Dromund Kaas

42 ATC

After the funeral, the low gray clouds finally started the rain that had been threatening all day. It misted down through the air, making the flowers on the vines surrounding the entrance to the mausoleum close their blossoms. Droplets gathered on the dark gray uniforms of the two people walking slowly through the garden beside the mausoleum, shimmering on the black collars and shoulders like a scattering of tiny diamonds.

Malavai Quinn looked at his eldest daughter as they walked, noting the fresh scars on her face. The older she grew, the more he thought that she looked like her mother. The ridges on her forehead were less pronounced, easily hidden by her low bangs, and her skin was less red, but it was A’tro’s face.

The resemblance ended there, however. Her black hair, her dark blue eyes, even her lack of Force-sensitivity were all his. From her appearance to her captain’s insignia, Saryn was his daughter. His responsibility. And he had always been so very, very proud of her.

They walked together in silence, ignoring the fog of rain.

“Shouldn’t you be with Mother?” Saryn asked abruptly.

Quinn shook his head. “She wants to be left alone right now.”

“And of course, you listened to her,” Saryn murmured, running her fingertips over a nearby flower’s fragile petals. “You always do. You never question her.”

He chose to disregard that comment. “I wanted to talk to you.”

She didn’t look at him. “We’ve already been over what happened.”

“This isn’t about what happened,” Quinn said, moving towards her. He started to put a hand on her shoulder; she flinched away before he made contact. “I’m concerned about you.”

“You’re worried about me?” she asked sardonically, still looking at the flower. “That’s sweet of you, Father.”

“Of course I’m worried,” he snapped. “I know this can’t be easy for you.”

“You don’t see me crying, do you?” Saryn muttered.

“I know you hide your feelings. You always have.”

She finally turned to face him. “I’m fine.”

Quinn put a hand on her shoulder again. This time, she didn’t move away. “You don’t have to lie to me, Saryn,” he told her. “Feelings of guilt are perfectly understandable, given the situation—“

“Is that what this is about?” she demanded. “You think I’m feeling guilty?”

“It’s a reasonable response—“

“Well, I don’t,” Saryn said flatly. “We were overwhelmed by Republic forces. It wasn’t my fault, and I realize that.”

"That's good to hear," Quinn said carefully. "I would not want you to feel responsible for events beyond your control."

"Because I'm so very good at that?" she wondered.

"I have no idea what you mean."

Saryn rolled her eyes. "Yes, you do. I know what you're doing, Father."

"I'm not—"

"Please, stop it." She took several strides away from him, appearing suddenly fascinated by the neatly pruned bushes in front of her.

"Saryn!" Quinn snapped, walking quickly after her. "I know what you're thinking, and I assure you, I was not in any way referring to—"

"To my weakness? My flaw? My shame?" Saryn slowly turned to face him. "You may not have meant to bring it up, but I know that you're thinking about it. You and Mother both. You're thinking that if only I had been a Sith like Ivraetha, both of us would still be alive today."

He shook his head. "The thought never once crossed my mind. I have never held you accountable for your lack of Force-sensitivity."

"Mother has."

Quinn opened his mouth to protest.

"Don't bother denying it," she said flatly. "We both know it's true."

He took a deep breath, then another. He never knew quite what to say when she broached this subject. On one hand, A'tro loved Saryn. He knew that much for certain. He'd seen the joy in her eyes when their daughter graduated from the Academy, the excitement with which she received the news of her every exploit.

On the other hand... Vivid memories assaulted him, memories of A'tro screaming in rage and weeping despondently in his arms when it finally became clear that Saryn would never touch the Force.

"I'm a failure," she'd told him. "A disgrace to you, to my lineage..."

Sith tradition warred with the instinct to nurture and protect the little girl with the huge blue eyes who had worked herself so firmly into both their affections. In the end, the notion of killing or disowning her was utterly unthinkable.

But then Ivraetha had proven to be everything that Saryn was not...

"Your eyes are glazing over," Saryn noted dryly. "I had no idea I was that boring."

Quinn shook himself. "Sorry. Just thinking."

"You've got your calculating face on. Trying to find a way out of this?"

"Out of what, precisely?"

"Out of facing the fact that it is far, far too late for you to apologize to me."

"I," Quinn said, placing the slightest emphasis on the word, "have nothing to apologize for."

"Why not? My entire life has been a facade, a pale imitation of you—and for what?"

"Do not start this," he said in a low voice. "Not now."

"And why not?" Saryn demanded. "Why the hell not? I've devoted my entire life to this career, done my best to become the perfect little soldier. But I've known all along that no matter how well I do, no matter how far I go, I will never be able to make up for the one thing I can never have."

"I don't give a damn if you're Force-sensitive or not!" Quinn snapped, his patience starting to wear thin. "You are my daughter, and I love you. Whether or not you choose to believe it is your prerogative, but I swear to you that it is the truth."

She smiled faintly. "Really, Father? The same old refrain? I would've thought that you would have come up with something new, now that the circumstances have changed."

"Ivraetha's passing has not changed the fact that I care for you, regardless of your lack of power."

"Of course you care. I'm all you have, now."

"That makes no difference."

"It's all right," Saryn said lightly. "You don't have to lie to me. From a tactical standpoint, the mission was a failure. Ivraetha was more valuable than me, and we lost her. From an emotional standpoint... Well. I know you never played favorites, not like Mother, but..."

"Your mother loved you and your sister equally, Saryn," Quinn said sharply.

"I told you, you don't have to lie to me."

"It's not a lie."

"Then why am I finding it so difficult to believe you?"

"Saryn," he said gently. "Calm down. You're not yourself."

"I am perfectly calm," she returned coolly. "I am always calm. Just like you."

"You are not yourself," he repeated.

"But I am myself," she said softly. "Saryn Dae'lora Quinn. Twenty-seven years old. Daughter of the Wrath and her favorite officer."

"That's an interesting epithet," Quinn said amusedly.

Saryn shrugged. "You're a Force-blind. Like me, you are considered inconsequential. A mere footnote, doomed to forever walk in the shadows of lesser beings whose only claim to power is their affinity for the Force." She shook her head slowly. "But not anymore, Father. Not anymore."

"What are you saying?" Quinn asked warily.

"Oh, I think you know the answer to that."

"I'm sorry," Quinn whispered.

Saryn sighed. "Don't be. It's not your fault. You tried your best, but there's only so much a parent can do. The rest is up to the child, and if they falter, if they go astray...well, on their own head be it."

