Oh, stars, yes. [grabs popcorn]

One-Time Deal “This is a one-time deal, Quinn,” said Vette. “I realize this,” Quinn replied stiffly. “I really don’t want to do this.” “I wouldn’t have asked if I knew someone else.” “Can’t you hire someone to do this?” He made a sour face. “You insult me with such crass suggestions.” “This was a crass suggestion. You propositioned me in front of Pierce!” “Your boyfriend didn’t seem to mind the prospect.” “You sound jealous saying it like that, Quinn,” she teased. “You better watch it.” “I would like to get this over with a soon as possible.” “That’s what she said.” “Are you making a joke?” Vette sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. “Let’s just – should I just drop trou here?” “Yes, you may disrobe and place the folded clothes on the desk.” “Not even going to help me with my bra?” He glowered at her. “Alright, alright, sheesh.” Vette grumbled the entire time. Quinn’s face remained professionally impassive, but his mind screamed “Naked female in your quarters!” on repeat. It even added a little music. He hated his mind sometimes. “There,” Vette said quietly. She wrapped her arms around herself, settling her forearms just under her breasts. “Should we – should we go ahead and get this over with?” “I will finish shortly,” he said curtly. He moved from his bunk to stand in front of her. He was at least a head taller than she was, but he wasn’t standing to intimidate her with his height. “Relax,” he said evenly, “I will be swift and sure.” “I’m sure your swift, but this is just wrong,” she said quietly. He fixed her with an amused smirk and she found herself smiling back. “I’ve never had a live model before. Strike the pose you wish for me to sculpt and I will hasten to make a soft model to work from.” “As long as you don’t get touchy.” He scowled. “I am a professional, madam.” “Ooh, I’m a madam now.” “That would not surprise me,” he quipped. He retreated to his desk and gathered a few materials to give her the time to process what he said. “Hey!” Vette piped incredulously. “You are not allowed to make jokes!” “And you are not allowed in my quarters, yet you keep finding your way in here.” “I’ve told you before: if you want to keep me out, change the door code.” He “Hmmphed” at her and told her to strike her pose. Vette chose her favorite combat stance: double blasters raised shoulder level, fingers itching to pop a shot off. Quinn was quick, as he had promised. Even with his quickness he was incredibly accurate. He was like a machine, replicating her with ease in his chosen material. It might have been a sort of clay, she wasn’t sure, hadn’t asked, and he hadn’t offered the information. In the back of her mind, she wondered why she had to be naked for this. Perhaps it was a twisted form of punishment. Then again, artists did study naked models in order to understand the figure. Still, he should know by now how to make an approximation. On the other hand, he was a very exacting man. Vette continued her mental flailing to determine Quinn’s motives outside of making a figure. She ignored the obvious men liked naked women in their bedroom. She didn’t classify Quinn as a sexual being, but she hadn’t classified him as a humorous one either. She briefly wondered what else he was hiding under that cowlick. Notes:

Sith!Quinn AKA Sliver is insane. And Broony... well, what can he say outside of "Bllorp", lol. Thanks for reading everyone!

