A/N: This is my first Star Wars fic. I am new to the fandom. I may not know the way of things, what things are called, etc. Please be kind in that regard!
That being said, I thought it would be interesting to pair Mon Mothma with Krennic as they are contemporaries and because they took very different paths. Hope you enjoy—please review!
BBY: 19
Her even breathing told him she was asleep again. Krennic shifted slightly so as not to wake her as her head came to rest on his shoulder. He realized that, upon losing track of time, they could've been trapped for twelve hours or more. There were no signs of rescue parties or more attacks—just silence from the corridor. Krennic looked at the comlink on his wrist: a message. He moved his hand slightly to respond:
Everything as planned.
She stirred with a deep breath and he slipped the comlink back under his sleeve.
A week earlier
Mon Mothma sat dejectedly at her desk and rubbed her forehead, deep in thought. Piles of refugee housing requests surrounded her. Other senators had their aides sign and organize them; Mon had to go through each one and sign them personally. She glanced out the window for a moment to give her eyes a break from the brightness of the screen before her. The sun was just starting to sink behind the Senate District skyline.
"Still working through them?" Padmé appeared in her doorway, "I finally had to stop—my wrist started to ache."
"If I stop," Mon rubbed her eyes tiredly and turned around to her friend, "it means the refugees will continue to languish in Coruscanti camps and I will have to go to that ghastly dinner party tonight."
Padmé smiled, "I'll just be waiting outside."
Mon nodded. She managed to finish a dozen more requests and breathed a sigh as she sent them out, knowing that those families would soon be on their way to Chandrila, safe from the Separatist madness. She smoothed her robes and, in the absence of a mirror, hoped she looked decent enough to be in the company of people. She was exhausted; the last thing she wanted to do that night was go to a party and be forced to talk about work.
She met with Padmé in the corridor and they went to the party together. Along the way in the airtaxi, Padmé glanced at her friend knowingly and noticed her solemn countenance.
"Bail thinks it will be beneficial for us," she said, "to talk with them, get to know them."
"What is there to know?" Mon huffed, "Their operations push our Constitution to its already fragile limits! They want the war to continue. We are fighting against everything they want! You've heard the rumors!"
"Which? There are so many these days."
"The ones about various Corps of Engineers members developing secret weapons for the war effort and circumventing the senate's approval."
"They're rumors. And it's a conversation," Padmé countered, "it's dinner. It's drinking. It's time for a break—to have fun, Mon. Please. We'll go crazy if we don't."
They ascended the tower at 500 Republica.
"Getting to know them will make it easier when we need to have the hard conversations." Padmé pointed out.
Mon's mouth was a hard, thin line. Padmé was right, but she already knew that. Mon just didn't feel the need to spend the evening with possible warmongers. So many of them had the Chancellor's ear these days and were not to be trusted.
They entered the apartment and found the party already in full swing. There were several senators peppered throughout the living room, many of whom Mon did not want any part of. There were a few high-ranking naval officers as well, no doubt on a short furlough to give reports and check in at headquarters (but also to partake in a few parties as well). There were also several members of the Corps of Engineers. She sighed heavily and immediately grabbed a bubbly drink and a canapé from a passing droid. She stayed close to her friends—Bail and Padmé—to avoid talking with anyone. But as they began to network, she was left alone to observe.
Each face was gruff and unforgettable. Mon observed that the vast majority of the engineers were older male humans. She wondered silently how different the Corps would be if women and other species were more equally represented. With an arched eyebrow, she shrugged at the thought and finished her drink.
The room, however luxurious, seemed hot and stuffy. As she fanned herself, Mon wandered over to a group of senators. But their conversation was no better: a debate about the coming vote on the deregulation of the banks in order to open up more funds for the war effort.
Having successfully avoided being pulled into that interaction any further, Mon then glided over to the buffet in hopes of keeping her mouth too busy to talk. She got her drink refilled, too. She spun back around to survey the room and stood face to face with a man in an engineer's uniform.
Mon swallowed the bit of canapé hard and cleared her throat.
"Senator Mothma," he drawled in a cool voice.
"Yes," she blinked, mildly surprised. She was known, but her face was not.
"Your reputation precedes you."
