"I'm so tired of love songs," Erithon muttered, muting the crackling audio and flipping the datapad to the end of his bunk. They were en route to Corellia, open war calling Havoc to the front lines. Everything was a disaster.

Erithon snatched up the datapad again. "Thanks but no thanks, Galactic Top Forty," he grumbled, scrolling through the limited music they'd picked up while in orbit over Voss. Being both isolated and neutral, the list of updates from the Core was woefully small.

Once in hyperspace, Erithon and his crew had found themselves with several hours to kill before reaching Corellia. Havoc was doing their usual routines to prep for a challenging mission: Elara & Aric having a pleasant argument about regulations, Yuun meditating or researching, Vik had taken up trying to teach Forex to play sabaac (strangely, the droid couldn't seem to outwit the Weequay after two weeks; Vik was of course cheating).

Erithon had promised Elara he'd try to sleep.

But every little noise the Triumph Rising made as she careened through hyperspace got on Erithon's last nerve, conjuring visions of impossible stray hyperspace garbage tearing his ship to pieces, or dropping out of hyperspace out to find Corellia in Imperial hands and his allies in the hands of-

Augh, stop it.

So he turned on the only music he could find in the datapad's drive, something months old already, never listened to. A young man opined about love songs, perhaps a statement on the music business more than his actual love life.

It was something Aitahea had recommended, laughing that she had a youngling's taste in music, but she had been raised in Jedi enclaves after all. Of course that was ridiculous because despite saying that, she'd sent him everything from a rare recording of the Cathedral of Winds to some cantina band off Tattooine.

Her galaxy seemed so expansive, so engaging, and he had somehow found a place in it. He wasn't about to let that go just because the war was back on and the Core Worlds were fracturing and-

He saw the messages icon out of the corner of his eye, blinking in electronic frustration when it couldn't connect to the holonet feed, interrupted as they were in hyperspace.

A message.

Why not? He wasn't sleeping, so he might as well make the most of his time.

Listen.

I love you.

I should have told you on Voss. By the Core I should have told you on Alderaan if I'm being either honestly stupid or stupidly honest, probably both. I'm not sappy enough to take "love at first sight" seriously, and I don't think you are, either. But we're living out some old fairytale here, don't you think?

I'm sorry I kissed you on Nar Shaddaa. No, I mean, I'm not. I mean, I took advantage of our position. But then you kissed me back, and then you were mad about that, and it was a screw up, but I can't bring myself to regret it.

I'm sorry I didn't kiss you on Voss. You have never failed to give everything for everyone, no matter who they are. From the moment we met - on Taris I mean, not to mention when we were kids but that's a whole other message to be honest.

I don't remember giving anyone permission to write me as the love interest in a holodrama. Where was I?

Every time we meet somehow you end up in my arms, and I haven't stopped feeling thrilled when I find you there again. I've seen you take your gloves off when you see me coming. Not for your crew, not for mine, not for the damn Jedi Council or the Chancellor. Me.

So on Voss there you were in my arms again and for a minute I thought you were dying, and I couldn't tell you I loved you and that there was so much that I did and didn't regret saying and doing. For you. With you.

And Corellia will probably kill us so I needed you to know. I'm okay if we can't be together, I can accept that, and I'm not sure what I've done in this life to deserve someone like you anyway.

You told me once we found each other when we needed the other most. I have never needed, wanted, anything more in my entire life than you. It's complicated, I know, but if we somehow survive this I promise it'll be worth it.

See you soon.

Erithon pushed send.

Fuck.

He punched at the screen a few times, frowned, and then his eyes went wide. "Wait. The relay. Wait."

This is bad very bad but there's maybe a chance-

Erithon skidded out of his quarters and through the ship looking for Dorne.

"Elara!" he called, fighting to keep his voice even. The medic appeared in the doorway of the med bay alone, eyes still on her datapad. Erithon exhaled explosively, relieved. "Hey, Elara, can you delete a message from the hyperspace relay queue?"

Dorne dropped her "Per regulations, sir, I'm not allowed, it would have to be you or Jorgan. I can only-"

"Fine, permission granted, whatever, can you do it? You have the helm, so I'm locked out of messaging administration."

"Are you off duty then, sir? I can only return you to service after you've rested the allotted period, and it's only-" Dorne paused to glance at her chrono and Erithon took the opportunity to interrupt the fastidious officer again.

"Elara, it was to Aitahea."

Dorne's face went deathly still for a moment before she recovered her usual aplomb. "I take your meaning, sir. Give me a few moments."

Dorne rushed back into the med bay while Erithon paced the room a few times. He looked at an old analogue chrono on the wall (when had they gotten that?) and watched the seconds tick by. How long had it been? When were they due to drop out of hyperspace?

"Sir?"

Erithon jumped at Elara's soft query, wrapped tight in his thoughts. "Yeah?"

"It's taken care of, sir." Elation clasped her hands in front of her, flustered. "Yes, sir." She pauses for a moment, gathering her courage. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Of course," Erithon replied, distracted by relief.

"Sir, we all adore Master Aitahea. Even Vik, I think. And we can see that…" Elara shifted awkwardly. "She's important to you. We understand if that means things here have to change."

Erithon turned to look at his medical officer with hollow eyes. "I can't get an answer out of her, Elara. And now we're in open war, it just can't be. She's a Jedi."

"Sir, I've actually studied the Jedi recently. It's rare for them to establish romantic relationships, but not completely unheard of. They have some regulations, not dissimilar to our own."

Erithon chuckled. "Five credits you know what forms are required from memory."

"It's form number fourteen hundred thirty-two A for the ranking officer and number fourteen hundred thirty-seven B for the lower rank, unless one isn't in the-"

"Thanks, Elara, I get the point."

"The Barsen'thor technically outranks you, sir."

"Elara."

The woman sighed. "Sorry, sir." She turned back towards the medbay, giving her a sidelong glance, a mix of pity and concern. "Page me if you need anything, sir."

"Yeah." Erithon missed her pointed expression, back to exploring his snarled feelings.