"You didn't have to—"

"No, I suppose not," she interrupted. "But I have no regrets, Father, no regrets at all. Is that strange?"

"I wouldn't know."

"Wouldn't you?" She reached into her jacket and pulled out a vibroknife, then proferred it to him hilt-first. "I believe this belongs to you."

He started to reach for the weapon, then forced his hand back to his side. "It was a gift."

"And I used it well."

Quinn had no idea what to say to that. He watched her watch him, still holding the vibroknife, meeting his gaze steadily with eyes that were the same color as his own.

"You should go," she said after a long moment of silence. "Go comfort Mother. I know she said she wants to be alone, but she needs you. She always needs you."

Quinn frowned. "Will you be all right?"

"No, I suspect not," she murmured. "But it's all been said and done, Ivraetha is dead, and I am the one who—who lived to tell the tale. But if Mother asks...tell her I'm fine, please. I wouldn't want her to worry."

"I will," Quinn said softly. "Again, I am so very sorry. For everything."

Saryn smiled, turning the knife over and watching droplets of water run down the blade as the rain continued to fall.

I do hope this is not so vague as to be utterly incomprehensible... I was trying for a certain degree of ambiguity, but I feel like I ended up with a big heap of tension and no real point to it. Oh, well.

Also, Dae'lora is a heavily modified version of Dolores, which itself comes from dolorem, so it's totally symbolic and I guess I'm trying to be profound but I have no idea what I am doing.

There’s some story missing between “Senator” and the two versions of “Together,” regarding Rixik-Corso-Kirya’s relationship. I still haven't quite sorted that all out yet, at least as far as Corso is concerned. So the one minor mention of Corso relates to these (as yet undetermined) events. I tried to keep it vague, so it won’t matter how I resolve the other issues and so it doesn’t overshadow these later events.

Rixik scratched his face near the edge of his scar. He didn’t want to let Darmas know he was on Coruscant the minute he stepped off the shuttle, so he sported temporary lekku-tattoos and a textured bioplast appliqué disguising his scar behind a disfiguring facial injury. Even included a pretend cybernetic eye. It kept showing him vectors and measurements. Very distracting. But it was more than enough to fool computerized image recognition systems, and that was all he needed for the time being.

He stood behind her in the cockpit as Kirya guided Sirocco into the spaceport docking bay. The lean little freighter settled in her stall, hissing and offgassing as though everything was normal. Rixik leaned against the bulkhead, fiddling with a compact datareader, “Kirya--”

She turned away from the nav console, “Everything squared away? You’re going to miss your shuttle.”

“I...” stars, he didn’t want to do this. Even if it was the right thing. “Kirya, I need your approval.” He proffered the reader.

“Since when?” She asked with a giggle, and the sound hurt like nails. Kirya took the reader and scanned the contents. Looked up sharply, “What is this supposed to be?” she asked.

“What it looks like,” he said.

“Divorce papers?” Tears filled her eyes, “You want a divorce? Now?”

Rixik rushed forward and held her hands. “Look, look, it’s just files, mesh’la-mesh’la,” he took her in his arms, “This thing with Darmas. It’s going to get ugly.”

“What has this got to do with Darmas?” she cried.

Damn it. She never got these things in one, and he ought to remember by now. Especially now. He pushed her away gently, gripping her shoulders, “I want him to think I’m doing this on my own. Or that I ran off with Risha or something. After Corso the timing is perfect. It’s plausible. He thinks I’m a jealous freak. If he doesn’t know you’re involved, he’ll leave you alone. He won’t have any reason to go after you if he thinks I don’t care. Nothing to gain. And if, Force forbid, something really bad happens, you won’t end up an Imperial slave.” He was going to add ‘or worse’ except there wasn’t much worse. Not for a pretty Twi’lek woman. Not in Imperial hands, and that’s where she’d end up.

“No.”

She still didn’t get it. It was the only way to protect her. Keep her safe. “Kirya, he’ll use any leverage. Anything. I...” Rixik ground his teeth, “I won’t let him use the only thing that matters to me.”

“No,” she reiterated.

Stubborn woman. “It’s just files,” Rixik insisted, “being married was always about us. Never about the stupa records. We’re married. A ceremony, a contract, a ring, a tattoo, or divorce papers won’t make me any more or less your husband. Or you my wife.”

“No,” she emphasized. She pulled the chip out of the reader and crushed it under her heel, “Whatever happens, we face it together. Together.”

Crazy stubborn woman, be sensible. “I took your smile once, Kirya,” Rixik said, desperate, “I won’t do it again. I can’t.” Not again. Never again.

Kirya put her hands on her hips, her brows furrowed, lekku twitching in fury, “Darmas Pollaran and Bevera Dodonna will not turn you back into the man you were when we met. I won’t let them. Even if you think it’s in a good cause. And that’s final.”

“Kirya--”

“That’s final, Jesp,” she said. She pulled him in and hugged him tightly, unwilling to let go.

He held her, loose at first, then as though it might be the last time. Crazy, crazy, stubborn woman. Believing things didn’t make them so. Except. That was what he’d fallen for. She believed he was a decent person, worth something, when no one else did. And believing...believing made it so. Crazy, crazy, stubborn, optimistic woman.

He considered, briefly, where he might be if not for Kirya. If Kirya hadn’t believed what started out as lies. If Kirya had called the authorities on Nar Shaddaa all those years ago, instead of believing he was sincere. And if he hadn’t taken that leap, that one leap of faith, and trusted in her instead of acting on instinct.

Kirya was the only person he loved. Was it worth risking the only good thing in his life to take down some creep Imperial and his pet senator?

Kirya broke off and poked him in the chest, “Now you go beat Darmas at his own damn game with his own damn cards.”

Rixik looked down at her. Yes, yes it was. Because it would make her happy. It would make her smile.

Kirya guided Sirocco into her stall in the light-cargo section of the spaceport. The freighter, swift as her namesake, settled gently on her landing gear, aligned perfectly for the refueling crew and mechanics. She heard Jesp behind her, “Kirya?” he said.

She turned away from the console. She still wasn’t used to seeing him with eyebrows--she’d painted them on with elti-stain, as well as painted designs on his lekku. It was supposed to fool the image-tracking programs he was sure Darmas Pollaran had scanning the feeds from Coruscant’s ubiquitous security cams. Between that, the bioplast burn scar on his face, and the fake cybernetic eye, she barely recognized him.

Though she did see he was nervous. Those little lekku twitches that only another Twi’lek would notice. Something was wrong. “Everything squared away?” she asked, trying to sound cheerful, “You’re going to miss your shuttle.”

