Summary: “Life is a mosaic of pleasure and pain - grief is an interval between two moments of joy. Peace is the interlude between two wars.” — Sri Sathya Sai Baba. A collection of swtor one-shots across all eight classes, in no particular order.
Notes: This takes place after the mission on Quesh during Chapter Two.
Previous Interludes
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Revel took a breath before entering her chambers. Probably a stupid, stupid idea to check on her, but he couldn’t get the look of anguish on Denravi’s face out of his head. He couldn’t offer much in terms of comfort, but whatever he could, she could have. He did know what it’s like to lose crew. More times than he cared to admit.
Her light armor was piled in the corner, which in itself was strange. Denravi normally took special care with her armor, taking time to carefully remove each piece, even when Revel simply wanted to rip it off of her.
She wore a simple sleeveless white tunic and a long, flowing white skirt. He had to admit, against the darkness of her skin, the look was breathtaking. He’d never seen this outfit before. “What’s with the getup?” he asked, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest.
“Mourning colors,” Denravi said, sitting down at the edge of her bed. She slid her palms from the top of her thighs to her knees. “I know it’s stupid, I barely even knew Kaal or Corrin. But I had to do something.”
“Yeah, it’s called revenge, Sith,” Revel said, his hands tightening into fists. “Thanaton took something of yours. Now you need to take something of his.”
“And then who will he go after next?” Denravi said quickly. She shook her head. “No, I have to be smarter, protect what is mine.” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, running her fingers through her hair. “I am Sith. There are ways.”
“He kills two of your apprentices and that’s your answer?” Revel asked with a scoff. “Protect what is yours?”
She looked up, her eyes flashing with anger. Revel nodded in approval. Anything was better than the look of hopelessness on her face when they stepped into the room and saw the bodies. Anger they could work with. Anger got results. She needed more, though. Luckily, Revel which buttons to press.
“Thanaton is already a step ahead of you,” Revel said, his voice goading. “What are you going to do about it?”
Standing up, Denravi started to pace across the room, wringing her hands. Revel felt a slight moment of guilt, knowing that she trusted him enough to show this weakness. He’d really have to cut his losses one of these days. They were getting too close for comfort. Next, he’d want to hold her after they fucked and that only would end in ruin.
“We’re going to find another ghost and I’ll take its power for my own,” Denravi said, her voice sharp as steel.
Still not good enough. “You can barely control three ghosts,” Revel sneered, pushing away the thought that what he said might actually be true. He’s heard her talk in her sleep a few times now. Scary shit sometimes. “You think you can handle a fourth?”
Her eyes lit up with a purple glow as she reached for a book on her nightstand, her fingertips cackling with energy. “Do not press your luck simply because I enjoy your company, pirate.”
She was almost there. If he played his cards right, what he said next might actually kill him. “Bet Zash wouldn’t have let them die.”
“Get out!” Denravi screamed, throwing the book at his head. Luckily, those couple of years he spent with Casey dodging heavy objects came in handy. Revel easily moved out of the way and the book hit the wall with a thud.
Lightning surrounded her closed fists and Revel braced himself. Once during a training session, he caught the tail end of a lightning ball. He would prefer never to go through that experience again. But if it helped Denravi out of mourning and ready to take revenge, he would gladly take the hit.
But then Denravi’s face crumpled, the energy draining from her hands as she slid to the floor. Revel froze, having no idea what to do as she brought her knees to her chest and started silently sobbing, if you could even call it sobbing when no tears rolled down her cheeks. Shit.
This was it. This was the moment he needed to run. Andronikos Revel didn’t need any fucking complications in his life and the Sith in front of him was complications personified. She probably would even understand.
run you bastard run
He could be on Nar Shaddaa in three hours. Thanks to the credits he earned since leaving Tatooine, he might have enough for a small ship. Work his way back up to the top. Become a real pirate again. Sleep with whoever the fuck he wanted.
Run
Before he even realized what had happened, Revel found himself sitting on the floor next to Denravi, his hand on her back, rubbing small circles as she continued to cry. This wasn’t just about the apprentices, even he could tell that. Suppose she never really had time to deal with the fact that her master tried to kill her and Thanaton made her an outcast.
“I can’t do this,” she whispered, resting her head on his shoulder.
“You don’t got much of a choice, Sith,” Revel said. No point in offering empty comforts. She doesn’t defeat Thanaton and she’s dead. They’re all probably dead.
She took a breath and sat up straight. “You’re right, of course,” Denravi said. There were no sign of tears, of any hopefullness on her face. All he saw was resolve. And when she spoke again, the certainity in her voice sent a chill through Revel’s blood. “I’m going to kill him.”
That’s my girl, he thought, hating the words as they seered his brain. She shouldn’t be his anything. But Revel isn’t one to dwell on things. Instead of trying to work out what those thoughts meant, he kissed Denravi as hard as he could, and she responded in kind.
Summary: “Life is a mosaic of pleasure and pain - grief is an interval between two moments of joy. Peace is the interlude between two wars.” — Sri Sathya Sai Baba. A collection of swtor one-shots across all eight classes, in no particular order.
Notes: This takes place after chapter nine of kotfe. There are spoilers for the first nine chapter. (And two updates in one day? What sort of madness is this?)
Previous Interludes
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They should have never brought her to Alderaan.
From the moment Lana released her from carbonite, Frae’s played their games, said exactly what they wanted to hear. Let them think she trusted them. As if she could ever trust anyone from the SIS or Sith Intelligence. No, there is only one person in this galaxy she trusts. And if her handlers don’t realize there’s nothing she isn’t willing to do to find him, that’s their problem.
The tingle from her stealth device feels like home: cold shadows with the ever present fear that someone will slip through the defenses. She watches silently as Choza Raabat looks around in confusion. The generator is destroyed, but they were to walk back to the outpost together, Jedi and Imperial, a testament to cooperation.
