#gav writes

[wolfboywarmachine]

i’m craving validation so even though exactly nobody asked, this is how haem and theron meet in the jedi!theron au :’)

It’s certainly out of the way. Haem’s already annoyed by the time they land, to say nothing of what a pain in the ass it is actually finding the coordinates she’d provided. By the time they’re approaching, the sun is low. Haem and T7 are both covered in dirt and sweat and blood - none of it belonging to T7, for obvious reasons, though he’s far from unscathed.  “When we get back to the ship,” Haem informs him, “I’m showering for a year.”  “T7 + oil bath and polish = dream.”  “She couldn’t have picked a spot near the Academy, could she? Had to go for the middle of nowhere.” The exact location is, yes, the middle of nowhere. An empty building, which is the complete opposite of reassuring.  It's dark inside, tiny cracks of light coming through the broken ceiling.  “Stay close,” Haem warns, but T7’s answering chirp has barely registered when he hears footsteps.  “That the one we’re supposed to get, boss?” Haem can’t tell which of the silhouettes slowly surrounding them had spoken.  “They said a Jedi, didn’t they?” The voice doesn’t sound especially certain. “Okay, boys. Let’s do this.”  Mandalorians.  They’re stepping into the light just as Haem realizes, wondering why the hell things can’t just be easy for once.  “Go here,” he murmurs to T7. “It’ll be quick. You’ll be on Tatooine in no time.”  T7 peeps a laugh.  There’s movement in the rafters. Haem can’t quite focus, but there’s someone else here. Not a Mando.  “None of that,” the loudest of the Mandalorians says, raising his blaster. “Okay, let’s - “ He gets cut off abruptly by a lightsaber through his throat.  “Holy shit,” Haem says. “T7 = impressed.” The blade moves fast. There’s shots fired, but none of them make contact.  That’s a lie. One hits a Mandalorian. (The one who pulled the trigger looks pretty torn up about it, actually.) Haem draws his lightsabers, but that’s about as far as he gets before he’s standing in a pile of bodies.  “Okay,” he says, sheathing them. “Fun trick. But I do like knowing who I’m playing bait for.”  The gold blade goes dark. A figure steps forward. He’s clearly Jedi, as if the lightsaber hadn’t been evidence enough, but his clothes are dark. His hair is shaved on the sides, but long enough to be pulled back. Haem has to wonder if it’s really practical.  Also? He’s kind of gorgeous. His green eyes catch what little light is coming in through the cracks, and he’s got just enough stubble to accentuate his jawline, dusting over the vaguely disinterested expression on his face.  “Not that I needed the help, but you could have made an attempt, at least.”  “Hi,” Haem says stupidly, banter abandoned. He’s just self-aware enough to be glad Kira isn’t around, or he’d never hear the end of it. It's not his fault. There's this tug buried deep in his gut, this conviction that he's meant to be right here. That he's meant to be with this stranger, forgetting the Code, forgetting the Order. The Force is pulling at him in a way it never quite has before. Not like this, not this intensely, not this clearly. This is new. It's a lot to take in all at once. The Jedi’s eyes narrow. “You’re not giving me much to work with.”  Haem shakes himself. “Satele Shan sent me,” he says, and the Jedi sighs heavily.  “I told her I didn’t need backup,” he says, already turning away. “You were an acceptable distraction, I guess. Can’t say much more than that.” “T7 = has message.”  They both turn to look at T7 at the same moment. This is news to Haem.  “T7 = needs privacy,” he chirps at Haem. He scowls and leaves to wait outside. They both come out about five minutes later.  “Put it on a recording so I can’t argue,” the Jedi says, half under his breath. “That’s low.” Haem probably shouldn’t ask, but he’s definitely going to. “What, exactly?” Another long, exasperated sigh. “Apparently,” he says, “I’m coming with you.” “What?” Stars, he is not doing well with the surprises the last few days. “T7, you knew about this?” “T7 = did not watch message. T7 = excellent secret keeper.”  “Great,” Haem says, already trying to figure out how he’s supposed to go on like this. “Who the hell are you?”  The Jedi starts to exhale, and Haem interrupts “I’ve had a really long day and if you start sighing at me again, I swear I’m - “ “Theron,” he says flatly. “Theron Shan.”  “Oh.”  It’s something of an open secret that Satele’s son is in the Order. She hasn’t bothered denying the rumors - it’s not exactly a real option. But that doesn’t mean anyone knows much about him. There are stories, sure. That he works alone, that he never stays in one place long, that he gets things done.  Nobody ever said he was hot, though. Or that he was kind of a dick.  “Theron,” Haem repeats, and he nods. “Yeah. That’s my name. Are you always like this?” “Haem =,” T7 starts, and Haem’s eyes widen.  “Don’t finish that!” he warns. “No. I’m not.”  Theron still looks doubtful. “I’m Haem,” he adds.  “I know. She told me.”  “Great.”  It’s impossible not to be aware of how much of a mess he is right now. What he could’ve done differently if Satele had specified he was going to go pick up her hot son, he doesn’t know, but he feels sure there’s something.  “We should go,” Haem says. “It’s taken long enough to get to Tatooine already.” 

