A/N: The aftermath. Slightly angsty but mostly fluffy. Enjoy.

o.O.o

Chapter 3

o.O.o

When it's all over and they've returned to the Maelstrom, Vette pulls on normal-person clothing, scrubs the makeup off her face, and wanders into the main room. She rolls her neck and rubs at the rough spot over her vertebrae. It's been months since the shock collar came off, but the skin still prickles sometimes, even if there aren't visible marks anymore. Those things are built for lasting hurt. A steady supply of kolto has been helping, though.

Evren's fiddling with the holoprojector settings with the look of a guy who isn't paying nearly enough attention to what he's doing. If their next call from Darth Baras comes through sparkly yellow, Vette will not be surprised. He glances up as she walks in, straightening with a faint frown. "Feeling all right?"

"Yeah," she says. "Just tired, I guess. Sith shindigs are tough."

"This one was relatively painless," Evren says, "mostly thanks to you."

"Make that Iridonian spicy sautee stuff sometime in the next few days and we'll call it even."

He sweeps out a flourishy bow. "It will be done."

Score. Maybe this time they'll even convince Quinn to try it. Jaesa hopped on the kitchen-experiments train pretty fast after joining them, but Quinn would probably be content to subsist on ration bars, distilled water, and patriotism if left to his own devices.

They go quiet for a minute. It's late; the Maelstrom's on its night cycle, lights dim, engines thrumming softly in the background. Weird and stressful as the evening was, Vette's starting to get her balance back. Evren, though . . . He's still in full armor, for a start.

"Can I ask you a sort of personal question?" Vette says, leaning against the bulkhead.

He perches on the edge of the holoprojector and folds his arms. She's not sure if that's defensive or just for convenience's sake. "By all means."

"And, uh, you don't have to answer if you don't want to. I was just wondering. About, um, your aunt. Why you're so afraid of her."

Evren's expression darkens. "Ah." He makes an abortive gesture, like he's about to raise a hand to the scar around his throat, only he stops before it can go anywhere and crosses his arms more tightly, ducking his head a little. "My family tried to flee Imperial space when it became clear I was Force-sensitive. Meliah caught us. And . . . ensured I wouldn't forget what happens to traitors."

"Oh." And suddenly the total shutdown makes perfect sense. Vette coughs. "Sorry."

"Thank you," Evren says abruptly. "For coming along. She—enjoys flaunting her power over people. Having someone there, it—helped. So thank you."

"All I did was stand around and try not to piss myself," Vette says. "Nox was the one who—"

"But you were there."

What is she even supposed to do with this? "You do know that if you'd told us what was going on, we'd all have wanted to help, right? Even Quinn, and not because you outrank him."

"I know," Evren mumbles. He uncoils enough to press his fingers to his eyes. "I'm sorry. I just—it was stupid and selfish of me to ask anyway; any one of you would have been endangered, but—and I'm a bloody Sith, I can't afford to be w—"

"Whoa. No. No, no, no. Stop." Vette stands up and stalks forward until she has to crane her neck to glare at him. "One, yeah, it was a little dicey there for a minute, but I knew going in that this wouldn't be safe and I came along anyway. And two, needing a little backup to face someone who hurt you? That isn't weakness. That's . . . that's just being a person with feelings."

"Vette . . ."

Frack, Sad Eyes. Vette pulls out the big guns. "Do you want a hug?"

He gapes at her. "What."

Vette huffs impatiently. "Look, I don't know how good I actually am with this emotional stuff, but hugs help, sometimes."

". . . All right?"

It is, bar none, the most awkward hug of Vette's life. Evren has absolutely no clue how it works, where arms go, how to compensate for height differences, what to do with her lekku, anything. Which says a lot, actually, and none of it is very good. Easiest solution is lots of practice.

Vette thinks she'd be okay lending a hand there.

o.O.o

end