A/N: I've thought about writing a full novelization of the game, but there are so many excellent ones out there that it seemed superfluous. Instead, I'm writing a series of KotOR short stories that would be some of the extra scenes in my novelization, going beyond the game script to have some fun with the characters and their interactions. I hope you enjoy.

Obviously, I don't own KotOR or these characters. Our narrator is a woman, (mostly) light side; her name, appearance, and character classes are whatever you'd like them to be.

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"Trust" (Carth)

Taris

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"Out cold." Carth nudged one of the passed-out Siths' legs with the toe of his boot, not gently. "Makes you wonder how these slobs managed to take over half the galaxy."

"These are only junior officers. Maybe the brass are better at holding their liquor," I replied.

"One of them, at least," he muttered grimly.

I waited to see if he was going to elaborate. Apparently he wasn't. "Good thing these guys are lightweights, though. If Grabby over there had tried to make friends with me one more time, I wouldn't have been responsible for my actions," I said, stepping over another one of them on my way to the dresser. All that contempt from the locals must really be getting to them; three hours and a few bottles of Tarisian ale and not one of the Sith partygoers was conscious. Which left just me and Carth, and we were only here for the uniforms. Some party.

"I don't know. You looked like you were having a pretty good time to me."

I jerked the top drawer open with more force than necessary. "Well, I wasn't getting a lot of help from my wingman, that's for sure. We were supposed to be keeping them drinking, not standing around all night looking like we'd rather gouge our eyes out with a vibroblade than dance."

"Forgive me if I'm not exactly eager to spend my time hitting on a bunch of Sith."

"Hopefully you won't have to, now that we've got this." While he was griping, I'd hit the jackpot. I tossed him the Sith helmet, followed by the rest of the uniform Yun or Jun or whatever his name was had been too lazy to lock up. "Here, try the armor on."

"This had better work on that guard. Damn thing practically makes my skin crawl just holding it."

He glared as he set the helmet down. Was he still accusing me of something here? "Hey, I don't like them any better than you do," I shot back defensively. He was too busy undoing his chest plate to reply, or maybe he just didn't want to get into it. I held my hand out for the plate as he stripped it off. It was still warm.

For lack of anything better to do while Carth played dress-up, I searched the rest of the room. I'd been hoping to find a set of Sith armor that might fit me, but there wasn't one; it looked like I'd have to pretend to be Carth's prisoner or slave or meat shield, whatever. In fact, there wasn't much or anything except a pile of empty bottles and, in one corner, a puddle of regurgitated ale. The nice thing to do would've been to roll them all onto their sides so they didn't choke themselves if they got sick, but I figured that every Sith who died of alcohol poisoning would be one fewer Sith who'd be trying to kill us later.

"It fits," Carth announced. I turned back to see a Sith trooper in full body armor. Hearing his voice come out, oddly tinny, was eerie. "Little tight in the shoulders, but it'll work long enough to get us down there. Now can I change back? I don't want to spend any longer in this—this thing than I have to."

"Permission granted, soldier." Like I had any power to give him orders. I flashed him a small smile to let him know I appreciated his taking one for the team. He started taking off the armor, which I loaded piece by piece into a spare knapsack. We'd have to watch out for these creeps at the Cantina now, especially Wandering Hands, but I didn't consider that a big loss to my social life.

When he was dressed again, he raked a hand through his hair in obvious relief and reached for the knapsack. After a momentary struggle of chivalry, or maybe rank, I let him shoulder it. "All right," he said. "Let's get back to the apartment. We can head down to the Lower City tomorrow."

"Oh, so all of a sudden you're asking me to come home with you? Pretty bold for a guy who didn't even dance with me once."

The crack had its intended effect: he quirked an amused eyebrow at me. It hadn't taken long to figure out that friendly ribbing worked well with him, at the right moments. "I don't think you could even walk in a straight line without me," he said.

"Oh, come on, I had one ale all night. I'm barely even tipsy." Mostly true. Sort of.

"Sure. Well, it did get us a uniform," he said as we started the walk back to the hideout, "so I'll let you lean on me just this once. But let's not make a habit of this, all right?"

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I was feeling fairly good by the time we got there, even more so after he let me have the first turn in the refresher. Really, my first conscious day on Taris hadn't been all that bad—a little exploring, a little armor shopping, a little dancing, and a room with a view. Working my hair in the sonic shower, I wondered how Bastila Shan was faring. Staying out of sight, if she was smart. Not getting felt up by the Sith, if she was lucky.