Raabat looks in her direction and Frae doesn’t move a muscle, doesn’t even try to breath as the Jedi closes his eyes, most likely searching for her using the Force. Someday, she’ll invent a stealth device that can fool even the Force, but today is not that day.
So without a single glance behind her, Frae turns on her heels and runs.
#
You’re being exceedingly foolish. More foolish than I could have thought possible.
“Save it for someone who cares,” Frae mutters, wiping the sweat from her brow. She just needs to make it to House Cortess. Allies will be there, people who can protect her. And maybe…
Frae pushes the thought away. Vector hasn’t answered any single one of her messages. He’s out there, she’s sure of it. If it’s the last thing she does, she’ll find him.
My children are a threat to the entire galaxy…
She lets out a bitter laugh, then. “Do you really think I care about this galaxy, old man? What has this galaxy ever done to prove it’s worth saving?”
Her breath is quick and shallow and Frae’s not even sure how many miles she’s run, trying to get away from the Alliance. The Alliance. As if giving themselves a fancy name means that they’re doing is righteous. Why should she care who controls the galaxy? How is Arcann a worse leader than the Dark Council or Chancellor Saresh? No one seems to be able to answer that question.
At least Arcann’s never tried to control her. Not like Sith Intelligence who made her into a puppet and handed the SIS the strings. It’s a point in Arcann’s favor, actually.
A cramp starts to form at her side, and Frae winces, knowing she sorely needs water. Her throat is already parched, and no doubt her skin is dry from the heat. Surely the Alliance is looking for her by now. Her only hope is to make it House Cortess before they do.
Reaching the top of the path, Frae allows herself a small smile. There’s the Cortess manor. Nests have overtaken the grounds and there are Killiks and Joiners playing and working together. And one of them is bound to know where Vector hides.
The walk to the nests take forever and a day. The cramp still lingers and she’s so tired. But every walk ends, and she finds herself face to face with a Joiner, an old woman, maybe seventy years old. The woman looks at her with interest. Tilting her head, in the very same way Vector did, she says, “We know your face.”
“Yes,” Frae whispers. “The Dawn Herald of Oroboro. Do you know him?”
“We mourned you.”
Frae needs to close her eyes at the pain in the woman’s voice. “Yes,” she says. Because of course Vector mourned. At least he had the nest. At least he wasn’t alone. Not like her. Alone and not in control of her own fate. The story of her life. “Is the Dawn Herald on Alderaan.”
“No,” the woman says. “More and more, the Dawn Herald shuts himself away from the nest. We worry.”
“Someone must know where he is,” Frae says. “Please, I must find him.”
The woman looks away and Frae needs to fight back tears. But then an idea forms. One so wonderful she almost wants to laugh. Years ago, it wouldn’t have made sense, but now. Now it does.
The fact that you are even contemplating this shows me just how weak you are.
The nest could protect her. Keep anyone from trying to control her. Save her from living in a cage. And someday, her mind would touch Vector’s. Decision made, Frae tells the woman, “I would like to become a Joiner.”
“The Dawn Herald would not approve,” the woman says. “You know this. He told you.”
“That was then,” Frae says, pleading. “This is now. I can’t let anyone else control me.” Aged hands take hers and Frae feels her chest constrict, wondering if the transformation will hurt, wonder what memories will still be hers. “I’m ready.”
“The Joining is a gift,” the woman says, her voice patient. “We will not Join you.”
“Please,” Frae begs. “I need to find him.”
The woman’s eyes close. “We are already searching. Eventually, the Dawn Herald will be found.” Her eyes open and Frae is hit with such a wave of longing for Vector she almost feels ill. “Do not hide away. We know that is your first instinct. But the more people who know you are back, the higher chance the Dawn Herald will be discovered.”
“Of course,” Frae says, plans already running through her head.
It’s time for her to come out of the shadows, to step into the light and let her face be known. And by leading the Alliance, she’s been given the perfect opportunity to do just that. She will make sure that every corner of the galaxy knows her name and Vector will be able to find her easily.
“Thank you,” she says, squeezing the woman’s hands. “Thank you so much.”
Frae turns, feeling lighter than ever since she awoke on Zakuul. Heading towards the space port, she takes out her holocommunicator to contact Lana.
Summary: “Life is a mosaic of pleasure and pain - grief is an interval between two moments of joy. Peace is the interlude between two wars.” — Sri Sathya Sai Baba. A collection of swtor one-shots across all eight classes, in no particular order.
Previous Interludes
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V’ryss directed her question to the lieutenant in charge of the the small base. No matter where she and Felix tried to hide for some rest, Corellia was at war. “How safe is this position?”
“Safe enough if you’d like to catch a couple hours of sleep, Master Jedi,” the lieutenant answered at once.
V'ryss sighed inwardly. If her weariness could be seen by even a Republic soldier, she must look worse than she thought. Next to her, Felix’s shoulders hunched. She knew he desperately needed rest and most likely food. “Do you have any rations to share?” V'ryss asked, finally hearing the exhaustion in her voice. “I have nothing to exchange at the moment, but perhaps-“
A young Cathar ensign pushed a number of ration bars into her hands. “We need nothing, Master Jedi. There are rooms upstairs with cots if you’d like some privacy.”
“Thank you,” V'ryss said, her eyes traveling to the nearby stairs. She looked at Felix. “Will you be able to make it upstairs?”
He nodded and together they made their way up the stairs. They found an empty room with a wide cot and a basin for washing. For decorum’s sake, V'ryss knew they should sleep in different rooms tonight, yet the thought of being parted from him again…
“Stay,” Felix said, closing the door behind them. His voice was rough and V'ryss felt herself responding. “Please.”
