Author's Note: This started out as a personal challenge - to shed some light on the fade-to-black during "The Next Step" using only existing in-game dialog. Challenge accepted. Luckily(?), both my F!BH and Torian had more to say, and this story took on a life of its own. If you've played through the SWTOR/BH/Torian romance storyline you can probably recognize the re-used dialog. And if you can identify every last bit of it, call yourself a natural.
Context - Chapter One
The promise of R&R apparently wasn't enough to get her crew all off of the ship at once, though whether this was due to loyalty, cluelessness or general pain-in-the-assed-ness, she could never be sure. There was always something happening, someone (or several someones) who needed killing, and in the end she'd had to make it crystal clear that they had damn well better take their free time while it was still free. Life was short, life was cheap, live free or die - she had given them a pep talk to end all pep talks. It did the trick, that and letting them out on the fleet with a shitload of creds. Gault had practically disappeared in a puff of smoke.
Mako lingered, giving her an inquisitive look.
"I know it's not the beach. Sorry, it's the best we can do right now."
"Don't worry about it. Anywhere is better than Belsavis."
"Except Hutta. And Quesh." Her nostrils flared, remembering the death-stench of poisoned atmosphere. "What a shithole."
"Well, duh. I was being nice." Mako squinted at her suspiciously. "What about you? And Torian?"
"Got a date. Mando business."
"Uh huh. I bet."
She gave Mako her best whatever-do-you-mean look, then slipped the slicer an extra pile of creds.
"You're in charge of this field trip. Make sure Blizz has a buddy." She winked, then added: "No curfew."
Mako looked tempted to say something, a smile curling her lips, but she only winked back. "Right-o."
Once Mako left the bridge, The Grand Champion of the Great Hunt stared out at the stars for a long while, chewing on her lower lip, waiting. For what, she wasn't exactly sure. Her hunter instincts told her it wasn't time to pounce just yet, but soon. Soon.
He'd told her on Belsavis that he wanted to talk when they got back to the ship, his inflection not giving her any indication as to what, perchance, was on his mind. He'd said nothing else since, which wasn't unusual; Torian was very economical with words. He could say more with two words than Mako or Gault could say with two dozen. Or two hundred. They both babbled like Jawas on stims, which was yet another reason to keep Blizz away from the adrenals.
To be fair, 'Trap', 'Ouch' and 'Toast' could be considered full sentences coming from Torian. It had taken some getting used to. Now she found it endearing for some reason.
It wasn't the first time he'd insisted on waiting until they were back on the ship to talk. While they were on a hunt or in the field he was all business, and so was she. They were both pros, a few drunken cantina moments (on her part) non-withstanding. The ship was different, it was home, and where they most often did their awkward little courtship dance: two steps forward, one step back. He was alternately direct and evasive, layers of meaning buried beneath seemingly casual conversations, the tone of his voice and the way he looked at her speaking louder than words. She knew how to play that game, and gave as good as she got, but any return interest she showed inevitably made him back off just enough so she had to chase him, and left her wanting more. She wasn't sure who was hunting whom.
She'd almost given up on him. It had been a long time since Taris, an even longer time since Dromund Kaas. By the time they landed on Hoth she had been one stiff drink away from throwing herself at him just to see if he'd either catch her or let her fall. In the (very) cold light of day she was glad she hadn't forced the issue, but it had been a (very) near thing. His eyes had been so blue on Hoth. She blamed the combination of Corellian rum and incipient hypothermia.
He was so serious. She should've gleaned that, having watched him shoot his own father in the face, and for the most part she had. That he was so serious about her was something else that had taken some getting used to.
She'd never been in a serious relationship. Her life was serious enough. Or maybe she had never been in a relationship, full stop. Any commitment when she lived her life so close to the edge had always seemed like a bad idea, not that there had been much chance of getting too close to anyone in her line of work. Her few encounters had been casual bordering on anonymous and about as intimate as eating a sandwich - she had the best job in the world but after a long day of kicking ass and taking names she needed to vent some heat, not to put too fine a point on it. It was obvious Torian wanted more than that, so obvious that she knew better than to try to make him settle for less. At least when she was sober.