[wolfboywarmachine]

this is the Worst part of the jedi!theron au, for the record, and also quite possibly the best thing i’ve ever written.

It takes a while to find Theron at the celebration afterwards. He's on a balcony overlooking the grounds, alone, and Haem's uncannily reminded of the last time they'd been in this situation two years before. He hadn't expected Theron to stay, back then. Hoped, sure. Expected, no.

He doesn't bother announcing his presence before leaning on the rail beside Theron. Neither of them speak for a long time. It's not for lack of things to say, at least on Haem's part, but he's terrified. Maybe that's foolish. He just killed the Emperor. There shouldn't be anything left to be afraid of. But there's Theron, so. "Theron." He doesn't look at Haem. "Don't do this," he says. "Please don't do this to me." Haem can't lie to anyone, and he certainly can't lie to Theron. He wears his secrets on his skin, doesn't hide them, doesn't understand how. Theron needs to know, even if he already does. He needs to hear it from Haem. "I'm in love with you." It hangs heavy in the air between them. Theron’s eyes close. He’s still looking away.  “Haem,” he says. The awful resignation in his voice is nothing Haem hadn’t expected, but he’d hoped. He’d let himself hope.  “I just wanted to say it,” he says, before Theron can finish a sentence. “I just needed you to know. Even if you don’t - even if you don’t want me, that’s fine, I just.” He cuts himself off. He doesn’t think he’s making things any better for either of them. Theron exhales. “You know I do.” He didn’t, actually. It clearly doesn’t change anything, except for the fact he feels about a thousand times worse. It shows on his face, apparently, because Theron finally turns to look at him, and he isn’t even bothering to keep his own expression blank anymore. It feels something like being kicked in the gut.  “We can’t do this,” Theron says, as gentle as Haem’s ever heard him. It doesn’t soften the blow. “Haem,” he says, and some long-neglected flight instinct seems to finally kick in.  “I have to go.” Haem’s already backing away. “Haem,” Theron repeats, but Haem doesn’t stick around to hear whatever he’s going to say. He bolts through the Temple, and a few people try to ask him what he’s doing - Master Satele, notably, which Haem just cannot deal with - but he doesn’t explain, and he doesn’t stop til he gets back to the Cardiac. 

It’s not empty. T7 left early to do some maintenance, and Scourge had skipped the party entirely. Haem doesn’t stop to explain himself to them, either.  He doesn’t stop moving til he’s in the pilot’s seat, hands shaking on the controls. T7 follows him. “Something = wrong?”  “I have to go,” Haem repeats. It’s funny slipping back to the singular, after so long traveling as a unit.  “Haem = enter location?”   “Anywhere,” Haem says. “Anywhere, we just have to leave, now, please.” “Kira + Doc + Rusk + Theron = missing,” T7 informs him, like he didn’t fucking know. “Haem + T7 = wait?”  “No,” he says immediately. “No. Now. Please.”  T7 starts chirping confusedly, but he’s interrupted. Not by Haem. Scourge is leaning in the doorway, watching clinically.  “He’s running from them,” he says. “Aren’t you?” Haem swallows hard and looks away. He doesn’t know how to answer that.  Scourge seems satisfied, because he crosses the room, inputting a destination to the galaxy map. It looks to be the middle of uncharted space, not a system the ship recognizes. T7 peeps indignantly.  “You want to run,” Scourge says, “Then we’ll run.”  “Where are we - “  “Does it matter?” Haem’s quiet for a long time. He thinks about please don’t do this to me and you know I do, and he knows. “No,” he says. “No, it doesn’t matter.” 

