"You're having lunch with a friend. Your friend gets a call in the middle of the meal. Write just your friend's part of the conversation."

"Well, that could have been worse."

The two men walked down the corridor; Theron matched his pace to the Imperial agent's, which put them several yards behind the others. He knew Sandor likely wanted a few moments to gather his thoughts after the ominous dressing down he'd given Major Jorgan in the hanger bay after the disastrous mission to the Spire. He certainly couldn't claim to know his former Imperial counterpart as well as he wanted to, but was relieved his companion chose leniency for the Cathar, especially given the previous personality clashes between the two. The Empire, he knew, did not suffer rank and file dissention.

"Yes," Sandor remarked. "There might have been monkeys."

"Wait a minute." Theron tugged on Sandor's arm and they stopped. "Was that a joke? Did you just make a joke? You?"

His Commander's face didn't change, remaining an impassive mask matching the deadpan delivery. "Do you disagree that the situation would have been made worse with the addition of monkeys?"

Theron grinned, and shook his head. "You made a joke. Its memory will keep me warm during the long, lonely nights." The pained look on Sandor's face was there and gone again before the former SIS Agent could be certain he'd seen anything, but he sensed he'd unintentionally hit a nerve. "That was a joke too. Since you seem so bad at recognizing them."

"Theron, I-"

"Not another word. You've been busy – we all have – and it's not been through lack of trying."

Late night planning sessions, juggled schedules, it all added up. The few times they managed to crawl into bed together at the same time, they were both too exhausted to do more than weakly smile at one another and share a brief kiss, knowing that the next day would probably be even worse. More often than not, he'd wake to find Sandor in bed beside him, wondering when the other man had joined him and why he wasn't asleep himself. Too many times, a discrete bioscan indicated his partner's wakefulness but Theron was cautious about broaching the subject openly. This type of relationship was new for him, and he was hesitant to push the other man too quickly for answers he might not be ready to give. He knew Sandor had secrets – knew most of them already – but not because the other agent shared them himself. Some were from files the SIS kept, others from what Lana didn't say more than what she did and what was left were the fates of the free worlds, all of it resting on his partner's slim shoulders. If he wanted a moment of quiet in the middle of the night, Theron wouldn't be the one to deny him. After all, where Sandor spent his nights were what mattered, and they were with him, not brooding and alone, thinking the heaviest thoughts in the galaxy. "Hey, what do you say to blowing off Gault's celebration and getting something to eat? Liquid success sounds good…"

"Yes. I think we're due some privacy."

They'd just started in on the tray of food the accommodating droid C2-N2 brought to their room, when Theron's holo chimed. He looked at the display, and then looked up at Sandor and apologized. "Sorry. Gotta take this. Yes?" he said, accepting the call.

"Shan!" boomed Bey'wan Aygo, his voice much louder than the miniature replica standing in front of him should have been. "We've got a ship full of ordnance and nowhere to store it, boy! That bay you said would be empty is full of crates marked 'Explosives' but when we opened one up, it was full of empty soda bottles. Visz says they're vintage, and worth a fortune to some la-de-da Hutt collector, but it looks more to me like she's making my base her flaming garbage heap. Whatareyougonnadoaboutit?" The last sentence came out in a rapid staccato, like gunfire.

"Hang on, Admiral." He keyed his communicator to a different frequency, which opened to the sounds of music and laughter. Theron had to raise his own voice to be heard over the noise. "Hylo? Yeah, I've got Aygo on the other line and–"

"What does Captain By The Book want now?"

"I can hear you, woman!"

"I knew you could! What is it? I'm busy!"

"Get these damn crates out of my–"

"Theron, I swear, we've got a buyer on the hook, but Paft won't be back until tomorrow and he's the only one I trust to fly the breakables. Mopho the Hutt won't take them if the set isn't complete, but he's promised us equal weight in nerf tenderloin with the emerald wine to go with it!"

"Veg-meat was good enough for me and it's good enough for the troops!" Aygo bellowed back, his tiny blue-white arm raised, shaking a fist. "I won't have them going stomach-soft from Hutt delicacies!"

"I swear, Bey'wan has two volumes: loud and louder," Theron whispered behind his palm to Sandor, who had leaned back into his chair and with a glass of water. "Listen, you two. We've got to get the guns stowed somewhere and the Captain–"

"That's Admiral, son!"

"Admiral," Theron hurriedly corrected, "is right, I did promise the storage spot to him. You've got to get it shifted somehow, Hylo."

"Hear that, everyone? Party's over! Captain's orders!" The news was received with audible groans as the music shut off.

"That's–"

Theron cut the connection before the Bothan spoke. "Can't believe I let her slip catch me. She does it to needle him and Aygo falls for it every time. If there were medals for yelling, the two of them would have both been promoted to whatever rank that's higher than Admiral by now."

"There isn't one," Sandor said, sipping his drink.

