#Reanden Taerich

[andveryginger]

Fictober 2021, Day 5: “Asset Management” (1/1) (SWTOR; Mairen/Reanden)

Title:  “Asset Management”

Prompt:  5. “I’m not saying I told you so….”

Fandom:   Star Wars: The Old Republic (RPverse)

Rating:   Teen

Warnings/Tags:   Adult Situations Implied

Notes: Real life keeps interfering mightily with my writing time. So these are going to get done when they get done, and posted in completely random order, I suspect.

Anyone interested in the back story should take a peek at “A Dick in Knight’s Clothing,” “Deja New,” “Breaking the Ice,” and “Falling Action," all of which cover the first meeting and subsequent stumble into a relationship of these two super-spy dorks. This story would seem to fall into the timeline shortly after “Falling Action.”

Posted without beta. All mistakes are my own.

Club Vertica Nar Shaddaa 3640 BBY | 13 ATC

Club Vertica had been a fixture on Nar Shaddaa since well before the time Marcus Trant served as SIS bureau chief. Back then, it had been the spot for the elite – the celebrities, politicians, and other wealthy socialites of the galaxy to see and be seen. Somewhere along the way, however, the standards for entry had been relaxed, while maintaining private suites for their previous clients. The result was a bit more casual atmosphere… and more diluted drinks.

Sauntering into the main lounge, Marcus allowed his trained eyes to take in the room. It was, as always, cavernous, shielded ceiling glowing purple against the night sky. At center was a round stage, taking up perhaps a third of the room. The generator for the complex stood in the middle, reaching up toward the stars, and providing a brilliant light show of its own. Sometimes, there were live bands; in this instance, blue holographic dancers were spaced around the edge, equidistant. They stood out in stark contrast to the gaudy neon that flickered around them and blanketed the room in an orange glow.

There were fewer slot machines than he remembered, and the card tables were spaced farther apart. Still, the machines trilled constantly, punctuated by the occasional siren call of a win, and an accompanying shout; at the tables the occasional rattle of dice or the clatter of credit chips could be heard. Low levels of conversation added to the atmospheric din, with only the Huttese announcements on the public address system clearly understood.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Marcus wandered clockwise around the room. He knew from long experience where each of the exits were; the bouncers lurked in their usual places, with particular attention to the passages leading to the elite lounges. His gaze also swept over the other, more technical security measures: Biometric locks could be seen to the side of some doors, while cameras kept an eye on the patrons – and their cards.

As he continued his trek, he spotted his quarry standing by one of the card tables. A man of moderate height, he wore a fitted tunic, belted at the waist. His hair, usually dark with streaks of silver, had been temporarily replaced with what Marcus could only assume was a wig – an odd shade of darker red, made worse by the flickering neon. The profile had been altered slightly, too, likely a trick of prosthetics and make-up – just enough to confound the scanners. A half-finished drink sat on the gold metallic edge, a small stack of chips on the green felt before it. He held a few chips in his left hand, fingers of his right fidgeting over the edges.

To his left, seated on the stool, was a Twi’lek male, tchun curled around his neck. A club escort hovered at his side, wearing the metallic bra and foiled scarves that barely concealed anything. Her fingers trailed absently along his lek, surely in an effort to keep him distracted from the game. Given the way the tail of his tchin twitched, Trant suspected she was succeeding.

Marcus stepped up as the attendant began the next deal and tossed a few chips of his own onto the table. Cards slid toward him on the soft surface, one at a time, until he had a full hand. “Minimum still ten credits?” he asked.

The attendant, a wiry blond male he knew to be an informant, nodded once. “Ten to play, and ten more at the flop.”

Pursing his lips, Trant nodded and produced the initial bet. He then picked up his cards, holding them close to his chest as he offered a polite nod first to the man whom he had been looking for, and then the Twi’lek and finally the escort.

Conversation was light; focus was on the cards. Through four hands, Marcus held his own, while his contact and the Twi’lek lost heavily. He watched as the escort finally leaned down, speaking quietly into the ear cone. Greenish lips curled backward, revealing sharp, feral teeth as the Twi’lek offered a grin. He barely offered a nod as the escort slipped her arm in his and they began wandering toward the private rooms.

Shaking his head, Marcus turned to the dealer. “Count me out,” he said. He looked to his contact. “You staying in?”

The faux redhead shook his head. “Time to change tables,” he muttered with a grimace. His accent was almost Imperial, save for the drawling vowels. “And more than past time for a drink.”

“How about a round on me? It’s the least I can do for cleaning you out.”

“You’re on, mate,” the man replied. He gestured toward the lounge. “Lay on.”

Gathering his chips, Marcus shoved them into his pocket. The two men fell into step, weaving their way up the stairs and toward the lounge. It would be quieter – a better place for conversation – and much easier to deploy their usual countermeasures against eavesdropping.

The court lounge had also changed very little in the intervening years. A rock fountain still stood at center, veins of gold folded through the dark mineral. The purple energy ceiling was in place here, too, less overwhelmed by yellow and orange neon. Red and gold carpets padded the walkways – carpets that reminded him strangely of the Senate Tower. The half-naked Nautolan female dancing on the fountain, however, ensured there was no confusion about where he was.

The two men ordered drinks from the passing attendant droid and settled in to an empty sofa. In his hand, Marcus slid his finger over one of his personal credit chips. The action activated a small jammer, embedded in the chip. It would serve to confound any electronic devices listening in – at least for a few minutes.

Trant regarded his contact with a lopsided grin. Now that he was closer, he could note fully the cosmetic alterations, spotting a faux scar and a few extra shadows. “Always such a fun place, Nar Shaddaa,” he said, starting the identification.

“A regular neon playground,” his contact said. He took a sip of his drink. There was an amused gleam in hazel eyes as he regarded the SIS director. “As a friend once said, it hides a multitude of sins.”

“That and a good bribe.” Marcus laughed and took a sip of his drink. “I hope that’s a wig, ‘cause red is not your color, old man.”

The old man – agent Reanden Taerich, codename Duathion, late of Imperial Intelligence – smirked. “Been out of the field too long,” he drawled, maintaining the accent. Marcus recognized it now as something closer to his native voice, one which he used rarely. “It’s dulling your already questionable tradecraft.”

The Director of SIS narrowed his eyes. “Questionable tradecraft didn’t keep me as bureau chief for four years. Or get me promoted.”

A familiar impish twinkle lit the hazel eyes. “That’s what they do to get people out of the way, isn’t it? Promote ‘em to the highest level of incompetence?”

“Keep talking like that, Duathion,” Marcus replied, maintaining his glare, “and I’ll leave you to twist in that cesspit. Now… do you have your report, or are you wasting my time?”

“What are old friends for?” Grin widening, Reanden withdrew a credit chip from his pocket, flipping it through the air. “Wanna call it?” It landed in his palm before Marcus could respond, and he slapped it onto the back of his hand. “Too late. Tails.”

Tossing his head back with a theatrical laugh, he gestured with his drink, sloshing the amber liquid all over himself and Marcus. The chip fell to the floor, where Marcus then smoothly picked it up, palming it, even as Reanden produced another from… somewhere. He made sure it was seen in his hand before returning it to his pocket.

Shaking his head, Trant sighed. “Why in the Nine Hells did I ever promote you to station chief?”

Reanden sipped his drink, grimacing as he lowered the glass back to rest on his thigh. “You didn’t have much choice,” he said. “Letar is too junior, and you needed someone more senior to run her and Cardinal.”

“Speaking of – how are things with Cardinal?”

There was the slightest hesitation as Taerich raised his glass and took a sip – a hesitation so brief that anyone other than Marcus would have missed it. The director also noted that the drink served as something of a delaying action. His expression, however, revealed nothing, and, other than raising and lowering his arm, he did not shift his position. “She’s proven more than capable,” he replied smoothly.

Marcus regarded his old friend with a sideways glance, a hint of amusement in his brown eyes. He hid his grin behind his glass as he took a sip of his own drink. “I was under the impression that the two of you did not get on well?”

Here, Reanden did shift his position, cocking his head to the side as he studied Marcus for a long moment. “We’ve come to an… understanding,” he said. He took another draw from his whiskey, again considering the director for a beat. “But you already knew that.”

“Suspected,” Trant corrected. “I knew from previous reports that the two of you had a rather explosive meeting a number of years ago, and were known to be – how did the analyst phrase it? – ‘openly acrimonious.’ It was enough to catch the attention of a few informants. And now, through those same informants, we’re starting to hear rumors – well, that she’s adopted you as her ‘pet agent.’”

Duathion snorted. “We needed an excuse. The rumor mills and fascination with… dynamics… made it an easy choice for a cover.”

“Lots of time together, probably late at night,” Marcus drawled, “alternating between your place and hers? Makes sense. For a cover.”

Reanden narrowed his eyes. “What else would it be?”

In response, Marcus cut him another sideways glance. “That would be entirely up to you, Duathion,” he replied. “Far be it from me to suggest that intense, devoted relationships can sometimes emerge from equally intense, undercover operational situations… as I know you are familiar.”

The corners of the agent’s mouth tipped significantly downward, a crease in his brow deepening. “We may be old friends –”

The remainder of his thought was cut short, however, by a distinctive female voice. “There you are, darling,” she called, drawing out the syllables in a perfect mimic of Taerich’s accent. Looking up, Marcus watched the shapely form of a relatively tall, human female sauntering their way. A long black dress draped elegantly over her, the fit revealing much while leaving more to the imagination. It fluttered around her ankles as she walked, hips swaying in an almost mesmerizing fashion. Dark hair was piled elegantly on her head, eyes shadowed dramatically. An impish glint lit green eyes, however, as she regarded first Marcus, then Reanden. “You’ve not gambled our fortunes away, have you?”

“That’d take longer than we have… darling,” Reanden replied. He did his best to bite back the flare of temper, but it was still eminently visible in his eyes, and the set of his jaw… until, in what appeared to be an instinctive movement, her slender fingers swept over the bare skin at the base of his neck. There was a sharp inhale, nostrils flaring slightly, even as he straightened. Marcus noted the shift in his intensity immediately.