In a moment, his eyes flickered from hers, then down, then up again. But in that short moment he noted many things: he saw that her eyes were a soft, brilliant shade of green, she was only an inch or so shorter than he, her periwinkle robes nipped her waist perfectly, and she wore her red hair in a low bun at the nape of her neck, with a few stray strands falling just from her temples.
Something about the tone of his voice didn't sit well with her, and she was forced to keep her lip from curling at him.
"Does it?" She lowered her gaze into the flute of her glass and took a sip. "I can't imagine why."
"I was present in the chamber when you spoke on the Concord Dawn Atmospheric Clean Up Efforts last year." he reached behind her for a bit of food and she sidled out of the way so his arm wouldn't come in contact with hers, "If I recall, your speech swayed the deciding votes."
"It seemed to, yes. And you are?" Mon allowed her eyebrow to rise.
"Orson Krennic." He said immediately, finishing the canapé. "Lieutenant Commander in the Corps of Engineers."
She smiled the same half smile she gave to all government colleagues she met for the first time: close-mouthed, polite, and guarded. Mon noted his azure blue eyes assessing her intently. She also noticed that he did not remove his glove when he shook her hand.
Her lack of reaction to his position unsettled him. Krennic furrowed his brow momentarily before recovering. Mon turned from him and surveyed the room.
"Where are you from?" He asked.
She took a drink, loathing the small talk that was hanging between them.
"Chandrila." She replied, "you?"
"Lexrul."
It was a backwater, a forgotten place. It became apparent to Mon that he felt he had a lot to prove. And it explained why he seemed only slightly out of place at the party.
"Never been."
"Well I've never been back," he shrugged, "I'm usually on projects all across the galaxy, but my work hasn't brought me back there."
Mon was silent and decided she didn't need to say anything.
"You're fortunate the Separatists have not got to Chandrila."
"My planet is a peaceful and content one," she countered, "I have no fears of discord. In addition, I am happy to create a haven for the thousands of refugees displaced by the current conflict."
"Of course, the Republic is making wise choices." He said.
"There are always wiser choices." Mon said evenly, trying to tamp down the anger welling up inside of her, "like peace."
"Sometimes, Senator," Krennic said in a low voice as they observed the party, "war is the only language that is understood."
Mon swiveled her head and met him squarely in the eye, however much she did not want to.
"I regret that I don't share your sentiments, Lieutenant Commander," she hissed, "I can't—"
"Surely you must admit," Krennic held back a sneer, "that my designs and the Republic Armed Forces have kept you safe these past tumultuous months."
"I'd say I'm safe in spite of it."
Mon had had enough—the Corps of Engineers had unfortunately lived up to all of her expectations; they were the secret warmongers she'd heard about from the rumors. She excused herself and disappeared into the crowd, avoiding him for the rest of the evening.
The night wore on and, just after midnight, Mon said her goodbyes. She went out to the platform to hail an airtaxi.
"Care to share?" Krennic called to her. He was already seated in the backseat of a vehicle.
It was late; Mon knew she'd be waiting a while for the next one and she was exhausted.
Too weary to say no, she relented and climbed in next to him.
After giving her address, they were zooming through the Coruscanti maze of spires and steeples.
"So you will be voting on the banks next week, yes?" Krennic asked.
"We will be, yes." She replied.
"Good opportunities there," he commented.
"And dangerous outcomes as well."
"We are prepared on our end," he never took his eyes from Mon, "all you have to do is… say the word."
"I am not open to bribes, Lieutenant Commander." She declared.
"You wound me, Senator," Krennic placed a gloved hand over his heart or, rather, his insignia, "I know you are far too honorable for such a thing. I merely intended to remind you" –his voice grew dark—"that we are on the same side."
The airspeeder came to a stop and the door opened onto the platform of Mon Mothma's apartment building.
"They've set you up in a lovely high tower, haven't they?" He remarked from the taxi.
"I thank you for your company, Lieutenant Commander," Mon forced out the words, "I hope it won't be too long before I shall see you again."
"It won't be," he gave her a wry smile, "I shall be the Corps' representative at the session next week—and they've sent us our seating arrangement. Seems we'll be sitting together. It's why I took the time to introduce myself tonight. Looking forward to next week, Senator."
