Summary: Director Orson Krennic keeps one ISB agent under his thumb, pulling her from lunches, stealing her sleep, and destroying three dates. The project demands everything. Or maybe his obsession demands more.
Word Count: 4,598
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You barely have time to breathe. The last report for Phase 1 isn’t even cold on your desk when Director Krennic barges in with his usual dramatic sweep of his cape. The pristine white uniform almost glows under the sterile lights of the ISB Headquarters. He doesn’t bother knocking; he never does.
"There you are," he announces, like he’s surprised you’re working. "We need to push forward on Phase 2. Immediately."
You look up from your datapad, blinking. "Director, Phase 1 was finalized yesterday. The metrics haven't even stabilized yet."
"I know," he replies, his voice smooth, but edged with impatience. "Which is why Phase 2 is crucial. The rebel movements are growing bolder. The citizens need to feel safe. The Empire needs them to believe. And you," his eyes narrow slightly, "are the one who can make them believe."
Of course. Always you.
Phase 2. The next wave of carefully curated propaganda was to make the citizens embrace the Empire’s iron grip as if it were a warm blanket. Stormtroopers patrolled every sector, ensuring safety, order, and control.
"You want me to make them love seeing armored men with blasters on every street corner," you say flatly.
"Precisely," Krennic smiles, as though it's the simplest thing in the galaxy. "I trust your... creative talents."
And then, as quickly as he appeared, he’s gone. The cape swishes. The door hisses closed. You let out a long breath.
You don’t even get a chance to relax before your comm buzzes. It's Agent Dedra from across the floor. Again.
"Another visit from your work husband, I see," Jung drawls, voice dripping with amusement.
You rub your temples. "He's not my…"
"Oh, we know, we know.. Professional. Completely official. That's why Krennic only visits your office three times a day. I mean, he’s practically redecorating in there."
"Maybe we should get him a desk next to yours," Dedra adds. "Save him the walk."
"I swear to the Emperor," you mutter. "If you two don’t find something useful to do,"
"Oh, we’re very productive, we’re conducting a psychological study on how much attention one director can lavish on a single ISB officer before HR gets involved."
"I’m taking bets. I give it a week before he brings caf and calls it a 'collaboration session.'"
You groan. This is your life now.
You lean back in your chair and stare at the towering holoscreen of Phase 2’s draft campaign. Smiling citizens, loyal soldiers, protective Stormtroopers, the illusion of safety wrapped in polished armor.
"You’re just jealous," you shoot back finally, trying to reclaim some dignity. "He doesn’t visit you because you’re both insufferable."
Jung whistles. "You wound me."
Dedra chuckles. "Don’t worry. We’ll save you a seat at the wedding."
You slam the comm shut before they can continue.
Another sigh escapes you. The weight of the work presses in, heavy as ever. Phase 1 drained you dry, and now Phase 2 threatens to pull even more from you. But there’s no choice. Not with Krennic watching. Not with the Empire demanding results.
You glance at the door, half-expecting him to appear again.
The cape. The stare. The impossible expectations.
And you? You’re just trying to survive another day.
******
You barely have time to enjoy the brief silence after finishing Phase 1. The reports are still warm on your datapad when the summons arrives.
Director Krennic.
Of course, it’s him.
You drag yourself up from your desk, already knowing what this will be about before you even enter the meeting room. Krennic stands there like a monument in white, immaculate uniform, that damned cape swaying slightly as he shifts his weight. His hands are clasped behind his back, his posture as severe as his demands.
"You’ve done excellent work on Phase 1," he begins, voice smooth as polished durasteel. "The citizen morale reports have improved significantly. Public compliance is up. But now we move to Phase 2."
You bite your inner cheek, holding back the groan building in your throat. "Phase 2 Director?"
"Yes." He steps forward, lowering his voice like he’s sharing a state secret. "The rebel activity is escalating. Skirmishes, propaganda, and underground broadcasts. They’re infecting the citizens with fear and uncertainty."
He pauses, eyes narrowing. "Fear must be replaced with security. Confidence. They need to see the Stormtroopers not as enforcers, but as guardians. The face of order. Of peace."
You inhale, steadying yourself. "Director, I just finalized Phase 1 last week. The teams haven’t even stabilized the implementation yet."
"Exactly," he cuts in, smiling faintly. "Which is why we must strike now. While the momentum is ours. You have the skill to turn this tide. You always have."
Always me.
You leave the meeting more tired than when you entered. Another mountain of sleepless nights waiting. Phase 2 isn't just another propaganda wave. This time, you have to convince the entire citizenry that armed soldiers patrolling their streets is a comforting sight. That a government capable of planetary destruction is their protector.
You barely return to your office when the teasing begins.
Agent Dedra Meero is already leaning casually by your desk, sipping her coffee like she has all the time in the galaxy.
