#that faux-shocked face that Vinn makes? I always imagine Deadpool's surprised-but-not face

[storyknitter]

Fantasies & Illusions

Um, Theron’s mind isn’t a very nice place to be after he comes home from the Order of Zildrog, even after a good amount of time. Warnings for violence.

———

The latest intel on the Order of Zildrog, encrypted with the protocols that he and Lana had come up with so long ago on Rishi, transmitted to the Alliance at a snail’s pace and wasted time that Theron didn't have. If Atrius or Sixteen caught him—

“Why, hello, Shan. How's the Eternal Alliance doing today?”

Vinn's voice sent ice crackling up Theron's spine and he swore silently to himself, trying to figure out a good excuse for his actions. He looked up, fearlessly meeting his boss’s gaze in the monitor’s reflection despite his sinking stomach — he hadn't made it this far without a little bit of acting.

“Oh don’t bother coming up with an explanation. Sixteen and I have known since the beginning that you were playing the double agent card, even if your idiot girlfriend didn’t.”

Theron saw red at the insult to Vassanna, but kept his mouth shut; he didn’t trust himself with words and his mind scurried to come up with a new plan as Atrius continued his monologue.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t pay attention to the droid’s concerns about your loyalty?” the Zakuulan asked, not expecting an answer. “Maybe I'll wait to kill you until after you’ve watched your lover die, along with the rest of the Alliance.” Vinn let out an exaggerated gasp, hands on his cheeks in feigned incredulity, eyes wide. “Oh, and she'll die thinking you hated her — how fun!” The surprised look faded and a condescending smirk took its place as he crossed his arms. “By the way, we've been feeding you false information most of the time you were here. That abandoned listening post where you just sent your ‘sweetheart’ Commander? It's rigged to explode two minutes after the airlock is accessed.”

A shrill alarm blared from the console and Theron's heart raced, but he was frozen in place. No! he screamed to the Force. Sanna, get out of there!

“So: right now,” Vinn continued with a cocky grin, sarcasm dripping from every word. “How ignoble a death for the glorious Outlander.”

“Theron? Theron!” Her worried voice crackled through the speakers and he silently begged her to leave, to get out alive, to make a miracle happen — just once more. Please.

“Wake up, Shan,” Vinn said. “You’re dreaming if you think you could have beaten me. Besides, you’re not really good at saving people, hard as you might try. Let's count how many you've failed, shall we?” he said, ticking off a list on his fingers as Sanna desperately called for Theron in the background. “The man who raised you, the Twi’lek you claim as family, your mother, your father, your mentor at the SIS — not to mention your old colleagues who depended on you — and last, but not least, a Sith and Jedi. Two women: one friend, the other your lover. Best of all, they'll die thinking you betrayed them.”

No. Lana won't, he thought, but Sanna... I'm so sorry, sweetheart. Even if he could move, there was no time to attempt a shut down of the self-destruct: the hilt of an inactive lightsaber pike dug into his back.

Atrius’s hand clamped down on his shoulder and the listening post exploded in a massive fireball. As Theron watched helplessly, fury and hopelessness — his failure — choked him.

He knew there was no sweet-talking his way out of this now, no way to escape the Order alive — and no reason to, either. Letting out a desolate sigh, he initiated his backup plan, his last resort: Plan Zerek. He clicked his teeth together twice to turn his implants on, blinking the correct pattern to reconnect them to the holonet, and uploaded the virus he'd devised. It would hopefully take out Sixteen and weaken Zildrog, though he hadn't been able to test it. With that out of the way, Theron turned his focus to the man who had started this mess, who had destroyed everything he held dear.

Spinning on his heel, Theron swung his arm around with a vicious, rage-filled snarl, his hand curling into a fist. He struck Vinn in the face, then swept his feet out from under him in one smooth motion.

Before the zealot could move, Theron had him pinned to the ground, forearm digging into his throat. The spy reached for the small blade concealed in his boot but found it missing — where the hells had it gone? — so he resolved to simply choke the life out of this miserable bastard, leaning all his weight into it.

“Theron!” The gravelly gasp sounded like Sanna, but he had heard her voice everywhere since Umbara, so he didn't put much stock in it. “Theron, stop!” Vinn wasn't putting up much of a fight, which was surprising, but Theron was determined to put an end to the Order once and for all. He trapped the struggling hands against his chest, cooler and smaller than he'd expected.

Atrius managed to pry one hand away and reached up; Theron instinctively ducked his head to the side to protect his eyes and the palm landed softly on the back of his neck.

Theron! This time, it was definitely Sanna's voice in his head, prickly with fear and worry. Wake up. You're just dreaming, I promise. Wake up!

No, Vinn was just fucking with him, doing some sort of mind trick—

Theron. Please, please wake up. Then smaller, quieter: You're hurting me.

Dammit, Vinn had called his bluff: mind trick or not, he couldn't hurt her. Not again. He blinked once, twice, and the bastard he hated with every fiber of his being disappeared from view.

