was starting to talk faster and faster, as though trying to get all of his words out before she could escape. “I believe that I am developing feelings for you that are inappropriate, considering our respective stations. I felt that it would be best for me to inform you, so you might take whatever action you see fit.”

K’hera stared at him blankly in complete and utter astonishment.

“If you wish to leave my service, I will allow it,” Malavai added after a moment. “I will not force you to stay if you feel uncomfortable.”

She felt a blush creeping across her cheeks, and was grateful that her copper complexion would show little indication of it. “Actually, I, um,” she whispered, unable to look him in the eye, “I have no objection. To staying.”

That was a lie, of course—she wanted nothing more than to run away right then. But she had her duty to Baras that she did not dare desert, not to mention… She tried to force her mind away from those thoughts, thoughts of the truth, but with him standing right there in front of her having just admitted that he had feelings for her, it was damn hard to remain in denial.

“If that is what you want,” Malavai murmured. “If you do not share this…sentiment, then we need not speak of it again. Everything may continue as it has been.”

K’hera squeezed her eyes shut. “I do share it,” she admitted in a tiny voice.

The instant the words left her mouth, she berated herself. Now you’ve done it, you fool. You’ve gone and told him that you’re interested in him. This will ruin everything.

She opened her eyes a sliver to find Malavai regarding her with an expression of astonishment similar to the one she had sported a few moments ago.

“K’hera…” he said softly. “Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

“I had no idea you felt this way,” she muttered, feeling her blush deepen. “And it’s not proper.”

“I wasn’t aware you cared so much for propriety.”

“This is important,” she said tersely, opening her eyes all the way. “You are a Sith, and I am a—a Force-blind.”

“But you’re not,” Malavai insisted. “You’re different. You were Sith once, and you can be again.”

“I’ve tried everything you or I could think of,” K’hera sighed, “and nothing has worked. It’s time I faced the truth—I’ll never regain my Force-sensitivity.”

“You should not give up so easily—“ Malavai started.

She cut him off. “As long as you are a Sith and I am not, we should refrain from any sort of involvement beyond our professional relationship. The discrepancy in our social standing is too great.”

He frowned down at her. “Is that really the reason you’re avoiding this?”

K’hera swallowed hard. “I—I can’t be with you,” she whispered. “Not…not now. I don’t deserve you, not when I’m like this. If my powers were ever restored, things would be different, but right now…”

“I understand,” Malavai said quietly. “I will respect your decision.”

“Thank you,” she told him, finding herself having to fight back tears. She had never felt so utterly worthless as she did at that moment.

He seemed to sense her distress, because one instant he was starting to move away, and the next he had turned back towards her, frowning concernedly. The next thing she knew, he leaned down and kissed her gently.

“I will be here if you change your mind,” he told her, then left. He seemed reluctant to go, but he departed nonetheless.

K’hera stood still for a long moment, then slunk back over to the chair and dropped down into it. She covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking, and cried as quietly as she could.

“I’ve read the field reports,” Fixer noted as Pyne trudged into the room she had converted into her data centre. “Well done.” Her attention was divided between the projected map above the table, three console screens, and her datapad.

“Thanks,” he muttered, dropping heavily into the only chair in the room.

“You should be celebrating with the others.” Fixer’s attention was still focused on her charts and readouts, with none left for Pyne or his melancholy.

“I just... I can’t,” he stammered. “I put in an appearance and made my apologies for leaving,” he amended, in answer to Fixer’s sharply raised eyebrow. “Vigil for the valiant souls who gave their lives so the good people of Balmorra might one day be free.”

Fixer finally set aside her datapad, glaring at Pyne through the hazy cyan of the map. “What’s troubling you?” There was no softness or sympathy in her voice, just the cold assessment of a diagnostician. He felt like a malfunctioning droid.

“People died today.” He was on his feet again, fingers raking through his hair, setting his braid swaying against his cheek. “Good people. Our people, Fixer. How can I celebrate, knowing that they’re dead because of me? Because of this stupid game?” He swiped his hand viciously through the map; the projector noted an obstruction in the display area and collapsed the image into darkness.

“We carry on, understanding that the lives that were given today — given, Pyne — are the price of the lives we will be able to save.” Fixer took up her datapad again. “And we celebrate, we eat and drink and laugh and weep with those who kill our people, because the cost of our moral comfort is even more lives lost.”

Pyne stepped forward, his eyes mere centimeters from Fixer’s. “How do you do it?” he demanded.

She met his stormy gaze with unblinking calm. “I remember our goal,” she replied. “I weigh the cost, and I accept that the prize is worth it.”

“So that’s all they are to you? A cost to be measured? Numbers to be tallied and totalled and then forgotten?” His hand shot out, swatting the datapad away. “You may not have a name, Fixer, but they do.” He straightened away from her and turned to stalk away.

“Wait,” she said in her maddeningly even voice. “Lieutenant Aaran Marl, survived by his wife of seven years and their five-year-old daughter. Specialist Kirata Sandov, survived by her brother who is currently serving as helmsman on Ziost Shadow. Warrant Officer Drexler Tabadi, survived by...” The voice that had begun in dispassionate clarity was now choked with unshed tears. “Survived by his... oh stars, they outlived their son.” She closed her eyes, and Pyne couldn’t be certain if she was holding her sorrow in or his disapproval out.