[wolfboywarmachine]

Theron doesn’t like this. “I don’t like this,” he says, point-blank, as Haem gets ready to leave the Cardiac. “I don’t trust him. I know you can take care of yourself, but -” 

“Shh,” Haem says, putting his finger on Theron’s lips. It would come across as condescending from anyone else, but Haem gets away with a lot of things Theron wouldn’t let anyone else do to him. “I’ll be fine. You’re worrying too much.” 

Theron thinks he’s worrying just enough. Theron thinks he could maybe stand to worry even more, considering the circumstances. “I have a bad feeling,” he says, muffled a little by Haem’s finger, and Haem sighs. He moves his hands to cup Theron’s cheeks.  “I’ll be fine,” he repeats, gentler. “I always am, right? I’ll come home to you.” He kisses Theron, just briefly enough Theron barely gets to kiss back. “I promise.”  It’s remarkable how much it actually does to soothe him, though he still can’t shake the feeling that there’s something wrong. “Okay,” Theron says, only a little reluctant. “Okay. If you promise.”  “I promise,” Haem repeats, and kisses him again before he’s darting away. “I’ll see you, okay?”  “Okay.” Theron can’t argue with him, but the dread’s still there - lingering in his gut.  He hovers the whole time Haem’s on the bridge of Marr’s ship. It’s not supposed to be a long stop. Kira’s been off the ship to see about supplies and returned already. She assures him that Haem’s still meeting with Marr, that things are routine, that it’ll be fine.

And then the ships start showing up. And then more ships.  “We have to get him.”  Kira doesn’t respond immediately, but there’s a look on her face that says she isn’t pretending she thinks things are fine, which Theron appreciates.  “He can take care of himself,” she says finally, voice tight. In most circumstances, Theron would agree.  Except that -  “We have to,” he repeats, and she shakes her head helplessly.  “The way things are looking right now, we might not even get out of here.”  And that’s -  Oh. Theron hadn’t thought the pit in his stomach could get any deeper.  And then the ship shakes - Theron’s been shot at before, knows the feeling. This is wrong. This is very, very wrong.