Lurking Vette moved first. She didn’t reach Quinn in time to even pretend to make a catch attempt, but it was still something. What, she wasn’t sure, but it was something. Jaesa moved next. She rushed to Quinn’s side just as Vette knelt down next to him and turned him to one side. Vette took a closer look at him while Jaesa did something or other with the Force. Quinn’s eyes moved rapidly behind his closed lids, his nose was still gushing – oh, no Jaesa stopped that. Good, that only left whatever the hell just happened and getting him out of here. It took a bit of cajoling, but Vette managed to convince the crew to move in an orderly fashion, evacuate the wounded Quinn, and leave the hangar. It took far too long, in her opinion, and far too much energy. While this went on, Quinn found himself wandering around his own mind. It was neat and orderly, as was to be expected from a man such as he, but there was a room at the end of a long hallway that gave him pause. Forget me already, Mally? There was that voice again. It was familiar, but it wasn’t quite him. It was something separate from himself. Something darker. Something lurking just out of reach. Ah, yes, you wouldn’t remember, would you? You wouldn’t remember the fun we had, would you? Oh, Mally, you silly boy. “Who are you?” he asked. His voice bounced harshly against the walls of the corridor and slammed into his ears with a brutal force that tore a scream from his throat. He covered his ears in a vain attempt to stop the pain. I’m you, of course. Well, a part of you. We split off, you see. I went one way, you went another. Tell me, have you ever heard of SLV? He kept his hands cupped over his ears as he spoke. “Of course I have. Very few with experience dealing in Intelligence know nothing about it.” Then why don’t you – oh, that’s right. There was false realization in the voice’s tone. They made you forget, locked me away. Yes, yes, I remember now. It’s all – coming – back. “What are you?” The pressure in his head increased tenfold. The space around him hugged him tightly, squeezing and compressing him until the air was forced from his lungs. I almost wish you could breathe. Then I could hear your screams. *** “You should have warned us he was Force sensitive!” the doctor shrieked. “He’s not supposed to be,” Syla replied, bored already with the man’s hysterics. Yes, he had lost a few hundred thousand credits worth of equipment, and, yes, some of his staff had been injured, but that was no excuse to shriek and wave his arms about like a loon. “He rather obviously is! Take him. Take him and get out of here!” the doctor squealed, spinning on his heel and walking away. He threw his arms into the air and shouted, “I’m ruined!” “Whoops,” Vette muttered quietly. “So, who’s on Quinn collection duty?” “I’m out,” Pierce grumbled. “Bllorp,” Broonmark bllorped. “I’ll do it,” Syla said, cutting off Jaesa’s reply before it even formed in her mind. “What’s the worst that could happen?” “Oh, dear,” Vette mumbled. Syla stepped into the small room and ignored everything, but the man on the bed. He was naked except for a sheet covering his lower half. He almost looked uninjured. Not healed, but completely free of injury, completely free of even the appearance of freshly grown skin over wounds. It was all very peculiar. She was very interested in finding out about his new abilities, though calling them new seemed to be a bit of a stretch. He was obviously very skilled. So very strange. His brow creased as she grew closer. He sensed her approaching. Syla tilted her head a bit and stopped at the side of his bed. His breathing grew uneven and strained. Yes, he sensed her quite well. “Captain,” she drawled. There was no longer a point to pretending to be resting. He opened his eyes halfway and looked at her. He tried to stop the flood of panic, but his dam of protection hadn’t recovered from the last wave. It crumbled and left him unable to recover his breath. He was drowning. Do stop panicking, you dramatic creature. There was that voice again, that part of him he didn’t realize existed. It’s only a Sith Lord. We can handle Sith Lords. “No,” he wheezed quietly. His chest constricted. “No more.” Syla took a small step back and allowed worry to show on her face. “It’s alright, Quinn, I’m not going to attack you in a medical bed. I’ll wait until you’re fully healed.” I like her. “You – you would.” Blacked edged around his vision as he struggled to breathe, struggled to reign in the flood. It was no use, of course, no mere man could withstand the onslaught of nature against will. He was only human, after all. Why don’t you pass out like a good boy and let me take over, hm? I’d like to have a little fun. He gasped quietly and felt his consciousness being shoved into the background. “Ooh, that’s much better,” he said, or some part of him said. Quinn tried to rush forward to reclaim his body and found himself in a room of glass, watching the scene unfold in front of him. He banged on the glass. Let me out of here! “Do be quiet, Mally.” “Who are you?” Syla asked quietly. She reached for her saber and noted that Quinn had no reaction other than a small smirk. His grin widened into a predatory smirk when she drew her hilt and ignited the blade. “He dreams of that, you know,” he said in amusement. “Every night. It’s rather interesting and I do so enjoy hearing him beg and scream for mercy. Warms the cockles of my heart.” “What are you?” she demanded. “You can call me Sliver,” he replied. “I have a feeling we’re going to get to know one another quite well.” He flashed his teeth at her then moved from the bed to the counter where his clothes lay neatly folded. “Do stop ogling my bum. It’s rather rude, you know.” “I hate you already.” “Good,” he chuckled. “We’re off to the best start imaginable. Yes. The best start.” Notes:

Yay! I'm glad it's good. This story has been bouncing around my head for months. Wouldn't let me write it until recently. Go figure, lol. Belligerent Sexual Tension is the best kind of sexual tension. Thanks for reading everyone!

Eeheeheee, angry dad is gonna ROFLstomp Quinn. Mmm conflict.