“I’m sorry.” Pyne rushed to Fixer’s side, guiding her gently down into the chair and then knelt at her side. “I didn’t think... I shouldn’t have said...” He reached out, uncertain what to do but aware he needed to do something, and rested his hand against her cheek.

Fixer tilted her head to press into his palm, her lips brushing lightly against the pad of his thumb. “I can’t be breaking down like this,” she whispered, “not in front of you.”

“It’s alright,” he murmured. “You’re safe with me. You’re safe.” He stretched up to place a reluctantly chaste kiss on her forehead. The breath she had been holding in burst out in a sudden sob. He stroked her hair, shooshed gently into her ear. “No... oh no, Fixer —”

She barked out a laugh, the noise ugly and heartsick. “Fixer Twenty-three is no one. Just another number to be tallied and forgotten.” Her hands twisted and curled in her lap, fingers snarling into anxious knots.

“But you’re not.” He rested his free hand on top of hers, stilling their restless twitching. “Who are you?”

“Nilima,” she murmured, so quietly he had to strain to hear. “Khon’ilim’ahael.”

“Nilima,” he repeated. He leaned forward, his eyes drifting gently shut, only to be stopped by a finger laid across his lips.

“Go back, Sanju. Let them believe they’ve won,” Nilima said, a shy smile curving her lips. “I’ll be waiting.”

“You’re sure?”

Nilima stood, drawing Sanju up to his feet. She pressed her lips to his in a deep, breathless kiss. “I promise.” She put her hands on his shoulders and spun him around, giving him a pat to send him on his way. It was several meters before he could feel the floor beneath his feet again.

Alone again, Subject Sixteen strode to the console and opened an encrypted channel. «Supplemental report.» The Cheunh syllables were clipped and efficient. «Unexpected breakthrough with potential asset Sanju Pyne; appending video record of interaction. Believe circumstance favours progress to phase two. Confirmation requested.» She attached her own surveillance footage to the message, then closed the channel and wiped the transmission record. With Subject Sixteen’s task complete, Fixer Twenty-three picked up her datapad and returned to work.

is largely motivated by emotion, as we see her being torn between her growing affection for Malavai and her fear of what will happen if she betrays Baras. The consequences are very real for her, and as the viewpoint character we experience her fear of those consequences much more than we do with Quinn in the game. We don't know what would have happened if Quinn had not betrayed the Warrior, but we do know what will happen to K'hera if she turns against Malavai. I've portrayed K'hera rather sympathetically here. It will be interesting to see the readers' reactions to the events that we so love to condemn Quinn for.

Poor Sanju. Poor, poor Sanju. He might even have done well with a straightforward teacher, but...Lord he is so young. So young and so vulnerable to the scripts no agent should ever take at face value.

during Act III – after Pierce declares his allegiance

"So. Uh. Master." Vette had followed Ruth to the supply closet to get a moment alone with her.

"Vette," said Ruth. There wasn't a whole lot more she could say; the restrictions on talking to her crew were tight. The floating autopilot replaced most things she tried to say. She could carry whole conversations without getting a genuine word in. It was painful enough that she tried to avoid them entirely.

"I was talking to Pierce," said Vette.

Oh stars, finally, thought Ruth.

"Pretty weird situation, but I guess it explains some things. I guess you can't talk about it?"

Slightly worse than that, for you. "Don't you have work to do?"

"I'm just saying. If it wasn't you who decided…" she tapped her collar…"stuff…I'll do what I can to help out with the Quinn thing." Vette paused. Ruth didn't say anything. Vette went on. "I don't suppose you could free me if I asked?"

Ruth struggled and couldn't stop the cold words. "Vette, I wouldn't take that collar off if you begged. Now get out of the way."

Vette's brow contracted. "No. Nuh-uh. I don't care what Pierce says, I'm not touching this." She looked at Ruth's hands and back at Ruth. "Good luck with work, my lord."

*

Months after endgame

Ruth and Vette lay on the floor in Ruth's room, at home on Dromund Kaas. They were on their backs, separated by a comfortable distance, looking up at nothing in particular while they talked.

"That was just a bad time all around," said Vette.

"Yes," agreed Ruth, deciding not to comment on what a colossal understatement that was.

"Sorry I didn't…try too hard, after Pierce told me. I know it wasn't you-you, but still. Having your only friend in the galaxy turn around and clap a slave collar on you? I kind of wasn't listening after that. Not 'til Pierce and blue-boy dragged me into their holoconferences at the end."

"I don't blame you. It would've been nice – for both of us – to stick together, but the captain was careful to cut that off."

"Yeah. You were evil-you, and the captain and Jaesa were the captain and Jaesa, and Pierce was always busy watching things or slicing stuff and making reports while he pretended he was busy with weapons maintenance. He only talked to me to pump me for information. And Broonmark was furniture. I didn't have anyone to even brag to about messing with the captain."

"I know what you mean. I physically couldn't talk about all the work I did to make him miserable."

"We all heard the commentary you threw his way, though. Like even if you listened to him you could still play the "Sith-thinks-everybody-else-is-dirt" card on him. Why did he let you wish all that painful inconvenience on him?"