“I...” he began. Then he just held out a compact datacard reader, “Kirya, I need your approval.”

“Since when?” she asked, hoping for a laugh. She didn’t get one. She opened the one file on the reader and stared at the legalese on the heading. Notice of Dissolution of Marriage Contract. Her heart fell into the open pit of her stomach and sat there, stewing in acid. She fixed him with a stare, “What is this supposed to be?” she asked.

“What it looks like,” he said.

How could he be so matter-of-fact about it? “Divorce papers?” Her eyes burned and her vision went all watery, and she hated herself for crying, “You want a divorce? Now?”

As soon as the words left her lips she wished she could take them back. He had to have a reason. He always had a reason, even if she couldn’t see it. A real reason, not the lies on the divorce filing. He winced, they stung. She wished she could take them back.

Rixik rushed forward and held her hands. “Look, look, it’s just files, mesh’la-mesh’la,” he took her in his arms, “This thing with Darmas. It’s going to get ugly.”

“What has this got to do with Darmas?” she cried. Damn, damn mouth, always ahead of the brain when she got angry or upset. She let him hold her. This wasn’t a gentle, loving embrace. It was a soldier’s hug for his wife before he shipped out on the troop transport.

He pushed her away gently, gripping her shoulders, “I want him to think I’m doing this on my own. Or that I ran off with Risha or something. After Corso the timing is perfect. It’s plausible. He thinks I’m a jealous freak. If he doesn’t know you’re involved, he’ll leave you alone. He won’t have any reason to go after you if he thinks I don’t care. Nothing to gain. And if, Force forbid, something really bad happens, you won’t end up an Imperial slave.”

So that was it. Jesp always thought six steps ahead of the problem. And he always counted on the worst thing possible happening. “No,” she said.

“Kirya, he’ll use any leverage. Anything. I...” Rixik ground his teeth, “I won’t let him use the only thing that matters to me.”

“No,” she reiterated. Not this time. She wasn’t going to compromise.

“It’s just files,” Rixik insisted, “being married was always about us. Never about the stupa records. We’re married. A ceremony, a contract, a ring, a tattoo, or divorce papers won’t make me any more or less your husband. Or you my wife.”

Except that it was about the files on some level. This time, it was. From a Twi’lek perspective, their marriage was fairly typical. A pretty appearance and flirtatious demeanor was to Twi’leks what strength was to a Wookie. It was their one advantage, and they both used that advantage. It didn’t matter. Marriage was a union of souls. Bodies were just shells.

But there was something far more final in this document. Jesp was concerned for her, but there was more. He didn’t want to worry about her. He wanted to be unattached. To be able to manipulate Darmas without concern about how she’d feel. What she’d want him to do. He’d already said it. This thing with Darmas is going to get ugly. He did love her, so he gave her the most important gift he could imagine. Freedom. Freedom from him.

She didn’t want to be free of him. And despite what he thought, being unattached wouldn’t make him resolute. It made him callous. “No,” she emphasized. She pulled the chip out of the reader and crushed it under her heel, “Whatever happens, we face it together. Together.”

“I took your smile once, Kirya,” Rixik said, desperate, “I won’t do it again. I can’t.”

The hard thing was that he knew. He thought he knew who he be to win this time. But he wasn’t that person anymore, and he didn’t have to be. Kirya put her hands on her hips, her brows furrowed, lekku twitching in fury, “Darmas Pollaran and Bevera Dodonna will not turn you back into the man you were when we met. I won’t let them. Even if you think it’s in a good cause. And that’s final.”

“Kirya--”

“That’s final, Jesp,” she said. She pulled him in and hugged him tightly, unwilling to let go. He held her, loose at first, then as though it might be the last time. She loved this crazy man. The one with the tarnished heart and a brain full of mismatched gears, still fitting in the ones like ‘hope’ and ‘trust’ and ‘decency’. Sometimes they ground with the older ones. She made them all mesh again.

Pressed tight against his chest she smiled. He’d like that image. He liked fixing things on Sirocco when they broke down. They always did; that’s the nature of a ship like as Sirocco. She was his little mental mechanic, keeping things running right when they threatened to break. Putting newer, better parts in place of old bad ones.

He’d be fine. Now he’d be fine. Kirya pulled away and poked him in the chest, “Now you go beat Darmas at his own damn game with his own damn cards.” That’s what he’d said when he first got this crazy idea. She knew he could.

Rixik looked down at her. That’s what she wanted to see. That little gleam in his eye. The gears were turning, meshing together and working right again. Kirya didn’t enjoy the game the way Jesp did, and she usually didn’t encourage him. But she did enjoy seeing him play it well. And it made him happy. In some weird way she barely understood, it made him happy.

Three weeks after Hoth...

'Well done out there, bounty hunter. You have done a great service for the Empire. You should be proud.'

I tilt my head to the side but the man in front of me doesn't make any more sense that way either. I hold out my hand, waiting for the credits. I only take cash these days. Gault thought he was taking credits on the sly and I wouldn't notice. I noticed.

'Here is your reward,' he passes me the credits which I shrewdly count, 'but remember that the real reward is working for the Empire's glory.'

'I work for my own glory.'

He stands and stares at me dumbly, his blind, rehearsed patriotism not providing him with an answer.

'The Empire appreciates your work for its glory,' he repeats stubbornly.

I pull out my gun and shoot his gut. 'I think I just rewarded the galaxy by silencing you,' I mutter under my breath. Seems dealing with angry, greedy bounty hunters effectively isn't part of their brainwashing.

I look to the man's dying face but I only see Torian shaking his head in my mind's eye, a tight frown on his lips. Wasn't honourable, Champion, he says sternly.

I shake my head. Words of the dead don't matter to me. Then why do you feel a little guilty?

I search his dying body and take the rest of the credits I find. Two guards attempt to stop me on the way out. I shoot them too.

I make my way back to my ship. I have three holo messages when I arrive. First two are jobs. Third is from Bloodworthy about some gathering they're having on Nar Shaddaa. Says the other Hunters will be there. I delete them all.

I go up to my room and stare at the cabinet. My fingers itch with the need to take some serum. I don't yield to 'itches'. I lie back on my bed and shiver when I almost feel the ropes around my ankles and wrists. Haven't been able to lie in this bed without thinking of it.

I stare at the ceiling of my room. I slowly test my bodies capacity for movement. Everything is working. Everything is fine. But when I try to lift my arms, they are pinned down. Tied down. I can't raise my head to look. I can't lift my body. I am aware of someone walking to the intercom in my room.