Mon Mothma had thought about Lieutenant Commander Krennic more than she really thought was necessary over the course of that week. She knew she had seen him before—perhaps in the Senate, perhaps another gathering, or maybe he had even passed her in the halls. She thought of the way he had positioned himself closely to her when they spoke, as if trying to touch her and make it seem accidental. She thought of the way in which his mouth curled when he emphasized say the word.
High tensions made the air thick in the Senate Chamber the next day. It had seemed that everyone had something to say, and they took their time saying it. Mon Mothma chose to defer to Padme on the topic; she felt the message would be stronger if the Loyalist Committee kept their speakers to a minimum. But her focus, for the first time in her career, was pulled from the main pulpit.
As he'd warned, Krennic was seated next to her and Mon watched him out of her periphery. She'd wondered who sat him there; he must have had important friends. Mon could only deduce that Krennic had lofty goals and seemed to be successful at attaining them. She studied him as he watched Senator Balteri speak on peace. He sat back in the seat next to her, one leg crossed and propped up on his knee, displaying a relaxed confidence—or that of one trying to exude some dominance—she couldn't be sure of which. Krennic felt Mon staring at him and glanced over.
They locked eyes for an awkward moment and, against her will, Mon flushed. She broke her gaze and turned her attention back to the speech. After days of meetings, hearings and long hours, Mon tried to combat a wave of exhaustion. She glanced around the room; many of the older senators had begun to doze, secure in their decisions already. Fatigue was making her senses foggy, which made the next moment profoundly confusing for her.
As Balteri spoke, Mon noticed the water in the glass before her trembling.
A large rumble rolled through the Senate Chamber and all light was snuffed out in a moment. Panicked cries echoed all around Mon as she blinked her eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness. She dug into her pocket for her comlink but came up empty. The room quickly descended into chaos as screams grew louder and Mon could see red laser blasts above her head. She began to move, first searching for some sort of light source but only managed to stumble and knock over her water. Suddenly, she felt a hand clamp onto her arm. She screamed at the force of the grip and fought it. A voice materialized in her ear.
"Follow me, Senator."
Krennic.
Overhead, the cacophony of voices grew into a crescendo and Mon didn't think twice before latching onto his cape and trailing him out of the room. Once in the hall, they were met with more darkness and mayhem. She couldn't determine how long they ran—they made so many twists and turns that she felt they must've been right back where they started. Soon she stopped and heard Krennic wrench a door open. He grabbed her arm and pulled her into a room. The door slammed behind them and Mon heard the latch lock.
More darkness.
Mon didn't realize how quiet it had become because of the pounding of blood in her ears. She tried to catch her breath, but her breathing was too shallow. She pulled at the laces in the back of her dress and inhaled deeply.
"Are—are you all right, Senator?" Krennic had what seemed to be concern in his voice yet because of the darkness, Mon couldn't truly tell.
"Er, yes," she replied distractedly, "…you?"
"Yes." Was the answer.
They both felt around the room to get an idea of where they were. There wasn't a lot of space: Mon felt shelving, some sort of powered down droid and a big sink. They were in a supply closet. She sank to the ground, hugged her knees to her chest and tried not to think of what was going on outside. Was it the whole city? Were there going to be more attacks? Would they get out of this cell?
"Damned Separatists." Krennic muttered, "We'll probably be here—"
"—All night." Mon finished. "Do you have a comlink on you?"
"No—No, I don't."
Krennic exhaled forcefully and found a spot next to her. She couldn't gauge how close he was. As she shifted, his hand brushed up against hers. Her heart was still pounding and hadn't slowed; she felt it thrumming against her ribs. She wondered if he'd heard it.
She sighed, trying to catch breath, still unsuccessful. He was silent.
"Please," she whispered into the darkness, "say something. I need my mind to stop racing—my heart—"
He didn't take her hand, nor did he mean to touch her, but he slid closer to where she was sitting and in doing so, pressed the side of his body up next to hers. He could hear her unsteady breaths.
"They'll get to us by morning—the rescue teams, I mean." He said.
"Anything besides where we are right now."
"Er—"
"Tell me about yourself. You're from—"
"—Lexrul—"
"—Yes, yes of course—" She breathed, "tell me how you got here."