“Of course,” V'ryss said. She stood before him and gently took off his armored gloves. “Did you have anything to eat in the escape pod?”
“Couple of ration bars and some water,” Felix said, unlatching the seals of his chest piece. “Honestly, I’d like to wash up first. Been in this armor for thirty-six hours now.”
Instead of answering, V'ryss walked over to the basin, while Felix continued to remove his armor. Once only in his undersuit, she watched his entire body deflate. Rolling his shoulders, he said, “Feels good to get that off.”
“I can imagine,” V'ryss said as she shed her outer robe and folded it neatly on a nearby chair. She couldn’t imagine wearing Kevlar every day to fight, though Felix made it look effortless, moving with an easy grace.
She carefully dipped the wash cloth into the basin. The water was temperate, possibly refilled recently. It would do. Pressure started building in her core as he stepped into her personal space, taking off his undersuit top. V'ryss let herself indulge, taking in his broad shoulders, tapering down to his waist.
“You know how bad I want to hold you right now?” Felix said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Taking the tip of her finger, V'ryss lazily traced the tattoo on his shoulder. This was still so new, this sense of wanting, how there were times all she had to do was look at Felix and feel desperate for his touch. “Let’s get you cleaned up first,” V'ryss said, giving him a smile that only he would ever see.
Felix closed his eyes as V’ryss washed his back, letting her palms linger over his tattoos and over scars and over hard muscles. Once done, she turned him around and washed his chest, curling her fingers in his chest hair and into the coarser hair on his stomach.
He pulled down his undersuit leggings and stood naked in front of her. V’ryss bit her lip and drank him in, her gaze settling between his legs. Looking down, he shrugged. “Too tired, I guess,” he said with a chuckle. “Give me a few hours sleep. And, well, I’ll be able to show you just how glad I am to see you again.”
V’ryss lowered herself to her knees, so she could wash his lower half. “You had me so worried,” she said, trying not to remember the utter panic she felt as she realized he wouldn’t be able to make it off the Javelin.
“I know. And I’m sorry about that,” Felix said softly. “But I would do it again.”
Nodding, V’ryss held out her hand so he could help her off of the floor. He was a solider, she was a Jedi. Their duty to the Republic would always need to come first. But knowing that simple truth was so much more difficult than living it. And somehow, she doubted it would ever become easier with time.
“I meant it, what I said on the ship. There’s so much I want to say to you. So much I want to tell you,” he said. Felix pulled her towards her, turning her, so her back was flush with his chest. They were close enough she cursed the thin tank top she wore, keeping them from being skin on skin.
“And I want to hear every word,” V’ryss said, biting her lip as one of his hands cupped her breast and the other slid down her belly, into the waistband of her trousers. His fingers traced patterns into the hair between her legs, but went no further.
As she felt his lips against her neck, she also sensed his absolute exhaustion. An exhaustion she shared. Even though the throbbing between her legs protested, V’ryss stepped out of Felix’s embrace. She turned, placing her hand on his cheek. “Why don’t we start the conversation after we get some sleep?” she asked.
Felix took her hand and brought it to his lips. “Might need more than one conversation to get the point across,” he said with a sly grin.
“Good thing I’m a diplomat,” V’ryss said, leading him to the cot. As they settled onto the thin mattress, V’ryss rested her head on Felix’s shoulder. “I’m excellent at talking.”
“You always seem to know just what to say, too,” he said with a laugh that felt like a balm on her tired soul.
She closed her eyes, and only a few minutes passed before she heard the comforting sounds of Felix’s snores.
Summary: “Life is a mosaic of pleasure and pain - grief is an interval between two moments of joy. Peace is the interlude between two wars.” — Sri Sathya Sai Baba. A collection of swtor one-shots across all eight classes, in no particular order.
Notes: This is a different smuggler than the one from Speedometer.
Previous Interludes
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Class: Republic Smuggler
When: Chapter I, Taris
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“Gets you thinking, doesn’t it? Corso said, checking the seal on his armor before they started jogging through the wilds of Taris.
“What does?” Sohnet asked, pulling her hair back in a ponytail. Can’t say he blamed her. This humanity was worse than any of the summers he spent on Ord Mantel. With her hair up, Sohnet looked younger, and he had to purposefully look away so he wouldn’t be staring at the curve of her neck. All that green skin…
“The next of kin holofrequency, that the doctor spoke about,” Corso said. What a horrible way to die, away from your loved ones. He hoped the doctor worked on those letters. Dead people’s families deserved better.
Sohnet wrinkled her nose. “Not really something I like to think about, farmboy. I think I’ve got a document somewhere if anything happens to me. Just bury me in the ship and point it at the sun.”
“Really?” Corso asked. “You want to destroy your ship?”
“Stars, no,” Sohnet said with a laugh. “It’ll go to my brother. He’d bring me back to life just so he could kill me himself if I did anything to the ship.”
Corso perked up. In the month they’d been traveling together, she hadn’t mentioned any family. “You’ve got a brother?”
Nodding, Sohnet started walking, setting a brisk pace. Sometimes he wondered how someone so small could walk so damn fast. “Yep. Twin brother. He wants in on this whole scheme, and I wouldn’t mind an extra someone to watch my six. Got you, but doesn’t hurt to have another gun. Sohnar’s on his way to Taris as we speak.”
His cheeks reddened slightly at the notion she trusted him to keep her safe. He would never give her the chance to think otherwise. “Can’t wait to meet him.”
Sohnet knelt down in front of a pile of desh. She really did love to scavenge things. “Eh,” she said, shrugging her shoulder. “Just a warning, kid, he’s a bit of an ass. But he’s my brother, so I put up with it.”