'She's awake again.' Torian. 'It's her'.

I wet my lips. I try some words. Nothing comes for a while. I gather my strength. My thoughts. Torian has moved to a seat next to me. So close.

'What is this for?' I struggle against the ropes to show my point. They have been tied well. Torian's work. Mako could not tie a knot to save her own life.

'Precaution.'

I am scared. I wish I could run away. Or see myself. I pray that I'm in armour. That it is not visible. But I can't feel the comforting heavy weight of any.

Gault and Mako have joined us. They are wary.

'Untie me now or when I break free I will kill you all.' I mean it.

'That's what we're scared of,' Mako quietly replies.

I shake my head and sit up. I take the serum from the cabinet, inject it, take off from the planet, set a new course and enter hyperspace.

I wander down stairs. I look for something that hasn't turned orange or green in the past weeks I've been absent but find nothing. I take two bottles of cheap wine that Gault didn't take with him and sit on the mattress I in the cargo hold, facing the carbonite man. At least he hasn't left me, I think with a sneer.

'How long should we wait before untying her?' Mako asks in a small voice.

'Untie her? She tried to kill me!' Gault's voice is indignant. 'And you, Mandalorian.'

I wince. Something inside me splits. Shatters. Crumbles. Burns.

'Makes her a traitor. We should kill her.' Torian. He says it with a the same venom he had when speaking of Jicoln.

'That's your law, not mine, Mandalorian.' Gault leaves the ship. Typical.

'Gault's right,' Mako eventually says. 'We should do it my way.' There is an expectant silence as Torian doesn't reply, only waits for her to continue. 'This bounty should be ours. I've always done half the work and we can do it together. It will be easy. We can buy our own ship with the money.'

In the silence, I can imagine Torian evaluating this plan. A strong part of him wants me dead but he likes this idea too, though needs to analyse how honourable it will be. However, it may occur to him that both is possible. For his sake, I hope he doesn't.

'Next Hunt that's called, I'm going to enter.' I was a stepping stone to that goal and there's no reason Mako's plan won't achieve the same goal if they succeed.

'Alright.'

My throat closes and I choke on the wine, spitting the disgusting purple liquid across my mattress. I sigh and shake my head. There isn't even the droid here to offer it's irritating services in cleaning up the mess. I guess you hit a new low on the loneliness scale when you start to miss the most annoying protocol droid ever made.

I stand up and take the man off the wall. I drag him with one hand behind me and throw him out the air lock.

And now I'm completely alone.

It's your own fault.

I know.

You just threw a defenceless, frozen man into hyperspace.

I know.

That was horrible.

I know.

And stupid.

I know.

But he might have deserved it.

I know.

You tried to kill your crew, too.

I know.

You didn't even like Mako.

I know.

You fantasised about killing her an average of twenty times a day in a total of 1,873 different ways.

I know.

You still have them sometimes.

I know.

You knew Gault would always leave. He wasn't there because he actually liked your company, only your credits and his life.

I know.

You knew the Mandalorian would never love something like you.

I know.

You were a fool to hope.

I know.

He died fighting the Trandoshian.

I know.

You will never see him again.

I know.

They wouldn't be dead if you had been there.

I know. But it was their foolish choice.

Was it? You could have come back from Tython sooner.

I know.

And he would still be alive.

I know. But that might not have lasted. I might have only got him killed in some other way.

Or not. Either way, he would have lived longer. Maybe even with you.

I know

Though never the way you dreamed.

I know.

You're a monster.

I know.

You will always be a monster.

I know.

You cannot change.

I know.

The monsters never get a happy ending.

I know.

You will not get a happy ending.

I know.

Then why are you crying?

I don't know.

I should probably write an AU where I don't kill Torian though...

Though imagining my BH with adopted children running around in a nice quite life is very difficult and mildly hilarious.

Torian is alive and that she doesn't have limited life.

I stab the last remainder of the tiingilar with my fork. I smile and point the food at the defeated Torian as he comes back up from bending down to pick up his weapon that my fork sent onto the floor in a glorious, final move.

'Ten uses of a fork,' I say with a grin, stuffing the forkful I won into my mouth and chewing with exaggerated enjoyment.

He smiles and shakes his head. And then he frowns in concentration as he tries to make the list, staring intently at his reclaimed fork. Minutes tick by and I wait with patience as the feeling of victory grows strong.

'You know what happens if you can't get them?' I bait.

His frown tightens and I laugh lightly. 'I have to fight a pack of cannoks.'

'Naked,' I complete for him with a sadistic smile. 'Unless you have thought of ten uses of a fork,' I tease. I don't understand why people said marriage would be boring. I am having a lot of fun.

Torian gives me a look that says 'this isn't fair' and then returns to contemplating his fork. Should have learnt by now it's not safe to get drunk with me. Does an excellent job at hiding the effects though. Only what he says and does is affected, not how he says or does it.

'You agreed and I have the same conditions: if I am to lose my turn, I believe I have to adopt a child with you. I think you've got the easier and nicer conditions.'

'Thought you wanted a child, Cyare.'

'My own snot nosed Mando punk to cherish and love and mould into my image with my gorgeous husband? Undecided. But if you don't get this right, it can remain undecided for a lot longer,' I say with a devious grin.

Know Torian wants one. And I know I can never deny him what he wants for long. I would compromise everything for him. Already have. Two more Jedi and two more soldiers alive because of him. My revenge against a corpse won't be complete, but that is bearable. Losing Torian wouldn't be.

Wonder if he regrets marrying me a little after I told him I could never have children - that it was far, far beyond impossible. Only ever smiles when I suggest it or we see children and reaffirms that 'family is more than blood'. Guess it might be for the best a child doesn't have my genes. Sad it won't have his.

Know I don't have to worry about disagreeing on a child as we both have the same criteria and first of the list is a strong body for fighting and a quick mind and reflexes. I almost feel strangely giddy at the thought of teaching a child and watching them grow into a strong fighter and under Torian, an honourable person.

Torian frowns again at the failure of his distraction.

'It's now a matter of honour. You can't back out,' he shakes his head at my teasing. I will not be sidetracked. Guess that makes me a little single minded. Know Corridan's called me obstinate more than once in our assaults together.

'Never retreat, Cyare. Go down fighting.'*

I laugh. 'Hopefully you never will. Wouldn't want you to leave me alone with a child,' I say with exaggerated fear and a shiver. He gives me a small smile and leans across the table to kiss me. I move back and shake my head. 'That's not going to work either. I want the list. Now.'