"I couldn't function with too many lasting commands in place. Things started falling apart, losing coordination. He had to choose a limited number of active orders or else risk my slipping up at work. So he made an optimization problem out of getting his…getting his requirements with minimal orders. And I made a game out of making his life difficult with every loophole I could find. It wasn't much of a game, but I didn't have a whole lot of friends to do anything else with." She rolled her head to look over at Vette. "Why did you provoke him so much? I was fine, more or less. He had a quick way to shut me up and every reason to avoid doing damage while he was at it. But he could punish you."

Vette shrugged. "Worth it. I was used to collars. The way I see it, if I'm gonna get zapped anyway I may as well get my money's worth." She grinned. "And that jaw thing he did when he got mad…"

"Warmed my heart. I wanted to congratulate you every time, but no. Serious Sith." Ruth sobered. "I'm really sorry for the way I lashed out at you."

"Yeah, wasn't such a fan of that. Or his backup. I thought you were were…I don't know, sick, letting him keep the remote. Like you thought just the collar wasn't cruel enough, you had to hand the controls to him so you could sit back and enjoy the show."

"No. No, it was too cruel in the first place."

"Yeah. Well. It…yeah. Stars, were there any two people on that ship who didn't hate each other?"

"I didn't hate you."

"Oh. Right. Still. Kind of a lonely time all around. All that distance, and no one of us knew all the reasons."

"He did."

Vette snorted. "He was most of the reasons."

"All that distance, and it wasn't nearly enough."

There was a quiet moment. Then Vette asked "Did your imaginary friend help any? In his freakishly unhealthy way?"

"Relatively speaking, Lord Draahg was the healthiest thing about my situation. And yes, his presence did help."

"Huh." Vette lay there for a while longer, thinking. "You are lucky you got to upgrade to me, girl."

"I can agree with that."

"We should bond over screwing with people together for once. How about Pierce?"

"No! I want to have more than one friend in this galaxy."

"How about your dad?"

"No."

"I'm only trying to help."

Ruth reached out and, after a second's hesitation, touched the edge of Vette's hand. "You do, you know."

Vette squeezed her hand. It was their first contact since they had returned to Dromund Kaas. "I got my Sith back. Of course I'm gonna help."

Did Ruth talk this openly? Ever? I'm not 100% sure. Maybe it's an AU probability subset of my AU. It'd take months to begin with, if she did.

I can think of no way to prevent a dedicated minder from reducing a brainwashed subject into an absolute drone unless there is some kind of damage/wear and tear from excessive simultaneous demands that must be avoided. Brains have limits before they turn into goo. It may be pretty broad limits, but still, somewhere I had to leave Ruth some wiggle room.

My first day on Voss was an exercise in frustration. So we were heading home for the night, and I was stewing.

"No shooting Imps," I repeated.

"You always sound surprised by that," said Jorgan.

"Sometimes I think Garza picks these assignments to piss me off."

Tanno Vik chuckled.

"We made good progress today," Elara said gently. "The remainder of our search isn't likely to bring us back near the Imperial element on the planet."

"It's cute you think so," said Vik.

"Let's just go," I said. "I can't wait to get back to the ship."

"Sir," said Jorgan, "at this hour we've missed the last shuttle to the station."

"So we call one."

Elara was busy checking something on her holo. "Captain Jorgan is correct, sir. I don't think we'll be able to just call upon one; Voss traffic control is…strict, to say the least."

"And this from her mouth," said Vik. "We're grounded, boss."

"Right, then. Do the Voss let offworlders buy dinner here? Is that something we're allowed to do?"

"Probably," growled Jorgan. "But we should hurry in case they change their minds."

*

The cantina…or whatever Voss call it…was big, brightly lit with something like firelight. That's a setup you don't see much, at least in the places I get assigned to. Sterile artificial light's the norm. The warmer stuff is nice.

What was less nice was the clientele. The booths around the edges were filled up with other aliens – from the Voss perspective, that is; there were humans in the mix of people gathered in the assorted booths – and the tables had a couple of sullen-looking Imp troopers and a…a party.

I guess my Cathar, two humans, Weequay, Gand, and giant war droid might make for a weird-looking group, but at least we had the common element of a uniform (Forex excepted). The group occupying the only other big table consisted of a young Sith in a weird fake mix of Imp uniform and armor, another slender young woman who looked like she was pretending not to be Sith, a legitimate Imperial officer, a Chiss in some kind of Imp-style business clothes, and a tall thin man in similar clothes who had…black eyes. All black. If Killik Joiners were in the habit of touring with Sith…well, I guess I don't know Joiner habits. I couldn't think of anything else that could do that to a man. Apart from maybe some really tasteless fake-eyewear fad.

We sat down and ordered the least difficult-to-pronounce things on the menu. The Voss waiter accepted solemnly that and moved on. My squad talked. I watched the Imps.

The Sith in street clothes was quiet. The armored Sith, on the other hand, was so animated you'd think she was at a party. Chatty Sith are the worst. Brutal, obnoxious, and half of them think you should be grateful for their charm. I wondered how she dealt with the Force-blinds when she wasn't feeling so sunny.