Kira doesn’t give him time to dwell on it. She’s trying the comms before he has a chance to speak. “We’re getting into some trouble here,” she says, voice strained. “They shot out the airlock, but the clamps are - “ Theron interrupts her. Kira gives him a dirty look, but doesn’t try to stop him. She knows it’s not usual behavior for him. She knows how poorly he’s handling this.“You get the fuck back here,” he says, snarls, maybe. The fear turns into anger on its way out of his mouth. “Now.”  “I’ll be there,” Haem says, and as terrified as Theron still is, it’s unimaginably relieving to hear his voice. “Don’t worry.”  Theron worries. They’re all up front by now, T7 and Doc and Rusk and even Scourge. They all know things are bad. Haem does something onboard the cruiser, and the clamps release, and it should be a good thing, but Theron’s - Haem’s -  “We’re free and clear,” Kira says, and there’s a tiny bit of relief audible, but not a lot. “But it’s not looking good out here.” Don’t you dare, Theron thinks. Don’t you dare, don’t you say what you’re about to say, don’t you - “If you see an opening to escape, take it,” Haem says, voice crackling over the comm, and Theron’s heart drops.  “We can’t just leave you!” Kira says, and there’s anger and fear and Theron knows, Theron knows she knows, knows what Haem knows.  “You have to,” Haem says, “Please, Kira,” and she swallows, and reaches for the controls, and Theron - “No,” he says immediately. “No. We’re not doing this. No way.” He reaches for the controls, hand closing on Kira’s wrist.  “Theron,” she says, more a warning than a request.  “No,” he repeats. “Theron.” That’s Haem. “I have to do this. I’ll be there, I promise, I’ll be fine. I’ll come home.” But that feeling’s still there, and Theron knows. “No,” he repeats, more desperate. There’s steps behind him. “No,” he says again, “No, you can’t do this, you’re not -” Scourge’s hands close around his arms, dragging them behind his back, holding him still. Theron fights, but Scourge is using some kind of stasis in addition to his stupid giant arms, and it’s pointless. He knows it. Still fights, though. “I love you,” Haem says, and Kira’s hands close around the controls.  “No,” Theron says, and they’re moving. They’re jumping to hyperspace. “No, you can’t, I can’t - I can’t lose him again, you can’t do this to me, you can’t leave him - “ He’s moving enough that Scourge seems to be using actual effort to hold him, now.  “We have to do this!” Kira shouts, voice close to breaking. She doesn’t understand, though. She can’t be feeling this like he is or she never would have let them leave him behind.  “I need him,” Theron snarls, something feral in his voice he doesn’t recognize. “I can’t lose him again, not like this, not -”  “Get the tranquilizer,” Scourge says, voice low and clipped. “Now. Before he breaks something.”  Doc moves in Theron’s peripheral vision, but he’s staring at the window. He can feel Haem getting further and further from him like it’s physically hurting him.  “I can’t,” he repeats, rough and desperate, and Scourge says “Now,” and there’s the sharp sting of a needle in the back of Theron’s neck.

[wolfboywarmachine]

a solid half of the basis of the jedi!theron au is Platonic Bed Sharing that Isn’t Actually Platonic and here’s how that all starts :’)

They’re on the way to Quesh. Theron’s holed up in the back room, with the cargo hold. He spends less time there now than he’d used to, but it’s closer to being his own than anywhere else on the ship.

He's meditating there when Haem finds him.  "Hey," Haem says, sitting inelegantly on the floor beside him without waiting for a response. The boundaries have thinned there, too, not so much as with Kira, but when you live with someone for a year you have to let certain walls down. Theron's given up on maintaining much of a distance, and especially on trying to remind Haem that he's supposed to be doing these things too. Meditation has never worked for Haem. There's too much going on in his head. He has to be moving, or it's like it all has time to catch up with him.  Theron opens his eyes. "Hey." He knows better than to try and get anything done now. Haem has that effect on people.  "Quesh," Haem says.  "Quesh," Theron confirms. "Have you slept since we got back to the ship?"  He has Haem's number. It's been...twelve hours, maybe? And however long they'd spent on Balmorra before that. Interstellar travel wreaks havoc on his internal clock.  "I drank two cups of caf," he says, and Theron sighs.  "You're going to kill yourself," he says, looking exasperated. "Sleep. Before you leave the damned ship."  "But I - " "Sleep." Haem's nothing if not petty. "Fine." He scoots the last few inches closer to Theron, and lies down, pausing just short of lowering his head into Theron's thigh. "I'll sleep." "Really?" He doesn't sound genuinely mad so much as resigned.  Haem closes his eyes and drops his head the last inch, using Theron as a pillow. "You should know better than to ask that by now." "Fine." Theron's hand starts running through his hair. It's surprising - first that he's doing it at all, second that it's actually very soothing. "Go to sleep, you baby." Haem sleeps better than he has in months.

[wolfboywarmachine]

Haem stops in his tracks as he walks away from the group. T7 chirps questioningly, and Haem turns back.  "Theron," he calls. He hasn't gotten far yet, but Haem doesn't break stride til he's closed the distance between them, putting a hand on each of Theron's cheeks. If there were ever a time to be boldly stupid, he thinks it's now. 

