Ninety Seven Percent: Lekku Effect

[irishfino]

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.

[irishfino]

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.

[irishfino]

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.

[irishfino]

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.

Edited May 18, 2013 by irishfino

[irishfino]

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:

 

 

Thus ends the crossposts. Everything from here on out will be brand spankin' new.

 

I can't say just how it will go, but not that Sith!Quinn is back... eheh...

 

Hello, ladies.

Dammit.

 

[Damask_Rose]

Loving this! Every last line

[ddarkangel]

 

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.

 

 

I always wondered if all that tantrum between them was sexual tension contained ... I like that!!

[irishfino]

Loving this! Every last line

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.

 

I always wondered if all that tantrum between them was sexual tension contained ... I like that!!

Belligerent Sexual Tension is the best kind of sexual tension.

 

 

Thanks for reading everyone!

[irishfino]

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:

 

 

It begins anew and, this time, I'm not a damn mirage!

Yes, everyone knows you're a real boy...

Ladies.

 

 

Edited May 15, 2013 by irishfino

[Vesaniae]

Aieee, the return of Sith!Quinn!

 

...I'm not sure whether to be happy or horrified. Perhaps both.

[Adwynyth]

Heeeeeeeeeeere's Quinny!

 

And this...

“Bllorp,” Broonmark bllorped.

BAHAHAHAAHA!

[irishfino]

Heeeeeeeeeeere's Quinny!

 

And this...

 

BAHAHAHAAHA!

 

Sith!Quinn AKA Sliver is insane.

 

And Broony... well, what can he say outside of "Bllorp", lol.

 

 

Thanks for reading everyone!

[irishfino]

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:

 

 

Taking a little break from writing overly creepy Sith!Quinn (aasjkdgaskjd;fkj why?).

 

Edited May 16, 2013 by irishfino

[irishfino]

Finding a New Normal

 

He was floating again. He didn’t like the sensation. He didn’t have control over where he was going. He couldn’t flap his arms or kick his legs and go where he wanted to. He floated and was carried along with the currents.

 

He hated not having control.

 

Cry me a river, Mally. said Sliver.

 

“Do not call me that,” he hissed.

 

Or… what? He waited a tick. That’s what I thought. You’re not in control here.

 

“Neither are you.”

 

I have more control than you do. Tell me, have you confided in that little Twi’lek the fact that Syla so much as breathing in your direction sends you into a panic? You hide it well. I’m almost surprised you haven’t had a heart attack and died yet. I wish you would.

 

“It’s always nice to have someone in your corner,” he replied bitterly.

 

“I’m in your corner,” a voice said softly.

 

Ooh, that little Twi’lek likes you. Does she remind you of Teala? Is that why you refuse to change your door code? He chuckled darkly. I think I’ll take a stroll down memory lane to find out when you started liking this little Twi’lek. I’ll be back soon, Mally.

 

He jolted awake with a start and a small cry. Vette was there, as usual, watching and waiting. He told her to sleep at night, that he would be fine. She argued that she knew exactly when his dreams would end most nights, it was no trouble. He told her he would change the code on the door. He never did. That was their routine, but this creature – this part of him interrupted that and he needed it. He needed the comfort of routine. He needed the comfort of arguing with Vette over anything and everything, berating her for coming into his quarters unannounced, touching his person, helping him. Anything. Anything to make him feel normal again. He realized he would never be normal again. He didn’t know what normal was anymore. The mistakes he made, the chances he took, everything, everything had affected his normalcy, had taken it away. What was normal in the face of his choices? What was normal in the face of this – this being called Sliver? What was normal after everything he had done? What was normal to begin with?

 

He wished such questions would keep him up at night. He wished the dreams would be driven away by questioning everything, examining everything, pulling everything apart and putting it back together again. He wanted to be whole. He wanted to be normal. He realized then that what he wanted was impossible. The scars, the mental and the physical, would never disappear. They would only begin to hurt less over time. When the aches and pains of the physical became a memory he could withdraw from and the memories distant reminders of failures and punishments past, he would get his normalcy back. His new normalcy.

 

Vette didn’t say a word for once as he sat up, bracing himself on his elbows. He didn’t tell her for quite possibly the ninetieth time to stay out his quarters, he didn’t tell her to leave, he didn’t say anything. He stared at the other end of his bunk in silent thought.

 

“What is normal?” he murmured at last.

 

“It’s subjective,” Vette replied quietly. He jumped a little and looked at her. “Sorry. I thought you were – sorry.”

 

He blinked slowly. “It’s… alright, Vette,” he said quietly. “I forgot you were here.”

 

He sounded sincere, he looked sincere. Vetter smiled a little. “Is the,” she started, pausing only when she was unsure how to continue.

 

“He’s away for now,” he replied. Vette nodded slowly.

 

“Did that – does that – where did he come from?”

 

“I do not know.”

 

“We should probably figure that out before someone gets hurt.” She paused and chewed her lip. “Speaking of hurt, you had some pretty nasty burns. At first, anyway. You’ve sort of… you’re all healed now. It’s kinda weird.”

 

“Yes, well, finding a Force sensitive entity living within a person could be classified as ‘weird’, could it not?”

 

She smiled. “Yeah. Just a little.”

 

When he spoke again his voice was very quiet, almost as if he didn’t want her to hear him at all. “I never thanked you properly for your assistance regarding the Transponder Station or the evening you pilfered my weapons.”

 

She chuckled quietly. “You’re welcome, Quinn. And, uh, if you need help with this whatever thing just, you know, give me a shout.”

 

He nodded and opened his mouth as if to say something, but thought better of it and closed it again.

 

“Will you be alright for the rest of the night?” she asked. She stifled a yawn as best she could, but Quinn caught it and nodded sharply. “If you need anything, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to wake me.”

 

He nodded again and settled back into his mattress. She left him to his thoughts and, hopefully, to sleep. He knew attempting sleep again was pointless. Instead he focused on his new normal and tried not to make it too grand lest he be disappointed. Still, a time when the nightmares were distant memories and the pain nothing, but a dull ache was a time to look forward too. A new normal was something to look forward to.