Somehow Corso couldn’t imagine anyone related to the captain as an ass. He’d see for himself eventually. Taking a breath, Corso readied himself for the question he was about to ask. “Was wondering, actually, Captain, if I could use the ship as my permanent address.”
There. He asked the question and the galaxy was still spinning. Back on Ord Mantel, he used Vido’s office as an address, but with Vido currently space dust, it didn’t seem right. The Republic required that all citizens have some sort of address, even if it’s only a registry number of a ship. Her ship was the closest place he had to home right now.
Sohnet looked up at him then, a expression he couldn’t quite read on her face. “You plan on sticking around long enough to make it worth your while?” she said, putting out her hand so he could help her stand up.
“Definitely want to see this treasure business through. After that?” Corso rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the muscles tense. What was it about this woman? “If you’ll have me, Captain, I’d like to be here.”
He had nothing left on Ord Mantel. His mind flickered to Thora, his finance – ex-finance. He thought of the few supervised outings they had, before he asked if he could walk her home, ending in a kiss. At the time, Corso’s life stretched out before him in a straight line. He and Thora would wed, hopefully fall in love at some point, have a couple of kids and help out with the family farm.
Now?
Now he had no idea where he’d lay down his head to sleep at night. And he loved it. Loved every minute of it. Leaving Ord Mantel with the captain was the best decision he’d ever made. The entire galaxy opened up to him thanks to Skavak. Not that he would ever tell that yellow, scheming traitor.
“Far as I’m concerned, you’re part of my crew now,” Sohnet said, crossing her arms over her chest. She cocked her head thoughtfully. “Been a while since I ran with one, but I’ll remember how one of these days.”
Sohnet started walking again and he jogged to catch up. A warm feeling thread through his belly, and he remembered. This is what it feels like to belong. Been a while, but like the captain, he’d figure it out one of these days.
“So, Captain, got any other family?” he asked. Amazing how the sting had gone out of that word. Family. There was a time not too long ago when Corso couldn’t even say the word without clenching his fists and wanting something to shoot.
“You’re awfully curious, Farmboy,” Sohnet said, a smile in her voice. “Believe it or not, I’ve got a younger sister who’s a Jedi.”
Corso stopped in his tracks. “Wait, really? A real live Jedi?” he asked.
Sohnet nodded. “At least I assume she’s still a Jedi. Sohnna. Jedi took her away when she was eight. I’ve only seen her once since, actually. She takes the whole detachment thing seriously.”
“But a Jedi, that’s amazing,” Corso said, remembering when he was a kid, long before he joined the Peace Brigade, wishing he could use the Force. He’d picture himself with a light saber, wearing one of those long cloaks Jedi always seemed to wear, protecting the Republic.
“I’d rather have my sister,” Sohnet said with a shrug. “But you can’t have everything.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Corso said absently, thinking of his own family. But look at him now. He has a home, someone to look up to, and treasure to dream about. All in all, it’s not a bad life he’s made for himself.
Sohnet stretched her arms over her head, her shirt riding up slightly as she did, revealing a patch of dark green skin. Wanting to ever be the gentleman, Corso forced himself to look away. “Looks like we made it to the power generator,” she said quietly.
Then the familiar hum of her stealth generator kicked in, and Corso took out his blaster, and tried to concentrate on the upcoming fight, instead of wondering if those tattoos of hers went all the way down.
Summary: “Life is a mosaic of pleasure and pain - grief is an interval between two moments of joy. Peace is the interlude between two wars.” — Sri Sathya Sai Baba. A collection of swtor one-shots across all eight classes, in no particular order.
Notes: spoilers for kotfe
Previous Interludes
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“No one will miss us for a while, right?” V’rel asks, wrapping her arms around Theron’s waist. One little kiss doesn’t seem like nearly enough right now, not when he’s looking at her like that.
“Do you even care if they do?” Theron asks with a chuckle, a wry smile on his face.
V’rel pretends to think about the question for a moment. There’s really only one answer. “No, I don’t,” she says with a laugh. “You know me so well.”
“I’d like to,” Theron says as seriously as she’s ever heard. “I mean, I’ve studied your SIS file at length, I’ve seen you in action-”
“Studied my file?” V’rel asks. “Agent Shan, you make it sound so sexy.”
A shiver runs down V’rel’s spine as Theron brushes his lips against her neck. “But it is,” he says, pressing his lips more firmly against her skin, causing V’rel to bunch fabric from his jacket in her fists. “The King’s Ransom Heist is particularly illuminating.”
I’ll keep that in mind if I have to write any reports in the future,” V’rel says, pulling him a bit closer as his lips move up her jaw to her cheek, and then finally pressing softly against her own.
Her eyes close, and for the first time since she woke up from her carbonite nap, V’rel finally breathes. The crushing pressure around her chest doesn’t seem so bad when Theron is right next to her.
Theron breaks away first. “Let me just close the door for a bit. We can log the time as an official meeting.”
V’rel watches Theron walk to the door, and thinks of the last time she had sex with a spy in a cantina. She wonders where Darmas is, if he survived the last five years, if he’s okay. She’ll have to ask Lana, maybe see if they could use him in the Alliance. But that’s most certainly a question for another day.
“There,” Theron says as the door closes. He starts to lean against the wall, but the moment he put weight on his shoulder, he straightens up, before taking two large steps to be back next to her.
His arms are around her almost at once, and the intensity of his kiss startles her. But she responds back in kind, kissing him hot and opened-mouthed, and giving herself the gift of not thinking of anything but him for a moment.
“We should…” he says softly. “I mean… Why don’t we?” Theron shakes his head and goes to sit on the sofa. “Look at me. Bumbling like an idiot.”
V’rel places a hand on her hip. She’s got to admit, Theron’s bumbling idiot side is pretty damn cute. “I take it that means you missed me.”