Theron found himself staring down into wide violet eyes. “Sanna,” he gasped, releasing his grip on her and scrambling backward out of the bed. He let out a string of obscenities laced with apologies, frantically asking if she was okay while putting as much space as possible between them.

He retreated to the cabin of the shuttle, his back against the control panels and staring at her in horror as real life filtered back into his consciousness: Vinn and the explosion had just been a nightmare. Theron replayed history in his head, running his hands down his face: Vinn Atrius wasn't really here, he was in Zakuulan custody, awaiting trial. Sixteen was dead, destroyed along with Zildrog. And Vassanna was safe.

Though not from him.

“I'm sorry,” Theron mumbled in a daze. “I'm so sorry I—”

“It's all right,” she croaked as she slowly approached, her hands up, pacifying. “It was just a dream. I'm here, you're all right.”

“Stop,” he hissed, covering his ears. Fucking hells, her voice sounded awful and he couldn't bear to hear it. And it wasn't all right; he'd just tried to strangle her, for fuck's sake.

Sanna gently took his elbow and her voice shimmered in the back of his mind. Theron, you're okay. It was just a dream, my sweet. How many times have I—

He slammed his mental shielding into place and yanked his arm out of her hand, effectively silencing her. He couldn’t meet her eyes, his gaze falling to her cheek, and a dark smudge developing beneath one of her chevron tattoos gutted him. Theron forced himself to look lower and thought he'd be sick when he saw the damage he'd done to her neck, bruises growing rapidly.

“Sit back down.” His words came out choked and cracked. “Please. Just... sit and I'll go get the kolto.” With hands clenched into tight fists, he tried to ignore why it was necessary. Theron retrieved the med kit, studying the case intently to avoid meeting Sanna’s gaze — her eyes had followed him across the shuttle, full of concern and perhaps pity, yet empty of fear or reproach.

As Theron applied the kolto to her skin, he nearly dropped the damned tube of gel twice because his stupid hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Sanna reached out silently, holding his wrist and steadying him. He should have been appreciative, but dammit, he’d caused this problem in the first place and he needed to fix it himself.

The bruises began to fade as the kolto worked to heal the damage he'd done. He tuned out everything else — including her — as he repacked the kit and placed it at the foot of the bunk.

“Theron,” she whispered, gently resting her hand on his arm. If she'd noticed that he flinched, she didn't show it. “Come back to bed, love.”

“No,” he bit out. “Thank you, I'm fine.” He stood, turning toward the cockpit, and threw himself into the pilot's chair. Soft footsteps padded across the durasteel floor, following before coming to a halt behind him.

“Theron—”

“I hurt you.” He wasn't about to give her the opportunity to let him off the hook for this. What he'd done was unforgivable.

“It was a dream. How many times have I lashed out in a nightmare over the years?”

“This is different.” Theron spun around to face her and found her hands propped on her hips, her mouth set in a thin line of concern.

“Why, because it's you and not me this time?”

The rattle in her voice made him want to pitch himself out the airlock. “It just is."

“Have you forgotten that I threw you into a wall the first time I stayed at your apartment, after Ziost?”

“Almost threw me into the wall. But fine,” he snapped, “we're even.”

“No, we're not,” she said, her words rising in volume to match his, “because we're not keeping score!” Sanna winced as her voice broke and the anger, the embarrassment, the shame Theron felt at what he’d done — sleeping or not — boiled over.

“I promised,” he roared, leaping up. “I swore to myself when we got back from Nathema that I would never hurt you again." He blinked to clear his blurry vision, his eyes prickling hot at the corners. "Ever. And now—”

“Well, that wasn’t a very logical promise.” Her matter-of-fact dismissal brought him up short, halting his self-reproach. “One day, you'll step on my toe or I'll catch your elbow while we're sparring or you'll accidentally say something little that wounds my pride.” Sanna reached out, caressing his cheek. “That’s not realistic, love. Perhaps it’s a vow better adapted by adding ‘purposely’ to it.”

He glared at her, grappling for a fault with her argument.

“Just promise not to leave me in an exploding train again and we'll call it good?” Her soft smile tripped his heart and he couldn't keep the corner of his mouth from twitching ever so slightly upward.

“Come back to bed,” she said, taking his hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“No,” Theron said, sharper than he'd meant, and sighed. “I need another minute.”

Vassanna inspected him, brow furrowed in concern. With a small sigh, she nodded and kissed his cheek, back further than usual, almost to his ear. Her lips drifted as she stood on her toes, pressing a tender, reverent kiss near his temple. She shifted to kiss his shoulder, then the top of his forearm, followed by the side of his wrist.

Oh.

Theron caught on as Sanna pressed her lips to both of his palms: she was kissing all the places she'd accidentally struck him while in the clutches of a bad dream, either one of Vitiate's making or her own mind’s. She dropped one final kiss on the edge of his jaw and turned back to their bunk.