"Phase 2, huh?" she smirks. "Our golden star shines again."
"You could volunteer to help, you know," you mutter, sliding into your chair.
"And rob you of all the attention?" she laughs. "Perish the thought."
From behind her, Jung appears, balancing a datapad with a ridiculous grin. "How many times did he visit you this week?"
"I’m not counting."
"Seven," Jung answers for you. "Seven times. And it’s only midweek."
You roll your eyes, already regretting not locking the door.
Then Major Partagaz strolls by, overhearing just enough to chime in. "I never thought I’d see the day when Krennic made personal visits to ISB Headquarters," he remarks dryly. "The man barely acknowledged this department existed before you arrived."
"It’s called 'oversight,'" you reply, trying to sound more annoyed than amused.
"It’s called devotion," Jung teases.
Dedra leans in, lowering her voice dramatically. "He's your work husband at this point."
You stiffen. "Don’t."
But it's too late.
"You know," Jung adds with mock-seriousness, "we were thinking of organizing a little congratulatory party for you. Maybe get Krennic a desk right here. Right next to yours. Save him the commute."
"You could share office supplies," Dedra snickers.
"Maybe even a caf machine," Jung says. "Personalized mugs, his and hers."
Partagaz lets out a short huff, the closest thing to a laugh he ever gives. "Focus on your actual assignments," he mutters before walking off. But even he seems mildly entertained.
And then, as if summoned by the Force itself, the lift doors hiss open, and in steps Director Krennic.
The teasing evaporates like mist. Everyone straightens, faces suddenly blank and professional. Only your pulse remains elevated.
"Ah," Krennic greets with his usual calculated smile. "I trust you’re making progress."
You force a nod. "Of course, Director."
His eyes flick to the others, a silent dismissal, before landing back on you. "Good. I’ll be expecting a preliminary outline by tomorrow."
Tomorrow. Of course.
"Naturally."
He leaves without another word, his cape sweeping behind him like the final stroke of a signature.
The second he’s out of earshot, Dedra leans closer. "Work husband," she whispers.
You sigh, rubbing your temples. "I hate all of you."
Jung laughs. "You love us. Not as much as he loves visiting you, but close."
*******
The days blurred together. Work. Report to Krennic. Work. Report again.
Phase 2 was eating you alive.
You barely saw the sun anymore, not that it mattered. Your life was reduced to the narrow stretch between your apartment and the ISB headquarters. If there was a rebellion raging out there, you wouldn’t have known. You were too busy trying to make citizens adore the very soldiers that patrolled their streets like silent sentinels.
And Krennic?
Oh, Krennic was thriving.
He had a special gift for pulling you out of every moment of rest. Once, you dared to take a lunch break, an actual sit-down meal in the cafeteria.
That’s when the call came.
“Director Krennic requires your presence immediately,” the officer said, looking at you like you were a fugitive caught mid-bite.
You shoved your tray aside and ran, practically sprinting through the sterile halls, your boots echoing with every step as you reached his office.
Krennic barely looked up from his datapad. “I trust the break was refreshing.”
You narrowed your eyes. “I was three bites in.”
“Well, consider those bites a luxury. We’re not running a leisure cruise, Specialist.” He waved a hand as though dismissing the concept of meals entirely. “The sooner we stabilize Phase 2, the sooner you can resume... chewing.”
You wanted to throw something at him. Preferably his datapad.
Instead, you returned to your desk and drowned yourself in revisions, graphs, focus group data, and holovid drafts. The hours ticked by, your apartment becoming little more than a place to sleep for a few hours before dragging yourself back to ISB Headquarters.
Until one evening, when you handed him your final report, something unexpected happened.
“You’ve done well," Krennic said, scanning the summary with an approving nod. "Impressively well. Effective messaging, clear results, stabilized compliance... yes."
You held your breath. Was this… praise?
"You’ve earned a day off."
You blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"A full day," he repeated, smiling like he was offering you a rare antique. "I suggest you take advantage before I change my mind."
For a full minute, you just stood there. Surely, it was a trap. A test. But no, the next morning, your schedule was blank.
*****
Your friend Mia nearly fainted when she heard.
"Finally!" she exclaimed through your comm. "Do you know what that means?"
"Can I sleep?"
"No. It means you need entertainment. And lucky for you, I’ve arranged a blind date."
You froze. "Mia,"
"Don’t fight me on this. You need air, conversation, and let’s be honest, your social life’s been nothing but work and a bunch of uptight ISB agents for months."
You hated that she was right.
So that’s how you found yourself in a proper dress for the first time in months, sitting across from Malcolm, your date, at a very nice restaurant. He was Navy, tall, polite, and, thank the stars, had no idea about your work.
It felt... nice. Simple.
You sipped your wine, relaxed for the first time in what felt like an eternity. You even laughed, genuinely laughed, at one of his jokes.
