#also vette is totally twenty minutes from hacking his file just to see what all the fuss is about

[sunsetofdoom]

Prompt number: #20-  “You could talk about it, you know?”

Fandom: Star Wars: The Old Republic, Sith Warrior crew

Rating: PG

Warnings/Tags: Discussion of an emotionally abusive mentor with dementia

“I’m sorry, Sir,” the girl in her early twenties was frantic over the holo that she’d managed to wrench back into her hands, “I’m so sorry, I can’t keep him away from the terminal-”

“Bastards!” He could still hear Broysc’s hateful voice in the background, “Bastards and traitors them all- Kai, you know he disobeyed orders, the willful little-”

“It’s all right,” Quinn allowed, his voice soft. “Lieutenant- please. I understand.”

“It’s just- I can’t- I try, I try quite hard to get him where he needs to be but-” She was stammering, almost in tears.

“I understand,” He emphasized, trying not to let the anger take over, quietly hating her for being the echo of twenty-three year old Malavai Quinn. It made his skin crawl to look at her. “I- held your position, once. It’s alright. Now go take care of your duties.”

“Right. Yes, sir. Thank you, sir, I’m- thank you.” Her voice was thick with relief as she turned away to go catch the wayward Moff.

Malavai slammed down the end call button, shutting off the comm call but not ridding himself of the hateful image of his rambling former CO. Burning with energy and the desperate need to hit something, he punched the button again, unsatisfied and disgusted with himself. A sick, deranged, dying old man affected him like this? And he was supposed to be a professional.

“Hey there, Admiral.” Vette’s cheerful drawl had never been less welcome.

“Regulation only calls for the bridge to be staffed by one individual when not in an emergency,” Malavai quoted the rule-book, his voice stead but his hands quivering, “you’re not needed here.”

“Well, aren’t you cheerful today.” Vette sighed as she sprawled out in the copilot chair.

Malavai was silent as he wiped the log of the three separate calls from Broysc, ranting at him for ruining the operation. He spoke as though Druckenwell were weeks ago, not a decade previous. Forgetting words, stalling in the middle of the rambling insults that Malavai remembered so vividly.

Part of the shivering revulsion lay in how quickly his self-appointed mentor was degrading. A few weeks ago, he’d sounded exactly the same- so much so that Malavai had needed to fight back nausea at the sound of his condescending attempt to convince his subordinate that absolutely nothing had ever been Broysc’s fault. And now- now he was skipping entire trains of thought, stopping and starting, losing time and forgetting dates; holding whole conversations with dead men.

Quinn’s medical training had involved at least one primer on dementia. He knew the signs and the symptoms. Seeing as he had no relationship with any of his remaining family, he had never thought this would be of any concern to him.

“You could talk about it, you know,” Vette called, her nose buried in her datapad, “it wouldn’t kill you. I’ve heard the yelling from Moff Crazy too, you’re not the only one that mans the comm.”

Gritting his teeth, Malavai rested his shaking hands on the console and willed them to be still. The thought of Broysc talking to him in such a way was already horrible. But realizing that he’d done the same to Vette, not even realizing who she was? Without a single clue that she wasn’t him, just debasing himself in front of a stranger when, for five unfortunate years of Malavai’s life, he had been dependable to at least always show his best face in public?

“I could not,” Malavai tried to shut her down, “as that information is classified.”

“It’s not that classified if he’s yelling it over an open comm line.”

His gut clenched up. How many times had Broysc given him a dressing-down about security protocols? And now he forgot even basic encryption-

“So... why’s he call you Admiral?” Vette asked, and it sounded like she was trying to be casual while also being passionately curious. 

Malavai didn’t appreciate it.

Admiral, that’s what you’ll be in a few years, Broysc had told him when he was all of twenty-two years old, shiny-eyed and as innocent as a newborn, commanding fleets at my side, eh? I’ll have to get a new secretary, but that’s progress for you! My Kai would have loved you.

“That is none of your business.” He informed her, and got up to leave. He had a sudden need for, if not the ‘medicinal’ brandy on the top shelf of the pantry, then at least some tea.

“Fine, Admiral, don’t tell me!” She shouted as he dove for the door like it was his salvation.

“Man the bloody comms!” He snarled back, attempting to cling to the last word as he slammed the door behind him.