He shakes his head and chuckles. 'I love you, Cyare.'

'And I'd love to see you fight a pack of annoying small creatures naked.' He chuckles again as he moves back into his seat and I shake my head. He wouldn't need to make a bet with me for me to do it, I would do anything he wanted me to without hesitation. Thought has long ago stopped scaring me.

'Answer. Now.' I give him my work voice and it only makes him grin and shake his head, tousling his blonde hair.

'Alright, Cyare. Wouldn't want you to shoot me for taking too long,' he jibes.

'Hey, that nobleman,' I reply indignantly with mocking emphasis on the title, 'was deliberately delaying my payment until his guards could come and kill me.' He smiles. 'And that is not going to work, Captain,' I jab my fork in his direction on each word, twisting it on the word 'Captain'. 'You owe me a list. No more distractions,' I say with finality.

'Eating.' I nod, raising one finger to keep a mocking count as he says them. 'Stabbing.' I nod, second finger and an amused eyebrow raised. Only uphill from here.

'Whisking,' I raise a third finger and smile. 'Reaming. Removing eyes.'

'At the same time? Or are you reaming the eyes you've removed?' I ask with amusement. I couldn't hold back the jibe.

'Sometimes,' he says with a small smile.

'Continue, then,' I say, waving my non counting hand.

'Reaming eyes or listing?'

'Listing, then reaming if you like. That is, if you aren't too busy fighting cannoks.'

'Can always ream the cannoks eyes,' he suggests with a serious voice.

'Cannok eye juice? Sounds delicious. I can hardly wait,' I joke along.

'Better get back to it then,' he replies with a small smile. I raise the last finger on my left hand. Doing a lot better than I thought. Almost feel a glimmer of fear. Gotten through three rounds. Not sure I can make a fourth.

'Cleaning your nails,' he lists with a nonchalant air. I childishly make a gagging motion with my now raised thumb. I don't want to know what my neat Mando'ad has been using our forks for.

'Gardening,' he says seriously. I restrain from bursting into laughter. Hard to imagine Torian on Ord Mantell with farmers. He has too much pride and need for battle for that.

'Shouldn't be laughing, Champion,' he says with a touch of teasing irony. 'Only got three more.' I scowl at his jibe.

'Combing. Opening bottles. And...' He trails off and frowns.

'And?' I say with too much victory in my voice.

'Scratching,' he says in triumph.

'Scratching?' I say dubiously. Refuse to lose because of scratching. He gently moves his fork to my hand and then digs deep, pulling it along, leaving four almost bleeding lines.

'Scratching,' he affirms as he kisses the cut hand. I only glare at him. 'My turn.'

I begrudgingly nod.

'Fifteen uses for a husband.'

I raise an eyebrow. 'Fifteen? A little high, isn't it?'

'Can't think of fifteen uses for me?'

'Cannon fodder,'** I harshly retort. He only smiles and raises one finger. I scowl. 'This isn't fair.'

'"Matter of honour", didn't you say?' I want to glare at him but I have to smile. Always knew how to beat me at my own game. I really wouldn't have it any other way.

'Food. Back up. Decoration. Sex. Entertainment. Money.' I watch Torian's frown get progressively tighter. Only seen him angry with twice: first time for teasing him about Gault, second was when I told him I was going after the General's children.

'Love,' I wave my hand to lessen the appearance of me saying it because I can't stand the annoyance in his eyes. 'Hugs, kisses, holding hands, and all that jazz.' My reward to becoming so mushy is seeing his perfect smile. Married for two years and it still makes my chest flutter.

'Companionship. Strength. Support. Ch-' my voice catches. I can't continue. I can't say the last one.

'Ch?' He says with an almost mischievous smile. 'Not a word, Cyare. Need one more unless you want a child.'

I scowl at him. 'Children,' I end through spitting out the word. 'Something we won't be getting soon since that's my fifteen.' His expression moves to subtle disappointment and I curse under my breath. 'We can get a child if you fight two packs of cannoks naked and...' I lean in a whisper the last condition into his ear. 'Every night for three weeks.'

'Deal,' he says with a grin. I feel like I just lost. 'Last will be done with pleasure, Champion. Only had to ask and I'd do it.'

'Don't rub it in,' I grumble. I pour more wine into his glass and my own. Maybe if I get him drunk enough now, he will forget our agreement I made on stupid impulse.

But when I look up and meet his shining blue eyes and see how gosh darn happy he is, I regrettably think I want him to look at me with that complete happiness until I die, even if a irritating ade is the way to go about it.

I shake my head and curse myself as I drink my drink and then his.

Reference one to Torian's canon death

Reference two. I didn't plan them, I swear. It just keeps happening.

'This isn't our ships dock,' Torian announces with concern. After a few misadventures I went on involving stealing others ships regardless of whether it was a refugee freighter, Mando'ad, scum or Imperial, Torian always gets concerned that I'm about to drag him into one of them and damage honour.

Only this time, I've already had the misadventure.

'Just wait and see,' I eagerly reply, tugging his hand towards the elevator door before they are open.

'Need that arm and hand, Cyare,' he comments with a wince and I realise I was pulling it far too hard and holding on far too tight.

When they do, Torian becomes a dead weight I have to struggle to walk with.

'That...?' he asks.

I turn around to him and spread our arms wide, walking backward. 'Our baby!'

'This your way of delaying the adoption?' he asks sternly.

'Hadn't occurred to me. Just another good reason for my list then,' I say happily.

He frowns but doesn't comment. He knows I will keep my drunken word eventually. But what does an orphan know of children or how to raise them? Guess Torian isn't much better there. But he has more of a guide then me. Hardly call my vague memories of my aristocratic and distant parents a good guide of parenting for anywhere but Corellia and Alderaan.

I can achieve raising a warrior. I trust Torian to raise them good.

Torian shakes his head as he looks at the ship - our - ship. 'How'd you get it back?'

'Same way I got it the first time: stole it and killed everyone!' I shout in childish glee. Torian shakes his head but smiles. I knew he wouldn't be angry with me. But he just keeps standing and evaluating the ship that barely resembles the one we went across the galaxy in.

'Like the paint job?' He nods. 'Good. I had that done. Green nicely hides the damage it's got since it left us.' I grab his hand and pull him toward the ship, trying to run but being held back.

'Come on! Wait till you see what the other owners did to the inside.'

He stops up the ramp and sees the name of the ship written in large, yellow letters across the side.