For her part, Cardinal – known to most only as Mairen Bel Iblis – appeared not to notice the effect that she had on her counterpart. Marcus suspected it was entirely intentional, however. Damn Jedi, he thought. Still playing the part of the socialite, she fluttered her eyelashes at the director. “I hope I’m not interrupting,” she said.

“Oh, not at all,” Marcus replied. “Matter of fact…” He paused, downing the last of his drink. “I was just about to head back to my hotel.”

Bel Iblis, looking odd without her signature red hair, tilted her head to the side. Her other hand came to rest on Taerich’s shoulder, fingers still casually draped at his neck. “Please don’t let me rush you,” she said.

Marcus found he couldn’t quite smother the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He stood, smoothing his own tunic and recentering the belt at his waist. “Not at all,” he said. “And I might suggest you do the same… before Duathion blows a gasket.” The smirk widened, and he shared a knowing glance with Cardinal. “Until next time, you two.”

He turned and headed toward the exit before Taerich could form another response. It was fairly clear that Cardinal understood all too well how to deal with his fits of temper, Force help her. Trant was almost to the door as he keyed up his comms. “Ardun? It’s Marcus,” he began. “I’m not saying I told you so, but… I told you so. That’s a hundred credits you owe me…”

[chenria]

Commission for the amazing @andveryginger of her beautiful Mairen Bel Iblis and @keldae‘s Reanden Taerich - I felt so honored to do some sort of wedding portraits for their SWtOR sweethearts ♥

I hope I did them justice. 

[corey-067]

I’m not even remotely happy with this, but it’s the most I’ve managed to draw in quite some time. Never drawn people kissing before, either, so that’s a thing.  For OC Kiss Week, have @andveryginger  ‘s Mairen Bel Iblis, and @keldae  ‘s Reanden Taerich. I was gonna find a holocall booth for the background, but nothing quite fit ;) From the moment that it started to come together, it seemed like one of those kisses that started as Mai stopping Reanden from speaking, the pair of them getting carried away after it started.

[keldae]

Be amazed that it's taken me this long to decide "oh, you know what? I should roll up my SWTOR legacy in BG3!". ;) Now to decide on classes and romances...

Xaja: Fighter/Rogue multiclass, maybe. Probably gonna romance Karlach. (And oh, the temptation to roll her as a halfling for the lulz...)

Korin: Rogue/??? Bard, maybe? And he might need the polyamory mod. ;) If I don't do that mod... Astarion? Shadowheart?

Sorand: Sorc/Wizard multiclass, and he'll definitely be romancing Wyll, I think. (Also, he'll be my resist!Durge instead of a Tav.) (And if I do make him something other than a human... drow, maybe?)

Reanden: ????? Monk, maybe, for the unarmoured combat? Romancing ????? (gaaah, why is the cranky old bastard so hard to figure out?)

Shara: ???? Barbarian/Fighter, maybe? Or a paladin? NO idea who she'll get with.

And, because I WILL need an embrace!Durge at some point...

Maglion: Fighter/oath of vengeance Paladin? Not sure if he'd romance anyone, or if anyone would romance HIM. I mean, dude is more toxic than all of Quesh...

Xalia: Rogue/sorc maybe? Maybe romancing Minthara or Lae'zel?

[keldae]

Operation "Throw Clan Taerich Into Faerun" is going along swimmingly. Xaja now lives as an eldritch warrior (and yes I downloaded the lightsaber mod just for her >.>), Sorand is my resist!Durge Sorceror...

And Korin just rocked up as a bard, who may get multiclassed into a warlock later on!

(I have NO idea what the fuck Reanden is going to be if/when I throw him into BG3, LOL.)

Also, I had SWORN Xaja was going to romance Karlach, buuuuuut then she got Gale's magic lesson scene...

... Korin, I've got plans for you involving Shadowheart and Halsin dammit. DO NOT FALL FOR THE WIZARD.

(Sorand is getting paired with Wyll!)

[keldae]

Trick or treat! 🎃 (I hope you scared at least a few customers today!)

Tragically, the ones I wanted to scare the worst (aka the ENTITLED JERKS WHO MADE ME CLOCK OUT 40 MINUTES LATE) didn't seem phased at all by Noxy giving them deathstares. But at least my makeup looked good! ;) Going off what you posted about agent/consular, and how Mairen and Reanden own a good part of my soul now... let's catch up on what these two idiots have been doing in the last couple of years that hasn't been documented on Tumblr or AO3, but IS canon fact in Google Docs or in the SWTOR RP circles! - Both Mai and Reanden faked their deaths to extract themselves from their postings in the Empire as SIS operatives. Reanden left first (otherwise he would have gotten killed for real) and then Mai followed almost a year later. - They've since gotten married and are now happily living on Corellia, near to Mai's family. Mai's mother, Ruari, *loves* Reanden. - They tried formal retirement from their SIS roles, and that lasted about two and a half days (if we're being generous). So now they've agreed to head up a Corellian-based task force dedicated to protecting Corellia by protecting the Republic. (Xaja, Korin, and Pub!Sorand have all joined this task force too.) - Thanks to a couple of very impressive d20 rolls, Mai beat the odds and got pregnant, and now she and Reanden have baby Calen Taerich, who's about 6 months old and has completely charmed the pants off of everyone he's met so far. - Mai is still on light(ish) duties post-baby, but she's taken back up with being Commanding Officer of Task Force Jade (aka the in-game guild). Reanden is her XO, when he's not on Coruscant, giving lectures and training new recruits for the SIS.

[keldae]

Profile for reanden or xaja :)

Since I’ve already done one for Xaja, heeere’s Spydad!

Full Name: Reanden Daenril Taerich

Gender and Sexuality: Cisgender, heterosexual 

Pronouns: He/him

Ethnicity/Species: Human, Caucasian

Birthplace and Birthdate: Lavisar, 18 Welona, 31 BTC, 3684 BBY   

Guilty Pleasures: Cheesey space!zombie holofilms. I’m not saying he has a hypothetical zombie apocalypse plan ready to go, buuuut…

Phobias: Failure, loss of control, losing those he loves, and mildly uncomfortable with heights.

What They Would Be Famous For: Alas, fame tends to be very lethal for spies. Although he is something of a legend in both Sith Intelligence and SIS circles.

What They Would Get Arrested For: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA he’s already been arrested more than a few times for various things In real talk, probably a million counts of homicide and some light treason. And if he and Mairen keep this up, there’s going to be a public indecency charge on that list one of these days.

OC You Ship Them With: @andveryginger‘s lovely Mairen Bel Iblis!

OC Most Likely To Murder Them: Either his half-brother, Darth Maglion the Wrathy Asshole, or Agent Cotuomo, an OC Ginger and I found out has been his rival for years.

Favourite Movie/Book Genre: Apocalypse action holofilms

Least Favourite Movie/Book Cliche: Anytime a convenient solution happens to magically present itself right when it’s needed at the climax of the story. Or when the love interest/supporting characters/sidekicks get killed for nothing more than shock value.

Talents and/or Powers: Smarter than almost everyone else in the room and he knows it. Mentally trained to withstand the Force and any intrusions. Knows more than enough Teras Kasi to be dangerous. Can slice his way into almost anything. Has more Sith on his kills list than Jedi, and killed one of those Sith with a pencil. True story.

Why Someone Might Love Them: He’s an absolutely devoted single dad to his adult children. The few people he legitimately loves, he loves deeply. And some people are privy to the information that during the years he was searching for his sons in slave rings, he was making it a point to rescue every child he could find and make sure they were returned to their families or otherwise sent somewhere safe in the Core. Children have been his weakness since his oldest was born.

Why Someone Might Hate Them: Besides the snark and the insults he throws out, and his love of getting on peoples’ nerves for the sheer hell of it? He’s ruthless, presents as a very cold and calculating asshole, and his first instinct is usually to kill whoever is giving him a problem. While he’s usually the smartest person in the room and knows it, he also has a plan to kill everyone in the room. And he never, ever forgets a grudge.

How They Change: Back in his days as a young Imperial Intelligence asshole agent, he was a complete asshat, and pretty much only staying alive out of pure spite to piss off his parents and half brother. The first person he actually felt love for was his first wife, Airna, and hell did she change him a LOT – step one was convincing him to swap to the SIS and Republic loyalty (although I suspect half his motivation for becoming a turncoat was to spite the Empire). Agent Snark turned into a giant puddle of mush the second he was handed a two-minute-old baby Xaja, and she went from loudly voicing her displeasure with being born to quietly settling down the second her daddy had her and he’s still a complete pushover where she’s concerned. He’s still a sarcastic, snarky asshole and is a master of the backhanded compliment, but he does let himself care about some people under all of that, instead of being completely cold and unfeeling and angry with the galaxy at large. (even Theron is on that short list of people Reanden genuinely cares about, even if he’ll never ever admit it.)

Why You Love Them: I’m a complete sucker for the caring single-dad trope, and being able to play around with that with this asshole who pretends like he hates everyone who isn’t his kids or grandkids is so much fun. Reanden also gives me an outlet to pour out my anger (anyone who’s worked retail can vouch for how ragey employees can get by the end of the day), and to say all the snarky insults that I can’t say to idiots IRL. It’s also a fun challenge writing someone who’s way smarter than I am, has a contingency plan for everything, and loves throwing people off-guard by acting unexpectedly (Can confirm, nobody expected him to be able to assassinate Sith without dying, multiple times). He’s the character who will do the dirty shit nobody else wants to touch, for the benefit of those he loves or the cause he believes in.

[andveryginger]

SWTOR Fic: “Reentry” (1/1) (Mairen/Reanden)

Title:  “Reentry”

Fandom:   Star Wars: The Old Republic (RPverse) Relationship(s): Mairen/Reanden (F/M) Rating:   Teen Warnings/Tags:   Adult Situations Implied

Notes: Fictober was kinda the jumping off point for this one, but real life really just went haywire, about halfway through the month. So... here it is, encouraged by the prompt, “Your information was wrong.”

Anyone interested in the back story should take a peek at the “Deja New” series, which covers the first meeting of these super-spy dorks, working undercover in the Empire, and the subsequent relationship they stumble into. This story falls shortly after the battle at the Meridian shipyards, as Mairen and Reanden have been invited to lead a Corellian-based task force in the renewed battle against the Empire. Posted without beta. All mistakes are my own.