“You have no idea,” he says, and when he speaks again, his voice is hoarse. “Come here.”
She takes her time as she walks towards him, biting her lower lip when she sees Theron’s fingers dig into the sofa. He has missed her. Once V’rel stands in front of him, she wastes no more time, her thighs straddling his lap.
Pressing her brow against his, V’rel whispers, “Thank you.” She kisses him gently, barely brushing their lips together, but it’s what she wanted to say.
“What’s that for?” he asked.
“You found my ship,” V’rel says, holding onto the front of his jacket. “My ship.”
“Couldn’t think of a better ‘welcome back’ present,” Theron says. He slides his hands around her waist to rest on her ass, and V’rel leans in a little closer. “Just wish I could have found your crew, too.”
V’rel looks away, then, thinking of her friends. No captain could ask for a finer crew, in her humble opinion. “They’re out there somewhere,” she says with more confidence than she feels. “But my ship…”
At fifteen, an adult by Chiss standards, V’rel left her foster home on Datooine, ready to make her own way. That way lead to being assigned assistant quartermaster on the pirate ship, The Sky Princess. Andronikos Revel might have been a feared pirate, but he was a damn good captain, and when V’rel knew she didn’t have it in her to be a pirate, he set her up with a loan that let her buy a used XS Light Freighter, who she named Blue Dawn.
Ole Blue served V’rel well over the years. She might be scrappy, but damn if the ship didn’t quit. That ship is home, more than a planet or a house could ever be. And some day, V’rel will find a way to thank Theron, for all the time he must have spent looking for her ship.
“Maybe you could give me a tour later,” Theron says. “I wasn’t able to actually go inside when I found it. Just confirmed the ID and had it towed.”
“Gladly,” V’rel says. And because she’s suddenly impatient, and stars, she’s alive, she kisses him. She kisses Theron with every ounce of energy she has, and Theron gives it right back.
As they kiss, V’rel takes off her vest, while pushing Theron’s jacket off his shoulders. While naked would be the ideal for both of them right now, she’s not willing to chance someone interrupting them. Various states of undress would have to do.
“Eager, are we?” Theron asks. His palms slides down her pants, cupping her ass.
V’rel lets out a laugh, loud and bright. “It’s been five years since I’ve had sex, Theron. Wouldn’t you be?”
Granted, thanks to the carbonite, in her head, it’s only been about two months since she last saw Theron. But five long years have passed. He looks mostly the same. Definitely more grey at the temples, though. A few more crow’s feet around his eyes. Makes him look distinguished, she thinks.
“I suppose I am, too,” he says, kissing her neck.
“Wait, what?” V’rel asks, sitting up straight, placing her hands on Theron’s chest. Granted it’s not her business, but now she’s curious, and when she’s curious, she doesn’t let go of things. “You weren’t with anyone else?”
Theron looks away, staring intently at the wall. “You were dead,” he says, no louder than a whisper. He takes a breath and meets her gaze. “You were dead. I saw some of the footage of the battle from scouting ship. Didn’t think there was any way someone could live through that explosion. V’rel sucks in her breath when he grabs her wrists. “I mourned you. You have no idea how much.”
His words feel like a punch to the stomach. She hadn’t even thought of that. Her crew probably thought she must be dead, too. Her eyes close, thinking of Akaavi and Bowdaar, who consider her family. She has to find them. She has to.
“I’m sorry,” V’rel says softly. “I didn’t mean…”
“Not your fault,” Theron says, placing a hand on her cheek. V’rel leans into his touch, putting one of her hands on top of his. “Just when I thought it was time to move on, to put you behind me, I get word from Lana that you’re actually alive.”
“And you wrote me that note,” V’rel says. That note meant everything to her, allowing her to actually anchor herself in this insane galaxy she woke up in.
“And I wrote you that note,” Theron repeats, squeezing her hand. “So, no. I haven’t had sex with anyone else in the last five years.”
Her heart feels like it might be ready to burst. She knew walking onto Darth Marr’s ship that she cared for Theron, but it’s only starting to dawn on her just how deep those feelings go. The thought that this might actually be love terrifies her, and yet? She’s learned that there are much scarier things in the galaxy. Love is a cakewalk compared to some of the things she’s seen.
But she’s not ready to say any of this. Not yet. So instead she says, “Well, that’s going to change for both of us in the next fifteen minutes or so.”
“Fifteen, huh?” Theron says, raising an eyebrow. “Make it ten and you’ll have my attention.”
And just like that, she’s smiling again. She’s smiling and has Theron’s arms around her. Zakuul doesn’t stand a chance.
Leaning forward, she starts to unbutton Theron’s trousers, while she whispers against his lips, “Ten it is.”
Chapter Title: Sith Warrior, during Shadow of Revan
Fandom: swtor
Pairing: Malavai Quinn/Sith Warrior
Summary: “Life is a mosaic of pleasure and pain - grief is an interval between two moments of joy. Peace is the interlude between two wars.” — Sri Sathya Sai Baba. A collection of swtor one-shots across all eight classes, in no particular order.
Notes: Seven months since my last one. Eeks!
Previous Interludes
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Maevry leans against the door, ignoring the cool, clinical walls of the medical facility, and focuses only on her husband, unconscious in a kolto tank. Thanks to the sedatives given, Quinn looks rested, almost peaceful for once; a look she rarely has the luxury to see these days, thanks to Revan.
If Quinn had to become injured, why here on Rishii of all places? She hates the damn place even more now. She wanted to bring him back to the ship, but he insisted that his injuries from the pirates were severe enough that the trip would take too long. So thanks to a quick holocall to Lana, they found a private medical facility. And now Maevry waits.
She hates waiting.
