It goes without saying that I do not profit from this work, nor do I own the characters used within (something which I'm sure we're all grateful for.)
Seduced By The Light
7. New Achievements
Ezra studied himself in the mirror, stretching his cheek and dragging his razor downwards. Two days was all it took to get a dark maw lately, and he shaved the bristles away before leaving his chin and jaw at his preferred length. Then he stopped, covering his furry mandible with his hand and wondering just how he'd look if he shaved it all off. Force knew it grew back quickly enough. The razor hovered just above his chin. He debated the plan in his mind when the refresher lights began to grow dim.
'Oh not again,' he thought despairingly.
"Ezra…" It was the same rumbling voice he'd heard for two days now. "Ezra… You will turn towards the Dark Side, Ezra! They've got yummy biscuits!"
"Getting' real old, Zeb," he muttered, rinsing his razor and returning it. If he started on the substantial grooming now, he'd only get interrupted by the grinning Lasat behind him.
"Oh, no no, jus' ah… concerned is all," Zeb insisted, leaning against the frame of the refresher. "I mean, you know just how romantic those detention blocks can be. I'm worried I'm gonna have to sit you down and give you the talk pretty soon, young man. Like that special kinda hug two people share when - "
"Hey – I got a great idea. How would you like to have trouble sitting down for a week?"
"So defensive!" The Lasat shook with barely suppressed laughter, and Ezra bared his teeth, taking his razor up again and swiping at Zeb's furry jaw. A thick tuft of purple fuzz fell to the ground, leaving an uneven patch.
"'Ere! What was that for?!"
"Figured you must be getting awful lonely, big guy," the Padawan jeered, brandishing the razor as if it were a small sword. "First step to catching someone's eye? Fix up that fur!"
"Why you bloody little - "
Hera Syndulla grabbed her steaming cup of caf before Kanan wordlessly touched her arm. She looked up, about to ask before he raised his finger and waited.
There was a massive thump against the bulkhead of the Ghost, followed by the sounds of scuffling and arguing coming from the refresher on the other side. The Jedi released her arm and nodded.
"Safe now," he said, and the Twi'lek rolled her eyes.
"You know, I never knew just how I'd cope when Ezra would start dating," she murmured, cradling her mug. "Part of me was scared that he and Sabine would've become an item. That would've been terrifying." Kanan chuckled.
"Because he's a Jedi and she's a Mandalorian, right?"
Hera arched her brow. 'No,' she thought. Because the idea of two teenaged rebels sneaking in and out of each other's rooms on her ship was just painful to think of. Not to mention what would happen if it didn't work out…
"Yeah, something like that, love," she said. It was so much easier to agree with Kanan, especially if it was going to spare him the mental image of their surrogate children fooling around. "But this? This was something I never would've bet on. Not in a hundred years. Are you sure he and that ex-Inquisitor are actually… well, involved?"
Kanan paused, his mug halfway to his mouth. He didn't dare reveal to Hera that it had already gone past that. An angry rancor didn't compete with her when she was in 'full mother mode.' And he didn't think for one moment she'd remain quiet if she thought that Ezra and the Seventh had already had sex. Force, if not for his Jedi training he would've blanched more himself. He did not need to think of his student doing that sort of thing.
"Yeah, love," he said, swallowing the last of his caf and wrapping his hands around the cup.
"I knew she wasn't taking his whole 'hunting-you-down' thing seriously for a while now, but I didn't think they were even friends," she said. He shook his head.
"From what I've heard, Inquisitors never really learn basic social skills. Whatever their race or customs, once they were identified and brought into the fold, they were taught to live, breathe and think Imperial. Let your weapon do the talking, as it were."
"Okay, fair enough. I can understand that. Hell, I can even sympathise with her for it." Hera worried at her lip as the scuffling in the next room grew in volume. "But what does that make all the times when she's tried to fight him, or offer to teach him?"
Kanan scratched his nose with the back of his thumb.
"Honestly? For a long time now all she's done is trade easy strikes with him and walk away when he did. I think it might've just been her way of reaching out." He frowned, mulling it over. "And I'm not so sure she was even aware of it." Maybe the Seventh and Ezra had been 'friends' for a while now, he thought. But there was no chance he could delve into that mystery without a team of therapists to help him make sense of it.