Green Jedi Enclave Coronet City Corellia

The Jedi once known as Mairen Bel Iblis stood before the memorial, gaze tracing up the contours of the winding stone form as it reached upward and upward. A burning sensation tickled across her sinuses, creeping upward to engulf green eyes, even as the corners of her mouth tipped down, an outward sign of her struggle for control. Allowing her eyelids to close, she swallowed back the knot rising in her throat and knelt in the damp grass. She lowered her hands, fingertips barely brushing the blunted blades of foliage at her sides. Taking a deep breath she exhaled slowly, reaching gently into the Force. Chaos burbled just beneath the quiet veneer of recent history. Rebuilding efforts were underway in portions of the city, but kneeling, reaching into the energy that swirled within the enclave, she could sense the wounds still healing from the previous war: The aroma of scorched earth as it lingered in the air. The plumes of dark smoke rolling into the sky behind the towering skyline. The scream of Imperial fighters as they soared overhead, pursued by the howl of Republic ships. And all of it intermingled with shouted orders from troopers, cries of pain from the wounded, and wails of those left behind.

If living as a Sith on Dromund Kaas had been Hell, Corellia under fire had been the Ninth Level.

Her sister had been among the wounded – among the dead.

Her mother, her brother-in-law, and nieces had been among those wailing with the loss. Tightness gripped her chest, eyes stinging again as her own grief struggled back to the surface. She remembered too well the day she heard of the sacking – the sneering, wicked grins of the Imperials surrounding her as they celebrated the subjugation of her home, her family, and the death of so many of her fellow Green Jedi. Playing Sith hadn’t been all that much of an act that day. Dark tendrils coiled into her connection, and she felt a chill wash over her. She could hear the rumble of distant thunder; see a flash of lightning across a dark sky.  No, she thought. No more. This was not Dromund Kaas. This was Corellia, vibrant and full of life – life she could feel swirling all around her, warm and bright and reassuring. Wisps pushed back at the darkness, familiarity cradling her, welcoming her, and soothing the jagged edges of her anger and grief. She felt the whisper in her ear more than she heard it: “Emotion, yet peace… Death, yet the Force.” Drawing in a deep breath, she concentrated on how the air flowed into the lower reaches of her lungs; how her chest expanded first forward, then outward from the ribs. Exhaling slowly, she used the focus to reach further into the warmth that surrounded her. Resilience. Determination. Hope. There were Corellians who fought for the wrong reasons, engulfed by their hatred and seeking revenge… but they were far outnumbered by those who fought for the right reasons – for independence and for home. These had been the reasons she stayed on Dromund Kaas… and these had been the reasons her sister had remained in the enclave. Even as the realization settled over her, she felt a prickle of discomfort flutter across her mind; the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. She could sense nothing as an empty shadow took position behind her. It was a sensation she was familiar with, though with an unsettling twist: Most operatives trained in cloaking themselves and capable of concealing their signatures appeared as if they were nothing -- as though there were nothing unusual to sense. In this case, she could sense something – almost like a black hole – as if someone was somehow bending the Force around them. The voice that spoke into the silence was brittle. “I’d heard you were dead.” Mairen knew that voice. It was harder now, lacking in the warmth she once knew, but she would always recognize her brother when he spoke. Perhaps, she reasoned, the anger in his voice was why he felt so… unsettling. Of them all, he had required the most work in meditation… and hated every minute of it. Drawing a second breath, she once again gave an extended exhale, opening her eyes slowly. She moved, unhurried, to stand. Once there, she remained bent at the waist, red hair shielding her face as she swept debris from the knees of her pants and frowned at the damp circles. There would be time to change later, she supposed. Finally, her gaze settled on her brother. The years had been kind and yet… not. He was tall and wiry, built very much like their father. Gone now were the smile and chubby cheeks of his youth; they had been replaced by chiseled, high cheekbones, severe and sharp as his tone. Shadows lurked at the corners of his eyes and mouth, the creases there deepened not only with the passage of time, but the passage of life: It was a shadow that lurked in the pale green eyes that watched her now. Mairen held her own features in check, remaining behind her shields for the moment. She stood to her full height. “Your information was wrong.” His eyes narrowed and she could feel him reach out, begin to test her defenses. Fingers twitched at his side, thumb brushing against the hilt suspended from his belt. “And the rumors that you’d turned? Were those also wrong?” She nodded, once. “Part of the cover.” “You stayed.” “I did.” His lips thinned and Mairen glanced down as his fingers twitched again; glanced up as his jaw clinched. “Adrie died; the war ended; and you stayed,” he said. There was emphasis on each syllable, heavy, as anger seeped into his voice. “Twenty years, living it up as a Sith lord, yet I’m supposed to believe it was all ‘your cover’?” The shielding around his emotions was strong, but there were cracks beginning to form. Concern creased her brow. “You’re my brother, Cian,” she began slowly, her own voice calm and measured. “Father trained us all: You, me, Adrie. You’re the only one left who might know better than just about anyone whether I was capable of turning – of turning my back on my family; on Corellia; on the Force --” “No,” Cian interrupted. “I was your brother. The woman that stood there and lied to us – lied to me – about ‘finding her destiny in the Empire’ – she wasn’t my sister… because my sister wouldn’t have left our mother to deal with Da’s passing; wouldn’t have left me to clean up the mess. And she sure as Hells wouldn’t have missed the opportunity to say goodbye to her little sister.” Mairen frowned. The skepticism was expected… maybe even warranted. She’d known there would be members of the enclave especially who would question her return; it had been one of the larger reasons she had avoided it to this point. Still, he had not been there the day the fighting started again; hadn’t been there to see or sense her reaction. Even twenty years distant, it was a time she did not wish to repeat. “Our baby sister is one with the Force – just as we all will be, when our time comes,” she replied, “but if you think I didn’t feel anything – that I didn’t mourn her – that I don’t miss her – then you are blinded by your own anger and grief.” Her eyes narrowed. “I did not turn.” Her brother dropped his chin, green eyes holding hers. Each word was enunciated: “I don’t believe you.” “Then may the Force help you, because I” – Mairen paused, shaking her head – “clearly can’t.” The events of the next moment happened in a blur: In the exact instant that Cian reached for his saber, her husband, Reanden Taerich, and her mother, Senator Ruari Bel Iblis, rounded the corner. Immediately sensing the danger, Ruari swung her left hand up, fingers splayed as she ensnared her son in the Force. Pinned, he struggled like a man bound, face distorted with strain and anger. Beside her, Reanden had drawn his holdout blaster, barrel pointed toward Cian. His finger rested against the trigger guard. The senator scowled at her son. “What in the Nine Hells is going on here?” “A conflict with reality,” Mairen replied. “He believes I actually turned – that I’m truly Sith.” Voice strained and speaking through clenched teeth, Cian remained defiant. “I will not allow the Empire to take more from this enclave than it’s already stolen!” “Do you honestly think she’d be standing here -- now -- in this instant, if she were Sith? I’d kill her myself, if that were the case,” Reanden snapped. “Though your cousins or a battalion of the Republic’s finest might’ve beaten me to it the moment she set foot on Coruscant, if she were actually Sith.” Cian blinked, confused. “Coruscant?” His glare focussed on Reanden. The spy remained still, blaster at the ready. “With you?” “Coruscant. Nar Shaddaa. A particularly lovely honeymoon on Alderaan…” There was a hint of dark amusement in Reanden’s eyes, echoed in his tone as he taunted the immobilized Jedi. “It’s generally accepted that wives travel with their husbands.” “Husband?” Mairen nodded. “Reanden was forced out first. He was finally able to extract me from the Empire about three months later,” she replied. “After my lengthy debrief with SIS, we… married… on Alderaan. Mum’s cousins were quite accommodating.” The furrow in her brother’s brow deepened, along with the shadows lurking in the creases along the corners of his mouth. “You? Married him? After what happened to Airna? And you expect me to believe that you’ve not turned?” “I know what happened to Airna, Cian.” Casting a sidelong glance to Reanden, she nodded imperceptibly. “I’ve met the man who killed her – stood toe to toe with him, in the heart of the Citadel. It was not Reanden Taerich.” Pushing against the Force restraint, Cian tossed his head to the side in disgust; Ruari’s hand wavered with the effort. “I’m going to release you,” the senator said, slowly. “You’re going to leave the enclave, and you’re going home to meditate. If you even think about drawing on your sister again, Reanden will be keeping his blaster handy, and I will not be so gentle if I have to restrain you again. Do you understand?” He nodded once. Ruari drew her hand back slowly, as one might draw back a sheet, draped over a statue. As the restraint released him, Cian rolled his neck and shoulders, shook out his fingers. He looked to his mother. “You want to see the best in her,” he commented. “You want to believe her. I just hope it doesn’t get us all killed.” Ruari, Reanden, and Mairen watched as he turned, stalking across the courtyard to the far exit. As he disappeared, the cloud around her dissipated, and Mairen instantly reached for Reanden. The old spy reeled her in and held her close; their joined relief almost overwhelmed their connection. He smoothed his hands over her hair, lips pressing gentle kisses to her temple. “It’s all right, love,” he said. His own voice was a bit rougher than he expected. “We’re all right.” For her part, Ruari watched him comfort her daughter. “I should have prepared him – should have prepared you for how he’s changed.” She heaved a sigh. “I don’t think I realized quite how much.” Reanden regarded his mother-in-law. “I’m no Jedi, Ruari,” he began, “but after that? I’d say unless someone is able to get through to him, he’s going to be more a danger to himself and the enclave than any Imperial.” Ruari nodded. “I’m afraid you’re right.” She swallowed, straightening. “Let’s get the two of you out of here. I expect a bit of peace and quiet and time alone would be appreciated right now.” “Anywhere other than here.” Giving a rueful smile, he released Mairen reluctantly; he maintained a hold on her hand. “I think I’ve had quite enough of Coronet for today.” Mairen forced a laugh. “That makes two of us,” she replied. “I think a double of Whyren’s, a fire, and a warm blanket might be just what the med droid ordered.” The senator took the lead, nodding as she stepped past them. “I know just the place.” ***

[andveryginger]

In working with these idiots yesterday in a different ‘verse, it occurred to me that I’d never posted this gorgeous shot of my lovely Mairen and @keldae‘s Reanden on their wedding day. The fic is still in progress, but I definitely wanted to share @meonlyred‘s glorious work. =D

[andveryginger]

SWTOR Fic: Double Duty

Title: "Double Duty"

Fandom: Star Wars: The Old Republic (Drastic Measures AU)

Author: Ginger

Pairing: Imperial Agent/Jedi Shadow (Reanden Taerich/Mairen Bel Iblis)

Rating:T

Summary: ”You’re not a spymaster,” Marcus Trant muttered. “You’re a damned matchmaker!”