#
The doctor leaves the room and Quinn starts to put on his uniform, methodically and efficiently, the way he’s dressed almost every day of his adult life. He risks a glance at his wife, she’s quiet and still, sitting in a chair, reading a datapad. Trying to catchup on the latest news of the Empire, no doubt. Quinn would need to do the same once he’s out of this blasted facility. Three days in a kolto tank. Three days they couldn’t afford to lose. Three days when he wasn’t by her side.
The look on Maevry’s face is serious, so he tries to lighten the mood a bit. Tugging on his uniform jacket, Quinn says, “I’ll be back at peak efficiency, before you know it, my love.” Maevry looks up at him, then, crossing her arms over her chest, her face blank. His brow furrows. Usually she never fails to smile at the words peak efficiency; they have become a private joke between them. “My lord?”
“We need to discuss what happened, Captain,” Maevry says softly.
At the use of his title, Quinn straightens into a parade rest. When they’re alone, she only ever calls him captain if they’re discussing work. It’s a distinction that’s works well for them. “What would you like to discuss, my lord?”
“Ilum, Makeb, and now Rishii,” Maevry says with a sigh. “You’ve been seriously wounded on all three planets.”
Quinn wants to retort, wants to defend himself, but she hasn’t given him permission to speak, so he clenches his jaw and waits. What she says is true, but it’s been because of bad luck, is all, not inferior tactics and execution on his part.
She stands, bringing the heel of her hand to her temple. “I think it’s time you consider wearing something other than your uniform out in the field. Perhaps a hard suit like Pierce.”
The first thought that crosses his mind is he will never wear the same hard suit at Pierce. “May I speak, my lord?”
Her voice sounds exasperated when she says, “Of course. You don’t need permission, you know this.”
“The lieutenant and I have different roles out in the field. His whole job is get people to hit him, he needs the heavy armor, I do not,” Quinn says. “It would restrict my movement. I need-”
“And I need to not look behind me to see my husband crumpled on the ground,” Maevry says, anger lacing her words. His wife rarely gets angry outside of battle, it’s something he relishes when he’s there to witness it. Because usually it’s not directed at him. “Leathers, then, something more substantial than an Imperial uniform.”
“My lord, my uniform has a polyplast lining. It is more substantial,” Quinn says. He requisitioned this uniform himself last time they went to Dromund Kaas.
“Then stop getting hit in battle!”
His gaze fell to the floor. He’s failed her, he realizes, his heart beginning to stammer. She’s right, she’s absolutely right. Here he is, trying to make excuses, when the truth is staring him in the face. He no longer fights as good as he did twenty years ago. Granted, Quinn knows the experience he’s had in those twenty years is invaluable. But it’s not the same as being twenty-five and in the prime shape of his life.
Maevry stands next to him now, as she places her small hand in his, giving it a squeeze. “Malavai, you’re over forty now,” she says. Her voice is low but thankfully there is no pity in her voice. He couldn’t stand that, not when she’s only twenty-seven years old and still has the best years of her life ahead of her. “There’s no shame in adjusting your strategy. You’re not dodging as quickly as you were. Perhaps it’s time to make allowances.”
“Such as a hard suit?” Quinn says bitterly.
“Yes,” Maevry says. “Why is that such a bad thing? It will keep you safe, so you can keep me safe.”
At her words, he eases out of parade rest and puts his hands on his wife’s waist. He hadn’t thought of it like that. He can’t think of anything he wouldn’t do to keep her safe from harm. Including wearing a hard suit. “I’m sure we can find something workable here on Rishii until we can go back to Dromund Kaas to procure a custom kit.”
“Thank you,” Maevry says, and he’s gratified when she rises up on tiptoes to press her lips against his. “Now let’s get back to it.”
“Of course, my love,” he says. They separate, and Quinn waits a dutiful few steps before following her out the door. “I refuse to wear the same one Pierce has.”
“Would never ask you to,” his wife says, and he can hear the smile in her voice.
Summary: “Life is a mosaic of pleasure and pain - grief is an interval between two moments of joy. Peace is the interlude between two wars.” — Sri Sathya Sai Baba. A collection of swtor one-shots across all eight classes, in no particular order.
Previous Interludes
#
Even after five minutes in the shuttle, Wynneth still felt cold. Hoth seemed to have seeped into her skin and she idly wondered if she’d ever be warm again. She placed her gloved hands on her thighs and tried to get a sense of Jorgan sitting across from her.
Her XO had been surly ever since they left the Star of Coruscant. She had hoped they might have another shuttle ride like the one from Quesh, where they sat a bit too close to be considered professional and where their hands lingered together a bit too long as he helped her from the shuttle.
But Jorgan had completely closed himself off, his weapon slung across his lap, staring at the shuttle floor. Wynneth wondered if he finally had enough, if he decided that a bit of flirtation with his commanding officer simply wasn’t worth the risk.
If he had, Wynneth couldn’t shake the feeling that they would miss the chance for something special.
As they approached the orbital station, Jorgan stood up, slinging his weapon onto his back, and waited in front of the shuttle door. His body language all but screamed, ‘keep away,’ so Wynneth kept her distance.
The walk to the elevator leading to the ship’s hangar was filled with silence. Wynneth wouldn’t call it an uncomfortable one, but it certainly wasn’t the silence she had grown used to, the one where they could clean their armor or work on mods together, with a knowing smile between them now and then.
The elevator doors opened and they stepped inside. The moment the doors closed behind them, Jorgan slammed his palm against the wall yelling, “Blast it!”
Wynneth felt her heart begin to race at the sudden outburst. “Jorgan!” she said, trying not to sound startled.
She watched as Jorgan grimaced and bit his lower lip. “Sorry about that, sir,” he said, bringing his wrist up to his chest. Wynneth heard the pain in his voice. “Been holding that in for a while.”