"Either way" he continued. "She's starting to see the world around her from an independent viewpoint. No more place to call home or ally at her back. It's not surprising to think that her strongest bond – or her longest - is with Ezra."
"That doesn't sound very healthy," Hera mumbled, swallowing another mouthful of caf.
"Yeah – never get involved with older women," Kanan murmured, ducking as the Twi'lek swung an annoyed strike towards the back of his head.
"You knew what I meant, young man," she said, a dangerous edge in her voice.
"Yeah, I know. But what you said? I don't think anything she's gone through has been terribly healthy. Her flirty little partnership with him – " He paused as Ezra grunted from within the refresher, followed by Zeb roaring with victory. "- well, it's probably the closest thing to normalcy she's ever had," he finished.
"Poor girl," Hera murmured.
"Tell me about it – I trained him."
"So… am I going to have to sit her down and warn her not to hurt my youngest?" There was nothing but seriousness in her tone, even as Kanan waved it away.
"I… kinda tried that already. And I think it may've offended her too," he muttered, clearing his throat. "Either way, she's trying to work out just who and what she is right now, and I think Ezra's going to go a long way with helping her. We'd be pretty silly if we didn't think they'd grow closer because of it."
"I guess you're right," Hera thought aloud, as Ezra limped out of the refresher with neon pink sparkles staining his hair.
"Refresher's free," he muttered, refusing to look at them as he made his way to his room.
"… I feel kind've sorry for that girl now," she added.
"I feel sorry for Sabine – that hair stuff of hers is expensive. Told her not to keep it in there." Kanan frowned a little, casting his awareness across the breadth of the docked freighter for any sign of the Mandalorian. "Where is she, anyway? I haven't heard her all morning."
"About that…"
Sabine Wren narrowed her eyes, watching the Mirialan from behind tented hands. The Rebel captive ignored her, choosing to focus on her work instead, studying the choices before her.
"It's straightforward," the Mandalorian said. "Take your time. Think it through. And when you're ready, I'll just destroy you." She tilted her head, fixing her warning gaze at the former Inquisitor. The Seventh rubbed her eyes tiredly.
"All these years I thought your people were all about action and fighting," she muttered. "Maybe you just talk until your enemy gives up…?" There was a pregnant pause between them, and Sabine showed no sign of reacting until finally, the Seventh ran out of patience. Wordlessly she moved one of her pieces on the board, something big and hulking, and expecting something positive to come of it. A second later the Mandalorian had made her move, starting a chain reaction that killed half of the avatar's and won her the game. The Dejarik board flashed and named Sabine as the winner again.
"My, such mastery," the Seventh remarked dryly. "You really must be getting tired of this by now." She knew she was. Over the course of two days, the young woman had visited her like this several times already. 'Meeting the whole family,' she had called it, though the Lasat or the Twi'lek had yet to visit her. At this point, she was hoping the Mandalorian would start following in their example, too. And what was keeping Bridger, anyway? Was a conjugal visit or two too much to ask…?
"Oh, I wouldn't go that far. Besides – you keep telegraphing your shots. It's a weakness that I just keep on exploiting" she chirped, resetting the board. The former Imperial rubbed her eyes again and swept her arm through the holographic markers. Another consecutive round would officially make the game 'cruel and unusual punishment,' which was hardly called for. So far, she'd answered every question they'd asked of her.
"Stop, my eyes are sore," she muttered. Her own fault for "staying up late reading again," she supposed.
"That sounds like a poor excuse if you ask me," Sabine said, but shut off the board and moved it aside regardless. "I've seen some of those old archived books – only a droid could stomach so much of that text in one go. At least Dejarik is fun. Tactical simulation at its finest."
The Mirialan knew better than that. Sabine was trying to size her up, much like Kanan before her. Albeit in a subtler way.
"Well it's not like I have anything else to do in here," she deflected, looking around her cell. "Of course, if get out of here sooner than later, that might change… Are the rooms in your freighter soundproofed? I'm just curious…" Sabine paled, her mind already filling in the gaps of just what the ex-Inquisitor was suggesting. The Seventh smirked. "And there we see your weakness," she said, pointing.