"Well, then, we've got the two most qualified people in their positions. Now, where were we? You were about to tell me what–"

There was a loud beep and Theron checked his communicator. A second later, Lana Beniko's shimmering hologram stood in front of him. "Theron, we're working on the data Kaliyo brought back from the Spire and we've run into a problem."

"Can't Scorpio handle it?" He knew he wasn't keeping the annoyance out of his voice. Lana was one of his least favorite people on the planet and her position put them into direct contact more often than he liked. After Rishi, there was very little he would put past her.

"She's," Lana hedged, "busy."

As usual, the woman was being less than forthcoming. "Busy? What does that mean, exactly?"

After a few more attempts to get to the bottom of the problem, the Sith finally confessed, "She's plugged herself into the device and isn't answering voice queries. I can't tell if it's voluntary or if there's something in the program that's preventing her from responding. We're in the War Room."

"Send what you've got to the Commander's terminal. I'll take a look." He got up from his seat and went to sit at the computer desk behind the lounge, halting the security grid scans and yellow scrolls of news reports from the HoloNet. A few more keystrokes brought up the promised code and Theron frowned in concentration. "Give me a second. Some of this is very…"

The seconds stretched into minutes, punctuated by keystrokes as the Republic SIS agent worked through the obfuscators preventing him from seeing what the program was designed to actually do. He wasn't sure if some of the idempotent functions were failsafes or were there simply to produce output that was no better than noise. "There. Try her now, Lana."

"Scorpio?" There was a long pause, as her doppelganger turned to face someone off-screen. "Yes, yes, that's done it, Theron. She's–"

The image faded to a pinprick, then vanished. Theron swiveled around in the chair and found Sandor staring at him. The glass he held was beaded with sweat from melted ice cubes, giving him an idea about how long he'd been working. "Whoever wrote that was good. Luckily, I'm better." He draped an arm over the side, leaned his chin on the backrest and smirked.

Whatever expression Sandor made at his boast was hidden behind the water glass as he took another drink. "Indeed."

Theron thought he'd never grow tired of the other man's cultured Imperial accent, even if it was just a single word. 'And they told me I'd spontaneously explode if I kissed an Imp,' he thought. 'What would they think if they knew I spent five years chasing down someone just to hear the sound of his voice? Straight into the sun, Theron, straight into the sun.'

Lana's call was followed in short succession by two others: Hemdil Tre pre-empted Lieutenant Marklo's mission request to Hoth, in order to recover wreckage from the destroyed Star Fortress. Sandor's skill at deployment far outstripped his own, so Theron yielded the floor to him, which appeared to discomfit both men and caused them to yield in their arguments.

"We are not opposed to having the Lieutenant and his troops accompany us, of course not, Commander. Our concern was only for their safety."

"We'll take the proper precautions. Hemdil can make us a list of the cold weather gear we'll need, since he's the one with experience on the ground."

"You'll need to work together if you intend to salvage anything, now that the debris has started falling out of orbit. Do not, under any circumstances, bring back Skytrooper remains. I don't want our base of operations compromised because of an overzealous desire to dismantle Zakuulian technology. And Lieutenant?" Sandor said. "I've been to Hoth. Cold doesn't even begin to describe it. I suggest redundancy in case of any mishaps."

After the conference ended, Sandor spent additional time at his spiraling galactic map, zoomed in on the ice planet and marking outposts and landmarks as he remembered them. "Theron, would you please advise the Lieutenant – privately – that he should be sure to remove any salt canisters he finds mixed in with the supplies? I believe our Arconan may be overindulging, now that he's left the restrictions of his home planet behind."

Theron was still at Sandor's desk and tapped out the requested message. "Consider it done." Picturing Hemdil Tre, the SIS agent recognized what he missed. "It was the yellow eyes, wasn't it? Should've seen it. Must be losing my touch."

"No," the Imperial said, not looking up from the map. He stabbed a finger down and sketched a shorthand notation in the air which hovered, glowing red. "We've all had things on our mind and this is merely a precaution. He hasn't been exhibiting any erratic behavior."

"You mean besides talking everyone's ears off."

The calls though, didn't stop, and the mood became increasingly strained as their lunch remained untouched. Sandor started the recount of his latest encounter with Valkorion several times, and each time was interrupted.

"Agent Shan, I'm so glad I–"

Sandor crossed from the other side of the room, leaned over and, placing a hand on Theron's shoulder, interrupted the Zabrak's transmission. "Basout, you have your instructions. In the future, if you and Growooknik cannot work out an amicable division of labor, you will follow the proper channels for any complaints."

"Commander! But how did you…? I mean… that is… the Wookie doesn't seem to understand–" The Zabrak's head turned to look at the former Republic SIS agent.

"I'm afraid it is you who does not understand. There is a hierarchy in place and it exists for a reason." Sandor said, forcing Basout's attention back to him. "Do you feel your dispute merits my attention?"

There was a moment of silence before the call ended abruptly.