Before he could stop himself, Theron reached out, gingerly grasping her elbow with one hand, her chin with the other. He turned Sanna to face him and kissed the fading bruise on her cheek. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he tenderly, gently tilted her chin up, leaning forward with a murmured apology to press trembling lips to her neck.

Cool hands caressed his cheeks, cradling his face, and Vassanna kissed his forehead benevolently. He looked up and her lips met his. Theron felt light, unburdened. Forgiven. Peaceful.

“Don't be too long.” She turned away slowly, her fingers trailing down his cheek. He grabbed her hand, squeezing it, and gave her a shaky smile.

“Rest well, sweetheart.”

———

It took Theron nearly an hour to run through the exercises Amirtae had taught him to lessen his guilt and fear: it hadn't fixed things, but it sure as hells made looking at Sanna hurt less. Gathering up his courage, Theron approached the shuttle bunk.

She was curled up, facing the wall, but he'd shared a bed with her long enough to know that she was still awake and he sighed.

Here, practically alone in the emptiness of hyperspace, Theron could admit the truth to himself: he was afraid. Afraid to fall asleep. Afraid he’d dream again and hurt her. Afraid she'd reject him, despite her tender kisses and words of forgiveness. Afraid that he had broken things beyond repair. Afraid to need her as much as he did.

Perhaps one more quick round of meditation would be good for him.

No. No, if his stunt with the Order hadn't broken them apart, he wasn't about to let one bad dream drive a wedge between them. Theron slipped carefully under the covers, his hand coming to rest on the curve of her hip. “Can I hold you?” he whispered hesitantly. “Please, I— Sanna, I need to hold you. I need—”

She grabbed his hand and tucked it to her chest, pulling him closer. “Why can't you just call it ‘spooning’ like the rest of the galaxy?” she asked, her voice still raspy, but amused. She shifted until her back was pressed to his chest and he tucked his knees behind hers, slipping his arm under the pillows to twine their fingers together. He smiled, remembering — as she was — the night they'd mock-argued over how ridiculous the phrase “spooning” was.

“Vassanna Nabeshin, you know as well as I do: spoons that nest well together are the same size. There's no big and little spoon, they're all medium spoons.”

“I had no idea you felt so strongly about eating utensils!” she quipped. As they chuckled, a weight as big as a starship lifted from his shoulders; how had she gotten him to relax with one silly comment?

Theron kissed the side of Sanna's neck, nuzzling it as he squeezed her tight. They lay in silence, slowly relaxing, rocked gently by the shuttle’s movement through hyperspace. A question hovered in the back of his mind and he debated the merits of asking for long enough that she spoke first, soft yet insistent.

“Spit it out, mireashe.”

His heart thrilled at the endearment — as it always did — and a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Unwilling to disturb the peaceful moment, he shook his head, but she rolled over to face him, her hand coming to rest on his cheek.

“Talk to me,” she whispered in a voice full of worry.

Heaving a sigh, Theron pressed his lips to her forehead and pulled her close. “Why didn't you use the Force to stop me?” he mumbled into her hair. “You should have.”

Vassanna’s fingertips tenderly traced the line of his collarbone as she spoke. “I didn't want to hurt you, scare you. You were terrified, I could feel it. Heartbroken. But I knew you'd wake up.” She snuggled closer, tangling their legs together. “You know, I don't think you actually broke your promise,” she continued. “You swore you'd never hurt me, right? I could see your face: the instant you realized that I was me and not whatever your dream was showing you, you stopped.”

Silence descended upon them once more and he wondered how in all the hells she could have so much faith in him, how she could trust him with her life, after everything.

“I don't deserve you.” The whispered words slipped from his lips before he could stop them.

“I love you, mirea,” Sanna said simply, pulling back to meet his eyes. “I want you with me, until the end. My husband, my partner. Do you feel the same?”

“Of course I do.”

“Well, then. If Destiny has seen fit to bring us together so many times, and we want to be together too, then...” She trailed off with a small sigh, lower lip caught in her teeth. “Then maybe that's more important than what we think we deserve.”

“Hmm, maybe you're right.” His words were muffled as he pressed his lips to her forehead.

“Hmm, maybe.” Sanna smiled, though it quickly disappeared. “Was it like that for you, the whole time?” she said, soft and hesitant. “When he was in my head, I mean, with all the dreams and— Did you feel that helpless every night?”

Theron paused, remembering her bad nights, the times when Vitiate would sink his claws into her mind and not let go. “Yeah. Helpless. Furious. He was torturing you and...” He sighed and cradled her head to his chest. “And I couldn’t do anything about it, except try to wake you and hold you close afterward. Stars, your face. I always knew the really bad ones — it took ages for you to come back to yourself, to recognize me again. The way you'd look at me when you thought I was one of them...” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Yeah, ‘helpless’ is probably the best way to put it.”

Sanna murmured an apology and declaration of love, but she was drifting back to sleep, her body soft and warm against his.

“I love you too, more than anything.” He kissed her temple and tightened his hold on his wife; forgoing sleep himself, Theron would be more than content to hold her through the night.

“Sweet dreams.”