"Well, the power went out—"
"To Coruscant. How you got to Coruscant." Mon's mouth manically threatened to quiver into a smile.
"I was part of the Futures Program," he started, "chosen for a scholarship. And from there, I moved upward. I've worked on several large construction projects in Coruscant. They've slowed since the wars so—"
"—And your family?"
"I never knew my father," he said, "and my mother gave me up at a young age. I grew up in a children's home on my planet."
"And now?"
"Now I live in the Central District," he said, "not too far from you, in fact. Tell me, why don't you live in 500 Republica like so many other senators?"
"I like privacy." Mon said, "and separating work from personal life."
Krennic didn't respond. He'd been dying for an apartment in that building and to know someone who could be there but simply chose not to was dumbfounding to him.
"Alone?" He said after a moment.
"Pardon me?"
"Alone—do you live alone?"
"Er, yes." She responded, "and yourself…?"
"I do."
Mon suddenly felt a chill in the dark. It seemed the heat had gone out. She was suddenly very aware of the stranger next to her.
"They'll have to clear the building," she said, "then they'll come and rescue us."
She shivered against her better judgment.
"Here," Mon heard Krennic say.
She felt what only could be his cape as he placed it around her shoulders. A little surprised, she thanked him softly. The chill that plagued her didn't entirely abate. Something beside the temperature was wrong.
She heard rigid quick footsteps drawing nearer—many of them. Mon and Krennic held their collective breath as the steps stopped in front of their door. Krennic felt her move toward the sound—possibly because she thought it was rescuers—but he grabbed her and pushed her up against the wall. In his haste, his cheek collided with hers and he could feel her hot breath upon his skin.
It was then that the rain of laser shots came through the door. The barrage lasted over thirty seconds. Once they stopped, the group seemed to move on to the next door and they heard another series of laser blasts. Mon and Krennic stayed frozen against the wall as they listened to more lasers move farther and farther away from them, and then finally fade completely.
Mon, crouched between the wall and Krennic's chest, only could find her breath in labored gasps. The darkness and the burning scent of molten durasteel around her grew unbearable. Tears began to streak down her face.
"We—we have to get out—" she stammered brokenly.
"Senator," Krennic whispered as he knelt before her, "you must remain silent. They could return—"
"We must try to escape—"
"We have no means of defense or communication," Krennic said calmly, "It would be suicide to venture out now."
He held her shoulders and spoke very quickly.
"What I need you to do is take a deep breath," his voice was steady.
"I can't—"
"I'll do it with you," he said as he fleetingly grazed her cheek with his thumb in a gesture of comfort; somehow he'd found her face in the dark.
She steadied her breathing, ignored his touch, and took a deep breath. Mon held it for a moment and they exhaled together.
Krennic shifted his weight and sat back next to her. She found that she had part of his sleeve gripped firmly in her fist. She relinquished it.
"We're going to be here for a while." He said.
Mon was silent for a moment but then whispered, "Thank you."
Earlier that week.
The meeting had been going well, better than Krennic had anticipated. Never did he ever expect to be presented with such an opportunity—a promotion in the Special Weapons Group for the Republic. Another rung on the ladder.
Mas Amedda steepled his fingers.
"This opportunity would be invaluable to you," he commented, "very helpful indeed. Of course, everything valuable comes with a price."
"Name it." Krennic said eagerly.
"It's not an easy thing we ask," Amedda's voice was low, calm, "but we only ask it because we know you are worthy."
"Thank you, Vice Chancellor."
"We have," Amedda said, "a task that needs to be carried out. Various voices in the Senate are detrimental to our unity and our goals as a Republic. I should like to request that you use your influence to damper those voices—or one in particular."
Surely another more powerful person should be better suited for such a job the Vice Chancellor described, but Krennic listened, willing to say yes to anything if it meant securing this new position.
"This senator needs to be silenced in any way you see fit—by any means necessary. Will you do it?"
"I will, Vice Chancellor." Persuading and bribing was a specialty of Krennic's. "Who is it?"
"Of course, this is confidential."
"Of course."
"By any means—brutal or otherwise."
"I understand. Who is it?"
"Senator Mon Mothma."