She had realized on Hoth that he had never touched her, not really. He'd been telling her about Corridan Ordo in the worst excuse for a cantina she'd ever been in (and that was saying something) when she'd noticed that he was keeping his hands behind his back, a soldier's at ease position, but he hadn't looked at ease. He'd looked as though he was being extra careful about where he put his hands. That might have been when she'd started drinking in earnest.
He had touched her, of course. They'd always been physical, ever since she'd disarmed him on Taris, when she'd first seen the desire in his eyes, blazing up at her like the blue of a flame. But there had always been armor between them, and on Hoth it had seemed like the biggest tragedy of her life.
But then Hoth had happened, and then the bloodbath on Nar Shaddaa. He'd watched her back through all of it, and she was grateful that he'd been the one there with her. He understood the need to settle the score. She came to realize that he understood her, that they understood each other.
They'd fought well together from the first. She was glad to have someone with her who could deal out as much damage as she could, who could peel foes off her if she got swarmed. He didn't complain like Gault did about spoiled shots when she knocked enemies back away from her, and she no longer had to feel like Mako was holding her life in her hands when they fought Jedi. He jumped right into the fray time and time again without questioning, custom-built for close-fighting, his body honed for war. Watching him end someone with a wrist blade to the face never failed to make her blood jump in her veins. She loved the way he moved, not exactly a swagger, but with a confidence that was completely male: pure testosterone. Just the way he shifted his weight beside her was enough to light up her body like a saber.
But it was his loyalty, his honor, his seriousness, his reserve, his confidence in battle and his shy, awkward sweetness when they were alone, his overall Torian-ness that made her feel need, instead of just want. She'd never felt this before, the urge to be with him always, the deep, sickening wrench in her gut akin to homesickness when they were apart. It was all new, and the feeling kept growing, blossoming, blooming, until she was almost sure what the feeling was.
The very last time they'd had one of their shipboard conversations he'd confessed that he was in love with her; it had been direct and sweet and very serious, much like Torian himself. Or maybe it had been less of a confession and more like the verbal equivalent of throwing her a live grenade, something that been ticking away inside him for a long time, under his heart, ready to go off at any moment.
She told him she knew. She told him she loved him back. By then she was sure.
And then he kissed her.
It was a very Torian-esque kiss, a serious business kiss, like sealing a pact or a promise. It was a promise, she realized when he took her hands so formally and told her he was hers. She had felt the power of that kiss all the way down to her toes. Just one kiss, and she was his as surely as he was hers. She could feel it in her bones.
It should have been simple after that. It wasn't. Between Darth Tormen and dealing with that damned Houk convict who kept popping up like a bad rash on Belsavis, they hadn't had even a second to themselves. Now she was making time, downtime, to hell with Zale Barrows. That asshole could get in line with everyone else.
Since Torian had kissed her, they'd been on the hunt. On Belsavis, he'd given her what felt like an affectionate head butt after a tough battle, wordlessly grabbing her by the helmet to crash it against his own. He'd never done that before, and even though she couldn't see his face she'd known exactly how he was smiling at her; when he grinned he often looked half crazy, as if the solemn lines of his face weren't quite sure what to do with joy. And later, after a nasty fight where she'd ended up flat on her face in the dirt, he'd picked her up off the ground by her hips without a word, put her back on her feet and proceeded to briskly brush her off for much longer than was necessary. He'd never done that before either. He'd been very thorough with the brushing. Maybe he'd been inspecting her gear for damage. Maybe the dirt on Belsavis was particularly dirty. Or maybe once he'd started touching her he hadn't been able to stop. There'd still been armor between them but for once she'd been glad for it; it meant he couldn't see her blush. There had been no time, not then, not on the surface of a prison planet with convicts running wild. But it had given her hope, which had given her more patience to wait.
Just enough.
She glanced at her helmet, the T-shaped eye slits staring back at her from where she'd left it on the console, the anticipation sizzling through her blood warring with her instinctual hunter's patience. Maybe it was all wishful thinking. Maybe he was just going to tell her he had to leave to go pick Corridan Ordo up at the spaceport. Maybe she should stop thinking about maybes. The time for waiting was over. She left her helmet where it was and made her way down to the cargo hold.
