A/N: Evren and Vette vs. shippy tropes I hate, round 65,992. Set right after they take off for Balmorra, aboard, well, the ship.
Exposure
o.O.o
Vette hits the button to open the door without thinking. All she wants is to see how her new partner in crime is doing. She does not mean to catch Evren changing out of his armor, which is to say, shirtless.
Oops.
He's standing frozen with his back to her, shoulders going stiff. His arms and torso are peppered with scars. Small burns, mostly, probably from lightsaber training. And—okay, yeah, she was not expecting more tattoos. Same style as the ones on his mouth and neck, jagged red, clawing up and down his spine. More on his forearms, his hands.
"Vette," he says guardedly, without turning around to face her. Still tensed up like he's about to jump into battle or something.
She's staring. He hasn't caught her staring, but she should really, really stop. She clears her throat, drags her eyes away from the tattoos, and says, "How could you tell? More Force stuff?"
"It was either you or the droid," Evren says. "And your presence is very distinctive."
"Aww, that's sweet." Actually, it's a little creepy, but Sithy Force stuff is usually much, much creepier.
". . . Can I help you?" He twists around, enough to meet her eyes but keeping his body angled like he's trying to minimize how much of a target area he's presenting.
"Uh, just checking in," Vette says. She manages to hold eye contact. Don't stare. Don't stare. "You okay? Things were kinda rough today, so . . ."
"I'm fine," he says shortly. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah, all good here." She's not even lying. Seeing what Baras did to that poor Republic agent, with and without the Ravager, was bad, but she's seen worse. "Look, uh, I'm gonna be poking around the ship. Promise not to break anything too vital."
"Go ahead." And there's an unspoken go away in there, but Vette hears it loud and clear.
o.O.o
She runs into him again in the galley about an hour later. Fully clothed, thankfully, in his usual black and grey. Their eyes meet, and Vette's not sure who looks away first, but it takes all of two seconds for someone to do it. And then Evren's saying, "I apologize, for earlier. I was incredibly rude—"
"Hey, no, it's no big deal," Vette says, shrugging. "Kinda caught you by surprise in there. And, uh, shirtless. And if it were me I'd be pretty uncomfortable too, so, y'know. I get it. Sorry about that."
He laughs and rubs the back of his neck. "It's appreciated. But, er, might I ask that you knock before entering, next time?"
Least he's not pissed off. Or not acting like it, anyway. "Yeah, sure. Thought my presence was distinctive, though . . ."
"Knowing you're near and knowing you're about to walk in on me are two very different things," Evren says, a bit wryly. "And while I like you a great deal, that was . . . supremely awkward. I'd prefer to avoid a repeat performance."
"No problem." She risks pushing, teasing a little: "I mean, hey, you're cute, but you're not my type."
He looks relieved. It isn't the usual reaction she gets, but what the hell, she'll take it.
o.O.o
end