Floating He was floating. That was all he could feel in that moment. He felt the air shift around him, he felt himself drifting, he felt the air cool around him. Then he felt the ground. He felt it hard. He tumbled along the ground, rolling end over end until he came to a stop on his stomach. Malavai, get up. He couldn’t feel anything. He knew how he got to this place, this place called the ground. War droids. It was always war droids. They weren’t his this time. This time they were in cahoots with an apprentice to Baras who just wouldn’t give it up. Stubborn to the last their blasted droid lived longer than they did. He didn’t know what drove him to do it, what drove him to actually touch her long enough to push her out of the way, but he did know it helped him reach this place called the ground. Malavai, you have to move. It’s coming back. He tried to reply to whoever was speaking, but his tongue felt heavy. His whole body felt like duracrete sinking to the bottom of an ocean somewhere, slowly floating ever downward into the darkness. Malavai! He couldn’t move. He was too weak, too heavy, too far down to move on his own. He could hear the metallic pounding growing ever closer. He didn’t try to move. He welcomed the end. We won’t die here. A different voice this time. Was that his own? Perhaps. Did it matter was the better question. The war droid was a few feet away, he knew that much. He heard it arm its canons and felt something snap into the void. But it wasn’t his life or his death, it was something strange. He felt a great darkness rise up within him and rush through him. He reached toward it, whatever it was, and found himself floating. To the others, Quinn was not floating, he was fighting. Syla was stunned, Pierce had nearly dropped his rifle, Broonmark was actually pumping his fist in the air and rooting, Jaesa’s jaw would have hit the floor had it been any lower, and Vette was staring silently. Quinn was fast on his feet, a knife in each hand, and had a glow to his eyes that no one had seen from him before; a glow that was very Sithy indeed. He took a combat stance for all of five seconds before charging at the droid in a suicide run. His burns from the droids grenades didn’t slow him down, nothing slowed him down. He dodged blaster fire, canon rounds, and fire as he closed the distance between him and the war droid. Syla watched intently as the man, hell bent on destroying the droid and drawing on what appeared to be the Force, jumped into the air and landed on the droid’s targeting array. The sound of metal shredding metal echoed throughout the small hangar bay. He flipped off and away as if nothing happened then finished the droid off with a shout. Yes, definitely the Force, but Quinn wasn’t gifted in that area. He never had been and one didn’t discover such powerful abilities late in life. And he was so – he acted as if he had been trained to do this; as if, at some point in time, he had been a Force user and a strong one. The group subconsciously shuffled closer to each other as Quinn turned his attentions to them. Vette let out a startled gasp. His eyes. His eyes were orange. Orange like Sith eyes. There was no way – he couldn’t possibly – there was no way. He took a slow, purposeful step toward them, but, before he could do anything, violent or otherwise, his nose erupted in a fountain of blood. He knew the floating sensation of falling once more. Notes:

Stranded on Ice Tauntauns couldn’t break down, could they? Vette was sure the answer was “No” as they were living creatures. Well, not this one. It was broken. So broken it was dead. Just her luck that credit pincher Quinn would insist on taking just the one Tauntaun and wound up breaking it. Or maybe he blathered at it until it died. Either way, this Tauntaun was dead and they were stranded on a sea of ice and snow, with a very angry wind icing their heels. She shivered and rubbed her arms as she hopped from foot to foot. The ever prepared Captain Jacka*s was setting up the tent, but, if she had the tools, she would have cut open the broken Tauntaun and nestled inside until the damn tent was up. When the damn tent was up he disappeared inside it without signaling for her to come in. Bastard. She made her way to the tent and quickly ducked inside, zipping it up as tightly as she could against the wind. The wind, spurned for the last time, whipped and beat at the housing, throwing shards of ice in an attempt to break it down. Its attacks were futile, at least. Inside the tent, Quinn was busy setting up the thermal blankets and starting a small heat source that gave off no smoke or deadly vapors. It was enough for a few hours, no more than six, but that wouldn’t be an issue provided they were rescued in a timely manner. Vette was both hopeful and realistic. She didn’t like their odds. “You’re good at karking up simple things, you know that?” Vette groused as she claimed a sleeping bag and stuffed it in-between the thermal blankets on the floor of the tent. “I didn’t anticipate the death of our transportation, but I prepared for it regardless,” he replied stiffly. He, too, busied himself with a sleeping bag. “Ugh,” she sighed. “Can we not sleep so close together?” “We are not sleeping, we are waiting for rescue and staying warm. Now stop wasting your energy chattering and get comfortable before you freeze to death.” She grumbled something and settled into her sleeping bag. “Were you able to raise anyone on the comm?” “I’m trying,” he replied. He settled into his own sleeping bag then sealed the thermal layers around their respective bags. He set the comm unit in front of him and continued to try to raise the nearest base. “I’m encountering massive amounts of interference from the wind outside. I can only assume a storm is coming.” “We’re karked.” “We aren’t dead yet.” “Why the hell did Syla send us here anyway?” “To prepare for Ilum as I have told you every step of the way,” he replied, shaking his head slightly. “After this, I want to go to Alderaan. It’s nice and temperate there.” “We’re going to Ilum after this. I’m sure the chill will still be in our bones. We’ll be fine.” “If we don’t die.” “We’re not going to die.” “We’re going to freeze to death and no one will find our bodies.” “Be silent, Vette.” “I hate you, Quinn.” “Hate me in silence.” For once, she listened to him. There was no sense in wasting all the energy on talking to him, telling him how much of a useless doof he was or how frozen they would be before help arrived. Best to conserve her energy for something more important, like freezing to death or shivering or freezing to death while shivering. Stars it was cold on Hoth. The wind howled outside and beat the tent with a vengeance that would be fiery were it not cold enough to turn breath still in the lungs to ice. She tried to think of anything that would help her stay warm: hot cocoa, hot toddy, hot body. Mm, hot body. She glowered at Quinn. Not even if she were desperate to get warm. Two hours later, Quinn managed to raise someone on the comm and send their location. It could take six hours for rescue possibly longer if the weather insisted on being a right bastard. “Six more hours of this crap?” Vette groaned. “I’m going to sweat to death before they get here.” Quinn’s head snapped toward her so quickly she was sure he had whiplash. “You’re sweating?” “Well, yeah, I’ve got all these layers on.” “You didn’t read the dressing guidelines, did you?” he asked accusingly. “Nope.” “Imbecile. Those guidelines prepare you for an event such as this. You need to take off the wet layers now.” “Oh, void, no. I’m not taking off my clothes here. It’s freezing!” “You’ll freeze faster covered in water.” “If I’m hot enough to sweat, I can’t possibly – ” “Shut up!” he snapped. She snapped her mouth shut. “You can and will freeze when the heat source sputters out. You need to remove your clothes and get dry immediately.” “You want me to strip down to nothing? How is that supposed to help?” “You need to get dry, the thermal blanket and sleeping bag should take some of the edge off the cold.” “I’m supposed to have faith in ‘some’?” Quinn gave her his best “You’re an idiot” face and shook his head. “You have several options: freeze to death like an idiot, take off your clothes and stay warmer than you would with wet clothing on, or take off your clothes and come over here to warm yourself on my body heat. I would prefer it if you froze to death like an idiot.” “Tell me again why I told Syla not to kill your a*s when she had the chance?” she shot back. “You’re an idiot,” he replied. The edge had left his voice and his glare. He sighed and started fiddling with something inside of his sleeping bag. “Get over here and quickly, before I change my mind and let you die like an idiot.” “Do I still have to take off my clothes?” “Do as I say and live. Don’t and die like an idiot.” It had to be the most awkward moment of her life. To his credit, Quinn looked away while she peeled layer after layer of sweat soaked clothing from her person and tossed them outside the sleeping bag. Despite the tent and the ambient heat from the small heat source, a layer of ice settled on her discarded clothing. Damn that man for being right. When she was finished disrobing, Quinn shifted closer, unzipped the two bags and zipped them back up at one unit. “Didn’t know they did that,” Vette said quietly. “I prepare for every possible outcome,” he replied stiffly. “Yeah.” “Come.” She inched closer to him. He was lying on his side and facing her, waiting for her to get close enough to hold onto him. She wasn’t sure how this would work and she was very uncomfortable baring her blue bottom to the elements and cuddling up to Quinn. She should just give up and freeze to death. Maybe that Tauntaun was still for rent. As she got closer, Quinn opened his outer jacket, his inner jacket, and his water resistant tunic. Next time, she would definitely read whatever long, drawn out crap he put in front of her face. She tried not to study his chest for too long lest he comment, but his skin had healed rather well. The scar tissue wasn’t pulled taut over the muscle underneath. He looked good. Not like sexy good, just normal good. Healed good. With a determined huff, she slowly curled against him and tried not to press her chest to him too much. It worked well when combined with her fetal position. “You’re warm,” she said quietly. “I have no intention of freezing to death like an idiot,” he replied stiffly. “I get it already, jeez.” He made a non-committal noise in the back of his throat. “You know, I really didn’t expect you to be this warm. You’re normally so cold.” “Body temperature and personality have no correlation.” “You call that a personality?” “Your smart mouth, sarcastic attitude and fiery passion for all things Twi’lek cover just how cold you are temperature wise.” “It’s why my skin is blue.” In spite of himself he breathed a quiet laugh. Her lekku twitched as the briefly warm air tickled the top of her head. “Did you just – did you just laugh?” she asked dramatically. “I think the cold is getting to you, Captain.” There was no point in admitting the slip had more to do with their awkward situation than a change in personality. It had been a frightfully long time since his last intimate encounter and, no matter how alien she was, Vette was still a naked humanoid female pressed against his body for warmth. He was grateful for the chill still in the air. Not that it mattered much in the long run. “You know,” Vette started quietly, “if I close my eyes, I can pretend I’m in Pierce’s arms instead of yours.” Quinn exhaled roughly through his nose. “That bother you?” “Should it?” he asked stiffly. “I wouldn’t think so, but I heard you get all huffy.” “If you desire to pretend your mate is holding you do so in silence.” Vette snickered quietly. “He’s not my boyfriend or anything. We just, ya know, hang out.” “Hang out in silence.” “What do you have against talking?” “Everything if you’re involved.” “My ability to talk saved your skin; be a little more grateful, won’t you?” “Your ability to talk is hindering my ability to concentrate.” “Concentrate on what? Trying to stop a certain reaction from taking place? Don’t worry, Quinn, that’s normal when a hot, naked lady is pressed against your bare skin. Didn’t your mommy teach you that?” “She died when I was four.” “Awkward.” “Will you be quiet now?” “Yeah.” The only noise in the tent was the sound of the wind howling and small pellets of ice beating the surface of the tent. With such silence, Quinn dozed off for a while and happily dreamt of nothing. Vette, on the other hand, stayed awake, unable to concentrate on sleeping while naked and shivering against Quinn. She took the time to study his features as he slept. He wasn’t as relaxed as he was when he was unconscious, but he still looked softer in his sleep than he did when he was awake. And he was definitely more relaxed than he was when he was dreaming. Those dreams. She shivered and not from the cold for once. He never described the dreams, but his screams were enough to tell her they weren’t pretty. Some nights he simply whimpered and soaked his bed with sweat and tears. Other nights… she shivered again. Other nights were brutal. She caught bits and pieces of what was happening as he muttered and screamed and begged. He was reliving Syla’s torture and it was torture. She toyed with him. Vette shivered again. She knew darkness when she saw it. Quinn was an utter coward and a fool, but she couldn’t bring herself to watch him die in such a manner and it didn’t feel right to leave and allow Syla to continue. It would have broken something inside Syla, Vette was sure of that. The wind continued to howl and Vette continued her vow of silence until the heat source sputtered and died. “Quinn?” she asked quietly, panic edging into her voice. “Mm?” he murmured quietly, not quite awake. “The heat went out.” His eyes snapped open and he turned his head toward the now dead lantern. “How long until rescue?” “Two hours at least,” he replied. “We’re going to die.” “Our body heat combined with the sleeping bags and the thermal outer layer should suffice until we are rescued,” he said calmly. “There’s still the matter of me being bare a*s naked.” “Your clothes are frozen solid.” “Please tell me you packed a spare and just forgot about it.” “I have a spare under layer, but nothing to protect you from the elements.” “Gimme!” “Not for another hour.” “Whyyyy?” Vette whined. “The easiest way for me to transfer heat to you is skin to skin. If the process is halted too soon your core temperature will drop over two hours instead of one, leaving you open you to frostbite or frozen limbs.” “Is there some way to increase blood flow to help me warm up a little faster? I’m still freezing here.” “There is, but it is highly inappropriate.” “Oh, stars,” Vette sighed. “Please don’t say sex.” “Intercourse consumes energy, increases body temperature to the point of sweating, and is an entirely messy process. It wouldn’t be worth it for the brief time it lasts,” he replied stiffly. “That bad in bed?” “Shut up.” “Wait, if it’s not sex, how is it inappropriate?” “It’s a form of manual stimulation.” “You mean – oh, stars. I’m not about to – not in front of you. Ew.” “As I said, it is inappropriate as the situation is not dire enough for such measures.” “It’s not like it takes hours anyway.” “For some it can.” “Wow, you’re just all sorts of unlucky with your partners, aren’t you?” she quipped. He fixed her with his best glare and snarled, “If you don’t want to freeze to death naked in a tent, you would be wise to silence that mouth of yours.” “Touchy.” “You’re about to get touchy on the other side of the tent if you don’t shut up this instant.” She was silent for a moment. “How the does it help, anyway?” His glare didn’t subside, but he answered her question with his most clinical voice. “It increases blood flow throughout the body, most notably the skin, which becomes flushed. The flushed skin is the perfect conduit to take absorbed heat and spread it throughout the body, thus heating the subject thoroughly.” “Have you ever tried this?” “Not personally.” “So you’ve never –” “Vette,” he said harshly, “shut up.” “Where’s that spare outfit?” “In the bag in the corner. Put it on, get away from me, and shut up.” “But you’re my personal heater.” “Shut up.” “You say that as if I actually will.” She moved away from his heat source and grumbled something about rude Imperials. He glared at her, but she was too busy worming her way to the corner of the tent without losing too much heat or using too much energy. When she finally had her hands on the pack, she ducked into the sleeping bag and tried to dress herself in the dark. After much struggling and cursing she managed to dress herself in the spare water resistant outfit Quinn had packed. It wasn’t made for warmth, but it was something. Damn was she cold though. After several minutes of intense shivering, Quinn suggested she resume her previous position curled against him. She bit her tongue to keep her mouth from getting ahead of her brain and shifted back toward him. Instead of facing him as she had last time, she turned her back to him and assumed a position she could only label as spooning, though that felt extremely intimate all things considered. He carefully wrapped the layers of his protective clothing around her. “Thanks,” she said quietly. “You’re welcome,” he said stiffly. They were finally rescued four hours later. They weren’t far from the nearest Imperial base, only an hour’s trot by Tauntaun, but it was an hour outside in the blasted elements. Elements that didn’t seem to agree with allowing them to live. They were buffeted and generally harassed by snow and wind, but they made the trek back to base accompanied by the small rescue team. It was no warmer in the base, but they did have hot broth. She was never more excited to see Imperial rations. Quinn left to hail Syla and let her know of the events that had taken place. When he returned, he kept his distance. She tried to engage him in conversation, but a tart reply of “Be silent” made her shake her head and sigh. Some things never changed.