 

And, for once, he had hope of a slightly brighter future. If only for a little while.

 

 

Notes:

 

 

D'aww isn't that sweet and possibly out of character?

 

[irishfino]

Never Eat the Worm

 

 

Vette was sweating blaster bolts. She never felt like this after a night of drinking with Pierce. There was the one time they sprung for Rodian food, but she wasn’t sure if she could actually blame the food or the amount of alcohol in her stomach. Etiher way, Quinn chewed her up and spat her out when she stumbled into the medical bay and promptly covered his uniform in bright orange vomit. It reeked of strong spices and stale alcohol. He burned that uniform. Which probably didn’t help with the smell.

 

She stumbled her way from the couch near the holoterminal into the medical bay where Quinn was taking his daily inventory. She heard him sigh, whether it was purposely loud or he had let himself slip, she didn’t know. She did know the look on his face as he turned around was one of pure annoyance. She gave him a shaky smile, a nervous laugh then shuffled her way to a bed. He waited until she was on the bed and lying down before going to work.

 

There were days where he hated his job. Being a servant to the Empire was a trying endeavor at best when one was subject to the Sith, but he was subject to the Sith’s slave turned friend. He may not have minded so much if the situation were different, if say he hadn’t been under Baras’ employ and had to choose between death and death. At least Syla’s killing style was somewhat quick and painless, was his thought. It turned out to be anything but. It was too soon to be able to put this behind him, so he worked. He found ways to avoid her, ways to communicate with her without being in the same room, and ways to help her in battle without actually having to watch her fight. Those red blades were seared into his corneas, into his dreams, into his flesh. He remembered every detail. Every time those blades slashed through the air, slashed through bone and flesh, they hummed as if singing him to his grave. And it would have been the end of him if not for the annoyingly drunk Twi’lek lying in his medical bay.

 

As Quinn continued his thoughts and his scans, Pierce lumbered into the ‘bay and over to a cabinet.

 

“Take two,” Quinn said stiffly. Any more and the man would throw off his inventory. Again. Perhaps he did it on purpose.

 

“Need three or four. Hutt Tequila,” Pierce replied gruffly.

 

Quinn sighed through his nose. “Take five. Two now, one when you eat next, and two before bed.”

 

“Yes, Doctor Quinn,” Pierce replied with mock dutifulness. If there was one thing Quinn hated about that man, it was his penchant for mocking those above him in authority. If he wanted to get well, he’d listen, otherwise, he’d be right back in the medical bay whining over an upset stomach.

 

Quinn shook his head and turned his attention back to Vette in time to see her grabbing for him. She was faster than he thought she would be and so was her tongue down his throat. It wasn’t a bad feeling, he rather liked the softness of her lips. Had she been anyone else, anywhere else, he might have gone along with it. As it was, he was disgusted and sick to his stomach. He quickly wrenched her hands from his uniform and her mouth from his and ran to sink. He hunched over the sink as he coated it with the contents of his stomach.

 

“That’s disgusting, Quinn,” Pierce rumbled.

 

He agreed. Very much so. As he reached for a towel to wipe his mouth he noticed something moving inside the sink. Quickly he grabbed a container from the cabinet overhead, pulled a pair of tweezers from a drawer then snagged the wiggling thing and dropped it into the jar.

 

“Is that the worm?” Pierce asked as he loomed over Quinn’s shoulder to get a better look.

 

Quinn nodded then spat something into the jar.

 

“Is that a karking egg!?”

 

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Quinn replied stiffly. He capped the container and twisted the lid tightly. “Don’t you know, you’re never supposed to eat the worm?”

 

“I didn’t, Vette did.”

 

“Yes, and in her delirium she grabbed me, kissed me, and passed her wonderful friend to me.”

 

Pierce laughed for a few moments then sobered when Quinn turned his head and fixed him with a deadly glare.

 

“This is serious, Lieutenant,” Quinn said, his voice cold with rage. “These are parasites that breed quickly enough to kill a person in twenty four hours. Inform our Lord we need to redirect to the nearest planet with an Imperial hospital.”

 

Pierce blinked then ran out of the ‘bay yelling for Syla. He quickly got to work on a temporarily solution, one that would break the cycle of breeding long enough for the two of them to receive treatment. Times like these made him wonder where he went wrong with his life. Was it upsetting Broysc’s pride? Was it accepting Baras’ offer? Was it clinging to life as Syla carefully tore him to pieces? He didn’t know if he should be happy he was alive. After all, that meddlesome Twi’lek saved his life only to shove a parasitic worm down his throat after a night of binge drinking with the Lieutenant.

 

He swirled the finished product in its beaker and stared at it. It was the brightest green he had ever seen and it smelled vaguely of burnt grass and mint. He wasn’t looking forward to drinking this nor was he looking forward to coaxing Vette into drinking it either. Perhaps if he told her it was a Swamp Shot she would drink it without hesitation. It was worth a try at least.

 

He poured a dose for Vette and one for himself into two small dosage cups. They looked enough like shot glasses for his ruse to work. He was able to convince her to sit up and that it was, in fact, alcohol in the small cup, but everything nearly fell apart when he mentioned he would be drinking the second “shot” in his hand.

 

“I am trying the ‘loosening up’ thing you mention constantly,” he said smoothly.

 

“Wow, you really do listen to me,” she replied with the sincerest astonishment he had ever heard from her. She must still be drunk. “Bottoms up!”

 

Vette slammed her dose back then shuddered, coughed, asked just what in the void that was then fell back onto the bed, unconscious. Quinn drank his as quickly as possible, straightened Vette’s head and lekku on her pillow then tidied up the ‘bay while he waited for the ship to dock with the nearest planet with an Imperial hospital.

 

He had to admit he was quite surprised that two so-called connoisseurs of alcohol didn’t know to never drink the worm.

