AN: Quinn's actions after the battle might seem a little out of character. But I wanted to portray him as being a little less one-dimensional, not completely stoic all the time, and I thought that his comment to the Jedi (the snarky one) provided an interesting potential insight into his character.

Ishtaa

Fury

"Come on," Vette whined, "let me shoot."

"Not yet," Ishtaa snapped. "I want the element of surprise."

The ship shuddered violently.

2V staggered into the compartment. "Master, I believe we are under attack."

"I've noticed," she replied acidly. She pressed her lips together in a thin line and eyed the battle for an opening.

The ship rattled as it took another hit.

"Can the element of surprise hurry up?" asked Vette, her voice rising in panic.

"Wait for her signal." Quinn glanced at Ishtaa in his peripheral vision. "Your master knows what she's doing."

Ishtaa smiled faintly. Quinn acknowledged the gesture with an almost imperceptible nod.

"There," he finally said to Vette, pointing. "Those turrets up ahead are doing the most damage. They must think we're no threat. They're focusing all of their fire on other targets."

"Their mistake, our victory. The plan is working." Ishtaa stood up and stepped down from the small podium where she sat, her eyes never leaving the battle as she moved to stand behind Vette. "Fire on the turrets. On my signal. Three…two…" She could almost read the text embossed on the side of the turret. "Now, Vette!"

Vette responded with a volley of blasts, leaving a trail of smoldering crater's in the Fury's wake. The strength of the explosions rocked the entire ship.

"That should cripple them."

"My lord, fighters coming in!"

His words were met with a flurry of incoming red blasts.

Ishtaa's eyes hardened. "Dance around them if you can," she ordered. "Vette, fire at will."

One by one, the fighters went up in flames.

"Damn," hissed Vette. "One got away."

"Pursue him."

Quinn looked up. "My lord, might I suggest a different tactic?"

"If you do so quickly."

"Tailing the pilot may, depending on his skill, take a long time and leave us open to attack. It would be much more efficient to go around and intercept him from the front."

She paused to consider. "Belay my last order. Steer to intercept."

"Yes, my lord."

Furrowing his brow in concentration, Quinn piloted the ship off-course to turn about and meet the fighter another way. Ishtaa crossed the cockpit and stood behind him, monitoring his progress.

A moment later, the Republic fighter reappeared in the Fury's view.

"Prepare a missile," Ishtaa ordered. "I want this skirmish to end with a bang."

"Yes, sir!"

The fighter made no attempt to flee.

Ishtaa frowned. "Why isn't he moving?"

"I calculated our angle of approach so that we would be in his blind spot, my lord. He doesn't see us."

"And he never will. Fire."

Vette gleefully pushed the red button. There was a short pause and then…

"By the Maker!"

The entire ship shook with the strength of the shockwaves. Ishtaa, caught off-guard by the intensity of the blast, stumbled forward. She might have fallen over if not for her quick reflexes and the chair in front of her. She braced herself against the chair back, digging her fingers in to compensate for the instability of her feet. It was only after she regained her balance that she noticed she was grabbing something warm.

"Sorry, Captain," she said, removing her hands from Quinn's shoulders immediately. She brushed off the front of her robes.

"No apology necessary." His voice sounded strained, Ishtaa thought. Probably he was trying to be polite, or else not let on that her grip had hurt. No matter; she hadn't grabbed him nearly hard enough to actually injure him.

"Vette, would you please go deal with 2V? He sounds like he's on the verge of a circuit breakdown."

"Yeah, sure." Rolling her eyes, Vette slouched off to the galley. Just before she left, she muttered under her breath: "Stupid droid."

Ishtaa sighed and, stretching, stumbled into the seat Vette had vacated. "Get us out of here, Captain."

"Right away, my lord." He pushed a few buttons and then, returning to the steering wheel, said, "You may want to hold on. With all the wreckage floating around, this could be a rough exit."

"Noted."

With a tiny lurch, the Fury began to move forward under Quinn's control.

Ishtaa breathed deeply and closed her eyes. Despite all the things Vette said about him whenever he was out of earshot (and, quite often, when he could hear her perfectly well) Ishtaa liked having Quinn in her crew. As much as she enjoyed the sisterly banter she shared with Vette, it was nice to have someone calm and stable on board. Sometimes, when the Twi'lek's chatter started pounding at her temples, she would retreat to the oasis of the bridge and do her work there. Quinn never disturbed her or commented on the matter. He did his work, and she did hers.

Opening her eyes slightly, she studied him in her peripheral vision. He was doing it again, she mentally noted with a smile. It was the face he made whenever he was concentrating on something. She had first picked up on it during one of her bridge work sessions, but as time went on she noticed that he often did it when he had to patch her up in the field. It wasn't an angry face, quite, or just a furrowed brow. It was a thinking face, and that was the only proper name she could conceive for it.

She started as the ship rolled to one side and turned upside down. Before she had time to properly process this fact, the ship had righted itself and Quinn made the jump into hyperspace.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Quinn's thinking face had disappeared and the corners of his mouth turned up slightly.

"Quinn?" she asked, bemused. "Was that…a barrel roll?"

He turned pink and his smile dropped. "Apologies, my lord. That was not entirely necessary."

"No, no. It's alright. Relax," she said, seeing the mixture of embarrassment and anxiety still written on his face. "I'm not going to force-choke you." She smiled, not mockingly, but with a hint of amused sarcasm. "It's just somewhat unusual, that's all. I didn't take you for one to do tricks."

"Of course, my lord." And then, as if the words were spilling forth of their own volition: "I sometimes like to revel in the aftermath of a victory." He clamped his mouth shut, reasserting control over the unbidden word vomit.

Ishtaa's smile softened, her sarcasm fading in favor of an understanding sympathy.

"I daresay you earned it," she said. "That was some of the finest piloting I've ever seen."

Quinn's blush deepened. It was a marvel his skin didn't catch fire. "Thank you, my lord."

"No need. I'm merely stating fact. You're an excellent pilot."

He made no reply.

They said nothing for several moments, but it was not the comfortable silence that usually inhabited the bridge. It was a strange, stiff silence full of uncertainty and impulse to speak, mingled with hesitance to go out on a limb.

It was Ishtaa who finally spoke.

"Why were you never promoted?"

Quinn grimaced. For the first time in the weeks she had known him, she sensed feelings radiating from him. They rolled out in waves, battering her with a sense of hatred and disgust.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Forget I said anything."

"No," he said hurriedly. "I must."

"That wasn't an order, Quinn," she said; from the look on his face, she knew that the intentional use of his surname was not lost on him. "It was an overly personal question. One you shouldn't feel obligated to answer if you do not wish to do so."

"Respectfully, my lord, I believe I am fully obligated to answer. Not," he added, sensing that she was about to disagree, "because you are my superior officer, but because you have put a great deal of faith in me. You deserve to know."

Ishtaa hesitated.

"Very well."