He was standing where he always was, looking as he always did: still but alert, ready. She had been with him all day, had been with him all day, every day since he'd gotten back from Alderaan, and she still felt the flutter in her belly at seeing him again. It was crazy. She had replayed that kiss and the little smile he had given her just afterwards inside her head for what felt like every minute of every day since, and here they were again, between the cargo bins and the crafting station with the carbonized mystery bounty hanging on the wall. The place where he'd told her about forever.
She went to go stand in front of him, mimicking his posture, arms crossed, and looked up at him. He had the bluest eyes she had ever seen.
"You wanted to talk?" Another casual question that wasn't in the least bit casual; she made sure of it by using her most suggestive voice, the one with a nap to it, like velvet. She watched his eyes light up at the sound of it, bright as stars.
"Didn't I promise to teach you Mando'a? Seems to me I've been neglecting you." If there were medals being given out for suggestive voices, he would've taken home the gold.
She took the smallest step towards him, inexorably drawn, arms dropping to her sides, head tilting, eyelashes dipping in appraisal. "You have been neglecting me pretty badly."
"I'll make it up to you." That sounded promising. The look in his eyes promised more. She wanted more.
Before he could say anything else, she ran her hand down his chest plate as though it wasn't there at all, letting her gaze linger on his mouth before raising her eyes back to his. She watched the blue of his eyes focus on her like a laser.
This kiss was different; it bloomed. This time she pushed him up against the cargo bin, and he let her. This time when she threw herself at him, he caught her, one hand grabbing the back of her armored thigh, the other threading through her hair at the nape of her neck. His lower lip was as soft as she remembered it, his mouth so hot against hers she felt as if she were melting. She grabbed him by the shoulders for balance, her armor squealing against his as she wrapped her arms around him, standing up on her tiptoe to deepen the kiss. He tasted so good, salty and male. She wanted to eat him alive.
When her tongue touched his he made a quiet noise in his throat and backed off the slightest amount, looking down at her.
"Beskar'ad."
No matter how she turned that word around her mind like a puzzle piece that had to fit somewhere (Was it an endearment for her armor?), she was at a loss and looked up at him with both eyebrows raised, her expression saying it all for her: Really? You were serious about the language lessons?
He motioned to a spot behind her with his head. "Droid."
Oh, right. The droid was still there. To her it was little more than talking furniture.
She leaned in as if to kiss him again, stopping short instead to whisper against his mouth. "My quarters."
Like the good soldier he was, he didn't need to be told twice. He scooped her up in one efficient motion, one leg looped around his waist, the other sort of curled around the back of his thigh, and then trucked them both, armor and all, past the droid and up the stairs. Miraculously, the droid didn't offer her a foot massage on their way by.
Once he crossed the threshold into her cabin he immediately spun around to glance behind them. He looked nervous. It was a subtle thing with Torian, all in his eyes and the set of his mouth; when he was nervous he somehow looked very young and a little sad, like a tired child needing another goodnight kiss. It stood out as an expression because nothing seemed to make him nervous, except maybe her. She found that endearing too.
She peeked back over her shoulder for his benefit, following his gaze. He still hadn't put her down.
"No sign of pursuit." She repeated the words he'd said to her often enough, imitating his inflection, instinctively trying to put him at ease. When his expression didn't change she reached over to stab at the door controls, putting one of her feet down for balance.
Once the door snicked shut he continued to stare at it as if he were trying to weld it shut with his laser eyes, then looked back at her. He had such an intense stare sometimes, like he was trying to see through her skull.
"Don't want interruptions."
She smiled at him. "That makes two of us. I took care of it. And nothing is getting through this." She knocked her fist back against the door to emphasize, then leaned her weight back against it, bringing him closer to her with her leg still mostly around his hip. "There are reasons blast doors were invented."
His focus came back to her as if it hadn't been anywhere else, letting himself be pulled into the shelter of her legs, his hands rising to her face. "Good reasons."