Edited November 18, 2013 by irishfino

[irishfino]

A Million Ways

 

 

There were many things Quinn did not understand about Vette. She was aloof, but serious. She valued Twi’lek artifacts and would pursue them to the ends of the Galaxy. She spoke up for a man she did nothing but irritate to see his reaction. Now she was trying to be his friend or some approximation of a friend. He doubted they would ever be true friends. He didn’t have friends. He had colleagues, superiors, idiots under his command, but never friends. He didn’t have time for them. He hadn’t since he was a child. He realized too late that a friend, a true friend, would help him in his time of need. What he needed now was his blaster back. Or his knife. Either one would get the job done, but he didn’t have access to them. Vette was insistent that he not have either item unless they were off the ship. He knew why and he hated it. He hated knowing his weakness was on display for all to see.

 

He pushed such maudlin thoughts to the back of his mind as he took inventory in the Cargo Bay. This area of Broonmark’s area and the Talz made it known that he was not welcome here. He knew. He knew he wasn’t welcome on this ship. He knew his presence was tolerated because of the lengths Syla would go through to replace him. He wasn’t a rare officer, but measuring his intelligence and ability against his rank gave him more flexibility than others of similar skill. Those others had moved on, been promoted, had a wonderful career. Careers that he envied. Careers that he desired. He would still be subject to the whims of the Sith in such a career path, there were no careers where one wasn’t, but he wouldn’t be as confined as he is now. He wouldn’t be as watched as he is now. He hated the feeling of their eyes boring into his body, pulling at him, exposing the weak meat beneath the durasteel shell. They felt worse than lightsabers at times. He hated it.

 

Even with his hate and his thoughts of completing what Syla started, he did his job. He took inventory of everything in the cargo hold, including the carefully unmarked and unaddressed package in the far corner conveniently hidden behind tall stacks of boxes. No one would see him there if they looked in and it was unlikely they would look for him until after. He set his inventory report to send in one hour. That would give him enough time to assemble what was in the package and prepare himself for what was to be done.

 

His report sent exactly one hour later.

 

Vette found it strange it took Quinn such a long time to run an inventory of the cargo in the hold. Not much had changed. There was something delivered about a week ago, but otherwise – her thoughts stopped. He wouldn’t have. She made an excuse to Pierce for an early end of the Sabaac game and ran off to the hold to find him. When she entered the hold it was quiet and he was nowhere in sight. She looked around, checking behind every crate to find him. As she made her way to the back of the hold, she grew frantic.

 

“It shouldn’t be this hard,” she heard Quinn say. She stopped and pressed her back into the tall stack of crates he was hidden behind. “It’s just a blaster.”

 

She wanted to run around the corner and yell at him or tackle him to stop him from what he was doing, but scaring him could end badly. Very badly. Slowly, she poked her head around the corner. He was kneeling on the floor with a blaster in his hand. She couldn’t stay quiet.

 

“Hey,” she said quietly. She expected him to jump or shout or at least look at her. He did nothing. “Quinn?” she asked, her voice a little louder this time.

 

He kept his face carefully controlled as he looked up. “You are the last person I want to see right now.”

 

“That hurts, Quinn,” she quipped. She wished she was lying. “What are you doing?”

 

“I was in the process of assembling a blaster.”

 

“Yeah, I can see the blaster, Quinn.” She sighed softly. “Did you order it?”

 

“What a foolish question.”

 

“What a foolish order.”

 

“You have no boundaries, do you?” he asked. He quickly finished with the blaster and placed it back into its case. “I can order what I like, when I like. I can carry my weapons at all times as I am always on duty. Whatever your end goal is, Vette, I will find my own way to accomplish my tasks. I will not be stifled by the likes of you with your misguided attempts at saving my life and becoming my friend.” He grabbed the case by its handle and stood. “Return my blaster and my knife to me.”

 

She opened her mouth to respond, but he quickly shoved the case into her chest and left the hold. She caught the case before it fell and sighed. That man was a mystery. He wanted to live. He wanted to die. He wanted to be friendly. He wanted to be left alone. He had more mood swings than a pregnant woman. She wanted to help him, but it was clear he didn’t want her help. Maybe he’d listen to Jaesa.

 

Vette made her way to her bunk, case still clutched to her chest, and sat down. She didn’t know why he gave the case over without so much as a fight. She didn’t think he had given up. No, he still wanted his own blaster and knife back. Was he making a trade? That seemed a bit silly, really, they were his things. She set the case down on the bed and stared at it. If it wasn’t a trade, what was it? Her curiosity was getting the better of her and he had given her the case he had to have known she would open it. Yes. Yes, he knew. He wanted her to open it. Yep. That was it exactly. So she did. She was stunned for a few moments as she stared at the contents. Inside the plain, silver case nestled in the softest silk she had ever seen sat two blasters. Identical in every way and assembled with great care, these twin blasters begged her to hold them, to care for them, to use them. She carefully removed one and gave it a closer look. It was beautiful. Every inch of the blaster was custom made to specific orders. But the grip stood out the most to her. It was orange and textured for a sure hold, but it also had an image etched into the surface. The image was of the little glowing guardian she had given to him when she first took his blaster and vibroknife. It was a small thing, so small he may not have realized the significance of the gesture, but it made her feel inexplicably warm inside. She smiled to herself as she studied the other blaster. They were exact copies in every way. She moved to place the blasters back into their case when she noticed a small flimsy in one of the fittings. She set the blasters next to the case and picked up the flimsy.

 

“Happy birthday,” it read. It was a simple message, written with great attention to the form of each letter, but its impact was far more than simple.

 

She knew he would be in the medical bay taking his daily inventory at this time while munching away on a ration bar. She tried to convince him to eat a normal meal during his shift, but he made excuses about time and brushed off her concerns. At least he was eating.

 

She moved further into her bunk, pulled a wrapped object from her false panel on the side of the bed then made her way to the medical bay. She passed Pierce who was now locked in battle with Broonmark at the HoloChess table. Those two were the strangest pair of friends she had ever seen. She didn’t include herself and Quinn in the “Strangest Friends in the Galaxy” contest due to the fact that the man did not consider her a friend. The wonderful birthday gift notwithstanding, he didn’t like her.

 

She entered the ‘bay and went straight to Quinn’s side.

 

“It’s not humanly possible for you to be hungover at this hour,” he said stiffly. He continued his inventory without glancing at her. She wondered how he developed those eyes in the back of his head.