The Imp officer was…true to form, I guess. The Sith gave him looks I wouldn't wish on anybody. He stayed on the angry edge of stoic, and he kept an eye on me. I considered smiling but decided to skip it. The Chiss I couldn't read; I'm bad with Chiss faces. Those red eyes might've been looking anywhere. If he had an expression it was a relaxed one. He was either dangerous or just unfamiliar – like I said, I'm bad with Chiss – but given the company he kept I was inclined to say dangerous. He did his share of talking. The maybe-Joiner seemed the most comfortable one there, after the Sith. He was subdued, but smiling. I noted a telescoping electrostaff sheathed at his side. Interesting weapon. Meant I could get him before he got me.

I would've given good money to know what they were doing here. And how I could block it.

"Sir?" said Elara.

"Hm? What?" I looked back at her.

"I was wondering whether you're going to eat anything."

I looked down at my plate. I had only managed a couple of bites before I got lost watching the other table. "Yeah. Sure." I shook myself and got back to eating.

But soon a commotion at the other table snapped my attention back there. The armored Sith was gesturing oddly. She looked red. Drunk? No, she hadn't been nearly like this three minutes ago.

And then she started gasping loudly enough for us to hear. And then I realized her face was swollen. The officer swept her out of her chair to ease her to the floor. The Sith was in distress, more than grunts like me usually get to see.

"I'll help you!" Elara surged to her feet and darted past me with one hand fishing in her pack. I couldn't stop her.

I didn't have to. Before she could get past the end of our table the Imp officer was standing with his blaster trained on her. "No closer," he said in a stuffy arrogant voice. "Medic. See to it."

I felt more than heard the stir of activity around my own table as our crew prepared for trouble. I was busy watching the Imps. The Chiss was moving to assist the Sith. His face had tightened from neutral to grim. The officer, keeping his blaster aimed, was throwing equally angry looks at my people and the Chiss. The Sith was gasping harder, gulping for air. The idea of seeing a Sith choke to death held quite a lot of appeal.

Elara, though she had stopped moving, was leaning forward, watching the Chiss's movements and fiddling with her own pack.

"Dorne, your help really isn't needed," I told her.

"No," agreed the Imp officer. "It isn't."

Elara ignored us both. "Do you have the necessary supplies?" she asked the Chiss.

He kept on with some kind of injection without looking up. "Yes, thank you. Vector, get some water and as much ice as they can provide. Captain, do try to keep it civil." He looked up for that, and somehow I think that red gaze hit both me and the Imp. "We don't want trouble, Major."

"Worried now that she's out of commission?" I needled. They had another Sith, yes, but she looked too girlishly nervous to pose a threat. If it came to it I could take her. And she wasn't their weapon. The armored Sith was.

The Chiss ignored me. "My lord," he said quietly to the Sith at his knees. "The swelling should be slowing. From here it's a matter of waiting. We'll get you someplace safe to rest."

The officer abruptly holstered his blaster. Then he helped the Sith up. There. Something in the way he moved with her, even though he stayed cold and she was too swollen to express much of anything, said that that affection she'd been spraying earlier wasn't all one-sided. I couldn't imagine how twisted someone would have to be to actually care about a Sith. I wondered how long he had to live. Not long, I hoped; the one good thing about Sith is that they tend to save me the effort of killing the Imps around them.

The shy Sith and the Joiner went along with them out of the room. The Chiss turned toward us as if to cover their escape. In fact, he walked right up to face me. This close he was tiny. Not only could I have snapped his neck, I could probably have snapped his twiggy little torso.

"I trust there won't be a problem," he said. I didn't like the cool assurance of that voice. I didn't like it at all.

"Problem? No." I patted my rifle. "I'm just standing ready to keep the peace."

"An admirable goal," said the Chiss. "I think we can both stop the threats now."

"Stop? I could execute my other job functions instead, but I don't think you'd like it very much."

For once I was 100% sure those pupilless red eyes were focused right on me. "Let's not. We have our hosts to consider." He looked past me to my squad. "Sabotage yourself and your cause as much as you like, major, but don't bring my people into it."

I hated it, but he had a point about the Voss. "Stand down," I told the others. "Let's just pack it in."

The Chiss nodded crisply and disappeared after his friends.

*

Ruth pressed ice packs to her face, but she kept an eye on Wynston. "You didn't have to go after Havoc Squad," she said.

"I'm afraid I did," said Wynston. "All evening, their commander couldn't wait to get his hands on you."

"He was only looking for a reason," added Quinn.

"And he would've pressed the advantage if someone didn't shame him out of it. That one's a fanatic and his people were ready to follow him." Wynston considered. "Except maybe the medic. She had a healer's instincts."

"I wouldn't be so quick to trust her," said Quinn.

"Yes, we noticed," Wynston said dryly. "Thank you for nearly provoking the incident I spent the entire evening considering ways to prevent."

"I was watching their leader in the moment Ruth first appeared vulnerable. I simply took the action necessary to stop him, by threatening the thing he was most likely to stop for."

"I noticed that earlier," said Ruth. "He didn't seem all bad when he was looking at her."

"The meanest dogs can seem decent around the one thing they love," Wynston said coolly, looking at Quinn. "They're still dogs."

"If it weren't for the Voss cease-fire, it would have been to our advantage to remove them," said Ruth. "We might yet do it before this war is over. Still. They didn't seem all bad."