Calm in the Storm of Hate Vette was there once again, this time hovering nearby as he vomited until he was reduced to dry heaves. How he had managed to crawl out of his bunk and make it to his refresher in time, he didn’t know. Perseverance, perhaps. The desire to not make a fool out of himself. It didn’t matter, really, Vette had witnessed him at his lowest and he hated her for it. She should have kept her flapping jaw wired shut and let him die. Syla’s torture was nothing compared to this. It was nothing compared to the ache in his chest when he tried to breathe, it was nothing compared to the panic that settled over him every time he so much as thought Syla was around. It was nothing compared to the dreams. They were nightmares, really, painful, terrible nightmares. Everything that happened, everything that was said, he felt and heard it all over and over again until he finally, finally died. There was no release before death. No release until his last aching breath, his last aching plea to be let go. To die. He begged to die. He would laugh bitterly if he had any energy left, but he didn’t. He was drained of everything every night. And Vette was there, staring at him with those annoyingly wide brown eyes that were somehow curious and pitying at the same time. He hated her. He finally found the cool surface of the refresher wall against his back and drew his knees up, resting his forearms over them and dangling his hands. It was only a matter of time before he shattered completely. And the only person that tried to keep him glued together was Vette. And he hated her. Vette moved to the toilet and obliterated the contents with the push of a button. She closed the lid and sat down facing him, but she remained quiet. He was grateful for the reprieve, but he still hated her. It wouldn’t be long before she spoke, she always did, no matter how many times he asked her to be silent. She couldn’t stop herself. Speaking was an impulse with her. She always spoke when she was uncomfortable. He hated it. He hated her. “I find it funny,” he said dully, staring at the tiled floor beneath him, “that the only person aboard this ship who pretends to care is the one person I hate the most.” “It’s pretty funny, isn’t it?” Vette asked softly. “I didn’t save you because I like you. I saved you because it would’ve – Syla would have snapped, gone full dark side. I couldn’t let her do that. Not over you.” It was good to know he wasn’t worth anything on his own. He idly wondered where his blaster was so he could end this farce of an existence. He was tired. So very tired of everything. “If I’m worth so little, why do you still come? Why did you stay by my bed as I healed?” he asked. “I don’t – I don’t know, Quinn. Stop asking weird questions.” “Did you do it to make yourself feel better?” “I’m not like you; I don’t abandon people to die because someone tells me to.” “Does it make you feel better? Does it make you feel superior? Do you get that rush of power as you prove just how much better you are than me while not fully understanding the situation?” he asked. He raised his eyes to hers. They were as empty as his voice. “What’s to understand? You were Baras’ lackey the entire time. He said ‘Murder’ and you jumped at the chance.” He laughed hollowly. “Is that what you think happened?” He paused and shook his head. “No. No, I delayed Baras’ plans for months. I fought him every step of the way until I was backed into a corner.” “You could have said something. You should have said something.” “Yes, that would have gone over rather well,” he said numbly. “’Hello, my Lord, I’m Baras’ spy and he’s finally ordered me to kill you. Any last words or should I go ahead and flush myself out the airlock?’” he said mockingly. Finally, a bit of emotion, even it was only spite. “You had options,” she insisted quietly. “Option one: kill Syla and continue to live as Baras’ personal assassin until such a time I was no longer of use. Option two: die.” “Option three: come clean and hope for the best.” “Hope for death, you mean.” “Syla’s pretty rational for a Sith.” “Yes, she is, isn’t she. Instead of killing me quickly, she listened to you and spared my life. It’s a much greater torture to continue living through panic, nightmares, and genuine fear than to be killed. It gives her something to feed on, something to strengthen her. Yes, she’s very rational.” “Look, Quinn, I –” she started. “Shut up,” he said dismissively. He resumed his staring contest with the tiles and hoped she would take the hint and leave. After a few minutes she did leave. He waited a few more before picking himself up from the floor and shuffling back into the main part of his quarters. Where was his damned blaster? In place of his blaster and his vibroknife he found a strange little statuette. It was obviously some sort of Twi’lek relic. He studied the little figure, flipping it this way and that as he tried to determine its exact nature. The little figure had its hands cupped into a bowl in front of it and had its head down. It wore some sort of robe that may have been ceremonial, he wasn’t sure. He tossed the confusing thing onto his bed and moved for his spare blaster only to find that too was replaced by something else. It was no bigger than a marble, whatever it was, and looked as if it would fit into the palms of the little Twi’lek. He moved to his bunk and sat down. He grabbed the little figure and joined the two pieces. To his surprise, the little orb began to glow with a faint, pulsing blue light. It was oddly calming. He hated her and her little figure. But, somewhere far away in his mind, he was glad someone, anyone bothered to care enough to keep him safe from himself. Even if it was the person he hated most on the crew.