 

She set the wrapped item on the counter. “Here. And it’s not because you gave me such a thoughtful birthday present or that you knew it was my birthday. It’s more…” she paused then continued her thought quietly. “It’s more that you had the chance in the hold to – to, ya know, end it. And, well, you didn’t, so here’s an extension of my trust.”

 

“They were mine to begin with.”

 

“Not my trust.”

 

He sighed through his nose.

 

“Don’t get huffy, it’s true. I never trusted you. You just had that look to you and you were too perfect. I mean, come on, Baras is vocal about you being indebted to him then you show up in the hangar of your supposedly own freewill? Too convenient. I tried to tell Syla, but she already had her crush on you.”

 

“Thank. You. Vette,” he said stiffly, biting at each word as it passed his teeth.

 

“It’s true. And you already know that I spoke up when Syla was slowly killing you because of the effect it would have had on her. I didn’t really care if you lived or died.”

 

“Vette,” he ground out between clenched teeth, “I am taking inventory.”

 

“Yeah, I know. Look. I know we didn’t get along in the past and, until recently, I didn’t really care about you outside of trying to piss you of all the time, but, ya know, after everything happened and it turned out you are, in fact, human and have fears and dreams and such, I, uh – what I’m trying to say is – this is hard.” She turned toward him, but kept her gaze pointed toward the floor. “Thank you for – for the blasters. They’re a really thoughtful gift and it surprised me that you could be so… thoughtful.”

 

He set his datapad on the counter and turned to face her. “Vette, you have interrupted my inventory of the medical bay supplies. You have insulted me repeatedly in a short period of time. You have questioned my humanity and now I am questioning my sanity. You have said your thank yous. You can leave now.”

 

She wasn’t sure what possessed her to do it, but it was too late. She lunged at him, hugged him for a few stunned moments then ran from the medical bay. She kept running until she found the safety of her bunk. She dove into her bunk as if it were the greatest cover in the world then pulled the shutter closed. What was she doing? Hugging Quinn? Had she gone mad? Yes. She had to have gone mad. Or, or better yet, she had been rendered temporarily insane by receiving a gift from someone she was sure didn’t give a damn whether she lived or died. But, then, that wasn’t exactly true. He did give a damn. He gave a damn so much he lent her his body to keep her warm. She shuddered. That sounded strange. That sounded wrong. That sounded like – she sighed in frustration and tugged at the tips of her lekku. It was a bad habit she turned to when she was upset or nervous, but it was calming.

 

Damn. What was she going to do? How was she going to explain to Quinn that she didn’t meant to hug him? Why would she hear shouting in the Galley? Shouting. Damn! She drew back the shutter, grabbed her new blasters, and ran into the Galley. Pierce was hovering over Quinn, who was on the floor holding his jaw.

 

“What’d you say to her, Quinn? Eh!?” Pierce asked, half shouting.

 

She stopped in her tracks. Nothing. He had said nothing. It was her. She had ran away because she had hugged him. And now Quinn was being punished for it.

 

“Hey!” she shouted. Pierce turned his head to face her. “I’m not some damsel in distress in need of rescuing, Pierce! Next time, try asking me what happened instead of flying off the handle and cold cocking innocent people.”

 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Pierce rumbled.

 

“Then how did you mean it?” she asked as she moved to Quinn’s side. Pierce took a step back and allowed her to fuss over Quinn. He let her. “It doesn’t look too bad.”

 

Quinn stayed quiet, choosing to keep his eyes focused on the floor. She had come to his side again to protect him. Was this what it was like having a friend? He saw Vette stand out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t want to look at her. He was still reeling from being hugged. The punch didn’t bother him, people punched him in the face with far more regularity than he would prefer to admit to, but the hug was so far removed from what he was used to he was sure his head would be spinning for days.

 

“We’re not going out for drinks tonight, Pierce,” she said, crossing her arms.

 

“Eh? It’s your birthday, we always go out for drinks on your birthday,” Pierce protested.

 

“Not this year, Pierce.” She turned her attention to the still sitting Quinn. “What’d’ya Quinny Quinn Quinn? I need a drinking buddy and you look like you need a drink.”

 

Pierce scoffed. There was no way he would agree to it. What sort of game was she playing? He wouldn’t be jealous of her offer to Quinn, their relationship wasn’t like that. It didn’t matter, Quinn would say no and Pierce would end up going with her anyway.

 

“Yes,” Quinn said with surprising firmness. He pulled himself up and looked Pierce in the eye. “I will accompany you on one condition.”

 

Vette blinked. “What?”

 

“No Hutt Tequila.”

 

Vette laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s a deal. I’ll let Syla know plans have changed.” She steered him back to the medical bay by his shoulder. “You finish up that inventory.”

 

Once Quinn was back in the medical bay, Vette pressed an adhesive cold pack to his cheek then left him to his work. He didn’t mind her leaving him to his work, but her actions confused him. Coming to his defense without being asked, tending to his injured jaw, letting him work in silence. He was almost positive that this was friendship. He wasn’t sure if he considered her a friend, but she obviously considered him one. It was strange. What she said earlier was true. They never got along before and her motive for talking Syla into sparing him was purely selfish: she didn’t want her friend to suffer. And he wasn’t the friend. He didn’t mind then. He was far too out of it to know what was happening to him, but his return to the ship signaled significant changes in his life including his budding friendship with Vette. There was something else he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It didn’t matter now. He had a friend. That thought amused and terrified him.

Edited November 18, 2013 by irishfino

[irishfino]

Seeds of Hope, Winds of Weird

 

 

Glasses clinked together then clattered to the table as the two satisfied shot takers blew smoke through their noses then giggled at the sensation.

 

“That’s disgusting,” Vette grumbled. She and her impromptu drinking partner were seated at the bar. “I mean, honestly, that’s just weird.”

 

Quinn tilted his head a bit; four shots usually let out behaviors he kept tightly under wraps. He glanced away from the holodancer and looked toward the two giggling and belching smoke. “Yes, the pink and purple and blue and… is that yellow?” He squinted. “The dress is wholly distasteful.”