Notes:

The idea for this has been rattling around in my head since the Fictober list dropped. The prompt, “I might just kiss you�� certainly grabbed the attention of the two assholes. Unfortunately, Real Life™ has been a total bitca and I’m just now settling in to do a little writing in between some embroidery commissions.

Theoretically takes place sometime in some future version of @keldae‘s DMverse, where the Alliance is established on Odessen, with Ardun Kothe having stepped in as spymaster because Spyboy Theron has his own operational duties. Marcus Trant has apparently been forced to depart Coruscant for an as yet undisclosed reason. Mai and Reanden have -- of course -- been snarking at each other for months. More recently, however, Ardun has noted a change between the two...

Many thanks to @keldae for letting me play in the sandbox. You can have Reanden back any time. Really.

“...I have all the particulars on your identities here --” Ardun Kothe stopped, frowning as he bowed his head over his datapad. “Damn it. Grabbed the wrong one,” he said. He looked up to his agents: former Imperial operative, Reanden Taerich, and Green Jedi, Mairen Bel Iblis. “Excuse me -- and ah, try not to kill each other while I’m gone, hm?”

Reanden watched his old friend disappear into the corridor, door sliding closed behind him. He cut Mairen a wicked grin. "I might just kiss you..."

"Might?" The red headed Jedi raised her brows briefly, expression shifting quickly to a smirk. "Be still my beating heart."

His lips quirked sideways in response. "We're supposed to be married, darling," he said. He took two steps forward, narrowing the gap between. "I should be making your heart race."

Her gaze darted involuntarily -- and almost imperceptibly -- to his lips. But Taerich was a student of body language. It’s a tell he noticed, and one she knew she telegraphed. She cocked her head to one side, mischief sparking through green-hazel eyes as she folded her arms across her chest. She didn’t otherwise move. "I suppose, darling," she drawled, "I'll simply have to fake it."

"Fake it?" Reanden stepped closer. "If you must, I suppose. Though perhaps a bit of rehearsal might be needed."

Amusement mixed with the impish gleam in her eyes. "Just so I'm prepared, hm?" Her lips twitched. "Seems I've heard that song and dance before."

At this, Reanden raised his brows, left disappearing under the lock of hair that flopped diagonally across his forehead. "And here I thought Jedi led more sheltered lives. Or so your dear uncle led me to believe."

"My dear uncle has no idea," Mairen replied with a roll of her eyes. "I trained as an operative, Taerich. That required no small amount of... adjustment. Thankfully, my training officer was more than happy to oblige."

His brows arched higher. "Well, so Kothe wasn't always buttoned-up and all business, hm?" He pursed his lips, his own gaze flitted toward her lips. He covered by making a show of looking her over. "And good taste, too."

"Honestly, Taerich," she said. "You're off your game if you think that is flattering." Leaned against the conference table, she shifted a bit, despite herself. Recovering, she gave a wry grin. "At least I know Ardun cares."

"Present tense?" He stepped closer. Warmth radiated between them, as well as an undercurrent of energy that seemed to shadow their interactions of late: a mix of frustration and amusement and irritation and... something else that could prove dangerous. Neither will admit it, but both struggled to keep breathing steady and even. "I'd hate to step on any toes. Professional courtesy, and all that."

Mairen shook her head. "Long since over, if you must know," she answered. "Friends now -- colleagues, too." She glanced down, then back up. "The only toes you're about to step on... are mine.

"Then I suppose I should stop.” His eyes flashed and he swept gently forward with his foot, slipping the toe of his boot the narrow space between her own.

The Jedi arched her left brow sharply. When he didn’t retreat, she shifted to sit on the conference table, widening the gap between her legs. She unfolded her arms, hands coming to rest on either side of her hips.

Gaze holding hers as he stepped into the space, her inner thighs embraced his quads through the fabric of their trousers. He could see the slight flare of her nostrils, knew his were doing the same. Hands curled over the curve of her hip; his lips hovered millimeters away as he spoke: "Should I stop?"

“A little rehearsal,” Mairen replied slowly, “might be just what the agent ordered."

There was a sharp intake of breath, and Taerich sealed his lips over hers. The connection was at first like their conversation: firm, assured, almost taunting. She was, after all, calling his bluff -- matching his brazen attitude with her own. But then his hands drifted up, framing her face as the kiss deepened. Her hands came to rest on his biceps, tugging him closer as she shifted her hips toward his. Around them, the room faded. Their focus narrowed to little more than each other and the current that seemed to flow through them as they explored new territory.

Breaking away abruptly, Reanden dropped his head back and squeezed his eyes shut. Opening them again a moment later, his hazel eyes regarded her, pupils blown. His chest rose and fell quickly, and he swallowed between breaths. He rested his forehead against hers. “Kriffing Hells,” he panted. “Wondered what that was going to be like.”

Her laugh was abbreviated, hindered by her own short breath. “Me, too.” Mairen tightened her grip on his arms briefly. “Now I’m wondering about a lot of other things.”

He chuckled. “Me, too.” There was a long exhale, then he drew back and looked toward the door. “We’ve got to get out of here. Kothe will be back, and we are in no condition for the rest of that mission brief.”

The Corellian Jedi nodded. “Maybe, but…” She licked her lips, brow creasing in thought. “...that mission will get us out of here. And, as you so helpfully pointed out, we’re supposed to be married -- or at least our cover identities are. I can’t think of a better excuse to… satisfy some of that curiosity? Especially since we’ll have quite a bit of downtime after the drop.”

Reanden gave a lopsided grin. “I like the way you think,” he replied. “The only problem I have at the moment is I’d rather just satisfy that curiosity -- right here and now.”

“Force, Taerich,” she hissed. Her hands tightened on his arms. She then pushed him away, employing a small amount of assistance from that same energy she’d just taken in vain. Reanden landed heavily in the chair to her left. The want in her green hazel eyes reflected his own as she looked to him. “Later.”

A split second and the durasteel panel slid open once again. Kothe entered much as he’d departed, eyes fixed on the datapad in his hands. “And this should cover it,” he said as he made his way toward them. “I’m uploading the data to your ship, Reanden -- it’ll be best employed for this one. You can study your covers en route.”

The former Imperial nodded, crossing his legs, casually interlacing his fingers in his lap. “I --” He paused, clearing his throat. “I’ll make sure she’s prepped and ready to depart as soon as possible.”

Kothe nodded. “Good.” He looked to Mairen and blinked. “You all right, Mai? You look a little flushed.”

“Yes, well…” Mairen cleared her own throat, glancing to Reanden, then back to her old friend and colleague. “We had a few choice words while you were gone. I… think we’ve settled it. For now.”

Again, the senior agent nodded. “This is practically a milk run, but the last thing I want is for you two and your sniping at each other to compromise the mission. Understood?”

“Oh, I don’t think that will be a problem.” Reanden pushed himself to standing, flashing a wink at Mairen as he did so. He picked up his jacket from the table, holding it at his waist. He then looked toward her. “Meet you in the hangar in ten?”

“Ten minutes. Got it,” Mairen replied. She slipped off the conference table to her own feet, shifting her attention to Kothe. “See you on the other side, old friend.”

“As always.”

Kothe stood watching as the two beat a hasty retreat from the room.

From the opposite door behind him, Marcus Trant entered, also watching as the two agents hurried away. He gave a long, slow whistle, leaning against the podium at the front of the room. "Those two," he drawled, "are like detonite."

Picking up the small surveillance device, a disc about the size of a credit chip, Kothe chuckled. "Ready to blow at the lightest spark?" Trant nodded. "You're not wrong... and it's exactly the reason I'm sending them on this meet. We don't want them anywhere nearby when they finally get their drutash together."

Trant shook his head. "I thought she hated him."

"She did." The former Jedi looked up at his colleague, hint of a smirk ghosting across his lips. "Or rather, she hated her perception of him -- one fed to her for decades by her uncle... who, as we both know, has his own reasons for bias." The smirk finally stuck. "Turns out the reality is a bit more complicated."

"So it would seem." Marcus shifted, gaze following Kothe as he moved about the room, gathering datapads and tapping controls on the console integrated into the table. A crease formed in his brow. "Mairen's not exactly known for fooling around, Ardun."

Kothe nodded, once. "I'm more than aware," he said. His voice was a low rumble, rueful tone evident in his words. "He's the first to spark such a... passionate... reaction from her since -- well, in a long while.”

Since you, Marcus supplied silently. "But... Taerich?" he asked. "He's a remarkable agent and an old friend, but... well, his issues have issues. You know that as well as I do."

"And Mai -- Mairen -- isn't without her own baggage," Kothe began. "But I've seen -- and heard -- how miserable he is, Marcus. That banter between them is the liveliest I've seen him outside of an op in...also in a long time."

“Same.” Trant grimaced. He shook his head. “He’s been an absolute disaster since Airna died. Kept it from the kids well enough, I guess; even from me, for the most part. The past few years, he’s pretended to have it together -- and actually has -- for missions. I’ve pretended not to notice when he drops off the radar afterward.”

“Binging?”

The former director of SIS nodded once. “Not unlike you, after… well, after. But you climbed out of the bottle. He keeps finding his way back in.”

“A popular diversion, but not a coping mechanism.” Kothe offered a rueful smile. “She’s a good balance for him -- not afraid to call him out on his bantha shit, like Airna. He needs that. If this works -- and that’s a big if -- it might help.”