Soothing “It’s alright, it’s alright,” cooed a voice quietly. He hated the dreams, the memories. He hated the feel of the lightsaber as it sliced through his flesh and bones as if he were nothing. It burned. He could find no other way to explain it. It was an intense burning sensation that no balm could cool. The only way to be rid of the fire under his skin was to heal and healing was painfully slow. The cool hand was back on his forehead applying gentle, reassuring pressure, but nothing more. He knew who it was and he hated her for it. How dare she. How dare this alien put her hands on him. She had no right. He hated her the moment he met her. He hated her even more the moment he found himself in her debt. He more hated himself for being so weak that he was in such a situation to begin with. “You should really change the code on your door,” she said quietly. “You should learn to leave well enough alone,” he replied, his voice hoarse from both sleeping and screaming. Dreams. He shuddered and she was quick to remove her hand and replace it with a cool, damp cloth. “I don’t need your help.” “Whether you admit it or not, you need someone’s help and I’ve been the only one to step up and help out. Jaesa’s too shy, Pierce is too never-in-a-million-years, Broonmark would just as soon kill you, and Syla is pretty damn complicated.” She paused. “Unless you’d prefer the droid.” “Stars, no.” She laughed quietly. “Didn’t think so.” There was a moment of silence before she spoke again, her voice quiet and reserved. “Look, I know we haven’t gotten along ever because it’s so fun to upset you so much you run and tell on me to Syla, but I get the feeling the dynamic has changed on the ship. I can now bother you to my heart’s content and you can’t do a damn thing about it.” “You wouldn’t dare,” he hissed, opening his eyes and glaring at her. “Unlike you, I’m not a petty bastard. I’m willing to help you. I always was a sucker for the down and out charity cases.” He struggled to sit up. He wanted to push her away. He wanted to rip the washcloth from his forehead and shove it in her filthy Twi’lek mouth. Instead he flopped uselessly to his mattress and shot her his fiercest glare, daring her to laugh at him, daring her to show an ounce of pity. But she did neither. “I don’t like you Quinn,” she said. She paused for his scoff then continued. “And you don’t like me. That’s unlikely to change. Still, we’re on the same ship at least until this Baras thing is dealt with and no one else seems willing or able to help you so…” “’So’ what? Have you considered the fact that I do not desire nor require your assistance in this matter?” “I thought about it then I realized you’d be too proud to go to an alien for help. If you want to survive long enough to watch Baras die, you’ll accept the help.” He bared his teeth at her. “Oooh, so scary,” she said, rolling her eyes and standing. “I can take a hint. I’ll leave, but if I hear you screaming again, I’ll be back.” She turned toward the door and walked a few paces before stopping as if she forgot something. “Oh, and, if you don’t want me barging in here to help, you should really change the door code,” she said over her shoulder. “You’d slice the lock,” he shot back. She shrugged and left him as he wished to be: alone. And, in the absence of her annoying presence, the weight of just how utterly alone he was came crashing down as brutal as the sea breaking against the beach. The chill helped soothe the scorching sensations just under his skin. If only for a moment.