Wynston shook his head and patted Ruth's hand. "How are you doing?"

Ruth took a deep breath. "Well, it could have been a lot worse."

Very interesting moment for Quinn. If it turned to a fight it would be easy to spin the first move – Elara's approach – as a Republic initiation of hostilities, which would render the incident a tremendous boon for the Empire: hey, look, Voss, these Republic barbarians started a fight! Win the fight, Havoc Squad is neutralized. Lose, there's a significant chance Quinn would be spared the necessity of killing Ruth himself - the order is active at this point. Intermediate state, at least Havoc Squad is weakened and Ruth still might be removed. Wynston, too, for that matter. In any fight scenario at all, Ruth's allergic reaction might've killed her before medical intervention could happen. So as long as Quinn could stand to watch Ruth die, and so long as he can make absolutely sure that Havoc Squad is the first to actually fire, that could've been absolutely ideal.

He just underestimated Vierce's anger-to-desire-to-prevent-harm-to-Dorne ratio as well as Havoc Squad's overall discipline.

My first day on Voss was an exercise in frustration. So we were heading home for the night, and I was stewing.

"No shooting Imps," I repeated.

"You always sound surprised by that," said Jorgan.

"Sometimes I think Garza picks these assignments to piss me off."

Tanno Vik chuckled.

"We made good progress today," Elara said gently. "The remainder of our search isn't likely to bring us back near the Imperial element on the planet."

"It's cute you think so," said Vik.

"Let's just go," I said. "I can't wait to get back to the ship."

"Sir," said Jorgan, "at this hour we've missed the last shuttle to the station."

"So we call one."

Elara was busy checking something on her holo. "Captain Jorgan is correct, sir. I don't think we'll be able to just call upon one; Voss traffic control is…strict, to say the least."

"And this from her mouth," said Vik. "We're grounded, boss."

"Right, then. Do the Voss let offworlders buy dinner here? Is that something we're allowed to do?"

"Probably," growled Jorgan. "But we should hurry in case they change their minds."

*

The cantina…or whatever Voss call it…was big, brightly lit with something like firelight. That's a setup you don't see much, at least in the places I get assigned to. Sterile artificial light's the norm. The warmer stuff is nice.

What was less nice was the clientele. The booths around the edges were filled up with other aliens – from the Voss perspective, that is; there were humans in the mix of people gathered in the assorted booths – and the tables had a couple of sullen-looking Imp troopers and a…a party.

I guess my Cathar, two humans, Weequay, Gand, and giant war droid might make for a weird-looking group, but at least we had the common element of a uniform (Forex excepted). The group occupying the only other big table consisted of a young Sith in a weird fake mix of Imp uniform and armor, another slender young woman who looked like she was pretending not to be Sith, a legitimate Imperial officer, a Chiss in some kind of Imp-style business clothes, and a tall thin man in similar clothes who had…black eyes. All black. If Killik Joiners were in the habit of touring with Sith…well, I guess I don't know Joiner habits. I couldn't think of anything else that could do that to a man. Apart from maybe some really tasteless fake-eyewear fad.

We sat down and ordered the least difficult-to-pronounce things on the menu. The Voss waiter accepted solemnly that and moved on. My squad talked. I watched the Imps.

The Sith in street clothes was quiet. The armored Sith, on the other hand, was so animated you'd think she was at a party. Chatty Sith are the worst. Brutal, obnoxious, and half of them think you should be grateful for their charm. I wondered how she dealt with the Force-blinds when she wasn't feeling so sunny.

The Imp officer was…true to form, I guess. The Sith gave him looks I wouldn't wish on anybody. He stayed on the angry edge of stoic, and he kept an eye on me. I considered smiling but decided to skip it. The Chiss I couldn't read; I'm bad with Chiss faces. Those red eyes might've been looking anywhere. If he had an expression it was a relaxed one. He was either dangerous or just unfamiliar – like I said, I'm bad with Chiss – but given the company he kept I was inclined to say dangerous. He did his share of talking. The maybe-Joiner seemed the most comfortable one there, after the Sith. He was subdued, but smiling. I noted a telescoping electrostaff sheathed at his side. Interesting weapon. Meant I could get him before he got me.

I would've given good money to know what they were doing here. And how I could block it.

"Sir?" said Elara.

"Hm? What?" I looked back at her.

"I was wondering whether you're going to eat anything."

I looked down at my plate. I had only managed a couple of bites before I got lost watching the other table. "Yeah. Sure." I shook myself and got back to eating.

*

But soon a commotion at the other table snapped my attention back there. The tall Joiner was gesturing oddly. He looked red. Drunk? No, he hadn't been nearly like this three minutes ago.

And then he started gasping loudly enough for us to hear. And then I realized his face was swollen. The Chiss rapidly moved to ease him to the floor. The Joiner waved weakly and kept fighting to breathe.

"I'll help you!" Elara surged to her feet and darted past me with one hand fishing in her pack. I couldn't stop her.

I didn't have to. Before she could get past the end of our table the Imp officer was standing with his blaster trained on her. "No closer," he said in a stuffy arrogant voice.