She had never quite understood what relationship Ezra had forged with his Mandalorian teammate – if it was familial or platonic or whichever. But the way she leaned back and glared from beneath her colourful hair told her one thing: Sabine was happy not to imagine Ezra Bridger cuddling in the dark with someone.
"How is it not a weakness for you too?" she complained, unused to having such a suggestion heaped on her. Sabine's life revolved around explosives and art sticks and fighting, and that was it. And by now she suspected their prisoner knew it too. The Seventh shrugged, grinning mischievously.
"I suppose I'm just special like that, dear," she cooed, and the Mandalorian rolled her almond eyes.
"I liked you better when you were creepy."
"You mean I'm not? You know just how to wound me, sometimes. Tell me…" She nodded towards the Dejarik board, her nose scrunching as she gave it a look of disdain. "If I was creepy again, do you think you'd stop bringing your torture table around so often?"
"Ah – you mistake a Mandalorian rehabilitation device," Sabine replied sagely. "I used to visit a… political prisoner and we played games of Cubikahd. I can't say I was ever very great, but it helped broker a connection. Now, he's one of my staunchest allies."
"Fascinating," her audience replied, her tone suggesting otherwise. "And you're hoping you and I are going to become 'gal pals' as they say, Wren?"
"I do this for my own sanity," Sabine countered, making a face. "The sooner you get out of here, the sooner Ezra might stop being a complete pain in the ass."
"Well I'm sure I can try and help out in that regard," the Seventh said suggestively, baring her teeth in a knowing grin. Sabine made a face and waved her hands.
"No, stop, don't want to know," she urged. "Stop, or I'll just have him arrested."
"Can he have the opposite cell from mine? It's kind of become 'our thing,' I guess you could say…"
"Oh, please shut up."
"Of course, he'll calm down once I go ahead and lay an egg inside of him…"
"I said I don't want to- wait, what?"
The ex-Inquisitor grinned wolfishly.
"Told you I was still 'creepy,' dear." She watched with amusement as the Mandalorian held her palm up, silently demanding a respite while she closed her eyes and tried to rid herself of the mental images. She almost laughed – the young woman was very animated and expressive. Every gesture was complimented by paint-splattered armour and vivid hair. But above all, there was a genuine air about her that was… endearing, if she had to put a word to it.
"He means a lot to you, doesn't he?" she asked, watching Sabine's features morph from despair into a quiet seriousness.
"That Lothrat is my best friend," she said finally. "No – he's my brother. And I want to see him be happy." The Seventh arched a fine brow, peering at her carefully.
"And you think that I'm able to make him happy?"
"Honestly? I'm not sure." Sabine knew that whatever 'relationship' Ezra had with this former Inquisitor was a weird one – over the years she seemed more like an ex-girlfriend slash jilted lover than an actual threat to them. Maybe they were bound to 'take the plunge' at some point. But who was she to say if something did or didn't work for them? "Hurry up and prove you're the real deal so you can get out of here and we can find out," she finished.
"Yeah," the Seventh murmured. "Working on it."
Mon Mothma waited pensively, observing the Imperial Courier through the one-way glass. A politician at heart, she had lobbied fiercely in the past for diplomatic solutions. She sought peace through spoken words and gestures. But she knew when she was out of her element – the officer within the interview room swallowed a mouthful of water and hurled the glass towards the mirror in defiance. On the other side, Mon Mothma reacted as the tumbler shattered against the transparisteel before her, cringing and closing her eyes.
The Imperial merely glared and folded his hands, turning to stare back across the table he was shackled to. The mirror held, but the message was clear – he knew someone was there, watching him.
"I don't suppose we've had any luck breaking a deal with our latest 'guest,'" she murmured, turning her attention on a nearby technician. He turned the captive's datapack over in his hands, fruitlessly searching for a bypass to the DNA scanner to open it.
"I'm afraid to tamper with it too much, Ma'am," he reported. "This is a new feature – upsetting it could do almost anything. The magnetic shielding within could be concealing a transmitter or even a detonator." She frowned. Bypassing the security without his help wasn't an option then.