“I have to admit, it’s refreshing to talk to someone outside of the fleet for once,” Malcolm smiled. “And you, you have this calm, professional charm. I like it.”
You smiled, blushing a little. “Occupational hazard.”
He reached for the menu again. "Shall we order dessert?"
That’s when it happened.
A sudden chill ran up your spine, that instinctive sensation you learned to never ignore.
Your eyes wandered across the room. Five tables ahead, seated perfectly in your line of sight, was a familiar figure.
Dear stars.
Of all places.
Director Krennic.
Sitting with Major Partagaz.
Krennic's posture was relaxed, but his sharp eyes had already landed on you the moment you looked up. The brief flicker of surprise on his face vanished, replaced by something else entirely.
Amusement.
You tried to look away, pretend you hadn't noticed, but it was too late. He stood.
"No," you whispered under your breath. "No, no, no, stay seated. For once in your life,"
But of course, he approached.
The sound of his polished boots was like an executioner’s drumbeat.
Krennic stopped at your table, his eyes briefly scanning Malcolm before landing back on you.
"Him?" he repeated, his voice dripping with disdain, eyes narrowing at Malcolm as though inspecting defective equipment. “Him?”
He scoffed, almost laughing under his breath, then gave you one final glance that said more than words could: This is the best you could find?
Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving the heavy silence behind him.
Your date blinked, utterly humiliated. "What... was that?"
You swallowed hard, your face burning. “That was... work.”
Malcolm’s expression hardened. "You have some complicated office politics." He grabbed his coat. "You know what? I’m not interested in being part of... whatever that was."
And just like that, your first night out in months ended with your date walking out the door.
You sat there for a long moment, staring at the half-empty wine glass.
Of course.
Because even on your day off, Krennic found a way to ruin it.
*******
You were left standing there, alone, humiliated, abandoned at the table like some rejected charity case. Your fist clenched as you allowed yourself one brief, venomous glare toward Krennic, who sat there as if nothing had happened. He was calmly discussing something with Partagaz, sipping his wine, completely unaffected by the disaster he had just casually caused.
Of course. Why would he care?
You grabbed your jacket, forcing your breathing to steady as you headed for the door. But as you passed the cashier, the young clerk stopped you.
"Miss... excuse me," he said awkwardly, lowering his voice. "Your... companion hasn’t paid yet."
You blinked. "What?"
You glanced back toward the empty chair where your date had been. The plate of half-eaten food mocked you.
You sighed heavily. "Unbelievable."
You pulled out your credits, practically tossing them onto the counter. The night was a complete waste of time, of food, of hope.
And then, as if summoned by your suffering, you heard his voice beside you.
"So," Krennic drawled smoothly, watching as the waitress helped adjust his cape, "the man just left? Turned out he’s more dramatic than I thought."
You didn't answer. You didn’t have the energy.
Partagaz was standing just behind him, his gaze briefly meeting yours with something close to... pity. His eyes said it without words: Sorry.
You rolled your eyes. You weren’t looking for sympathy.
"Wait," Krennic said, just as you reached for the door handle.
You froze. Slowly, you turned.
“A man shouldn’t leave you alone. Especially in that dress.” His voice lowered slightly, as though it was meant only for you. “Let me drop you off.”
Partagaz huffed behind him. “What about me?”
Krennic didn’t even turn around. “Go call a taxi.”
The Major rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath as he walked away. "Fine."
You sighed again, heavier this time, and pulled the door open. ‘Fine. At least I don’t have to walk my shame home.’
You followed him to the black Imperial transport waiting just outside, the glossy surface reflecting the streetlights. The driver opened the door without a word, and for the first time, you found yourself sliding into the passenger seat of Director Krennic’s vehicle.
It was… immaculate. The interior smelled faintly of expensive leather and sterilized perfection. Of course it did.
As the door hissed shut behind you and the car pulled away, the silence between you hung thick for a moment before he, predictably, broke it.
"You have interesting taste," he said, glancing sideways at you with a little smirk. "Navy lieutenant? Really?"
You shot him a look. "It’s called trying to have a life."
"Is that what you call it?" he said lightly. "It looked more like a charity event. He didn’t even have the courtesy to cover the bill."
You glared ahead, jaw tightening. "I wasn’t aware my personal life was part of your department’s jurisdiction."
"Everything is part of my jurisdiction," Krennic replied smoothly, folding his gloved hands in his lap. "Especially when it concerns my top officer."
Your head snapped toward him. "I’m not your officer."
"Semantics." His voice remained calm, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. "You belong to the Empire. And by extension, to me."
You exhaled sharply through your nose. "You have no idea how incredibly inappropriate you sound right now."