Marcus regarded his colleague for a long moment, lips pursed as he chose his words carefully. He shifted his weight between his feet, picked at the veneer on the podium. “You two have something of a history,” he said. “You’re okay with her and the old bastard?”

“Mai and I,” Kothe began, “are friends. Have been since she left Corellia.” He placed his datapad onto the conference table. Leaning against it in a manner that he had seen the Green Jedi herself do earlier, he folded his arms across his chest. “We can’t go back, and I don’t know that either of us wants to. I just want her to be happy. And I want that old bastard to be happy, too.”

Trant sighed, then gave a snort of laughter, shaking his head. “You’re not a spymaster,” he said. “You’re a damned matchmaker.”

At this, Kothe laughed. “Not the spymaster anymore -- or I won’t be when you step up,” he replied. “Seems to me, I’m left at loose ends.”

“Doesn’t make you the morale officer.”

“True. Hylo might not like me honing in on her territory.”

Shaking his head again, Marcus pushed himself to his feet. “C’mon,” he said, beckoning with a wave of his left hand, “and let me buy you a drink. Got a bottle of Whyren’s in the stash.”

The former Jedi fell into step next to his friend, pausing only long enough to secure the conference room. “Hope you’ve got more than one bottle in there, old friend,” he said. “With those two, we’re gonna need a steady supply.”

“With those two, we might as well buy the distillery…”

[keldae]

☾ - sleep headcanon for Korin ☆ - happy headcanon for Reanden ♦ - quirks/hobbies headcanon for Xaja and ☼ - appearance headcanon for Sorand

☾ - Korin is a bit of an insomniac. He’s restless and doesn’t settle down well, so he’ll usually be up til the wee hours doing something. He has been known to be awake until dawn -- which is the only scenario in which he sees dawn. When he does finally go to sleep, he’ll be out cold for as long as possible, and he sleeps like the dead (unless there’s a problem with his ship. He has a sixth sense where his baby is concerned.). He usually has really vivid dreams, but not so much nightmares -- most of his dreams make him wake up, look at his ceiling, and go “what the fuck?”. He also lives off of caf and/or space energy drinks, which may or may not be contributing to the insomnia.

☆ - Reanden bonded with both of his sons when they were kids over mechanical things. He had an old speeder that he enjoyed tinkering around with when he was home, and often had Korin and Sorand “helping” and watching everything he did. They would also “help” when he was tinkering with old datapads and the like -- he may or may not have taught them each the basics of slicing. He also started teaching both of them how to fly the Shadow when they each turned ten (although Sorand still came along for Korin’s early lessons since they were always joined at the hip as kids). That knowledge of mechanics and piloting wound up helping both of them a ton leading up to and during the vanilla story.

♦ - Xaja does not sit properly in chairs if she can help it. Within about thirty seconds of sitting down, she’ll have one leg pulled up underneath her, and the other leg might be coming up within the next few minutes, or it’ll be propped up on another chair or a caf table. It’s not uncommon to see her sitting cross-legged in a chair, or sprawled sideways, or perching on the arm of a chair, or sitting on Theron’s lap if he was in said chair first. If she is sitting like a respectable Jedi ought to, it’s probably a Very Formal situation and/or she’s uncomfortable as fuck with said situation. (I’m pretty sure that the few times she had to have her ass actually on the Eternal Throne, she made damned sure to never sit in it properly, half to make Arcann roll his eyes, and half to spite the damned Throne itself and the asshole who sat in it the longest.)

☼ - Sorand’s faceclaim is Ben Barnes -- I’m thinking specifically the King Caspian look from Voyage of the Dawn Treader (even if I refuse to watch that movie after the first viewing because they fucked up the Chronicles of Narnia so royally, but I digress). He’s always been tall and lanky in my headcanon, somewhere around the 6′3″ mark, even before I figured out his faceclaim. Right now he has long hair that he keeps tied back (and will electrocute anyone who comes at him with a pair of scissors and a suspected intention to fuck up his hair. He’s as bad as Xaja is.), and he does sport a respectable amount of facial scruff that I can’t seem to get with the character designer in-game. 

^ Yeah, that. That’s Sorand, down to the expression. And actually probably in clothing close to what Caspian’s wearing instead of Sith robes or beskar’gam. Sorand’s gotten a lot more casual with his clothing during KOTFE/KOTET, seems to like long jackets over robes when he doesn’t need to be wearing armour, and while he does still have some Sithly clothing when he feels the need to pull out the official scary “because I’m still Darth Imperius, bitches” attitude, he seems content to rock the more relaxed attire.

[andveryginger]

Overgrown

Staunchly trying to avoid the Piranha Angstfest going on, I ended up with something a bit... bittersweet. It’s an idea that’s been on the back burner for a while, and this just seemed appropriate.

Carefully descending the ladder, Mairen Bel Iblis took a step back and admired her handywork. The deep green vines with delicate blue-violet flowers had been unkempt, laying forgotten at the back of a market stall. It was the scent that first caught her attention: Soft and lilting, somehow overcoming the scent of fried cakes and stale brew that always lingered. She remembered it well, memories swirling to the surface -- of training in the courtyard with her father; of being chased by her little sister, tiny hands coated in chocolate from an earlier snack; of her first kiss, an awkward occurrence with her training officer that was complicated, at best. It had been these vines -- or rather, ones very like these -- had adorned the exterior walls of their home in Coronet. How such a thing had found its way to Rishi, she would never know. Kneeling beside the neglected plant, however, she’d then felt a gentle nudge from the Force.

She reached out and gently traced a velvety petal with her fingers.

These blooms had been meant for her.

Negotiating a price far below market value, Mairen returned back to the small apartment with not one, but two containers of the flowering vines. She’d been thankful that her fiance had vacated to Coruscant for the day, attending to some debrief or other at headquarters. He’d have given her endless hell for the mess. As she stood there, looking at them sprawled over the wooden decking, she wondered, too, if she’d made a mistake. But no, there were reasons -- as yet unclear -- she ended up with the plants. It was up to her to make it work.

Armed with gloves, snips, and allowing the Force to guide her, she took a deep breath and plunged ahead. A few hours disappeared in the blink of an eye; potting soil, weeds, dead branches, and other detritus scattered around her like a halo, along with the old planters. She saw to it that all had been disposed of before she went to hang the vines in their new home. They now adorned each side of the balcony exit, seated securely against the ledges. It was only as she stood there, admiring her handywork, that time seemed to re-engage.

“Mai?”

A warm smile curved her lips, affection radiating through her. “On the balcony!”

She watched as Reanden Taerich padded through the living room, his expression an echo of hers. As he neared the doorway, however, a furrow flickered over his brow. It was still creased as he leaned forward and touched his lips to hers. “What are you doing out here?”

“A little decorating.” Mairen nodded, indicating the vines that now draped over the stucco walls. “They’re a cousin to the candlewick flower, I think. Genetically altered, of course, because, well, Corellia and we couldn’t just leave something so Alderaanian.”

The silver-haired agent turned, gaze falling onto the vines. He swallowed visibly. “I… thought I smelled them, as I came through,” he said. His voice was thick, heavy with emotion, as was his Force signature. “Wh --” He paused, clearing his throat. “Where did you find them?”

“A little stall in the market. They just… called to me. I remember Mum and Da had them all over the walls, at home in Coronet.” Mairen reached out, smoothing her hand over the nape of his neck. “Are you all right, love?”

“Airna grew them on Lavisar -- on the back of the house.” He offered her a lopsided, bittersweet smile curving his lips, eyes somewhat glassy. “They reminded her of home.”

Mairen felt again the slightest nudge from the Force. “I’m sorry, love,” she said. “I can take them down --” She moved toward the ladder.

He shook his head, reaching to catch her hand as she made to step away. “No… I mean, unless you want to. I know we’re trying to make a new start, and…” He sighed. “I could see how it might be awkward.”

“Oh, love.” Mai closed the distance between them. “She was your wife, Reanden; the mother of your kids. She will always be part of you and part of them.” Reaching up, she curled her free arm around his neck. “Hells, love, she’s family. I’ll never ask you to forget her. Yes, we’re here, getting on with our lives -- trying to enjoy retirement in the warmth and the sunshine. But if these will upset you…”

Again, he shook his head, releasing her hand and bringing both to rest against her hips. “As long as you’re comfortable with it, I think they should stay,” he said. “I think the kids will like them, too.”

Mairen pursed her lips as she regarded him. Along their bond, she could feel the bittersweet sting of the memories, swirling with warmth and affection. “If you’re sure.” She gave a lopsided grin. “Maybe I won’t kill them.”

“They’re a lot heartier than you think.” Reanden gave a chuckle, dropping a kiss to her forehead. “Something about Corellians.”

“We’re a stubborn lot.” She smoothed her hands over his shoulders, chest, and then back around his neck, interlacing her fingers. “Not exactly known for my green thumb, though.”

“Only if you’re still wearing your green gloves,” he teased. His expression sobered and he leaned forward, kissing her slowly, almost reverently. He drew back. “Thank you, Mai.”

She gave him a soft smile. “Always, love; always.”

[keldae]

Drastic Measures (Chapter Twenty-Seven)

The Shereshoy whined as it descended through the Alderaanian atmosphere, maneuvering sharply to slip through the narrow opening of a cavern built into the side of one of the many mountains in the snowy region. It hovered briefly, finally settling within a clearing in the caves, neatly parked beside the battle-worn Dancer. The engines were still ramping down as Sorand descended the ramp of the Shereshoy. He tossed a casual salute to his brother. “Good job not getting shot,” he said with a smirk.

“What can I say? It’s a gift.” Korin grinned, then waved as Lana and Torian followed his brother down the ramp. Shara was only a step behind, Koth in tow. “Corey got here same time I did. He’s parked beside the Raven — I’ve been told your baby’s just fine, ‘Rand.”

“She’d better be, or there’ll be hell to pay,” Sorand muttered, sparing a glance downward as Tee-Seven rolled down the ramp with a series of beeps and whistles. “Any contact with the rest of the cell?”