'I wanted red but it clashed with the green and blue. I thought silver wouldn't be as visible either, or black,' I comment, casually.

'Named the ship?' The question is an accusation.

'Sorry, riduur, did you want to decide together?' I ask with as much sweet innocence as I can.

'Yes.'

'So you don't like 'Haran' then?'

'No.'

'Come on, don't be upset with me! I didn't want to destroy the surprise. And you know it's a good name.' He still frowns at it and doesn't look at me. 'If we get a child you can choose the name,' I say with a heavy sigh.

His frown deepens. 'When,' he corrects sternly.

'Yeah, yeah, when.' He relaxes so I can pull him into the ship.

The view of the cargo bay, everything looks the same. I look at the crates I arranged earlier. I don't think anywhere feels more like home than this stinking, messy cargo hold.

'Bring back any memories?' I ask flirtatiously.

'A few,' he says with a small smile.

I drag him up to the holoterminal room and the only thing it shares in common to when we had it, is the holoterminal. Walls have been redone to a slick silver, grey and there are now actual chairs in the room. I drag him to the revamped cockpit and then down to the other quarters, where new comfortable beds can be seen, and finally the much improved engine room.

'Cyare?' he asks. I sigh.

'Come on, I thought we could use a holiday.'

'Went to Dxun last month,' he asserts.

'To stop a possible Jedi strike against the Mando base there.' And I hate that place, I silently ad. Torian sees the thought and smiles a little.

'Manaan?'

'Diplomatic mission.'

'Dromund Kaas?'

'We have a house there. It was a family visit.'

'Jabiin?'

'To establish a Mando base.'

'Kashyyk?'

'Stop slave traders.' He frowns. 'And kill a few Republic soldiers.'

'Lansono?'

'Assist an Imperial take over with Corridan.'

'Can't say we weren't together though.'

'True. But come on, one holiday. Remember when we would hunt Nar Shaddaa scum and wompas on Hoth? And walk and kill on Belsavis?'

'Saying you aren't happy anymore, Cyare?' Torian asks. Few differences between his frowns and constantly intent eyes from one emotion to the next, but I can tell he's now upset with me and deeply wounded.

'Torian, don't be an idiot. It's not that cute,' I say sternly. He tries to not smile at the memory of the first time I said that in this room.

'You think I'm cute?' he replies in kind.

'Always,' I say with a smile, kissing him softly. 'You can't tell me you don't want to visit a planet without a mission other than sex and hunting because that would be a lie. It's been over two years of this now and I want a break. It's fun and all, though I wish you and Corridan didn't complain when I kill Imperial's on my diplomatic missions, but I want some us.' He doesn't respond in anyway but continuing to hold me. 'I've been busy being wanted by the Republic again and half the Dark Council, while still playing Mandalore's ambassador somehow and galaxies greatest bounty hunter and you've been busy with your little war games...'

Torian frowns. 'Ok, large war games. Told you marrying Mandalore's daughter would pay off,' I mention slyly. He smiles a little. He can't oppose that. 'And you know I hate the ship Corridan gave me as a present. Just one spin around the galaxy then I'll be honourable and use Corridan's gift forever?'

Torian shakes his head and I try to look pleading. I'm sure it appears as the complete opposite to anyone but Torian.

'Deal.'

'Yes! Wait until you see our bedroom.' Torian shakes his head and I lead him along to the cockpit.

'This the new bedroom, Cyare?'

'Don't be funny. Come on, where do you want to go?' I ask as I bring up the galaxy map and Torian moves to a new, furnished chair.

'Anywhere the Devaronian isn't,' he says firmly. 'Reunion with the ship doesn't extend to its crew.'

'Not even to visit Blizz on Naboo?' I ask temptingly. He smiles and shakes his head. 'And do you mean you didn't like going Nar Shaddaa last week and being taken to its new favourite crime lord?'

Torian scowls in the way he only does when talking or thinking of Gault. 'Let's go somewhere we haven't been.'

I contemplate this. 'But that only leaves the nice peaceful, non-war torn planets,' I say sulkily.

'Thought you said you wanted a holiday?'

'Since when is peace the idea of a Mando vacation? Thought it was hunting on Dxun and 'dodging stampeding Boma',' I quote.

'Thought you hated Dxun,' he retorts with indulgent amusement.

'I do. Or more, it hates me.' I shiver at the memories. Few things I would hate to do again more than going back to that f*cking ***** of a moon.

'Come on, I want to see Blizz!'

'Fine,' he agrees. I plot in the coordinates and begin take off. 'Four days trip isn't it?' Torian asks once in hyperspace.

'You think you will get bored?' I ask with a faux insulted tone.

'With you, Cyare? Never.'

The following morning was tense. Between jumping awake at the slightest noise and being lost to his own thoughts, the officer barely slept. He tossed, he turned, he tumbled, he thought. Was it wise to reveal his intentions? The Apprentice seemed open to him, at the very least. He had stumbled through her flirts as he attempted to wrangle her in for the mission at hand. He counted on that desire to save his skin, at least for now. It was a very rare occasion that he miscalculated, but this, like others, could end with his death. He didn’t want to die in such a manner, he would much rather die in the field furthering the Empire’s goals.

The ship’s ambient lighting slowly edged toward dawn. He pulled himself from his bunk and his thoughts and made his way to his private refresher. Small, but functional. Like a good knife or snubnose blaster. He quickly prepared for his day and left his quarters to find his Lord. When he found her, he wondered if the woman ever wore clothes.

He cleared his throat and said, “My Lord.”

Athra shrieked and turned around. He briefly wondered how long she had been on the ship alone with the Twi’lek before his body caught up with his brain’s command of “Flee, you fool!” He turned on his heel and left for the bridge. When Athra was ready to talk, and hopefully dressed, she would seek him out. For now, he busied his racing thoughts with menial calculations. Two distinct sets of numbers and symbols popped up at the press of a button. On the left, the blue figures glowed with data he had gathered on Athra during her stint on Balmorra. All true to her abilities. On the right, his projection charts. Once again, all was factual. He had already memorized the data, but an overview wouldn’t hurt.

“What’s that?” Athra asked.

His eyes widened a little as he turned around to face her. He hadn’t expected her to dress so quickly.

“Calculations and charts based on the abilities and strengths you showed on Balmorra, my Lord,” he replied.

She gestured toward the blue charts. “Baras has all this?”

“Yes.”

“I see.” She went quite for a moment before asking, “Your loyalty pledge to Baras. You forsake it so quickly. Why is this?”