He chuckled. "Perhaps. But not inaccurate." He let the words hang before his tone shifted, the playful edge dimming, replaced by the familiar cold professionalism you knew too well. "You’ve done well on Phase 2. But don’t let distractions pull you off course. We still have work ahead. The rebel sympathizers aren’t slowing down. Neither can we."
You stared out the window, your reflection staring back at you in the glass. "I know my job, Director."
"I know you do," he said quietly. "That’s why I tolerate your… outside hobbies."
You couldn’t stop the dry laugh that escaped you. "One failed date qualifies as a hobby?"
"In your case?" Krennic smiled faintly. "Yes."
The rest of the ride passed in silence, but his presence weighed heavily beside you, like always. Calculating. Watchful. Amused.
As the car pulled up to your apartment complex, the driver opened the door. You stepped out, wrapping your coat tighter against the chill.
Krennic leaned slightly toward your open doorframe. "Next time," he said softly, "choose better company."
The door closed before you could respond, and the transport glided away into the night, leaving you standing alone under the flickering streetlamp. The moment his car disappeared into the night, you couldn’t hold it in anymore. You punched the air with both fists, your voice breaking the silence of the street.
"Arrgh!"
The fury bubbled inside you. That man never let you breathe. Not at work. Not at lunch. Not even on your first date in months. You stormed into your apartment, tossed your jacket aside, and glanced at the clock.
At least you’d make up for it with some sleep.
You took a long, hot shower, trying to wash off the frustration and Krennic’s smirk from your skin. Then you climbed into bed, shutting your eyes tight, letting yourself drift into sleep. Finally, you escaped. In your dreams, there was no Empire, no propaganda deadlines, no Director Krennic. Just quiet, peaceful nothingness.
*******
Morning arrived too quickly, but you felt surprisingly refreshed. You followed your usual routine. Breakfast. A light run. Shower. Coffee. Uniform. And then off to ISB headquarters.
The moment you stepped onto your floor, you felt it. The air was… different.
Your colleagues were eyeing you with strange, knowing looks. As if you were carrying some kind of secret you hadn’t shared yet. You tried to ignore it, walking straight to your desk, but the weight of their stares kept pressing.
Jung was the first to speak. He leaned over from his desk, lowering his voice but loud enough for others to hear.
"I heard Director Krennic offered you a ride home last night."
You closed your eyes for a brief second. So they knew.
"Yes. After he ruined my date," you replied, trying to sound casual.
Dedra’s head snapped up from her datapad. "Date?"
You sighed. There was no escaping it now. You told them everything. How your friend set you up with a Navy officer named Malcolm. How you finally had a night off after finishing Phase 2. How did you go to a fancy restaurant? How, against all odds, Krennic and Partagaz were there too.
You continued. How Krennic noticed you first. How he walked right up to your table, sized up your date like some superior officer inspecting unfit troops. How he scoffed. How Malcolm walked out, embarrassed and annoyed.
By the time you finished, their reactions came flooding in.
"Ooooh..." Jung leaned back, grinning.
Dedra raised an eyebrow. "I can't believe he just walked up to your table like that. Unbelievable."
"Oof. Rough," another agent muttered.
There were a few low whistles, some snickering. The entire office found this far more entertaining than any report they were working on.
At that moment, Major Partagaz walked in holding a datapad. His sharp eyes scanned the room before settling on you.
"So," Partagaz said, his voice smooth and neutral, "did Krennic stay over at your place afterward?"
You blinked, your jaw dropping slightly. "What? No!"
His eyes narrowed slightly, amused. "You went straight to sleep then?"
You raised both hands. "Yes. I went home. Alone. Straight to sleep. Don’t twist it."
The smirks were everywhere now, but before you could scold them further, the room’s atmosphere shifted again. You felt him before you saw him.
Director Krennic entered the room, walking with his usual polished arrogance, coat perfectly tailored, posture impeccable. He glanced around, reading the faces, noticing the barely-contained grins, but pretending not to care.
"My, my," he said in his cool voice, lips curling into a faint smirk. "What lively conversation so early in the morning."
He looked at you directly, eyes glinting with mischief.
"I do hope no one’s discussing personal matters during work hours. After all," his voice lowered just enough for only you to catch it, "we wouldn’t want to mix business with pleasure, would we?"
The ISB agents tried their best to suppress laughter. You pressed your lips into a tight line, biting back every insult you wanted to throw at him.
This man was impossible.
"Now," Krennic clapped his hands once, addressing the room like nothing unusual had happened, "Phase 3 awaits us. I trust you’re all ready?"
He didn’t wait for an answer. His eyes met yours one more time, and for a brief second, his smile widened like he’d won some invisible game.
You exhaled slowly, muttering under your breath. "Stars help me."