"If I'm going to die," he says, and Theron doesn't stop him, which he thinks is all the invitation he's going to get. Haem kisses him. Full-on, cradling Theron’s face in his hands, gentle but not hesitant, and it’s a first kiss but somehow it doesn’t entirely feel like one. It feels like coming home. It only lasts a second, before he pulls back, because if he stays any longer he’ll never be able to make himself leave. But he swears Theron kisses back. That he lets go, for a moment, clings to Haem with everything he has, and it feels like a hello and it feels like a goodbye and an I love you and an apology all at once.  He doesn't know if any of the others were within earshot, if they’d heard him call out for Theron. If they saw. He doesn't care. Haem pulls away and sets course for the Emperor again without another word.  Theron doesn't stop him. 

[wolfboywarmachine]

They’ve been on assignment for a month now, and Haem’s talking to someone in the living room. He’s not so quiet Theron can’t hear him, but he’s not being as loud as usual either, so there’s clearly some effort being made. Theron should probably tell him he can hear, or at least stop listening, but he doesn’t.

“It’s fine,” Haem says, sounding exasperated. “It’s fine, honestly.” He pauses.  “I like him,” he says, and Theron’s eyes widen. He can’t be talking about Theron. He can’t. But who the hell else is even around? It’s just been the two of them. Okay. Fine. He’s talking about Theron. “He’s a dick, but I like him,” Haem says, which is more on-brand for him. “Really. Stars, what do you want me to say? That I want him to rail me? Because I do, but that’s beside the point.”  Is he talking about Theron? It’s the only logical conclusion. But that’d mean -  Theron doesn’t know what to do with that. Haem wants him? “You asked,” Haem says, raising his voice a little. “Don’t blame me just cause you didn’t like the answer.” Another pause. “Fine. Tell Jorgan I said good luck getting the stick out of his ass. Yeah. I know, I know.” He’s quiet for long enough Theron thinks maybe he’s hung up.  “Don’t get sappy on me,” he says, and Theron startles a little. “Love you too.” The last part is mumbled.  There’s a long, heavy sigh.  Theron doesn’t know what to do. Does he go back to his room? Does he walk in? Does he -  “Theron,” Haem calls. “For a spy, you aren’t really subtle.”  Damn it. He’s more cautious walking down the hallway than he’d been when Lana broke in. At least then he’d had a blaster to hide behind. Better the Sith than Haem, after what he’d said. “Relax,” Haem says, once Theron’s in his view. He’s sprawled across the couch carelessly, rolling his eyes at Theron. “I’m not going to bite you. How much of that did you hear?” “Enough.”  Haem nods thoughtfully. “Okay,” he says. “Well. I didn’t think I was being sneaky about it anyway, so.” His shirt is riding up at his waist, exposing bare stomach. Theron tries not to look.  “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”  He can’t tell why he’s so rattled by this. He’s a long way past any sexuality crisises, and Haem’s...he’s attractive, sure, that’s not in question. But he’s Haem. Theron doesn’t make a habit of sleeping around, and definitely not with people he works with, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted.  “I wasn’t,” he says. “I’m not,” and Haem’s eyes close, but the self-satisfied smirk doesn’t leave his face.  “Sure,” he says. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to push it. I’m an asshole, but even I have standards.” He rolls onto his stomach, face pressed into the couch. Theron swears his hips lift up a little, that his back arches. Bullshit he’s not going to push it.  But he can’t mention that, or he’d be admitting he was looking.  “Who were you talking to?” He doesn’t know if he should ask or not. It’s none of his business. He doubts he’d give a direct answer if their roles were reversed. Haem doesn’t seem phased, though. “My cousin.”  "You told your cousin you wanted me to rail you?" Theron's incredulous enough for his filter to lapse.  "He was asking questions. Not my fault he didn't like what he heard." He's still buried face-down. "Probably wouldn't have been so descriptive if I knew you were eavesdropping, but hey."  Theron swallows hard. "It was sure...vivid."  "Wasn't it just?"  He stretches a little, hips wriggling, and it's definitely intentional that time. It has to be. "Okay," Theron says, feeling uncomfortably aware of his own body. "I'm going to go work on decrypting those files you pulled today."  He doesn't get acknowledgement beyond a breathy sigh as he leaves the room.