“My loyalty pledge to Baras is of the ‘Do as I say’ variety,” he replied. “I’ve told the truth when necessary.”

“What if he ordered you to tell the truth about me?” Athra asked warily.

“The truth he knows or the truth he doesn’t?” he replied smoothly.

“I see.”

“As long as we are on the same page.” He shifted his stance and made sure to keep his face blank. “I must ask, my Lord, are you willing to keep me here?”

“You are my Captain, I will keep you as long as you are useful,” she said stiffly. “The second you appear to be working with Baras, I will strike you down.”

He nodded brusquely. “Might I suggest debriefings after I report to Baras? It would lower the chances of you killing me on suspicion alone.”

“How am I to know you will tell me the truth?”

“Why would I waste my life on a lie?”

“You’re an Imperial officer: duty-bound, loyal, stiff, uncompromising, goal oriented,” she said evenly.

“Duty means nothing if I am to die because a Sith wills it,” he said stiffly.

“What do you mean?”

“My name is already on his list. It’s simply a matter of when. We can assist each other, my Lord.”

Athra smiled. “Then you better stay useful, Captain.”

“Of course, my Lord,” he said with a short bow.

Satisfied for the moment, she left him there on the bridge. He turned back to his calculations. Now he just needed to convince Baras his projections for Athra’s power increase were off. It was a good thing he was wrong on occasion.

Wynston kept Ruth in a close dance hold as he made one of his habitual rapid scans of the room.

"You know," he informed her, "I'm starting to suspect we're too old for this crowd."

She looked around as well. The other dancers, as well as the musicians, many of the diners, and half the staff of the Nexus Room Cantina, did indeed appear to be in the under-thirty set, a demographic Wynston and herself hadn't fallen into in quite some time.

"We still buy drinks," she said cheerfully. "I don't think they're going to kick us out."

"I know that, I was just thinking that we get more conspicuous every year."

"Not necessarily. Look over there." Her head movement was only barely distinguishable but he knew enough to follow where she meant. "There's a whole booth of older people engaging in skulduggery as we speak."

"But for once we're not engaging in skulduggery. We're engaging in dancing."

"The casual observer might assume we're engaged in skulduggery, too. See? We fit." She beamed at him. "...Unless you're saying you want to be someplace else?"

His pulled her closer. "Stars, no. This was good enough for a first date, I like coming back here."

"All right. Well, we could go look conspiratorial in a corner after if you think that'll make us seem less conspicuous."

"Darling," he said, straight-faced, "I hate to say it, but you've never really gotten used to the secret-agent thing."

I pick up my gun, a cross bow, plasma grenades and vibroknives. I look over my body and makes sure everything is accounted for and strapped on. My fingers linger on the crossbows straps. I come to a decision.

I pull it from its holster on my back and shoot a quick practice shot. As good as it was when I first bought it. I nod my head and make for the door. I need to leave this *********** ship.

'Cyare, where are you going?'

I hesitate on the airlocks threshold and I give in to myself. I look over my shoulder to him as he stands outside Mako's door. He's shirtless like I thought he would be from the minimised rustling. I look him over but don't force my usual scathing amusement.

'Shouldn't be calling me that anymore, kid. We had a short nothing.' But it meant everything to me. Would only hurt him if I let our fling continue. Would only hurt me. I don't need enhanced hearing to know he's moved on. And without him, I can move on with my ambitions. This is for the best.

I don't need the burden. I don't want to think of someone else. I don't want to compromise. And I don't want him to stop loving me. Know if was stayed a 'we', my actions would cross a line and we would both end up a little more cynical and a lot more hurt. This is for the best.

If we stayed a 'we', I would not be able to give him what he wants. I would never put him first. I have forgotten about after Belsavis and how I ran to him. And what came after. It was one night of stupidity. We all make mistakes. And that one won't happen again. This is for the best.

He hesitates in between saying things. I know he has no reply Mako could hear. I know I forced this. But in moments like this, I find it hard to tell myself I did this for me. I did it for him. But that doesn't make it easier.

Think it would be if he didn't lapse into pet names or watch me with the same look. Hear Mako fight with him about it sometimes. More she shouts and he stands silent before slipping away. Guess she doesn't know about our night on Hoth. When they inevitably end, I hope they both leave my ship. Torain's foolish attachment and my stupid inability to take anything away from him is the only thing that is keeping her alive.

I throw him a scathing smirk and turn back to the black gaping exit. He finds his voice when my eye leaves him.

'Where are you going?' I noticed he dropped the name. It's for the best. So why does it hurt so much?

'My crossbow and I have made a date tonight.' I step into the black abyss. 'Go **** Mako or something. I won't be back for a few days.'

I walk through the air lock, down the ramp and into the docking bay. And I start running. As hard and fast as I can. I stop in the open plains of Voss and let loose on everything I see.

On Naboo...

I glance over my shoulder at Torian. He stands with a blaster rifle in his hand, weighing it up and assessing it. Should be busy for a few more minutes.

I turn back to the three children and bend down in front of them.

'Here's fifty credits,' I say as I pass them to one girl. 'I want you to spend it on toys.' She looks at them in disbelief and doesn't move. Her friends shoot her jealous looks. 'Well, go on. The toy shop is just over there.' She turns to run but a grab her arm lightly. 'Don't forget to buy toys for your friends, ok?' She nods, smiles and runs along, hugging the credits close to her chest, her brown plaited hair flying like untied ropes behind her.

I smile a little and look to the boy with brown hair turned black from lack of washing. I put fifty credits into his eager hands as well and can tell he's a little selfish and greedy. He reminds me of Gault in a way. I can tell by the constant shifting of his eyes that he's also on the lookout for trouble and is ready to run at any moment. I wouldn't surprised if he's stolen from all the stalls in the market and been caught a dozen times.

'This is for sweets. Remember to share,' I sternly say as he begins to count how many he can buy. 'Now run along.'

I watch him run away and look over my shoulder at Torian. He's still assessing the blaster rifle.

'Am I to get nothing?' the final girl asks with self righteous anger. I grin down at her as I notice her clenched fists, ready to fight for what is hers.

'No.' I look at her closely. She seems intelligent and has the capability to lead if she didn't seem separate from the other two by a sombre air and tendency to walk alone. 'Here's one hundred credits. It's for food. Real food. As well as blankets and anything else you need.'

She nods her head and takes them with determined solemnity.

'We need a lot. But this will suffice for the rest of the month.' Her voice and words are that of an adult, not a small child. She's been forced to grow up. When her body matches her mind she will follow my path. I can't let that happen.