When I finished, I put my clothes from the Spire back on and went out to tell Carth it was his turn. He went in and I looked around for something to do, not ready to crash yet. Whatever buzz I'd had from that ale was starting to fade. I set my armor and weaponry out for the morning, then wandered over toward the window.

He wasn't a bad guy, that Carth Onasi, I thought companionably. Seemed competent and dependable. Good head on his shoulders. Fun, even, aside from those minor trust issues. It was only the first day; he probably just needed a little time to get used to working with me. Definitely easy on the eyes, I could admit to myself as a footnote. All in all, there were worse people to get stranded on an alien planet with.

And what a planet. If you've never seen Taris—well, I guess you missed your shot, but the Upper City skyline was incredible at night. Every spire--and there were hundreds, maybe thousands of them—was streaked with long columns of light, the glow of apartments and restaurants and shops. The Sith might have had the place blockaded, but they hadn't shut down the nightlife. I remember feeling oddly connected to the people in all those lit-up rooms, wondering how many other women had stumbled home on the arm of a stranger, wondering whether there was any chance one of those points of light marked where Bastila was, wondering whether this would be a place worth coming back to once the war was over. A lot of things like that that turned out, in the end, to be stupid.

I heard Carth come out of the 'fresher behind me. "What a view," I commented.

"What, Taris, or can you see my reflection in the window?"

"Only one of them's worth commenting on, Onasi, and it's not the one with the permastubble."

"Well, that's the last time I take you to a party."

I made a point of ignoring that one and gestured out at the city. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"At least until we've seen what's underneath it, I imagine, if the stories are true." I glanced back; he was looking over my shoulder at the skyline, all those lights, the illuminated walkways and the rounded skyscrapers. "But yes, tonight it's beautiful."

"I guess we're lucky to be around to see it." His reflection nodded, superimposed over the scenery like a ghost. He was wearing his armor—again or still, I wasn't sure which. There was a beat or two of silence, then I ventured, "Thanks again. If you were complaining that much about escorting a slightly tipsy person home from a few minutes away, I can only imagine how much of a pain it must've been to drag me all the way from the crash site."

"That was easier, actually. At least then I was pretty sure you weren't going to burst into drunken song or throw up on my boots."

"Never gonna let me live this down, are you?"

"Not likely, sister." His voice sounded less accusatory than it had earlier, though. He chuckled and walked away from the window. "Better get some sleep. We should get an early start tomorrow."

"Good call." I turned back and actually considered the layout of the apartment with an eye to logistics for the first time. Two beds with the feet facing each other. Perfect. Carth stretched out on the one closest to the door, still wearing the armor.

"You don't have to sleep in your armor," I told him. "Really, no need to worry about my maidenly modesty or whatever. Underwear or whatever's fine if it's more comfortable."

"Oh, so all of a sudden you're trying to get me out of my clothes? Pretty bold for a woman who didn't even want me to walk her home."

"Hey, I was being serious. It just looks uncomfortable. I know we've been joking around, but don't start thinking you're such a sex god that I can't be professional about this."

"Wouldn't dream of it." The smirk dropped away. "But seriously, I'd just prefer to sleep in armor. It's safer that way."

"That door's pretty well-secured. I don't think anyone's—" Midsentence, I realized he wasn't worried about the Sith at all. It was me he didn't trust.

"Don't take it personally," he said, watching the change in my face.

"Wouldn't dream of it," I replied, but the conversation had suddenly gotten a lot less fun. Not to mention that I actually had planned on sleeping in my fleet-issued underwear, and now I didn't have a prayer of it not being awkward.

Well, two could play at the raging trust issues game. I got up and put my armor back on—over my uniform, for extra martyrdom points. Then I lay back down and pulled the covers over myself. It felt awkward. What did he think I was, a Sith spy planning to pump him full of blaster bolts the minute he closed his eyes?

"Night," I said.

"Night," Carth said.

I stared at the ceiling, trying to will myself to be tired. But after slipping in and out of consciousness for days on end, obviously my body was filled up on rest, and I couldn't get to sleep. Even though the armor was light, it was still stiff and uncomfortable, and a joint was digging into my back. For probably the better part of a standard hour I lay there, too disgruntled to sleep and too stubborn to give up on it.

Finally I sat up and glanced over at Carth. His boots were sticking out from the bottom of the blanket, emphasizing just how ridiculous this stupid exercise in paranoia was. His breathing hadn't slowed at all; he was waiting for me to let down my guard before he lowered his. All that banter had just been a thin veneer over this.

He must have been as conscious of my wakefulness as I was of his, but I didn't speak to him. We didn't have anything to say.