“They know we’re here. A couple of the Organas came out to say hi.” Korin started walking beside his brother through the tunnels. He knew the layout of the base well from his regular supply and intel runs. “From everything I was told, they haven’t heard anything. And still no check-in from Malcom yet.”

“Not even a text message?” Sorand frowned, feeling his worry echoed. When he glanced back, he could see Akaavi and Rusk behind him, Bowdarr bringing up the rear.

“That is concerning,” Lana murmured, a frown creasing her brow. “If Corso hasn’t been able to contact us…”

“Even if Farmboy’s on the lam,” Shara spoke up, “it ain’t good that the kriffing Supreme Commander went quiet and all. If he showed up on-scene and the Zaks caught him…”

“Especially if he really is Shan’s biological father,” Koth spoke up. “With that reputation of Shan being a terrorist, every loyal Zakuulan is going to want to wring any possible bit of intel that they can get, especially from a family member.”

“As if we didn’t have enough to be worried about.” Sorand frowned. “Any word from Dad yet?”

“Nada. But you know how Dad gets when he’s in ops mode. If he hasn’t contacted us by the end of the week, we can be worried then.” Korin shrugged as he rounded a corner, leading into a giant cavern. Once, it had been overrun with killiks; it now housed a resistance operations base. “Where’d you send the rest of the Mando squad to?”

“Mand’alor recalled them -- can’t say where to an aruetii,” Shara interjected, “but she’s giving me, Corey, Torian, and Akaavi a pass since she knows we’re workin’ with the resistance directly.”

“Fair enough.” Korin looked forward and raised his voice as they approached a command platform. “Hey, look what the wild manka dragged in!”

The flurry of activity on the platform ceased for a split second as everyone looked over, before a burst of excited noises filled the cavern. A second later, Talos hurried around the large Hutt on the platform, open relief in his expression. “My lord! It’s a relief to see you well and unharmed.”

“Good to see you too, Talos.” Sorand waved as Kimble came up behind the archaeologist and promptly smiled in relief. “You as well, Kimble.” He looked around, noting a few familiar faces, and more strange ones. Not even Thunder knew the name and face of everyone in the resistance. “This is a very impressive setup here for the resistance. Well done.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Vector spoke up as he offered the Sith a bow. “Did you have any problems leaving Tatooine?”

“Fewer than leaving Dromund Kaas,” Sorand muttered.

“The Fleet came barrellin’ in as the last transports were leaving,” Korin spoke up. “All they’ll be findin’ is empty caves and exhaust fumes. They didn’t catch any of us on the way out.”

“Cuttin’ it a little close at the end,” Koth commented, his brow creasing. “Another hour…”

“Ah, c’mon, Vortena.” Korin grinned. He clapped the former Zakuulan officer on the shoulder. “It’s a Core World tradition to procrastinate to the very last minute on important, life-altering things.”

“Only on your homeworld, perhaps.” Vector shook his head as he stepped back a pace. “Shall we provide an in-brief?”

“Please do.” Sorand fell into step beside the Joiner as his entourage of followers scattered, leaving him with Korin, Lana, Shara, and Koth. He could just hear the sounds of Kimble and Rusk meeting up again, mingled with Tee-Seven’s happy beeping. “First, the Zakuulans. Then we can discuss Malcom.”

“As you wish.” Vector bowed slightly. “If the Zakuulans have heightened their surveillance of Alderaan, we are unaware of it. There have been a few patrols that have come from the Star Fortress, but no more than usual. They still maintain a safe distance from the killik nests, for fear of Joining us.”

I don’t blame them, Sorand thought, but said nothing. “The noble houses?”

“Organa, Rist, Frayus, and Alde are still assisting us with supplies and transportation around the planet. Thul and Ulgo are aware of our presence, but they do not know where we are. We have a connection directly to Organa Castle not far from here, and this portion of the cave leads out to Rist lands. Killiks inhabit most of it, but we can travel through the nests safely, provided we do not cause them a disturbance.”

“Which is a boon,” Lana agreed, even if she cast a wary glance to one of the killiks walking around the cave. “Malcom?”

“Silence -- not even an attempt at contact that we can determine.” Vector frowned. “Duke Charle is concerned, as is the only Zakuulan inside the castle. We actually wished your opinion on the matter of this latest defector, my lord. She is a Zakuulan knight by the name of Senya Tirall—”

“Wait,” Koth finally spoke up. “Senya Tirall is here?” He seemed to be paling behind his goatee. “She was the captain of Valkorion’s personal guard!”

Korin’s eyebrows vanished under his scruffy hair. “That high ranked a defector? Shit, Arcann really ain’t endearing himself to a lot of you folks.”

“That’s new information,” Sorand said, shaking his head. “I think I’d rather like to meet her. If Valkorion’s captain of the guard has abandoned Zakuul, perhaps more Zakuulans will follow her.”

“We suspected you would.” Vector bowed slightly. “We can introduce her to you, Lord Imperius. She has indeed expressed curiosity about you, and not merely because of your sister. Your reputed strength in the Force impresses even the Zakuulans.”

“My reputed strength in the Force? I’m a little insulted.” Sorand offered Vector a small smirk. “Lead on, then.” He fell into step with the Joiner.

Behind him, the redheaded Corellian Jedi, Master Bel Iblis, stared after him, looking not unlike she had seen a ghost. She watched as his brother hesitated, looking around as though he could sense something... off. After a moment, he merely shook his head and followed Sorand.

Master Bel Iblis finally stepped back as the group departed, pale as she clutched a datapad to her chest. “That’s what her sons look like?” she whispered.

It was another day of travel before the Aegis dropped out of hyperspace in Alderaan’s orbital path. Xaja stifled a yawn as she and Theron walked into the bridge of the warship: The constant travel, flitting about the galaxy to obfuscate their trail, left her body with no idea what the date was anymore. She was pretty sure she was still operating on something approaching Dromund Kaas time. Right now it felt like the dim hours before dawn, although Theron had said that it was closer to early afternoon in Organa territory, on the planet surface. Maybe one day we’ll be lucky enough to stay somewhere long enough to get adjusted to one planetary time zone without having to run so quickly.

She snorted inwardly. Right. And maybe Arcann will offer a truce.

Malcom looked over as she and Theron approached him. “We’ve just arrived at Alderaan,” he said without any preamble. “The Star Fortress is orbiting the far side of the planet; if we’re quick enough with the descent, we should be able to vanish before they realize we’re here.”

“How often do the Zakuulans go poking around on the surface?” Theron asked, frowning at the rapidly-approaching planet and resting a hand protectively on Xaja’s lower back.

“Every so often they’ll traipse through the various Houses’ territories or go into the castles. But it’s not as often as they used to do.” Malcom stepped back as Master Satele approached them, Corso and Jorgan a step behind her. “When I left, the only Zakuulan in Organa territory was Knight Tirall, and she’s a defector.”

“I am curious about meeting her,” Xaja murmured. The idea of a Zakuulan defector and rebel against Arcann was one that perplexed her. And from what Master Satele had hinted, Tirall was not a mere grunt in the ranks who had abandoned her post. She was respectably high-ranked. Perhaps Arcann had pissed off more of his people than Xaja had dared to hope. If so, maybe she and Theron had a chance of survival.

“I expect she’ll be one of the first people you’ll meet when we finally get you to the resistance.” Master Satele offered a small smile. “She was interested in you as well — and I don’t believe she’s interested in turning you in.”

“We’ll worry about introductions after we get you two to safety,” Malcom rumbled. “Once you’ve gone underground with the resistance, you’ll get to know everyone.”

Xaja nodded, frowning slightly to herself as she gazed out at the stars beyond Alderaan. “All assuming none of the other cells were compromised.” With no contact to Sorand, or her father, or Doc, she was worried for their safety. And if they had heard of the attack on Dantooine, they had to be frantic.

“If there had been another raid, I’m pretty sure it would have come through to our comms,” Jorgan finally said. “Or it would have hit the broad HoloNet channels. Republic comms have already been blowing up with chatter about Dantooine — apparently we’re down to maybe two or three straggler Jedi in the Republic now, as far as anyone who isn’t on this ship knows.”

“Hmm. The longer they think we were killed, the better our odds of being able to get by without actually dying,” Theron muttered.

And the more likely my family has a collective heart attack, Xaja thought as she turned her focus to Alderaan. The planet thrummed with life in the Force, tangible to Xaja’s senses despite being in orbit. At this distance, she couldn’t focus enough to identify life forms on the surface. But for a moment, she swore she felt a flicker against her senses from a familiar signature, one tinged with both bright light and dark shadows. Sorand? “And the sooner we’re on the surface,” she murmured, “the sooner we can tell the resistance that we’re not dead yet.”

“We’ll be on the surface in under a standard hour.” Malcom nodded once, sharply. “I suggest you make yourselves scarce until we’re ready to get you offloaded. The Star Fortress doesn’t usually order ship searches, but I wouldn’t put it past them.”

In an empty alcove near to the entrance to Organa Castle, Sorand watched as an older woman was escorted through the cave by Vector. Even at a distance, he could sense her considerable strength in the Force, and the tight discipline that she exercised over it, enough to earn the envy of any Jedi. The Sith stepped out of the alcove, inclining his head in greeting. “You must be Senya Tirall,” he said.

“And you must be Darth Imperius.” Tirall offered him a shallow bow, which he answered with a nod. “I’ve heard much about you.”

“I expect there’s a few stories about me circulating around the galaxy,” Sorand acknowledged, a slight smirk twitching across his lips. He looked to the side where Lana and Korin stood behind him. “Allow me to introduce my brother, Captain Korin Taerich, and my advisor, Lana Beniko.”

“Of course. Even Zakuul has heard impressive stories about the Voidhound. And Lord Beniko -- your reputation precedes you.” Tirall nodded to each of the ones Sorand named. “A pleasure to meet you.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Lana answered. “Though... I trust you’ll forgive our collective curiosity as to how a such highly-ranked Knight of Zakuul came to sympathize with the resistance.”

“I’m sure you have many questions.” Tirall’s small smile softened her pale blue eyes. “I’m willing to answer as much as I can. While I may be one of the only Zakuulans to leave the service of the Eternal Throne, I’m not the only one who believes our home is in the wrong.”