'Here's a blaster.' I give her a small blaster that I keep hidden on me most times. I have another six back on the ship and three left on me still. 'Use it for protection but only when you need to. Don't use it to take what isn't yours.' She nods. 'If you ever want work or a friend or somewhere to stay, there's a Jawa that lives just out of the city called Blizz. He'll be more than happy to have you.'

The girl nods. 'Thank you.' She looks over my shoulder and tighter frown comes across her face, her hands moving instinctively around the blaster to be ready to shoot.

I look over my shoulder and see Torian approaching. I look back to where the girl should be but she's already gone. I stand up and shake my head.

'Giving credits to orphans again, Cyare?'

I don't reply for a while and we begin to walk in the direction of where Blizz is meeting us. 'Giving credits to orphans isn't something the 'galaxies most ruthless terrorist' does,' I comment with bitter humour.

'No. Something my wife does.' Torian kisses my cheek softly.

'I gave that girl directions to Blizz's. Told her to go there if she needs anything ever. I saw the potential for me in her.'

'Nothing wrong with you, Cyare,' Torian replies sternly. If that's true, I have him to thank for it.

'The rest of the galaxy would disagree,' I bitterly answer. I look around at the stares we receive.

'Not your family,' he answers as he takes my hand firmly in his.

I don't say anything in reply and only squeeze his hand a little tighter. Part of me has changed. To those close I have. But to the rest of the galaxy, I am the same. Sometimes I wonder which is real. I only hope it is the one Torian sees.

"My ankle still isn't back up to spec," said Wynston. "I'm seriously considering mechanical replacement; that break was bad. I can't afford to let it happen again."

"You could not let 'having to jump from that height during an escape' happen again," suggested Ruth.

"One of these options is less limiting in the field."

He sounded very casual. Ruth knew better. "What's on your mind?"

"What's on my mind? That landing shouldn't have been a problem. It wouldn't have been, years ago. My body may not be up for this much longer." He pulled her into his arms, nuzzling her hair. She waited a while and was about to speak up again when he abruptly said "Chiss age faster than humans. It's becoming clear that I'm subject to those rules. I've got more than half your life expectancy, but not by much, and I personally have seven years' head start on you."

She raised his blue hand to her lips. "It's true," she said, and kissed his fingers.

"It's no help that I'm no Force user. You're more durable than I am several times over."

"You pull your weight, Wynston."

She felt his half smile. "I know," he said. "That doesn't change certain facts. Looking at the numbers, in a couple of decades you'll still be brown-haired and beautiful while I'm exhausting the limits of what life-extension technology can do."

"Brown-haired may be a generous assumption. And I know all this. I still love you. It'll be all right."

"Has anyone ever told you you're irrational?"

"You, on several occasions." She twisted around to lay a hand on his cheek. "Please don't talk like this."

His smile had turned sad. "I just don't know how much longer I'll be of use, darling."

She laid her other hand on his other cheek and, placing two fingertips very lightly against the lines at the corners of his eyes, met his gaze. "As long as you are with me, you are welcome, and wanted, and if you want me to say you're of use on your performance review I'll do it."

"You're a very kind manager. Still, I'm sixty now. My productive years are fast drawing to a close."

"Stop saying that. It isn't true."

"It's going to be a problem. If I get even a little less sharp, if I miss seeing or hearing something on the job, if I'm not steady enough to take the shot, that's lives and missions lost."

"So we scale back the field work."

"No. You're needed out there."

"Then I'll go and you support me remotely. After that I'll come home to you."

"You're a practical woman. Even if you are irrational." He trailed his hands up to her shoulders and held her firmly. "Work is what I do. It's what I am. I always assumed I would die on the job, out there. To be honest I was supposed to be dead by thirty. I didn't mind the idea. It's a lot less unsettling than the alternative."

"Stop it. Please. You're not going to die any time soon, and you're making a difference, a real difference, no matter what you decide to work on now."

"I know. And I have a few more years. Ten, maybe. Twenty if I'm lucky. As if just collecting years was cause for celebration. It is if it means I'm with you, but still." He gave her a long, thoughtful look, and his face conspicuously didn't betray any negative feeling. "You should've chosen a human. Someone who could stick around."

"I love you, Wynston. That would be true no matter if you were human or Chiss or something that springs up and fades overnight."

"I have the very inconvenient timing of getting to steal your prime without being able to hold you into old age."

"You're not stealing anything. We're in this together."

"I'm glad to hear it, but I can't guarantee it for much longer. It is…extraordinarily difficult for me to look you in the eye and say that I won't be there."

"Then don't say it. I could die before then. You could end up freakishly long-lived. Any number of things might happen. If you're here with me now I can handle it."

"I'm here with you." He squeezed her waist. "I've wasted a lot of time, Ruth, and I'm starting to think that that's not a resource I can arrange more of. But yes. I'm here with you now."

"And we still have years, love. Years I mean to spend with you."

A little worry finally made it onto his face. "Is this how you felt all those times you insisted that I should go find a plaything because you were getting old and unlovely?"

"Maybe? This is harder for you."

"Oh? You were hurting when you asked those things. You really thought I would find something more appealing than you. As if you could ever be anything but beautiful." He kissed her, slowly, and she was grateful to return it. Afterward he rested his forehead against hers. "I've cheated death on a number of occasions for the sole purpose of staying with you, but I don't know if I can outmaneuver this one."

She struggled for a moment to choose her words. "For what it's worth,' she said, "I'm keeping you today."

He picked up a little smile. "I should hope so, it's half past ten. If you're going to get rid of me you'd better make it fast."

"Nope. You're stuck." She touched his neck, his cheek, the hair that she never mentioned she knew he dyed. "We haven't run out of hours in the day yet. Let's make the most of it."

It was rare they took an entire evening just to hold each other, but on this night they were both willing to lose sleep for it.

…I was okay writing this until Word suggested "died" in place of "dyed" toward the end there. Ouch, Word. Ouch.

Ves, if I write up this man's death, I blame you for suggesting it even before Word did.

'Dead by thirty' was actually in the original plan for him. You know, back when he was a non-story-worthy one-dimensional patriotic workbot. And even afterward when he got a little more free-spirited. It wasn't until Ruth Means Compassion's Timeline 3 started shaping up that I realized he was still around. I wonder whether he would genuinely live longer/defeat more challenges if he had one loved individual to live for, as compared to his vocation?

Dear brain: Can I have something nice now, please?