I took out my sidearm but didn't risk further movement. I felt more than heard the stir of activity around my own table as our crew prepared for trouble. I just watched the Imps. The Chiss, his face having tightened from neutral to grim, was unpacking a supply kit to assist the Joiner. The officer kept his eyes and his aim on us. Or rather, his eyes on me and his aim on Elara. The Joiner was gasping harder, gulping for air. As for the Sith, well, I had never seen Sith look so distressed over seeing someone choke. I could've laughed if the situation weren't so tight.

The armored Sith, distressed or not, paid attention to me while she moved to stand by the Imp officer. "Captain." Her gaze flickered to him for a second before returning to me. "This isn't our battlefield."

I had seen a lot of strange Imp behavior since coming to the planet where even the Empire had to admit acting nice would be rewarded. But that proclamation of virtue topped them all. "A housebroken Sith," I said. "Never thought I'd see the day."

The Sith looked from me to the Imp officer and back. "We don't want trouble, soldier."

I sort of did. But I had my orders. I wouldn't be the one to shoot.

Beside me Elara was still leaning forward, watching the Chiss's movements and fiddling with her pack. "Do you have all the necessary supplies?" she asked the Chiss.

He kept on with some kind of injection without looking up. "Yes, thank you. Jaesa, if you would get some water and as much ice as they can provide." The shy Sith nodded and hurried off.

"They really don't need your help, Dorne," I said.

"No. We don't," said the officer.

"Lower your weapon, captain," the Sith said firmly. I savored the frustration on the officer's face as he obeyed. Then, addressing the Chiss medic, the Sith said "How's Vector?"

"Reacting poorly," said the Chiss. He was still on his knees, busily juggling injections for the hideously swollen-faced Joiner. "I should see results in another minute."

"Don't you have some kind of Force trick for his problem?" I asked the Sith, gesturing at my throat. "Or does it only go the other way?"

"Major, please," murmured Elara without looking at me.

The Sith scowled. So much for her pretty doll face. "You needn't watch my friend's pain with quite this much glee, major. Here I thought the Republic was supposed to prefer civilized dinner entertainment."

Friend. Ha. "Seems there's only one kind of entertainment you Imps know how to put on. In this fine world of cultural understanding, it'd be rude of me to fail to appreciate it." I only wished it was the officer or one of the Sith so desperately gasping. One of the powerful people.

The shy Sith had come back early. Now she looked at me, then leaned to whisper in the armored Sith's ear. And, while the armored Sith didn't break eye contact with me, her expression changed. If she had been anything other than what she was, I would've called it pity.

But she was Sith, and the look on her face didn't count for as much as the fact that she was laying hands on the twin hilts of the lightsabers at her belt. Once she had a grip she got very still. "Noted," she said calmly. "As soon as it's safe to move Vector we're leaving. Stay ready, captain."

"I always am, my lord." The Imp officer hadn't holstered his blaster, just lowered it, holding at an angle that suggested he could and would shoot from the hip on less than half a second's notice. Smart man. I wondered which of us would aim that opening round better.

The Chiss addressed his patient so everyone could hear. "Vector. The swelling should be slowing. From here it's a matter of waiting. We'll get you someplace safe to rest." He looked up. "My lord. Are we clear to move?"

"That's up to our Republic friends," she said. "Gentlemen, I'll repeat, we don't want trouble. Quinn, Jaesa, help him with Vector. I'll just stand here, and I'll be along once you all are clear."

The Imp officer didn't budge.

The Sith lowered her eyes in his general direction. "Quinn. Go on."

The look he gave her then was way out of place for a fight. For just a second, while he thought over the notion of standing down while all Havoc's eyes were on her, it looked like that affection she'd been spraying earlier wasn't all one-sided. I couldn't imagine how twisted someone would have to be to actually care about a Sith. I wondered how long he had to live even if I let him walk. Not long, I hoped; the one good thing about Sith is that they tend to save me the effort of killing the Imps around them.

But then he nodded, holstered his weapon, and went to help the Chiss and the shy Sith with the Joiner. The Chiss disentangled himself and stood. "My lord, get him to his room. I'll be along shortly." He waited for a few seconds; the armored Sith who faced us stayed put. "I won't attract any fights," he added.

Her mouth twisted wryly. "Understood." Then she went to help the Joiner out of the room. Seeing all their backs to us like that was…well. I reminded myself that I wasn't going to open fire.

*

The Chiss walked right up to face me. This close he was tiny. Not only could I have snapped his neck, I could probably have snapped his twiggy little torso.

"I trust there won't be a problem," he said. I didn't like the cool assurance of that voice. I didn't like it at all.

"Problem? No." I patted my rifle. "I'm just standing ready to keep the peace."

"An admirable goal," said the Chiss. "I think we can both stop the threats now."

"Stop? I could execute my other job functions instead, but I don't think you'd like it very much."

For once I was 100% sure those pupilless red eyes were focused right on me. "Let's not. We have our hosts to consider." He looked past me to my squad. "Sabotage yourself and your cause as much as you like, major, but don't bring my people into it."

I hated it, but he had a point about the Voss. "Stand down," I told the others. "Let's just pack it in."

The Chiss nodded crisply and disappeared after his friends.

*

Vector was holding ice packs to his face, but at least he was breathing comfortably. Ruth's anxious attention snapped to Wynston when he came in. "You didn't have to go after them," she said.