[wolfboywarmachine]

#swtor15 day fifteen - free day (cas.)

"So Jedi never?" Nadia asks. She's sitting on top of the holo console, legs folded, and Zenith is honestly surprised Cas hasn't chastised her for it yet. He might just not be aware - his eyes are still closed - but it's not like him to not monitor the situation completely, so Zenith assumes he knows and has chosen to forgive her. 

For his own part, Zenith is sitting with his back to the wall. It's a habit he'd gotten into, watching Cas meditate - he looks so damn vulnerable. Zenith knows he's not, but he feels the need to watch his back anyway. Just in case.  He didn't see Nadia's joining as any reason to stop. She hasn't asked why he's there yet, but then again, she's been on the ship for so long she probably already noticed the routine.  "Theoretically, no." Cas doesn't look pissed, but then again, he never really does. Not until someone's already got a lightsaber through their gut. She watches him, eyes wide, for an elaboration. He sighs. "Some people don't exactly follow that rule." "But you do?" she asks. Zenith can't tell if she's being forward or just genuinely curious. He doubts Cas knows, either.  "I do.”  Zenith thinks they all knew that already.  “Do you ever even want to break it?"  "It's not about the rule," Cas says, more patient than Zenith would be in his place. "I just don't feel the need." "But do you ever want to?" she repeats.  "Sometimes." That catches Zenith's attention. He turns his head to watch Cas, who doesn't look bothered by the admittance, not that Zenith might be able to tell if he were. He's a brick wall, emotionally and physically, massive even sitting on the floor meditating like he is now. Like he was trying to, now, at any rate. "Sometimes?" Nadia sounds about as surprised as Zenith feels. "I'm not about to discuss what I find attractive with you." "Sorry," she says. She doesn't look very sorry. There's a spark of something in her eye. Curiosity, maybe, or want, or hunger. Zenith finds he doesn't especially like the latter two options.  Doesn't stop him from sharing the impulse to question it, though. Surely the topic bears more elaboration. Surely Cas is willing to say more. Except that he’s not. “Go find Felix and Tharan. They’ve been on the fleet long enough,” he tells her, and it’s not cruel but it’s a clear dismissal.  “But I - “ She has to know it’s pointless. “Go.”  She pouts, but goes. Cas doesn’t move again. Zenith is starting to think he’s forgotten Zenith is even in the room, totally absorbed in his meditations, but then he speaks.  “Zenith,” he says, not opening his eyes.  "Yeah?" "You were paying attention." How he knew, Zenith can't tell.  "Maybe." "You were." Still no sign of anything less than indifference. "I'm more inclined to answer you than Nadia." "Why?" "Why am I willing to answer? Or why I don't have sex?"  That was blunter than Zenith would have expected. He's not sure why - it's certainly in keeping with everything Zenith knows about him. Maybe it's just the subject. "Both." Cas takes a long breath. "Because I trust your intentions more than hers," he says. "And because it isn't necessary, and I have specific tastes anyway." "Specific?" Cas is quiet for a long time. Zenith starts to think he's not getting an answer. "It'd have to be someone I trusted before I'd even consider it. That's not a wide demographic." He takes another breath, then exhales slowly. "Inside of that, there aren't exactly a lot of people I'm attracted to." "What does that mean?" "One," he says.  "Not Nadia."  Cas actually shudders a little. It's the first physical sign he's given that he's paying attention. "No," he agrees. "Not Nadia." Zenith evaluates. Trust is a narrow bracket, yes. He's fairly confident that outside of his Master, everyone Cas trusts is on the ship.  Not Qyzen. Cas respects him, but Zenith feels comfortable saying that's it. Tharan's with Holiday, and too shallow besides. Weak-willed. Not for Cas. "Iresso," Zenith says. The idea doesn't sit well with him, and he can feel the wrongness even before he hears an answer.  "No." Cas is a stone wall again. "If you're going to insist on guessing, I'm not going to indulge you in replies." He wouldn't, no. "Me." It's the only option left. Cas barely trusts the diplomats to live on the ship after the whole Blaesus situation. He certainly wouldn't sleep with any. "You're attracted to me." "Yes." No resistance, no rebuttal. He's direct to a fault.  It's not a total shock, but Zenith can't say he'd anticipated it either. He'd assumed Cas just didn't care about that sort of thing.  "Huh." "I trust you won't do anything with the information," Cas says. "But since you asked." He doesn't normally leave sentences hanging like that. It's the only hint so far of this being in any way out of the ordinary for him. "I did ask," Zenith confirms. He doesn't make any promises. He doesn't know exactly what he would do with the information, but he's somehow glad he has it all the same.