*******
Krennic stood behind his desk, skimming through the latest reports you handed him. His gloved fingers danced over the datapad, eyes narrowing slightly as he read through the results of Phase 3. You waited, arms crossed, heart beating a little too fast. You weren’t nervous about the data; you knew the numbers were good. You were nervous because this was Krennic, and he always managed to turn every conversation into something personal.
Finally, he set the datapad down with a quiet tap.
"Acceptable." His voice was calm, but the faint smirk on his lips betrayed his usual arrogance. "The citizen morale is responding well to your campaigns. The imagery of Stormtroopers as guardians of peace is spreading. The people are beginning to trust the Empire’s strength once more."
You allowed yourself a small breath of relief. Maybe this time, finally, you would get a break.
But of course, it never worked like that with Krennic.
"I hope you’ve also taken my advice to heart," he added, with that same smug grin. "About finding a man who deserves you."
You rolled your eyes, unable to stop yourself. "Director, are we done?"
"For now." He waved his hand dismissively. "You may leave."
You didn’t waste a second. You turned on your heel and walked out of his office, leaving his smirk behind you. Stars, that man could get under your skin like no one else.
You had hoped that Phase 3 would mean you’d finally earn another day off, like you did after Phase 2. Instead, less than twenty-four hours later, you received the message.
The Emperor requested your presence.
You stared at the message for a long moment, unable to fully process it. It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a summons.
Then, of course, Krennic appeared.
"I see you’ve been invited," he said smoothly, as if this was just another routine briefing. "Naturally, I’ll be accompanying you."
"But the Emperor asked for me." You frowned.
"And I am responsible for you," he said. "I discovered you. Groomed you. Your success reflects on my leadership. This is as much my audience as it is yours."
You didn’t argue. What would be the point? Once again, Krennic made everything about himself.
******
The following morning, you stood side by side with him as the shuttle glided toward the Imperial Palace. The air inside was cold and clinical. No one spoke. Krennic looked utterly at ease, as if this was just another meeting. You, however, kept your breathing steady, forcing yourself to appear calm.
As you stepped out onto the landing platform, two Royal Guards awaited you, their crimson armor gleaming under the harsh lights. Without a word, they led you through towering black corridors, polished to perfection. The air smelled faintly metallic, sterile, like power itself.
Finally, you entered the throne chamber. The tall columns, the eerie silence, the shadows, all pressed against you like a physical weight. And there, seated atop the raised platform, cloaked in darkness, sat Emperor Palpatine.
His yellow eyes gleamed beneath his hood as his withered hands rested on the armrests.
You bowed immediately, head lowered. Krennic followed, slightly more theatrical in his movement.
"Rise," Palpatine commanded, his voice low and rasping. "My child... I have watched your work with great interest."
You straightened, standing tall under his gaze. His presence was suffocating yet mesmerizing.
"Your propaganda efforts are effective. The citizens are responding. Their trust in the Empire grows stronger. You have... talent."
"Thank you, Your Majesty." You forced your voice to be steady.
Krennic, of course, couldn’t stay silent.
"Naturally, my Lord," he said with that unmistakable tone of self-importance, "I was the one who found her. Saw her potential. Polished her skills. She was... raw, once. But under my guidance, she shines."
Palpatine turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing, studying Krennic. The corner of his pale lips curled ever so slightly.
"Good," the Emperor rasped, his voice echoing. "Then your judgment has served the Empire well, Director Krennic."
Krennic’s chest seemed to puff out just a fraction more. You fought the urge to roll your eyes right there in front of the Emperor.
Palpatine’s attention returned to you.
"Your work is not finished. The rebels grow bolder. We must tighten our grip before they become... dangerous. You will continue your efforts. Do not fail me."
"Yes, Your Majesty," you answered, bowing once more.
"Excellent," Palpatine whispered, his voice trailing off like a shadow.
As the guards signaled the audience was over, you turned to leave with Krennic walking beside you, his mood practically glowing.
"See?" he whispered with that infuriating smirk. "You're becoming quite the star of the Empire. And you owe it all to me."
You let out a quiet breath, focusing your gaze ahead.
"Director," you replied, voice flat. "Don’t push your luck."
His chuckle followed you down the corridor.
The car hummed softly as the palace lights disappeared behind you. You sat beside Krennic, arms folded, staring out the window as the stars stretched across the sky like distant promises. For a few minutes, neither of you spoke.
Then you finally broke the silence.
"You know," you said, "since the Emperor was quite pleased with my work, I think I deserve a reward."
Krennic glanced at you from the corner of his eye, his signature smirk already forming. "A reward?"
"Yes." You arched a brow. "Like a day off."
"A day off?" He chuckled, shifting in his seat as if the idea itself amused him. "So you can have another date?"
You rolled your eyes. "I want a social life too, Director. You do realize I’m not one of your droids, right?"
He made a show of pretending to consider it, tapping his gloved finger against his chin dramatically. "Hm. Fine. You may have a day off."