 

Vette rolled her eyes and sighed. “No, the vid behind them. Seriously, the Frogdogs are terribad this season!”

 

“Did you combine two words to somehow make the sentiment worse?”

 

“You’re damn right I did. It’s a travesty!”

 

“Such strong language.”

 

“I’ll show you strong language.” Vette took a deep breath then exploded in the most inventive form of swearing he had ever heard, which was a feat in and of itself considering his life around Sith and being a military man. “Hah,” Vette laughed as her tirade ended, “the tips of your ears are pink.”

 

He crossed his arms and straightened his back. “I cannot control that.”

 

“No, but it means I got to you. What, didn’t expect the sweet voiced Twi’lek to fire off such a volley of explosive verbiage?”

 

“I wish you wouldn’t eavesdrop.”

 

“Then don’t talk so loud. Other people do try to sleep you know.”

 

He pointed an index finger at her. “Stop taking so-called naps in the pilot’s chair.”

 

“Where else am I supposed to sleep?”

 

“In your bunk,” he said, punctuating each word with a thrust of his extended finger. “You have no idea how hard it is to clean the drool stains you leave in that chair.”

 

She scoffed. “Better than your stains.”

 

He glowered and tapped the bar in a silent order for another shot. “I’ll have you know,” he paused only to slam the shot back, “I cannot do that anymore.”

 

“You just need the right girl to get down there and breathe some life into the ol’ equipment. And maybe blow some of that dust off.”

 

“Oh, I’d love to give this imaginary girl something to blow, as it were, but it just doesn’t work.”

 

“It’s not like you can try yourself.”

 

“You better not be offering. This is already as awkward as I wish it to be.”

 

Vette pushed his shoulder playfully. He wobbled in his seat a little more than he should have. “I am not offering nor would I ever offer to touch your wing wang.”

 

“My what?”

 

“Your p*nis.”

 

He snorted a laugh. “I bet I could.”

 

“Bet you could touch your own p*nis?” she giggled.

 

“No. I gather I could get you to touch me in an intimate fashion of your own volition with a few simple words.”

 

“Now I’m curious. And I hate you for it.”

 

He flashed an uncharacteristically toothy grin. “It’s really quite simple.” He leaned over and whispered a few things in her ear. When he pulled back, his grin widened. “Now whose ears are changing color?”

 

She rubbed her ear and muttered, “Shut up.”

 

“I suppose that means I got to you.”

 

“I am going to kick you in the p*nis so hard, Quinn.”

 

“I would count it.”

 

She rolled her eyes. “I know you would, you sick bastard. And no more tequila for you.”

 

“It wasn’t tequila. It was a rare Vodka from Csilla. Red as Chiss eyes and just as fiery. Quite enjoyable, really. There’s a Csillan whiskey that’s just as lovely, better for drinking by the fire. And there’s a brandy a wonderfully delightful shade of the night sky that is better reserved for the prelude to private moments with another.” He looked wistful for a moment then muttered, “I have only had the Vodka outside of tasting parties.”

 

She nodded. “Don’t worry, you’ll find the officer of your dreams and you’ll get married and make lots of Imperial babies.”

 

“I have no desire to marry myself.”

 

“Oh, stars, yeah, what am I thinking? Your kids would be a right terror! They would probably defeat the Republic though. By, like, age two.”

 

“Lovely thought, foolish thinking.”

 

“Everyone needs some foolishness now and again. Besides, it’s not all that foolish to dream. Or hope, really. I mean, it could happen. You never know. You’ll wake up some day, look over to the right and there’s your wife. Door slides open, kids come running in and jump into the bed in an Akk dog pile.” Quinn tapped the bar again when Vette sighed. “It’ll never happen, will it?”

 

“Were you not waxing lyrical on clinging to hope?”

 

“Yeah, but reality has a way of slapping you in the face a bit.”

 

“That’s the alcohol,” he murmured. He pointed to her freshly poured shot then grabbed his own and raised it into the air. “To…”

 

“Hope.”

 

“If you insist.”

 

They clinked their small glasses together then threw back their shots in unison. A shudder rippled through them both and they laughed at the synchronicity of it all. The smallest seeds of hope could flower in even the stiffest gardens.

Edited November 18, 2013 by irishfino

[Adwynyth]

I... *gulp* I think this is almost worse than Vette with Broonmark.

 

But I CAN"T LOOK AWAY!

[irishfino]

I... *gulp* I think this is almost worse than Vette with Broonmark.

 

But I CAN"T LOOK AWAY!

 

Nothing is worse than Vette/Broonmark. Nothing. Not even Khem or Qyzen sex. NOTHING. NOTHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!

 

 

Thanks for reading!

[irishfino]

It was a slip of the tongue. A very poorly timed, liquored up tongue that absolutely refused to listen to the part of his brain that kept it pressed between tight lips. It didn’t help matters that said part of his brain was currently floating in Chiss vodka. Damn the Red Dragon. Was it a Krayt Dragon, he wondered idly until Vette’s small blue hand slapped his chest. He coughed and tried to look affronted. He succeeded in looking drunker.

 

“What did you mean by that?” she asked with a hiss. Narrowing eyes, drawn together brow, lips pressed into a thin frown. Not good. The very annoying male part of his brain wondered if it was her time of the month. The smart male part of his brain told the annoying part that if he so much as got that out of the mouth they wouldn’t see another sunrise again or, at the very least, wouldn’t want to as they would have been de-bollocked quite expertly by tiny, angry blue hands.

 

“Everything. Nothing,” he murmured, shaking his head. Bloody hell he was gone. He really should drink more, build up his tolerance again. He almost missed the days in the academy when he could drink the other recruits under the table. He won many credits in those days simply because he had been underestimated due to his single minded, the mission must succeed, let’s obey our superiors attitude. The only thing that had changed since then was his tolerance. And he had a few new scars and experiences he’d rather not repeat, but mostly his tolerance.

 

“So, because I’m not human everything is more difficult for you?” Vette snapped.