"I'm afraid I did," said Wynston. "Their commander was desperate to start trouble with you. I couldn't leave you alone with him and it would've been a pointless risk to turn all our backs to him at once."

"You couldn't have been the one to cover our exit, master," added Jaesa. "He hated all of us, but you and me most of all. I could feel it to his core. He was just looking for an excuse."

"And he would've pressed the advantage if someone didn't shame him out of it. That man is a fanatic and his people were ready to follow him." Wynston considered. "Except maybe the medic. She had a healer's instincts."

"I wouldn't be so quick to trust her," said Quinn.

"Yes, we noticed," Wynston said dryly. "Thank you for nearly provoking the incident I spent the entire evening considering ways to prevent."

"I was watching their leader in the moment one of ours first appeared vulnerable. I simply took the action necessary to stop him, by threatening the thing he was most likely to stop for."

"I noticed that," said Ruth. "He didn't seem all bad when he was looking at her."

"The meanest dogs can seem decent around the one thing they love," Wynston said coolly, looking at Quinn. "They're still dogs."

"If it weren't for the Voss cease-fire, it would have been to our advantage to remove them," said Ruth. "We might yet do it before this war is over. Still. They didn't seem all bad."

"Their commander's not all bad," Jaesa said, "but he'll never make peace. If we see Havoc Squad again, it will have to be to kill them."

Wynston had settled down at Vector's side. "Vector," he said thoughtfully, "note that if you die I will be reduced to navigating diplomatic situations with this lot." He patted Vector's hand. "Please don't die."

"The meanest dogs can seem decent around the one thing they love," Wynston said coolly, looking at Quinn. "They're still dogs."

"The meanest dogs can seem decent around the one thing they love," Wynston said coolly, looking at Quinn. "They're still dogs."

Starship Graveyard, Hoth

11 ATC

Things had been awkward since K’hera’s conversation with Malavai about their mutual attraction to one another. She had done her best to avoid him, mostly out of embarrassment. Such a feat was not easy on a ship the size of a Fury-class interceptor, but she had done a decent job.

Unfortunately, once they arrived on Hoth, he had insisted on her accompanying him. No matter how uncomfortable it might be, orders were orders. So she had bundled herself up, grabbed her lightsabers and her blaster, and ventured out into the frozen wastes.

After various escapades, they’d found their quarry, the elusive Jedi Master Wyellett, in the wreckage of a crashed Republic dreadnaught. The Jedi had offered to solve the situation peacefully, but Malavai had of course refused. He, like her, had his orders, and he, like her, would follow them to the letter.

Naturally, Wyellett was putting up quite a fight.

K’hera readjusted her grip on her left-hand lightsaber and lunged back into the fight. She was taking an incredible risk by entering a lightsaber duel with a Jedi Master without the Force to aid her, but it was time for desperate measures.

Malavai took the brunt of Wyellett’s attack, his lightsaber flashing as he blocked each one of the Jedi’s strikes. He was doing considerably more defending than attacking.

The Talz they had recruited lay in a heap off to one side; he’d been knocked unconscious during the battle with the Jedi Knight Xerender.

K’hera slashed forward towards Wyellett’s exposed side, only to have her blades repelled by a wall of Force energy. She cursed under her breath and started to attack again.

Wyellett took one hand off his lightsaber for an instant and gestured in her direction. Unable to repel the Force attack, she was thrown backward and struck the icy wall with an audible crack. White-hot pain flared sharply at the impact, then she tumbled limply forward and landed face-first in a snowbank.

For several moments, blackness threatened to overwhelm her.

Get up, K’hera, she told herself grimly. Get up. You’re not that badly hurt. Malavai needs you.

It was that last thought more than anything else that gave her the strength to stagger to her feet, pushing away the pain. She shook her head to clear it, then looked over at the battle.

Her eyes widened in horror. Somehow, Wyellett had gained the upper hand, and was steadily pushing Malavai back. She watched as if in slow motion as the young Sith staggered under the assault, leaving an opening for a killing blow.

K’hera heard someone scream, “No!” A distant part of her mind noted that it was her own voice.

As Wyellett started to move his blade towards the opening in Malavai’s defense, the world seemed to slide back into real time. Rage seared through her like molten lava in her veins, burning away her pain and weariness. Without even thinking about what she was doing, she stretched out her hands towards the battle.

An invisible force blasted the Jedi backwards. He crashed into the nearest wall and hung suspended there like an insect pinned to a card.

K’hera leaped across the room to land directly in front of him. Adrenaline pulsed through her, making her light-headed. She flicked her fingers and her lightsabers sprang into her hands.

“You fought well, Master Wyellett,” she said coldly, her voice sounding as if it were coming from very far away. “But not well enough.”

She activated both blades and impaled him.

As the Jedi gasped out his final breath, a surge of energy expanded outward from his corpse. Cracks appeared on the cavern walls, and the ceiling creaked ominously.

K’hera rushed over to where Malavai stood, seemingly frozen to the spot. “We’ve got to get out of here!” she exclaimed.

Grabbing him by the arm, she steered him towards the exit. He followed her at a stumbling run. Dimly, she hoped that he hadn’t taken a blow to the head. The cavern rumbled.

They drew closer and closer to the exit, but they did not make it quite far enough.