This is an alternate universe to Ninety Seven Percent. As the title hints to, Vette has a lot to do with Quinn's survival this time around. It deviates significantly from the main plot of NSP and whirls off in an entirely new direction. This thread will start with cross posts from the AU Short Fic Thread and continue from there. Enjoy! Funny Sort of Day It was a funny set of circumstances that brought him to this place. Unfortunately for him, it wasn’t funny haha. No, it was more funny blinding-pain, funny she’s-going-to-kill-me, funny he’s-going-to-kill-me, funny where’d-that-Twi’lek-come-from. Funny anything, but haha. He wasn’t sure if he was actually conscious or dead. He could feel pain, which could mean he was dreaming. He was almost positive his eyes were open as he could see some sort of grey ceiling and he could hear the muffled sounds of conversation somewhere nearby. “Don’t Sith sort of thrive on this kinda stuff?” asked one voice. “From other Sith maybe. Directly. Not through pawns,” replied a different voice. “Aren’t all Sith pawns? I mean, the whole Master/Servant thing is how the Empire works.” “I thought you hated him.” “I don’t hate him enough to watch you suffer over killing him.” “Oh, I won’t be killing him,” said the second voice, “I have other plans for him.” “What, will you slap a slave collar on him, stuff him into his quarters with no food or water, and hope he starves to death?” “I’m almost positive Jaesa would slip him food. She values life or something strange like that.” “Ugh,” sighed the first voice, “that is so not the point. If he suffers, you suffer. I know you still like him, despite your sexnanigans with Pierce. Don’t give me that look.” He was sure the conversation continued, but he wasn’t sure if he heard anything. Or saw anything. Or felt anything. For a while, at least. When he came to, the chronometer across the room indicated he had been out for five minutes. Which wasn’t correct at all. It must be a new day, he surmised. He started to take stock of his facilities when a bolt of pain lanced through his right arm. He hissed and reached for the arm. He probably slept on it wrong. He was almost sure of it. A small set of hands grabbed his reaching arm and tugged gently. He relented, opened his eyes and looked toward the source of the hands. Whatever he was expecting to see, it wasn’t Vette. “Hey, there,” Vette chirped softly. Which… he wasn’t entirely sure how one could chirp and be quiet about it, but this was Vette. The strange, former slave turned best friend to the soon-to-be confirmed Wrath. The Wrath. His eyes widened. Vette looked at him with something akin to sympathy. “Welcome back to the waking world.” He drew his eyebrows together in confusion and attempted to talk. His throat was dry and sore and nothing came out, but a croak. Vette raised the bed to an incline, grabbed a glass of water from a tray, and raised it to his lips. He narrowed his eyes at her. “Hey, I didn’t go through the trouble of saving your life just to poison you with a glass of water. Come on, Quinn, drink up.” Saving his life? He wanted to laugh at her. Instead, he gulped down the water, which was still cold, and waited for her to explain. “What, no thank you?” she asked, rolling her eyes. “If you’re going to be kind, you shouldn’t seek validation for your efforts,” he shot back hoarsely, his throat still sore and his voice rough from disuse. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she muttered. “Look,” she said, taking a seat in the chair next to the bed, “Syla was fit to kill you. I talked her out of it, got you patched up enough so you wouldn’t die before we got to a hospital, and convinced Syla to let you get the best care. I think that deserves a little thanks.” “Yes, I’m sure. I’m sure your entire plan was to save my life so that I would be indebted to you.” “I’m not petty like you,” she shot back. That both surprised and disarmed him. He must have been beaten over the head harder than he thought. “Are you going to be a jerk anymore or can I finish talking?” He didn’t reply. “Good. Now, to business. You were pretty messed up. Had your chest sliced open, your right arm nearly cut off, various broken bones, bumps and bruises of course, and a nasty head wound. You’ve been out for about a week. The doctors induced a coma when I told them how damn stubborn you are and how you’re a medic of some sort. Anyway, I’ve got some pain killer I can add to your drip, if you’d like.” He blinked slowly at her. It would be a waste to save his life just to poison him. Then again, watching him writhe in pain for days on end while he slowly died would be far more pleasing than poisoning a man who was mostly dead to begin with. But, she was right, she wasn’t like him at all. He would have let her die and not just for betrayal. For any reason, really. She annoyed him to no end. He really wished Syla had left her collar on. That would have handled her mouthy curiosity quite quickly. As it was she was a “free Twi’lek” who was still in-service to a Sith. Not very free in his opinion, but his opinion was never valued by the Twi’lek. And he didn’t value hers. Vette stood and moved around the bed to his IV line. He followed her movements with his eyes. “I know you’re suspicious,” she said quietly as she injected the contents of a syringe into the port, “but I’m no Sith. I don’t kill for revenge or to get my jollies.” “Didn’t you kill that creature with the artifact you wanted?” he asked. “That’s different. I was protecting my culture. Self-defense if you think about it.” He wasn’t going to. “What do you want from me?” Vette rolled her eyes and sighed. “I didn’t save your life so you had to pay me back anything, but, hey, if you’re offering, loosen up a little. You’re such a buzzkill.” “Shut up, Vette.” Vette snorted a laugh and turned to the door. “Glad you aren’t too affected by what happened. I’ll check on you later.” That said she left and he was glad. Whatever she had injected into his IV had kicked in and he was delightfully numb. Without pain blurring his vision or clouding his mind, he took stock of his injuries. It was as Vette had said. If only he could see his chart. He looked around for it, starting first on the chair Vette had vacated. Strange, there was a blanket draped over the arm of the chair. It wasn’t that cold in here, but he did always run a bit warmer than others. It was probably nothing. He continued looking around for a few more minutes before exhaustion took over his remaining senses. He fell asleep looking at the blanket draped over the arm of the chair, wondering just how it got there and why it mattered to him to figure it out.