Sandor straightened up, releasing his grip on his counterpart's shoulder. Theron waited until he heard the other man take a few steps, putting distance between them, before he spun his chair around. "It might help if you waited for people to actually tell you their problems before you tell them what they can do with them."

His partner did not turn around. "Say the word, Agent Shan, and I will happily relinquish my command to you."

"That's not what I meant and you know it." Theron shot back.

"Your intent wasn't to usurp my authority?"

"No, of course not!"

"Each and every person who reached out today did it with the specific intent of contacting you."

"Listen," the Republic agent said. "The way you know things – everyone's name, everyone's problems – it's," he groped for the right word, "uncanny. I understand, but most of these folks have never been around someone like you."

"Someone like me."

The way Sandor icily echoed his words back to him let Theron know he needed to tread lightly. "It's the training. I can't pretend to know–"

"No, you truly can't."

This time when the alert came, both men answered simultaneously as soon as the channel opened; Theron's sharp "What?" contrasting Sandor's aloof "Yes?"

"Commander! Theron! I'm so very pleased to have found you both together." Even the image of the Doctor Oggurobb took up a good portion of the room. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I? I understand that some species take a dim view to their mating rituals being observed by others but I'm certainly pleased to discover the rumors about you two are true." He squinted and turned his head, focusing his ocular scanner on each man in turn. "My own observations generally suggest that humans prefer coitus to occur in during a state of undress. Was I mistaken?"

"Doctor," Sandor replied, steering him back to the reason for the holocall. "Is there something you wished to talk to us about?"

"Not Theron, but you, yes – yes Commander! The tests you were running are complete. Far be it from me to intrude on a fellow scientist's work, but I took the liberty of a quick peek and the results are encouraging. I might even call them astonishing, but as my knowledge of the parameters are incomplete, the best I can supply is an affirmation to your supposition. You'll want to review them in person, no doubt." The Hutt chortled, placing his stubby hands on his tattooed belly. "While you're in the laboratory, might I again request the honor of performing a brain biopsy to assist in furthering Fiorah's research? I promise, the hole in your skull will be drilled with the utmost care."

"Thank you, Doctor. As I have told you numerous times before, the answer is no. Will that be all?"

"Very well, Commander, but I caution you, it's a missed opportunity. We will look forward to seeing you down in the lab soon. This is all quite exciting and has greatly stimulated my appetite."

The hologram winked out.

Theron warily turned in his chair to face the Cipher agent, not relishing the return to their argument. However, the other man wasn't looking at him and seemed caught in a moment of private contemplation. When he came back to himself, he looked over, focusing on Theron again. "Please step away from the console, Theron."

Unsure what to make of the request, the former SIS did as requested and stood, taking several steps away and back towards the lounge.

Sandor came to stand in front of the computer desk and looked down at it. It had resumed reporting the endless feed from the HoloNet, pages upon pages of words scrolling faster than anyone other than a droid could read.

It all happened so fast, Theron found himself unable to act.

Sandor plunged his right fist down into the console, punching through the metal and circuitry like it was paper. His body jerked and went rigid from the surge of electricity, but his left hand had a vicelike grip on the desk's edge and kept him standing, even as his knees buckled. "Don't…" he gasped out, even as the spell holding Theron still broke and he took a step forward to help. Sandor steadied himself, straightened up and pulled his hand and forearm back. The wet, tearing sound and smell of burnt flesh made the Republic agent sick to his stomach. He saw Sandor's shoulders droop then straighten as he inhaled deeply.

When Sandor turned around, it was with his mangled hand upraised. Even as Theron watched, the deep gashes began slowly healing. Several digits were exposed to the bone; Theron saw the gleam of his cybernetic forearm before it was covered with regenerating muscle tissue.

When Theron finally managed to tear his gaze away, Sandor was staring at him. The look on his face recalled the brief glimpses Theron saw back on Rishi: raw, unfettered emotion his partner shared far too rarely. "We need to talk, Theron. About me. About this." He tipped his head to indicate his arm, which he had lowered to his side. Blood still dripped, puddling onto the floor and spreading its red stain to the sleeve of the Imperial's immaculate uniform. "About Valkorion. And about your mother."

Author's Note: Giving another go at this prompt thing. I was actually surprisingly productive in a week, but I'd been pondering this story since the Visions in the Dark chapter of Knights of the Fallen Empire. jenovan wrote a prompt too but I don't know that she's uploaded it yet. Soon... soon.

The universe belongs to George Lucas, Disney and Bioware (and whoever else, now) as I'm honestly not sure where Theron and the happy cast of characters fall now as far as the expanded universe. It seems as if anything that pre-dates the Clone Wars series is still generally considered canon, which makes me happy. Sandor the Imperial agent is mine.

Thank you for taking the time to read this story. I've done my best to proofread and check for errors, so if something's amiss, it's all on me. If you're so inclined, please feel free to review; a critique is as valued as praise.