 

He blinked owlishly. Had he really said that? No. No, he hadn’t. He said he wished she were human. It would have made things easier. What things he meant at the time he wasn’t sure. Their budding friendship, if it even was that, was his first thought. Really, he was more a parasite sucking the life out of her while she foolishly feed him and fostered a surely damaging relationship. She was sacrificing much for him: her sleep, her friendship with the lieutenant – though he could argue Pierce was rather nonplussed because it opened up time for him to bugger Syla – and, likely, her sanity. They never got along before and they continued to butt heads even now. Why she bothered, he didn’t know, but their outings as odd friends would be so much easier if she were human.

 

“You have to be more… attentive as a Twi’lek than as a human. I saw it. I saw you. You looked around the Cantina as if waiting for slavers to come through the walls and take you away. When the bartender wasn’t paying attention, you slipped a few drops of indicator into your drinks to make sure they weren’t poisoned. You flinched when men came too close as they drunkenly ordered drinks as if you were waiting for them to make a pass or cop a feel. You carry the burden of being a desirable alien female in an Imperial world where people like you are slaves and worse.” He looked at her. Really looked at her and waited. She looked away and he knew he was right. “The reason you were not bothered… was because I was there. You can’t go out alone. You would be questioned, possibly captured, tortured and worse. And if you were to go alone, you would have to be collared again. It would be much easier if you were human.”

 

“I’m not human and I don’t want to be,” she said firmly.

 

He smiled ruefully. He understood more than he wanted to understand. Humans were prone to errors; errors in judgment, errors in reason, errors in humanity. He didn’t think her an error. No. Had she been someone else she, rather obviously, wouldn’t be Vette. They never would have met, she never would have spoken up for him, she wouldn’t be there to comfort him after his night terrors. She wouldn’t exist.

 

“It shouldn’t be a requirement for me to be human just to get around this place,” she said angrily. Then she looked him in the eye. He nearly took a step back at the swirl of anger and hurt reflected. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you think that way. I just thought – never mind, it doesn’t matter what I think. I’m not human.”

 

She pushed past him and made a beeline for her bunk. She didn’t want to deal with him tonight and he couldn’t blame her.

 

“It never bothered me,” he said, loud enough for her to hear though he didn’t bother turning around. “Your being Twi’lek, that is. It was and still remains your ability to never shut up, the fact that you ask questions you know won’t be answered if only to annoy, and your damn smirk when you get what you want.”

 

“It’s like looking in the mirror, isn’t it?” she asked and he could hear that damn smirk of hers. Damn her.

 

He turned then to face her. He kept his face carefully controlled. Well, as carefully as a man two sheets to the wind could.

 

“A mirror to the past.” He enjoyed the look of confusion that dented her features before he bothered to explain. “I had a companion when I was a boy.”

 

“A ‘companion’?” she asked, crossing her arms.

 

“I may tell you about her, but not tonight. Just know she was my only friend in the Galaxy at the time and I was innocent enough to allow myself to express my gratitude at her presence.”

 

He didn’t need to elaborate. She knew what he meant. It was strange, this small bond between them. He tried not to question it. Never look a gift starship in the hyperdrive and all that. He did, however, wonder when it started. When she first saved him, opting to sleep by his bedside for whatever reason? When she stayed by his side every night, offering a shoulder to cry on, but understanding when he refused? Or was it the time he snapped at her, calling her all varieties of terrible things and her response had been a resounding slap? He dared not think of Hoth or his possibly lifesaving body heat or the fact that he gave up the majority of his thermal clothing and developed a nasty case of frostbite on his arse and n*pples.

 

“You’re a really strange guy, Quinn,” she said playfully.

 

“There are facets to my personality that you have yet to witness, parts of me I keep very carefully hidden.”

 

“Like the other?”

 

“He was hidden from me, not by me.” He shook his head. Now was not the time to get lost in the past or talk about the other. Surely he was already regretting telling her anything. “Shall I check on you in the morning?”

 

She snickered. “I was going to ask if you wanted me to check on you during the night.”

 

“You can if you wish. I tend to slip into blissful unconsciousness when I have imbibed enough.”

 

“Then you can check on me if you wish.” She snickered again. “Stars, while some things change, some things don’t, do they?”

 

“There is comfort in routine.”

 

“Yeah.”

Edited November 20, 2013 by irishfino

[TheronShan]

I don't know whether to be going Awwww or pass me a buck-*BLEGH*

 

CONFUSED!

[irishfino]

I don't know whether to be going Awwww or pass me a buck-*BLEGH*

 

CONFUSED!

 

<.< >.> Probably both. Eehee.

 

 

Thanks for reading!

[irishfino]

As soon as Quinn rounded the corner to his quarters, Jaesa jumped from somewhere and dragged her into the galley. She nearly screamed. So much for them being off the ship for a mission. She should have known they would stick around, waiting for her to return home after a long night’s celebration. It was with Quinn, for stars’ sake, not some hot, nubile male Twi’lek dancer. Though that would have been mighty fine, she was waiting for marriage thank you very much. After assuring the others that she was physically whole, mentally sound, and in desperate need of a hot shower, she ran to her bunk, grabbed a few items, then darted into Quinn’s quarters. He was already in his bunk, back to the door, but the door to the refresher was open in invitation. It was the only place she could get a private shower between Jaesa barging right into the stall because she wasn’t paying attention, Syla coming in to use the toilet, and Broonmark insisting on brushing his fur when the humidity of the ‘fresher would loosen knots, she barely got any showering done. It was almost comical. She complained to Quinn when he allowed her, her complaints of the week and was more than shocked when he offered his stall. With a few caveats, naturally. She didn’t have hair, so there was no risk of the drain clogging, but she was to leave no sign she was there, her soap was required to be scentless, she would clean the shower when she finished, and she was to be fully dressed when she entered and left. She recalled the conversation with clarity. She had even tried to check him for fever only to have her hand, predictably, slapped away.

 

She stepped from the shower and set the sonic scrubber to work. It was really, really weird that Quinn had changed so much in such a short period of time. Six months didn’t seem enough for such significant changes, but, then, he had been thoroughly traumatized. And the dreams. She shivered and pulled her shirt around tighter around her body. When he could tell her what happened, they were terrible. And on the nights he couldn’t, she tried not to imagine what horrors befell him.