Massive chunks of ice dropped down from the ceiling as the cavern collapsed inward on itself. K’hera cursed and pushed outward with the Force to create a bubble around them, sensing Malavai do the same beside her.

After several long moments, the rubble settled above their heads. They had made it just far enough that their path to the exit was still clear.

K’hera finally noticed that Malavai was staring at her with an expression of total shock on his face. “Something for you?” she demanded tartly.

I just saved his life, twice, she thought grumpily. Least he could do is show a little gratitude—

“Your Force-sensitivity,” Malavai said, still staring. “It’s back.”

“What are you—“ K’hera’s brain finally caught up with her, and she gasped.

It’s back. The Force is back, and I didn’t even notice!

“Stars above,” she whispered. “I feel…I feel alive again.”

Malavai smiled at her, a real, pleased smile that made her stomach flutter. “I must complement you on your excellent sense of timing,” he said dryly. “An instant later and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

K’hera nodded slowly. “Thank the Emperor.”

She paused, the details of their last conversation replaying in her mind as she looked at him intently.

Malavai certainly wasn’t looking his best—he had several bruises on his face, he was covered in snow that had drifted down from the collapsed ceiling, and his face had turned a patchy red from the cold. But his eyes seemed bluer than ever, and he was smiling at her, and she could feel in the Force that he was genuinely happy for her.

She could feel other things, too, an undercurrent of emotion lying just underneath the surface of that happiness.

K’hera hesitated for a moment. Maybe it was the thrill of the Force being restored, maybe it was his smile, maybe it was that current of affection running through his Force-signature… Frankly, she didn’t know why she did it, but she did know that she had no regrets whatsoever as she grabbed him by the collar and kissed him soundly.

For a moment, he stood still in surprise, but he recovered quickly enough, putting his arms around her and drawing her close as he returned the kiss with a passion that she would never have expected from him. He slid a hand up against the back of her head, and she couldn’t care less at that moment that the blood on his gloves was getting in her hair. Hoth’s cold seemed a distant memory as she pressed herself against him, wishing that the hard shell of his armor wasn’t in between them.

Far too soon for her liking, Malavai pulled back, breathing hard. K’hera smiled up at him, winding her arms around his neck.

“I’m going to go out on a limb,” he said hoarsely, “and assume this means that you’ve changed your mind.”

“So it would seem,” K’hera said, her smile widening.

Malavai regarded her with a curious expression on his face. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you smile before,” he mused. “It makes you look even more beautiful.”

“That’s awfully sweet of you to say,” K’hera muttered, “but you don’t have to flatter me. I know what I look like.”

“So do I,” Malavai said firmly. “And you are beautiful.”

She frowned, some of her elation draining away. “I’m a mess of scars.”

“Not on your face,” he pointed out. “A few scars don’t disturb me.”

“You might take that back when you see them,” K’hera said gloomily.

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you offering to…”

She shrugged. “If you want.”

Malavai tightened his hold on her. “Of course I do,” he murmured.

K’hera started to reply, but he cut her off with another kiss. By the time that was over, she had completely forgotten what she was going to say.

Aboard Fury-class starship

11 ATC

K’hera almost wished that she had a holocamera handy to record Jaesa’s expression when she and Malavai strolled onto the ship, arm in arm. As it were, she did her best to affix it in her memory as she smirked smugly at the younger woman.

When the crew retreated to the galley to let Malavai report to Baras in private, Jaesa cornered K’hera.

“You b*tch,” Jaesa hissed, glaring furiously. “He’s mine, do you hear me? Mine!”

K’hera continued smirking. “I’m afraid I’ll have to disagree with that assessment.”

Jaesa’s expression darkened. “I’ll make you pay for this.”

“Good luck with that,” K’hera drawled.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noted Vette and Pierce watching the confrontation with interest, muttering quietly to each other.

Jaesa snarled something incoherent and reached for her lightsaber.

“Don’t make me hurt you,” K’hera sighed.

“I’d be a little more worried about myself if I was you,” Jaesa retorted.

K’hera smiled and lifted a hand.

Jaesa staggered backward, her hands flying to her throat as she struggled to breathe.

“Things are going to be very different around here from now on,” K’hera said coolly. “You are Lord Malavai’s apprentice. I am his equal. You will learn your place, and you will keep to it.” Her smile widened. “You will not like the consequences.”

Jaesa stared at her, wide-eyed, as her face rapidly turned purple. K’hera released the Force choke and she sagged forward, gasping for air.

“I trust I’ve made my point,” K’hera murmured. “Do not test my patience, for I will not hesitate to make it again.”

With that, she turned on her heel and strode majestically out of the room, feeling euphoric. At long last, everything was right in the galaxy.

Pierce elbowed Vette. “Pay up.”

Vette glowered. “Damn it all,” she muttered, fishing in the credit pouch on her belt. “Should’ve known better than to bet against K’hera.”

Pierce raised an eyebrow thoughtfully. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen her quite so…”

“Happy?” Vette suggested.

Pierce nodded. “I wonder what the occasion is.”

Vette shrugged. “I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough.”

Pierce looked over at where Jaesa had collapsed to her knees, massaging her throat. “Yes,” he mused. “I’ll bet we will.”

So, things are finally looking up for K'hera! About time, isn't it? However, we have yet to see how long it will last...