The doors opened and they started the walk to the ship. “You want to talk about it?” she asked, ignoring the slight warmth building that he felt comfortable enough with her to let go about something, even when she didn’t know what that something was.
He shrugged as they stood at the door to the ship. “Think I need to get my wrist looked at. I should know better,” he said, shaking his head. “Stupid."
“You want me to wake Dorne?” Wynneth asked as they stepped inside the ship. It was after midnight, ship’s time, so the lights were dimmed and even the droid was quiet for once.
“Nah, let her sleep,” Jorgan said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Think you could take a look?
“Of course,” Wynneth said. She had enough confidence in her healing abilities to fix anything wrong with Jorgan’s wrist. “Let me change out of this armor first.”
Jorgan nodded. “Not a bad idea. I’ll do the same,” he said, sounding more like his normal gruff self. But then he looked down at the ground. “I’d prefer no one else knowing about this. Mind if I just come over to your quarters to get this looked at?”
Wynneth felt her cheeks redden and hoped Jorgan wouldn’t notice. He’d never been in her quarters before. None of the squad had. “Sure,” Wynneth said far too quickly. “Let’s get changed and then come on over.”
“Appreciate it,” Jorgan said. With another nod of the head, he turned and headed towards the common bunk room.
Wynneth all but sprinted into her quarters. As she changed into her normal off-duty clothes of a plain skirt and t-shirt, she looked at her quarters with a critical eye. The place looked clean and organized, just as she hoped.
The minutes passed ridiculously slow as Wynneth paced her quarters. Should she sit on the bed? At her workstation? Simply stand in the middle of the room? Protocol would demand that they simply stand with the door open, but she’d be damned if she wasted this opportunity to spend some private time with Jorgan.
Not that she could ever make the first move, not when she was his commanding officer. No, she’d have to be patient and hope that someday, preferably soon, Jorgan said something.
She heard the knock on the door, opening it quickly. Jorgan strode inside, wearing a pair of workout pants and a t-shirt. Wynneth gave herself just a second to enjoy the curve of his shoulders before motioning him over to the bed.
She purposely sat down first, giving Jorgan the choice to sit as far or as close as he wanted to her. He sat down close, so close their hips were almost touching. Grabbing her med scanner, Wynneth started the reading.
With a deep breath, Wynneth reached for his hand, well aware this was the first time they’d ever touched without their armored gloves. She had wondered what a Cathar’s hide, well, what Jorgan’s hide would feel like for quite a while now.
She hadn’t expected velvet.
“So am I going to live?” Jorgan asked, a wry smile on his face.
Wynneth smiled and pushed back a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Scanner says it’s just a strain,” she said. “I’ll give you a kolto jolt and you should probably go easy on it for a day, but then you’ll be fine.”
“Thanks.”
A comfortable silence settled over them as she prepped the kolto. But then Jorgan let out a long sigh. “I shouldn’t have let it bother me.”
Instead of asking the obvious, Wynneth simply tilted her head towards Jorgan, letting him know she was listening.
“He was a blasted Imp,” Jorgan said, his voice quiet. “Why should I give a damn what an Imp thinks about the Cathar?”
Wynneth furrowed her brow, trying to remember what that Imperial captain had called Zareen in the Star of Coruscant. And then she did.
Mangy. Subhuman scum.
“Because you’re worried other people think that,” Wynneth said, her voice low as she injected his wrist with the kolto jolt. “Believe me, I under-”
Jorgan stood up and shook his head. “Don’t finish that thought,” he said. The words were harsh but the tone gentle. “You’re human. You can’t understand.”
Her fingers started tracing the cybernetics, the ones that kept the seizures at bay, allowing her to have a normal life, which outlined her right eye. “Not quite human according to some,” she said with a shrug. “But you’re right, it’s completely different.”
His body seemed to deflate a bit as he stood in the center of her room, hands on his hips, but body relaxed. “I wonder if I feel that way sometimes. Maybe it’s why I feel like I have to fight so hard to prove I belong here.”
Wynneth took the risk and stood up, walking next to him. “I told you then that the Cathar would always have a home in the Republic,” she said, putting her hand on his upper arm, feeling the body heat radiating from him. Their eyes met then and Wynneth felt her stomach twist into knots and wondered if this affected him at all. “And as long as I’m CO, you’ll always have a home with Havoc.”
The air around them seemed to change, a tangible change, one she could sense. Neither one of them seemed willing to look away first and somehow, their previous flirtations seemed small in comparison. And Wynneth realized just how deep her feelings went. Scary things, feelings. Especially when it could ruin her career. She shouldn’t do this, they shouldn’t do this, but all she cared about was how they still were looking at each other, far longer than comrades in arms should.
Jorgan broke the spell first, holding up his wrist. “Thanks again, rookie,” he said, taking a step back. “Appreciate the assist.”
She smoothed her skirt against her legs. “Anytime,” she said as they walked towards the closed door. “Travel day tomorrow.”
He nodded. “You want to spar a bit? I’m already bored sparring with Vik.”
“Always enjoy kicking my XO’s ass,” Wynneth said with a laugh. “You’re on.”
Jorgan walked out the door before turning back towards her. “Captain. Wynneth,” he said, raising his chin slightly as if he worried she’d reprimand him for using her given name. “Thank you.”
The sincerity in his voice startled her. So she laid herself bare as she answered, “You’re welcome, Aric,” as honestly as she could.
She saw the smile in his eyes as he nodded and Wynneth watched him walk back to the common bunk before heading back into her own quarters. Feeling the subtle vibration in the deck plating indicating the ship was free of the docking bay, Wynneth decided she couldn’t wait to spar tomorrow.