You looked at him, slightly suspicious. "That easy?"
"Of course." His grin widened. "You’ve earned it. And besides, I’m curious to see what kind of disaster your next date will become."
You let out a groan and sank back into the seat, muttering, "Stars save me."
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Dime, ¿por qué?
Me dices siempre solamente
Mentiras
Tú me enamoraste a base de mentiras
Tú me alimentaste siempre de mentiras
Qué estúpida que siempre te creí
One year after the end of the war, Jyn Erso wakes up with a message from K-2SO.
Her husband, Captain Cassian Andor, is dead.
Summoned to Yavin IV for a mysterious memorial, she's not surprised to find herself joined by her best friend Leia Organa and Cassian's friend, Kleya Marki, but she didn't expect to see Bix Caleen, who also claims to be Cassian's wife, and the mother of his child.
But that's not the only secret Cassian kept about his love live.
Tensions rise, secrets unravel, and blasters are nearly drawn as old flames, ex-lovers, and one droid uncover the tangled web of lies Cassian left behind.
One of them might be responsible for his death… or maybe all of them are.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 5/6
Fandom: Andor (TV), Star Wars - All Media Types
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Syril Karn/Dedra Meero, Dedra Meero & Lio Partagaz, Eedy Karn & Dedra Meero, Eedy Karn & Syril Karn
Characters: Dedra Meero, Syril Karn, Lio Partagaz, Orson Krennic, Eedy Karn
Additional Tags: Spoilers for Star Wars: Andor (TV), Alternate Universe, Manipulative Relationship, Manipulation, Pregnancy, Relationship Problems, ISB | Imperial Security Bureau's Ghorman Massacre in 2 BBY (Star Wars), Star Wars Galactic Empire Era, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Dedra Meero needs a hug, Partagaz is doing his best to support her, accidental rebellion, Two fascists in love - what could possibly go wrong?, but they are also, Idiots in Love, POV Dedra Meero, Dedra really goes through it all, Syril Karn Lives, Listen I try my best with beta reading but there can be mistakes
Summary:
Something was definitely waiting for them, it mattered only on the point of view if it was good or a disaster. Dedra balanced on the edge to make her mind about it. She sacrificed enough time already to convince herself to think rather positively. The other option... Felt too scary. Too destructive.
And she desperately needed Syril to be without doubts on her side.
Dedra couldn't face this alone.
________
We're almost at the end of the story, please enjoy the new chapter (mostly retrospective) and another deep dive in the nature of their relationship 🫶🏻
Timeline: Andor S2, after the Ghorman massacre, Syril survived
Synopsis: Imperial propaganda, First Order foreshadowing, Baby steps in Cassian and Syril bonding
Yavin IV. Main hangar.
A Gonk droid was stepping impatiently from one foot to the other. Its battery was full and the cubic droid desired nothing else than to share the energy around, but that pesky maintenance technician didn’t get ANYTHING. A cable was running from the droid chassis to a scanning device the human was holding.
“I have the correct value”, the man eventually told the droid. While unplugging the cable he shot him a question: “Now tell me what you think your battery status is!”
“You can just look at this display here. It’s right on the droid.”
A male voice that the maintenance worker couldn’t quite place.
“That only puts out what…”, he started, then recognition dawned and he turned around. Right. THAT one. Considering how this man’s face – starting with an outdated holo – had haunted Syril Karn, his own perfect apathy at hearing Cassian Andor’s voice was baffling.
But the awareness who had addressed him killed every desire to explain what he was doing or why he was doing it in Syril, who otherwise had the reputation of being able to concisely explain even stuff he didn’t quite understand himself.
It wasn’t that Syril carried a grudge against Cassian. For a man who functioned like a target-seeking torpedo and who had copied his previous zeal for the empire onto his new allegiance with a vengeance, Syril’s ire surprisingly rarely turned personal. For that he’d had to perceive other people as persons in the first place… No, this wasn’t anymore about anything Cassian had done, but about the memory of what this witch-hunt had cost Syril. A curt “You have no idea what I’m doing here” was all Syril was willing to – or could – utter in reply.
Cassian very much had an idea and could sum up the other’s work on Yavin IV perfectly: paperwork. If we was feeling generous, due to their - however involuntary - connection, he’d add “with numbers”, but that was where Cassian’s willingness to engage with this man and his day job ended.
The Gonk droid was still doing his step-dance, wasting tiny amounts of energy while waiting for an official dismissal.
“Oh, right! You’ve got a right to get an explanation.”
“In contrast to the rebellion’s enfant terrible? Shall I cover my ears?”
“Kriffer…” Syril muttered, then turned towards the droid again, lowering himself down on one knee. While unwilling to waste breath to elaborate for him, Syril was perfectly fine with Andor overhearing an explanation he gave to a third party. After all, the information didn’t lose memetic bits or something that way.