NotLP: Discovery Universe: NSP Characters: Vette, Quinn, Syla, Pierce, Broonmark, Jaesa and a special guest The Story So Far: Floating Notes:

Lady powah!

Oh, Quinn, you cold bastard. Om nom nom.

Replies! Story! NotLP: Discovery Characters: Gelt, Rylee, Ravage, and cameos by Mortis and Marr It Begins Notes:

Prompt: NotLP: Backfired Plans Characters: Quinn and Vette Alt U: NSP Calm in the Storm of Hate

Continuing the strangest AU I've ever thought up, it's: Prompt: Planes, Trains, and Thrantamobiles Characters: Quinn and Vette Alternate of: NSP Very long, 2700 words. Ohh, myyy. Drop It Like It's Hoth Notes:

Om nom nom.

Replies! Story! NotLP: First Impressions Characters: Geltie and Rylee Spoilers as to who the End-game boss is. Odds of Hope

Reply! Story Spam! NotLP: Changes Charaters: Geltie and Rylee No Need For Change NotLP: Sacrifices Characters: Geltie, Rylee, unnamed infantry men Duty to the Men

MUAHAHAHAHAH SUCK IT KOTHE!!! [screams the girl who let Kothe live...]

Yeeeeesss!!! I love that his dead wife appeared alongside Watcher X. There are feels, sad feels, angry feels, ugh feels. FEELS! I LOVE IT! [glutton for feel-punishment]

NotLP: I Love This Bar Characters: Geltie and Rylee Drunknanigans Notes:

Replies! Now the story! NotLP: Firsts Characters: Geltie and Rylee Insert Cliche Title Notes:

hahahahahahahahahhaahahahaahahahaahah