Summary: “Life is a mosaic of pleasure and pain - grief is an interval between two moments of joy. Peace is the interlude between two wars.” — Sri Sathya Sai Baba. A collection of swtor one-shots across all eight classes, in no particular order.
Notes: So generally, I’m pretty happy with all of the timing of the romances. The only exception is the Sith Warrior romance. I think to get the full scale of what happens in Act III in the Transponder Station, the romance needs to move more quickly. Hence, the first time they sleep together in my head is on the way to Hoth, not post Act II.
Previous Interludes
#
Quinn straightened his uniform one last time. It wouldn’t do to have anything out of place when he saw his Lord this morning, not after her teasing comment of finally seeing his uniform on the floor last night.
His thoughts lingered on how she looked then, lying languidly on her side, hair loose around her shoulders. Stars, she was beautiful. And now, after the gift Maevry had given him, he had no doubt. To think he was the first… She truly wanted to be with him.
He never thought she had lied to him exactly, merely exaggerated. One hears stories of the sexual appetite of the Sith, after all. But then Quinn saw the grimace on her face as they joined and the small pool of blood afterward. And as they made love, he whispered encouraging sweet nothings in her ear as she clung to him like she never wanted to let him go.
All in all, it had been a very good night.
But now Quinn needed to focus on the task at hand. Their Lord Baras trusted them with a monumental undertaking. Quinn would not let them down. He would do all in his power to ensure that the operation on Hoth was a complete success.
“Ready, Captain?”
She stood at the doorway of the ship, wearing her favored tunic and trousers, not a single hair out of place. Pushing down a swell of desire, Quinn nodded briskly. “My Lord.”
One hurdle overcome. He had been concerned that the change in their relations might affect their day to day working relationship. He shouldn’t have doubted. Maevry had never been anything but a complete professional outside of the bridge, where they had privacy. And her quarters. Where he had slept last night.
Damnit, man, pull yourself together.
“Then let’s get started,” Maevry said.
Between the trip to the surface and dealing with various military and Sith, several hours passed before they were alone and ready to venture forth. Quinn fished two ration bars from the pockets of his uniform tunic and offered one to Maevry.
Her eyes lit up at the packaging. “Almond butter! Did you choose my favorite on purpose, Captain?” she said with a smile.
He had, but she certainly didn’t need to know that. “Luck of the draw, my Lord,” he said, unwrapping his own apple flavored bar.
They ate in silence for a few moments before Maevry said, her voice soft, “To think so many lives ended on this planet... The Force is strong here, especially the dark side.”
Quinn listened carefully to her talk. She so rarely discussed the Force to anyone outside of Jaesa. Especially the balance between light and dark, considering Maevry tended to err on the side of light. “Does that bother you at all?” he asked.
“Not at all,” Maevry said. “Even though I prefer the light, do not doubt there is dark within me. If I thought the Empire was threatened and the only way to stop it would be to commit to the dark side, I would not hesitate.”
“That is admirable, to know one’s self so well,” Quinn said. She handed Quinn the wrapper, and he wondered if the way her fingers lingered on his was a bit deliberate. He placed both wrappers back in a pocket, not willing to leave any sort of a trail.
“Whenever you’re ready, my Lord. I believe the contingent of Republic soldiers should be to the east,” Quinn said, unholstering his blaster.
She nodded and they started to walk, Maevry on the balls of her feet, ready to spring into a Force Leap at any moment. A shout close by could be heard and Maevry froze. Her eyes closed and Quinn waited in anticipation, never tiring of seeing the transformation from Maevry into a Sith Lord.
At once it occurred. The moment her hands touched her lightsabers the transition was complete. With a Force Leap, Maerbry attacked the Republic healer. The three other soldiers all focused their attacks on her, allowing Quinn to fire at will.
As always, Maevry fought with her heart outside her chest. Outside of battle, one might call her reserved, but in the heat of the moment, even a non-Force sensitive like he could feel the power and emotion flow through her.
Anger that someone dare challenge her authority. Hatred of chaos and the unknown. Her passion for the Empire, that it serve its citizens as best it should. But today Quinn sensed something else. A sexual undercurrent he had never felt from her before.
His body responded, understanding that those feelings radiated from her because of him. He had done that. Never had he seen her so focused or determined. Their one night together had changed her relationship with the Force.
They worked together, defeating the Republic soldiers then sabotaging the arrays as the Darth’s request. Once finished, Maevry put her hands on her knees, catching her breath. “Did you sense it?” Maevry asked, her voice crisp and unwavering. She looked at him, bright eyed.
Quinn prided himself on his restraint. He was a Captain in the Imperial Army, after all, not an undiscplined school boy. But he decided no sane man could resist the look in his lord’s eyes. So he didn’t, pushing Maevry up against the wall and kissed her with a hunger that startled him.
The small shelter housing the generator protected them from the elements, thankfully. Quinn decided to take his time and kiss her properly, bringing her hips flush against his, so she could feel just how much she had affected him.
“Do you believe me now?” Maebry whispered as he started to kiss her neck. Her fingers dug into his uniform tunic, trying to bring him closer. “What did I tell you?”
He kissed her hard then, with every ounce of strength he had, before breaking away and answering roughly, “Passion will make us stronger.”
“Yes,” Maevry said, her voice soft as in prayer. “Oh yes.”
Stars, if he could take her now, he would. Maevry would welcome him, no doubt. He could simply turn her around and pull down her trousers… Quinn took a step back and caught his breath. They had a mission to complete. The mission had to come first.
His lord seemed to have the same realization. “We best keep moving,” she said and Quinn didn’t imagine the gleam in her eye. “But I would very much like to revisit this topic tonight.”
“Indeed, my lord,” he said as they headed back out into the cold. Funny how it didn’t seem so chilly now. “You know how much I enjoy a debate. Especially a thorough one.”