 

As she shut out the light and wrapped her towel around her neck, she stepped from the refresher and prepared to leave as quietly as she had arrived. She froze in the doorway. Something was off about the room. It felt colder and looked darker than when she had entered. Icy fingers of dread gripped her stomach. She took a step back, but was yanked forward by a shadow in the darkness. She screamed and found herself screaming into a hand very insistent that she shut up this instant. She shuddered and whimpered as a strong arm wrapped around her chest just under her breasts and forced her back into a solid chest.

 

“You shouldn’t sneak into my shower, Twi’lek,” a male voice rumbled into her ear. She almost labeled it Quinn. Almost.

 

She wiggled against him then yanked his hand from her mouth. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

 

“He slips into unconsciousness after one too many shots of Chiss vodka. And it’s awfully easy to manipulate him into drinking it.” He let her go and spun her around to keep her off balance. “And he never remembers what happens when he’s away.”

 

“What do you want?” she demanded. Damned if she was going to let this thing make her cower. She may not have her blasters, but Syla and Pierce had both taught her a few hand to hand combat moves to get her out of a sticky situation. She wouldn’t hesitate to use them if need be, even if Quinn was in there somewhere. Some part of her wanted him to do something, just so she could pop Quinn a good one.

 

“I require assistance.”

 

“With. What,” she ground out between clenched teeth.

 

“I need to find someone. Relieve a bit of pressure.”

 

“Ew.”

 

He flashed his teeth in a grin. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew and I know you’re curious.”

 

“Again. Ew.”

 

He chuckled at her. The sound grated on her nerves. “She’s a Twi’lek.”

 

Vette crossed her arms. He better not be thinking that and he better not be asking her where a random Twi’lek is because she’s a Twi’lek. They didn’t all know each other, dammit.

 

“You’re skilled in finding Twi’lek relics and hunting down Twi’leks who harbor information on said relics. I want you to find her,” he said plainly.

 

He was up to something. Though he appeared calm and hadn’t bothered to alter his appearance in any way, she could feel… something coming from him. She couldn’t put her finger on it. It was cold, it was angry, it was in pain, but it wasn’t quantifiable. It was like an old, never healing wound that flared and pulsed constantly seeking to be felt, to be dealt with, to be healed.

 

“She’s a green Twi’lek, about my age, she was quite small last I saw her, but she may be one hundred seventy five centimeters at this point. Mischievous and prone to getting into trouble, likely developed a dependency on alcohol, gambling, or both.”

 

“What’s her name?” she sighed.

 

“Teala.”

 

“I’ll be telling Quinn about this.”

 

“I can’t wait,” he murmured darkly. “Now get out of here.”

 

She ran.

 

 

Notes:

 

 

Whoops. I accidentally Sliver.

 

[irishfino]

Quinn was not prepared for a very angry Vette barging into his room before the ambient lighting even hinted toward dawn. He stared at her through half open eyes, his brain still fogged with sleep and, admittedly, a little too much alcohol. He sat up in his bunk and swung his legs over the edge to face her. He couldn’t find the energy to berate her for barging into his room. He needed more sleep than he had thought.

 

“What are you going on about?” he asked blearily.

 

“That – that guy in you wants me to find some Twi’lek named Teala and I can’t sleep because he freaks me the f*ck out!” Vette said fitfully, waving her hands around for emphasis.

 

He rubbed his face vigorously with both hands. He obviously needed to be more than semi-conscious for this talk. Teala. He hadn’t seen her since he left for the Academy and what bad timing that had been. They had been children, really, playing an adult game, neither fully understanding the consequences. His grandfather had ripped into him something fierce when he had found out. He clearly remembered flying spittle and barks of disappointment, and, of course, a slew of what if questions forced to make him think. What if he hadn’t been the one to discover them? What if she had belonged to someone else? What if, what if, what if? It brought down the brutal reality of life in the Empire to a boy, a boy who had nothing and had already given up everything. If only he had known then what he knew now. There was always more to give and it ended with the very breath he held so dear. There was always more to give. He slouched and allowed himself to rest his elbows on his knees and let his hands dangle between his legs. Vette gave him one of those looks, a cross between intrigue and incredulity and he was close to chuckling. On a whim, something he rarely gave into, he scooted over a bit and patted the empty part of the bunk next to him. He was almost positive that, had she eyebrows, they would have touched the tops of her lekku. He finally allowed a small chuckle to escape between his slightly parted lips. He sobered when he saw she was on the verge of running.

 

“Come sit, Vette,” he murmured. “I’m far too drunk and tired to continue looking up at you.”

 

She inched over reluctantly before plopping down on the bed, jostling him inelegantly. He huffed another laugh then rubbed his face again. He may as well get started. He couldn’t risk losing her. She was quite literally his only friend in the Galaxy and that was far more sobering than any thought he had yet to encounter.

 

“Teala was my… companion when I was a boy,” he said quietly. Vette tensed next to him as if waiting for the hammer to fall upon her bright blue head. “I was very ill as a child. My mother, in all her wisdom and loyalty, enrolled me in an experimental program meant to determine if it was better to create a super soldier from childhood or to simply engineer one from birth. It – I was in constant pain once everything started and my grandfather, who was often away in the field, brought back a Twi’lek girl from one of his missions. My mother had long since passed by that point and the little green girl he brought home was a welcome comfort, though she didn’t speak a lick of Basic.” He stopped talking for a brief moment and smiled wistfully. “I could not get her to say ‘Malavai’ for the life of me. She ended up calling me Lah’vay. Bastardized a perfect name, but I allowed it. As the years went on I progressed quite nicely health wise and she and I – well, I was a teenage boy and she a teenage girl.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. No need to go into detail about his sexual exploits as a teen. Or any exploits really, that was rather more personal than he liked to talk about. At this stage, at any rate. “My grandfather may have expedited my entry into the Academy in his fit of pique.” He huffed a small sigh and eyed Vette sidelong. She was looking straight at him, her brown eyes wide with obvious curiosity. He felt quite naked under her stare. “I tried to keep track of her over the years, but my work prevented me from keeping her out of trouble. Last I heard she had been forced into dancing after the massive amount of gambling debts she had accrued over the years finally caught up to her.”