Korin raised an eyebrow, shifting his weight to Sorand’s left. “And here I thought that all Knights were devoted to the Throne an’ whoever’s ass is parked in it.”

“Not all of us blindly support Arcann.” That was a slight bite to Tirall’s voice. “Tyranny is not what our people have stood for. I would hate to see my homeworld become permanently associated with dictators and conquest.”

“Your kind is rare,” Lana acknowledged, eyebrows raising. “Although I suppose if you were a loyalist to Zakuul, you wouldn’t have earned Satele Shan’s respect.”

“No. Even with the Jedi all but defeated, Master Shan is something of a respected legend among Zakuul’s ranks.” Tirall smiled slightly. “It was an honour to meet her in a relatively peaceful circumstance.”

“How did that meeting come about?” Sorand asked, curiosity striking him. “The greater part of the resistance knows nothing about you, and I have not been on-world long enough to meet anyone of the Organas.”

“We met on Jedha. She was trying to find her son who had gone MIA in the war, and I was seeking Jedi teachings on mind healing.” Tirall frowned slightly. “When I found nothing, she suggested I come here. She herself went to Voss to pursue another lead.”

Does she know…? Sorand exchanged a quick glance with Lana, then Korin, before looking back to the Zakuulan. “Did she identify her son’s name?”

“No. I looked through a list of Republic missing and dead with her, but Shan is apparently a common name.” She shook her head ruefully. “Of course, after arriving here I began to hear rumours that her son is the reported terrorist from the Spire, Theron Shan.”

“The reported terrorist? Do you believe the accusations are true?” Lana questioned.

Tirall spread her hands. “I dislike the idea that someone would attempt to cause an act of terrorism to my home. But, unlike the rest of my people, I do not immediately jump to the first thing that Arcann says. He…” She paused, pursing her lips for an instant. “It isn’t unheard of for him to alter the truth to garner public support. Of course, releasing the assassin who killed Valkorion could be considered terrorism…”

“War crime, maybe. Terrorism seems a bit excessive.” Korin shrugged. “D’you think the stories about the assassin are true?”

“Someone killed Valkorion. And the reports say he was alone with Arcann and the assassin at the time of his death. For how strong Arcann is, I doubt he could have killed his father like that.” Tirall frowned. “The assassin, Taerich… she is your sister, is she not?” she asked, looking at Korin and Sorand.

“She is,” Sorand confirmed. “And the idea of her being a cold-blooded murderer is inconsistent both with her personality, and with the rules of the Jedi Code she swore to uphold.”

“She’s got the skill to,” Korin agreed. “I ain’t ever seen her lose a lightsaber duel. But if she killed Valkorion, she had a reason to. She woulda killed if she’d felt threatened, or panicked.”

“Master Shan said the same thing when I asked her about it,” Tirall murmured. “Considering she said she had trained your sister, she would know the most about her prowess, and her personality.”

“Yep. If the charges had been for sucker-punching Valkorion in the gonads, yeah, we’d believe it easier.” Korin grinned as Sorand shook his head. “Half ‘cause that’s all she would prob’ly be able to reach.”

“Classy,” Sorand muttered at his unrepentant brother… even if he knew that Korin was right and Xaja would have gleefully taken any opportunity to harm Vitiate -- Valkorion -- whatever his real name was. “My apologies, Knight Tirall.”

“Please, call me Senya.” The Zakuulan looked between both brothers, and the advisor standing between them. “I’ve heard a rumour that she and Shan have both gone missing again, with Master Shan. What happened?”

“We believe that Zakuulan forces attacked the hideout they sought refuge in.” Lana glanced at Sorand, then continued. “Three days ago, we received a distress signal, but haven’t heard anything since. I’ll be dispatching one of our scouts to their last reported location.”

“If Arcann had captured or killed them -- especially Master Taerich -- it would be all over the HoloNet by now. He does enjoy bragging.” Senya’s blue eyes narrowed in thought. “If they have been captured, I may be able to help you rescue them. I can provide information on Zakuulan protocols for detainment and transport of prisoners of war. ”

“And you would help rescue accused war criminals?” Korin asked, his earlier humour fading into a creased brow and grimly-set jaw.

“I would rather meet your sister and Master Shan’s son before I cast any judgement on them. As I said: it is not unheard of for Arcann to obscure the facts he delivers to suit his own means.” Senya’s eyes flashed. “Like the rest of my people, and likely yours, I want the truth of what happened.”

Sorand slowly nodded, deciding he rather liked the Zakuulan woman. “Then we welcome any information you’re willing to provide. Come; we may as well sit and be comfortable while discussing this.”

“… swear to the stars, Captain, you bring me another kriffing waste of bolts again and I’ll sell your ship to Ugnaughts,” Kothe snarled at Kaliyo as they entered the Shadow-masquerading-as-the-Duchess’s hangar, gifting a scowl over his shoulder to the lurching loader droid behind him.

“You want a better droid? Then start paying for it,” Kaliyo snapped. “I ain’t working for cheap, old man.”

“You’re already getting paid more than you’ve earned,” Kothe growled. “Keep it up and I’ll switch my services to the Wookiee.”

“You won’t. You like checking Lia out too much to do that,” came the snarky retort. Kaliyo looked over her shoulder with a grin at Vette, bringing up the rear of the group with an expression of long suffering. “Ain’t that right?”

“Don’t you go bringing me into this,” Vette snapped, watching out of the corner of her eyes as the Zakuulan Knights guarding the hangar exchanged a look through their helmets.

“Aww, you still mad about me sellin’ off your other cousin to Drooga?” Kaliyo flashed her teeth in a grin as one of the Knights took a step forward.

“You put me down as collateral in a pazaak game!” Vette shouted, lekku twitching dangerously. The Knight promptly seemed to decide he wasn’t getting paid enough to get involved in this and withdrew, his companion taking a couple of steps to the side. “You don’t kriffing own me!”

“So?”

Kothe sighed, subtly waving his hand at the Knights as the trio walked up to the ship. Both Zakuulans shifted, then turned away from the group, apparently deciding they weren’t worth the trouble. “You decide you want a new job, kid, look me up. My vices don’t include gambling.”

“Sure they do. Why else do you keep getting this model of loading droid?” Kaliyo grinned as she gestured at the droid. “Up you go, Rusty.”

Rusty? Reanden grouchily thought to himself as he trudged past Kothe and Vette. Never minding that his legs ached with maintaining the droid’s lurching stride — he swore literal rust on his joints would probably hurt less. But admitting that would be admitting he was growing old… and he was certainly not doing that.

Feeling the weight of a datapad in his jacket pocket with his own connection to the transmitters wired into the Zakuulan bunker, he made it up the ramp and lurched to the bridge of the Shadow. SCORPIO looked over as he came to a halt behind the captain’s seat. “You somehow kept yourself from getting shot,” she commented as she resumed typing into the navicomputer. “I suppose your ideas aren’t quite as stupid as they appear.”

“The threat to turn you to scraps and sell you to Jawas still stands,” Reanden growled as he dropped the disguise with a blink and settled into his seat with a soft groan. His hip wasn’t quite as forgiving of the droid lurch as it had once been, or of crawling around through maintenance tunnels. “Any updates?”

“Lord Imperius and Captain Korin have arrived on Alderaan. Intercepted transmissions from the Republic suggest that the Dantooine Enclave was destroyed.” SCORPIO glanced over as Reanden felt his heart drop to his boots. “Yet I have intercepted no transmissions indicating so from Zakuulan forces. The Eternal Empire’s forces in this system seem to have gone quiet.”

If she were dead, Arcann would be gloating to the entire galaxy. She has to still be alive. Reanden rested his head in his hands for a minute, fighting to keep the fear from overwhelming him. “Any news from the Empire?” he finally asked.

“Very little. Imperius remains at the top of the most wanted bulletin, and you, Agent, aren’t far behind. Your associates, Lieutenant Temple and Agent Emrys, have disappeared completely into the Ascendancy. I received an encrypted message, indicating that they are safe for now. Koli’arr was dispatched to bring Imperius in.”

That, at least, was good news. The bounty hunter known as A’den Koli’arr was, in fact, family friend and associate, Corey Black. Reanden knew well where Black’s true allegiances lay. The news of his protege, Adela Emrys, and the youngest member of his crew, Raina Temple, gaining refuge with the Chiss was also welcome information. Raina had maintained her commission in the Expansionary Defense Force, and Adela had earned the… trust… of Aristocra Saganu. Between their wits and his influence, they would be quite safe.

Finally, he nodded and pulled the datapad out of his pocket, passing it to SCORPIO. “Wire that into the systems,” he directed as the droid took the device. “We’ll be better able to track Zakuulan communications with this.”

“Very well.” SCORPIO started typing as boot steps sounded on the ramp before Reanden heard the distinctive whirr of the ramp retracting into the ship. Kaliyo and Vette must have boarded. “Where is our next destination?”

Reanden frowned in thought, barely looking up to nod approvingly at Vette when she poked her head into the bridge with a grin. “Alderaan,” he finally said. “We’ll rendezvous there with the resistance and figure out our next steps.”

“Very well, Agent.”

The Zakuulan woman certainly seemed nice enough. Senya Tirall was a mystery; Sorand had the suspicion that she was hiding something big. And secrets from a Zakuulan who claimed to not support Arcann’s tyranny was something that made him worry.

But if she had earned the respect and trust of Satele Shan, perhaps she wasn’t a threat. Sorand had only met the Jedi Grand Master briefly during the Revanite crisis, but she struck him as intelligent, and discerning. If Master Shan approved of Senya, then maybe Sorand’s paranoia was just making a nuisance of itself.

He frowned. That heightened sense of paranoid suspicion that he had inherited from his father, and refined over the years spent among the Sith, hadn’t failed him yet. Senya, he felt, wasn’t a danger, per se. But she was hiding something, something significant that—

If his paranoia hadn’t failed him, his sensory awareness certainly did. Sorand grunted as he collided mid-step with a human woman. “Sorr—” he started to say, before he got a look at the woman’s face and felt the blood drain from his own. For a second, he swore he was looking at a face he hadn’t seen in the world of the living since he had been ten years old. “Mum?” he breathed out.