“You’re suffering from a glitch in the output. What you think your battery level is and display for us isn’t the correct value. I just got that with my scanner directly from the source.”
“Is the discrepancy significant?” Cassian chimed in, then slapped his forehead the very moment he had finished his sentence. Of course any discrepancy was significant to Syril-living-database-Karn. He’d make sure to inform Mon Mothma about the daily change in Yavin’s rotation due to the planet’s moons slowly drifting away from it if she’d let him!
The awkward moment was broken – or made even more awkward – by K-2SO joining the duo, cheerfully exclaiming:
“Can you imagine that Cassian violated six rules on our mission?”
“Can”, Syril confirmed his ability to do so. “But I doubt he did.”
Kay titled his head a little.
Syril rose from the Gonk droid and waved him away to go on his business. He could always identify and work on this particular unit later.
“Six you were there to observe and register, Kay” Syril qualified. “There will have been more.”
“Oh?” Andor again. “Entertain me! How many?”
“I don’t do… estimates. One can’t base decisions on insufficient data.”
Alright, enough was enough! Cassian grabbed Syril by his many-pocketed vest and shook him.
“You little shit based your allegiance on “insufficient data” and assumptions! You destroyed my whole life in the process! My home!”
“Oh, please. Don’t claim you had a “life” on Ferrix.”
Following this comment, Syril found himself rammed against the closest solid wall – it turned out to be K-2’s chassis. The droid patting his shoulders after the painful impact that had pressed all air out of Syril’s lungs didn’t help AT ALL.
Syril just KNEW he was right! Drifting along without purpose or aspiration, how could that have been a worthwhile existence? What Andor was doing now, and where that might lead to, that was what counted!
In part the man was on this track because of Syril Karn, but knowing Andor, the Morlana incident had been just one of several possible turnouts to lead to this outcome. Being Cassian was enough to have triggered it in the near future anyway.
Meanwhile he, Syril, had seen the empire for what it was on Ghorman and eventually he had even realized the nasty truths about the duo of co-workers he had set out to revenge. In the name of justice. A justice these men had violated and not just starting on the day of their deaths…
As if he had picked Syril’s train of thought right out of some aether, or the Force, Cassian barked at him: “How could you not have seen those shitheads for what they really were all those months you worked together?” The man took a step back and hooked his fingers into his belt. “That’s what I’ll never understand! I mean, you’re observant as heck…”
Trouble was, observation was an active skill. Syril had never paid attention to people, only to meat bodies performing functions.
“Yes!” Kay spoke up again, still pondering the original topic. “How many transgressions do you think…?”
“Eight to eleven”, Syril gasped. “Closer to the lower end, though. He’s not looking bruised enough for to have broken into the double digits today already.”
“The day I’ll need to, I hope you’ll be there with me”, Cassian stated. “So that you finally realize that none of this is a game of numbers! This. Is. Serious!”
“It very much is a numbers-thing”, Syril insisted. “Risk-benefit-calculations. You’re constantly computing them in your head, and much quicker than I could. They just never bubble to the surface of your mind.”
K-2SO was doing calculations of his own just now. Like how he’d best go about moving Cassian to the debriefing he was due to attend. Eventually the droid settled on moving Karn instead, what usually prompted Cassian to follow suit. These two were thoroughly magnetic in this regard, even though no measuring devices could have proven that numerically.
*
On their way from the hangar to the tactical rooms the trio almost ran into a Rodian who had come storming out of a restroom.
“Spydah!” the pilot gasped. He swallowed, then repeated: “Spider! Over the door! Get the spider-guy!”
“Right here for your convenience!” With these words K-2SO shoved Syril into the pilot’s direction.
Syril took off his cap, both because he’d enter a proper indoor space and to use it as transport for the offending arachnid. He entered the tiny cell-like space with the individual toilet cubicle’s doors, turned around and looked up. Indeed a ballsy, dark-brown specimen clang to the wall right above the doorframe. But it just sat there, it wasn’t busy weaving a net or hanging out in anticipation of a meal.
“That’s an outdoorsy one”, Syril identified the animal. “And she looks pretty spooked.”
Looking around for a stepladder or stool, Syril didn’t have to search for long, for Kay offered his assistance in lifting up the human.
Syril nudged the spider gently with his fingers.
“C’mon, into the cap! You’ll be much happier where I’ll take you. Promise!”
And down again they went. Back on the floor Syril held his hand above the cap, to prevent the eight-legged prisoner’s escape and to spare the pilot the sight of her.
“You’re a Ghorman fugitive?” the Rodian suddenly asked out of the blue.
“I was… plaza… fled…” Syril stammered. Already the man feared to enter a third instance of spacing out and walking through a dreamlike mist that covered a reality that just couldn’t unfold around him, not for real, when Cassian gave him a push.