 

“Do you think she knows about… him?” Vette asked.

 

That hadn’t occurred to him. As anyone with sense and the ability would do, he blocked out as much of the pain from the experiments as he could, focusing instead on the few brief moments of painless wonder he enjoyed. He turned to her, bringing his leg to rest bent at the knee on the bed. He felt her tense when his knee bumped her thigh then relax when she realized he meant nothing by the accidental touch.

 

“She may,” he said simply. “Either that or he’s seeking a release he shan’t find with anyone.”

 

Vette clicked her tongue. “Ya know, I’ve been thinking about that.” At his arched eyebrow she rushed to explain. “I thought you should talk to someone about it, ya know, like a professional.” He narrowed his eyes, nearly closing them. “Are you falling asl – never mind. It’s just something to consider. I mean, I’ve woken you up from some bad dreams, but your, uh, body, doesn’t seem to get that message, if you know what I mean. And I thought you might be able to benefit from – like real advice and not just talking to the clueless Twi’lek.”

 

“You’re not entirely clueless,” he admitted gruffly.

 

Vette gasped and raised a hand to her cheek and said, “Oh my stars, that was almost a compliment! Who are you and what have you done with my almost favorite stuff bastard?”

 

“Almost?” he scoffed.

 

She smiled. “Hey, I have more friends than you, ya know.” Then she frowned. “Are you all right, though? Really this time. And, yes, before you ask for the thousand time, I really do care so just skip it, alright?”

 

No, he wasn’t “all right.” His life was quickly spinning from his tight and measured control. Stars above and surrounding them, he wasn’t sure how much more of this business he could take. He should be grateful, and he was on many levels, but the constant fear of Syla and the dreams reminding him of his folly and now this business with Sliver or whatever the bloody hell he called himself was quickly sending him spiraling out of his tightly controlled orbit.

 

“I doubt I will ever be ‘all right,’ Vette,” he muttered truthfully.

 

“That’s fair,” she said quietly. “But you can find a new normal, right?”

 

“If I live long enough, perhaps.”

 

Vette offered him a strange smile. “I, uh, may have looked into how much leave the average Imperial officer gets in their lifetime, and knowing you probably have never taken a vacation in your life because you’re an insane workaholic, I figured out that you probably have a year of leave built up. So, I thought that, ya know, if you’re amenable, that you should take a vacation. Ya know, get your life sorted out, talk to a professional trauma fixer, find Teala, go on a sweet adventure or somethin’. Ya know?”

 

No, he didn’t know and no he didn’t want to leave this ship. No matter how scared he was and in spite of the dreams, he was more fearful of leaving this place and – and what? What would happen to him if he left, even for a short while? He was not one to dive headfirst into the unknown. The very thought of leaving the frightening comfort of the ship chilled every inch of him. Vette must have sensed his reluctance. She placed a gentle hand on the knee closest to him, but he stiffened and hissed at her as if her touch scalded him to the bone. She refused to remove her hand.

 

“You don’t want to be alone, do you?” she asked.

 

He flinched. Leave it to her to get to the heart of the matter. No, he did not wish to be alone, not anymore.

 

“Where did you learn the word ‘amenable’?” he asked instead of voicing any of the doubts in his mind, any of the fear.

 

“From you, ya walkin’ dictionary and you didn’t answer my question. Remember, I was found getting into a secret tomb on Korriban that no one else could for thousands of years, I can get into your mind if I want, mister.”

 

He huffed a laugh. “You already know the answer to your question, verbalizing it does nothing.”

 

She frowned again. “It does. Once you admit there’s a problem or something you can’t handle, you can actually go about fixing it. Yeah, I know, it’s hard to overwrite forty some years of stiff Imperial, but isn’t it time to try, at least?”

 

He glowered at her. He had yet to hit forty, thank you very much.

 

“I am not forty,” he said stiffly. Yes, that was the proper thing to focus on, his age. “And to answer your increasingly personal question, no, I do not wish to be alone. I do not like it, especially as the dreams increase in frequency and brutality.”

 

“I think that’s the most honest you’ve ever been with me.”

 

“I am fully prepared to shoot you out of the airlock.”

 

“If I go down, I’m takin’ you with me.”

 

“What ever for? It seems a waste, really.”

 

“Well, I need an escort to travel almost freely in Imperial space and you won’t be alone. It’s win-win, Quinn-Quinn.”

 

“You –”

 

“Are totally awesome. Yeah, I know. It’s a sickness.”

 

He shook his head. She was utterly foolish, yet the little hopeful voice in the back of his head admitted that her plan was quite well thought out, almost enticing if he really thought about it. He didn’t want to. The voice disagreed. She was offering an escape and offering to go with him. No, she wasn’t offering death or suicide, but a real, tangible way to get away from the pain encased within this ship and a chance for him to discover who he was now, instead of lamenting who he had been before he made his foolish gamble.

 

“I will… consider your offer,” he said stiffly, almost reluctant to get the words out.

 

“I’ll get the ball rollin’! We’ll be drinking tequila on a beach in no time!” she piped happily, patting his knee. “Or, ya know, we could try that one Chiss alcohol you mentioned that would be better enjoyed by a fire! Or we could go to Alderaan and take pictures of Killiks! Or we could, I dunno, go tease the Republic on Taris!”

 

“Or,” he murmured, “we could go back to sleep.”

 

“Oh. Right,” she said sheepishly, grinning at him. “I haven’t been to sleep yet. Would you mind if –”

 

He sighed a long, suffering sigh, but the twitch of his lips and the way the corners of his eyes crinkled with mirth gave him away. “I’ll pretend it’s Hoth.”

 

“I am not getting naked.”

 

He laughed a full, albeit short, rich laugh before settling himself fully into his bunk and waiting for Vette to join him. She dove under the covers with an annoying vigor and he was grateful for her presence. They would both sleep a little easier. If only for a little while.

Edited December 8, 2013 by irishfino