As the woman’s brows drew together, Sorand belatedly caught up to the differences between the stranger in green Jedi robes and his memories of his mother. This woman’s eyes were hazel, not deep green… she lacked the same freckles across her nose that Airna Taerich had… the nose was wrong, and the chin was just a bit off, and the lightsaber that hung at her hip was a different build. But if Sorand’s mother had had a sister, he would have sworn this was her, if not his mother returned from an untimely death herself.

He cleared his throat and stepped back, feeling his throat tighten with old grief as his mother’s lookalike opened her mouth. “My apologies, Master Jedi,” he quietly said, sounding less like a Dark Lord of the Sith and more like a spooked young adult. “Excuse me.” Neatly stepping out of the reach of the Jedi’s outstretched arm, he hurried off down the cave tunnel. For someone who had had far too much experience in encountering ghosts, malevolent or otherwise, he felt like he had walked right into his mother’s apparition. And that was not a pain he was willing to face today.

Behind him, Master Bel Iblis stared after his back, mouth falling slightly open. She had planned to encounter Darth Imperius and Captain Korin, determined to see if they had turned out like their mother, her late cousin… or the Imperial bastard who had stolen Airna away from Corellia. But whatever she had expected from Imperius, she hadn’t expected that.

Now that she had been close enough to get a read on him, she was startled at how much his mother’s son he was. It wasn’t just his strength with the Force; Airna’s youngest son had inherited his mother’s slim build, the bone structure in her face, the same way her hair had parted. She had few memories of Reanden Taerich, but she could already see that the Sith had inherited his father’s dark hair and eyes, and the same set to his jaw — not to mention the height. And then there was the too-noticeable Imperial accent. Rumour had it he inherited a similarly vicious streak when provoked as well, and the same cunning intelligence.

But the soft tone to his voice, his polite manners even when startled— no, spooked, his caution; those, Mairen thought, were all his own. For a second, she could forget that Airna’s son was Darth Imperius, Dark Lord of the Sith and renegade member of the Dark Council. Sith weren’t supposed to be that quiet or polite.

She nodded slowly, still looking in the direction that the Sith had vanished down. She was going to have to attempt meeting her cousin’s youngest son again, and this time see if she could talk to him without him paling like he had seen a ghost.

[andveryginger]

OTP questions: 3 odd numbers for Ahn/Theron and 3 even numbers for Mai/Reanden, please!

Thanks for the ask, dahlin!

Ahn/Theron

3. Most common argument?

Downtime. Both Ahn and Theron are very dedicated, and tend to be very focussed, rarely taking a breath until a particular task is done… even if that task takes twelve hours or two days. Food is forgotten; sleep is short. And it’s not generally an argument as much as it is a stern reminder from one to the other that, “Hey, there’s life outside.”

23. Who comes up with cheesy pick up lines?

Theron. It’s become something of a joke between them. He’s never been the suave super-spy, flirting and passing innuendo with everything remotely female… like Jonas. And so, every once in a while, he’ll sidle up to her and lay out the most horrible pick-up line he has come up with of late. It always makes her smile and roll her eyes… and he still gets to take her home.

25. Who needs more assurance?

Theron. Relationships aren’t his forte -- especially long-term ones. At some point in his life, he has managed to alienate anyone who has reached out to him, from Master Zho, to Marcus, and even Jace. And all he does to Teff’ith is piss her off. So hearing that he hasn’t stepped in it, or scared her off -- that he is, for intents and purposes, doing things the right way, is a big thing for him.

Mai/Reanden

16. Who wants to stay in bed just a little longer?

Usually Mai. Reanden, for all his years in service, has been accustomed to rising early, and his internal alarm clock makes it difficult to sleep in… save on rare occasions. Mai, on the other hand, has begun to take full advantage of being ‘retired,’ and definitely getting the sleep she lacked all those years on Dromund Kaas.

24. Who whispers inappropriate things in the other’s ear during inappropriate times?

Both Mai and Reanden. They’re also prone to act on inappropriate suggestions during inappropriate times or in inappropriate places. It’s one reason there’s such a rumor mill around them at SIS Headquarters, and why the kids have learned to knock.

28. What do they do when they’re away from each other?

They work. For Reanden, that’s slogging through reports or finding some case to plunge into. For Mai, it’s meditation and training. It was a very long 18+ months between Reanden’s defection and the op to extract Mai.

[andveryginger]

Fictober, Day 1: “Achilles’ Heel”

Fandom: Star Wars: The Old Republic

Pairing: Mairen Bel Iblis/Reanden Taerich (OCs, mentioned)

Rating: PG

Warnings: Angst.

1. “Can you feel this?”

“Can you feel this?”

Yes, she felt it, Mairen Bel Iblis thought. But then, she was feeling everything at the moment: The echo of pain that rippled along her back as tissue healed over her wound. The rasping sweep of the blunted metal stylus that the medic scraped over the sole of her feet, checking for nerve damage. The energy that rippled through the remaining Republic personnel -- relief that the mission was over, gratitude they had survived, and concern over those injured.

It was what she couldn’t feel that was more troubling: The chaotic, weakened Force signature that was Xaja Taerich, post-rescue. The reserved, concerned, and comfortable signature of Reanden Taerich. Xaja, for her part, was likely moved back to Tython for treatment. The physical, mental, and emotional damage done by her captivity would require Force healers and counselors. It made sense, then, that she would have lingered nearby only to be stabilized for movement.

Reanden was a different story.

At first she’d thought the bond formed between them had been some sort of dream, vision. His presence had been a constant -- steady, worried, deeply affectionate as he sat, day after day, beside the tank. She had sensed the gamut of emotions as he read his daily reports, processing the intelligence as only he could, something to pass the time. Sensed his fear as he pushed back thoughts of losing her -- Xaja -- Sorand -- Korin. Sensed the terror that lanced through him as he reached for her hand, skin-to-skin contact heightening the connection forged between them.

She should have known then that he would run, she thought.

“Cardinal?”

Blinking, Mairen looked up to the medic. The blonde regarded her with a furrowed brow, and there was concern warming her gaze as she regarded her patient. “Are you alright?” she asked.

“Yes, yes -- I’m fine,” the Jedi replied, offering a rueful smile. She waved her hand dismissively. “I was just curious as to why I couldn’t sense Knight Taerich. But then I reasoned she was moved on for more serious care.”

“She was,” the medic conceded. “Shortly after we got you in kolto, they shipped her off to Tython.” Her lips drew to a line. “Got a long road ahead of her, that one.”

Mairen nodded. The trauma of those events would haunt the younger Jedi for a very long time, she knew. If she were anything like her father -- or her mother -- she had little doubt that Xaja would push through. It didn’t mean there wasn’t going be a high cost. “The Order will take good care of her, I’m sure,” she said aloud.

The other woman echoed the action, cropped blonde hair sweeping her shoulders. “Seems you’ll make a quick recovery, though.” Her cheerfulness was a bit forced, and Mairen could sense confusion and worry as it stirred within and she fought to determine if she should say something. “Even still, I… I kinda thought the old man would stick around…”

A deep ache gripped her chest and Mairen could feel the sting of tears as they threatened; she struggled to maintain a steady breath. “So he did leave, then.”

“This morning,” the blonde replied. “He popped in for an update on you and then the sergeant says he went for flight clearance back to Dromund Kaas. Took off shortly thereafter.”

That, she thought, explained the distance she felt -- the muted sensations as opposed to his presence beside her, or holding her hand as she lay on the medical bed. She swallowed back the knot that rose in the back of her throat and drew on the Force to stabilize her emotions, her voice. “And I should be getting back soon, myself… before they get too curious,” she said. She offered a taut smile. “I don’t suppose you could release me for return to duty?”

The medic returned the smile, nodding. “I can do that.” Spontaneously, she reached and took Mairen’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Stay safe, Cardinal.”

Reaching over, Mairen patted the back of the medic’s palm with her free hand. “I will. I promise.”

“And,” the medic drawled, a wry grin curving her lips, “lemme know if you need me and the guys to smack some sense into Duathion. Seems like he might need a little ‘cognitive recalibration.’”

Her eyes stinging, the red headded Jedi gave a laugh.  It was a bark of laughter, something of a release valve for the swirling mass of emotions she couldn’t begin to sort. “I’ll keep that in mind, Corpsman…?”

“Shade,” the medic replied. “Margaret Shade.”

Mairen nodded. “Thank you, Corpsman Shade.”

“All part of the service we offer here.” The corpsman offered a bit of a smile and one last squeeze of her hand before slipping away and down the corridor.

Watching her go, Mairen couldn’t shake the feeling of loneliness that seemed to engulf her. She should have known he would run, she thought again, though it still shocked her that he had. And yet… she knew, from the brief moments of lucidity in the kolto and out, that he still cared -- could sense it with the certainty only a bond could bring. She struggled to focus on this, not the whispers of betrayal and abandonment that lurked in the darker recesses of her mind. A sigh escaped her. Dromund Kaas was going to be a nightmare, she realized, knowing that the darkness there would crawl and creep, looking for weaknesses. She could only hope to find balance sometime between now and then.

And how to face Reanden the next time she saw him.

[andveryginger]

Title: Shattered

Authors: Ginger & @keldae

Fandom:  Star Wars: The Old Republic (RPverse)

Pairing:  Imperial Agent/Sith Inquisitor (Imperial Agent/Jedi Shadow)

(Mairen Bel Iblis/Reanden Taerich)

Series:  Deja New

Rating:  T

Summary: No matter how much Reanden stared in mute horror at the datapad on his desk, the awful words blinking up at him refused to change.

Notes:    

And thus begins the arc @keldae and I have dubbed "The Incident" -- the huge, rambling, life-altering angstfest that begins to bring Clan Taerich (Plus One) to its current form in the RPverse. There are a lot more gaps to fill in this overall arc, even more backstory to fill in before this all goes down, but we've started hitting the high points. And, quite honestly, I think it's time Mai and Reanden showed there was more to it than just falling into bed... though they still very much enjoy that, too. ::snerk::

Posted without beta, but with considerable poking and tweaking over the past year. I made one last pass this morning, so anything you see now is probably my fault. ;)