[wolfboywarmachine]

#swtor15 day fifteen - free day (haem.)

Alderaan hurts. 

It’s fine at first. They make a better team than Haem had expected - in the field he doesn’t have time to get tongue-tied or overthink, he just acts. And Theron is (maybe a little surprisingly) willing to follow his lead. If he has a problem with it, it’s buried so far deep Haem can’t detect it. (And he’s attempted.) Haem thinks things are going well. And then he loses Master Orgus. It hurts more than it should, more than it has any right to. He hadn’t known him for long, really, hadn’t ever felt particularly close to him, but he’d been there. He’d given Haem a chance. Nobody else had ever stuck around that long. He’d gone through a dozen Masters, and every one of them had given up.  Nobody had ever trusted him. And Haem can’t help feeling like maybe they were right.  Things only get worse after that. Uphrades is a disaster Haem is wholly unequipped to deal with. He’s a blunt object. He goes where they tell him to go and he hurts who he has to hurt and he tries to help people in the in-between. He doesn’t know how to fix this.  He needs time before Tython, but he doesn’t have it. All he has is the time it takes to get there.  He’s curled up on his bed when there’s a knock on his door. He expects Kira, so he doesn’t bother with a response, because she’s prone to letting herself in regardless and apologizing later.  The door cracks open.  “Hey,” Theron says, and Haem cranes his neck up to see him before dropping it back to the pillow. “Mind if I come in?”  “Mm.” Theron takes it as agreement, apparently, because he closes the door behind him and sits down on the bed.  “You were close?” Haem sits up just enough to hold a conversation. “No.” “No?” “I only met him a few months ago.” Theron’s watching him. Haem sighs and elaborates.  “He gave me a shot,” he says, shaking his head like it’ll help his thoughts make sense. “Every other Master I’ve ever had gave up. Said I was too emotional, or too impulsive, or too much. But he trusted me. Even when he didn’t have any reason to.”  Theron’s still quiet.  “I think maybe he was wrong.” He’s been trying not to admit that. He’s never been good at lying, though. “Because I - “ he gestures vaguely to the exterior of the ship. “He’s dead. And I couldn’t even stop this.”  “Nobody could have stopped this.”  Haem swallows. “Great,” he says. “Thanks.” Theron sighs. “If I thought I could have done better, I would have.” Haem eyes him doubtfully. “If I would have done anything differently, I would’ve done it. If I thought you were making mistakes, I wouldn’t have followed you. You did everything you could. Sometimes things just go wrong.”  "Not like this." "Exactly like this." "I think the Council made a mistake," Haem blurts.  Theron's still perfectly composed. He doesn't ask him to elaborate.  "They didn't."  Haem shakes his head helplessly, and Theron adds "Not this time, anyway." "I shouldn't -" "You should," Theron interrupts, "And you are."  Haem hadn't noticed himself straightening until this moment. He's sitting up completely now, starting to mirror Theron's posture.  "You failed," Theron says. "But nobody could have done better." "You don't know that." "You're good." He sounds a little exasperated now, like the veneer of indifference is finally wearing thin. "I just spent a week watching you work. You're so much better than you think you are."  He's leaned in a little as he got more heated, and they can't be more than six inches apart now. Haem's suddenly, painfully aware of his own breathing.  Theron's tongue darts out over his lips for just a second. Stars, he can't stop staring at Theron's mouth. He has to. He can't. The door flies open. "We're back," Kira says urgently. "We have to go."