“Run along with your catch! Don’t hang it up in the kitchens like the others, I’m warning you!”
Syril nodded and walked off. After a couple of steps he started running with an energy one was reluctant to attribute to this man after having watched his slow, deliberate steps in the hangar. But truth was, as a former law enforcement officer Syril Karn was in good physical shape and had taken care to maintain it during his office work days.
“Creepy spider guy is creepy…” the pilot murmured.
“That’s empire talk!” Cassian spat. “Cut it out!”
“No, I get it! They were not terrorists, they got framed. The Ghormans damaging our happy empire family was a lie that getting exposed woke up so many of us, leading to us being here now! But they are still weird, full of themselves spider fanciers, and that’s a fact.”
“A “fact” the imperial propaganda machine created to base their lie on!” Cassian exclaimed. “Karn is full of himself, but so is Shara Bey, and she’s from way off Ghorman. You’ll find all kinds of people on Ghorman… would have found…”
Cassian struggled briefly, found his speech again, and firm, too, but when the pilot eventually vanished into one of the cubicles, his “I see” sounded more like that of an underling agreeing with an officer than that of a convinced conversation partner.
*
The outdoors mess hall was almost always full or at least was never really empty. Even in the dead of night at least a handful of people sought out nourishment before or after an assignment or just something hot to combat the shivering caused by whatever they had seen that day or were struggling with from their past.
Midday came and went, and about an hour afterwards Cassian joined Syril at a table. He put a bowl full to the brim with thick vegetable mush down on front of himself and with the other hand shoved a smaller bowl under his seat neighbor’s nose. It contained the colorful sweet & salty popcorn that was popular on Batuu. Syril was very fond of this dessert, but given the story of how he had joined the rebellion, he wasn’t exactly high on the list of recipients to get considered for this treat when it was available.
“What’s the occasion?” Syril asked over his already emptied plate and the last gulp of the watered-down beer that was part of the standard meals here. In fact, he had been ready to get up and back to his protocoling and inventory taking work.
Cassian at first didn’t answer. He only dug into his stew and violently tore into his bread. Munching on the popcorn, Syril studied the other man. Andor certainly hadn’t appeared that hungry earlier… Something had to bother him to trigger this behavior. Something other than sharing a table with his nemesis, the nemesis he had never been aware existed, but that he had adopted retroactively.
“Popcorn…?”
Cassian stared at the colorful lumps that the defector was offering in his outstretched hand. After a few seconds Syril tipped his hand over for the popcorn to drop onto the wooden table from where Cassian could pick them up without risking to touch the other’s fingers. He certainly wasn’t so shy about touching Syril with his elbows…
“It’s even here”, Cassian eventually said with a deep sigh. “Rooted so deep we don’t even notice it.”
“It?” Syril wondered. What could have thrown Andor so off balance that he had decided to open up to him of all people? “Oh, right. The Ghorman prejudice.”
“Uh-huh. You heard the pilot, not just what he said, but the conviction with which he said it. If that thinking persists, then…” Uncharacteristically Cassian’s voice trailed off.
“Yes.” Syril nodded. “Then the empire won’t die. It’ll survive as a dormant parasite and one day release its spawn again.” Syril sampled more popcorn from his bowl, but his hand movement froze an inch above the rim. “I don’t know what to do”, he admitted. “Not anymore. Be a visibly “good” Ghorman, maybe? I certainly owe them.”
“No!” Cassian shook his head fervently. “No, that would be utterly wrong. In trying to prove not to embody the imperial stereotype, you’d confirm that stereotype’s right to exist in the first place.”
Syril flashed Andor a smile.
“I like it when you having an actually working brain shows.”
His arm unfrozen, Syril crunched the popcorn, swallowed and added:
“I know it’s not what the others are looking for in a leader. They want to see confidence to get inspired by. It’s only natural.”
But for his part, Syril had gotten won over by this particular insurgent when he had first seen a glimpse of Andor’s uncanny quick learning ability and above-average critical thinking skills. The grudging respect he had developed for the man that was so different in his outlook from Dedra, yet her equal mentally, hadn’t canceled out Syril’s reluctance to interact with Cassian, though. Until now.
Shoveling stew with a spoon in one hand again, with the other Cassian administered a noogie to Syril.
“Shithead!”
“I must be, if I sit here with you, already thinking of the next war, when we haven’t even won this one”, Syril mused. “Have we even started fighting it?”
“I couldn’t tell. It feels as if I’ve done nothing else since I was nine or ten.”
“Huh. Fair point.”
There they sat, thinking of Dedra and Bix, while having only each other and a seemingly unsurmountable task, broken down into dozens of brief missions and as many heaps of paperwork.
Luthen’s sunrise, when it would arrive, might not be bright enough to burn every last vermin that had buried deep into their holes.