"And I didn't think it possible, but this new crop of cadets is ruder than the last." Kanan Jarrus stood nearby, facing the wall and the captured Imperial on the other side. "Whatever happened to the days of 'name, rank and serial number'? I feel so old-fashioned…"
"Master Jedi," she said, halting his musings. "Is there nothing that can be done with him? I feel like we're risking exposure with every minute he's on Yavin IV."
Kanan frowned, stroking his bearded chin.
"I've had no luck influencing him," he confessed. "Notice the tremors in his hands? I daresay he's ingested a stimulant. Something to keep his mind racing for a while to prevent some of our questioning methods." He was honestly surprised – he'd always imagined that an informant for the Empire would have been given a poison instead of a stim.
"I never thought I'd find myself wishing Saw Gerrera were here," Mon Mothma confessed. As a Rebel, many saw Gerrera's methods to be too extreme or even brutal, but there was no denying his effectiveness. Kanan frowned deeper, however. He wasn't so terribly fond of the idea.
"I wouldn't go that far," he muttered. If the rumours were true, Saw had taken to using a Bor Gullet to extract information from his prisoners, which usually left their minds shattered afterwards. A cost that was too high, as far as he was concerned.
"These Imperial Couriers have always managed to slip away when we encountered them," she reminded him. "We're looking at a golden opportunity to uncover some of the Imperial spy or information network, but we need this man-" The Imperial sat up straight within the interview room, before yelling a loud obscenity and crying that he'll 'never break!' She sniffed. " – need him to cooperate."
Kanan considered for a moment, before turning and nodding back towards the base behind them.
"Can I ask how our 'other guest' has been doing?"
"You mean your former Inquisitor? Infinitely more helpful," she remarked. "It appears that throughout her career she was content to follow orders without asking questions, but I daresay anyone trained by Darth Vader would be of the same mind." Mon Mothma turned away from the mirror, watching the technician carefully look over the datapack again.
"She's not a 'wellspring' of information as we originally hoped, but she's been answering questions voluntarily and not been causing a problem for her guards. It seems as if she's spending most of her time reading."
"Glad to hear it," he remarked. As the days had passed since talking to her, he was more and more interested in seeing how she would adapt to her new environs. Most of all, he was keen to see if she would prove that Ezra was right about her. His Padawan may have been trying to downplay the situation, but it was clear that Ezra was pinning some hopes on the Seventh changing some Rebel opinions.
"This may be unorthodox? But I may have an idea about how to get our new friend here talking."
She read the passage again, golden eyes scanning the text. It felt like she had stared at the words so much that they had begun to lose their meaning. Beliefs weren't a subject that she had ever put much stock into. As an Inquisitor, she believed in the power of the Force and the strength of the Empire. Now that she was lost to one and forsaken by the other, the Seventh wasn't in a hurry to replace them anytime soon. There was freedom – a liberation – in not being tied to some great cause or structure. Even if the time came quickly that she was 'invited into the Rebellion fold,' she knew she was joining for herself. Grand gestures of freedom and noble acts weren't her. But having pay, food, clothes and a haven would suit her just fine.
It didn't hurt that most of her tasks would involve lashing out at the Empire in so many ways. Maybe if she'd ever bothered to pay real attention in the past, she might have seen just how successful they were. Liberating Y-wings. Bombing capital ships. Evading blockades and sabotaging factories. Sign her up for any of those fun activities.
In the back of her mind, she knew another big part of it all was waiting for her over in the Corellian VCX-100 freighter, better known as Ghost. Wearing out the durasteel floors from pacing and picking fights with their grumpy astromech, according to Wren. The Seventh wondered just what would happen when she found herself with Ezra Bridger once more. Especially now that she had 'met most of the family.' Now that she'd gone along with his idea of 'swapping sides.' Of embracing her new start. Of course, if she were on probation or just kept busy, she'd probably have to put some of her plans involving private rooms on hold.
She tried to focus on her book, re-reading the passage again while she decided not to distract herself with plans for celebrating life with her Padawan 'toy boy.'
A Mirialan's core belief in themselves are reflected on the unique, geometric facial tattoos they wear. Typically, these are added after significant accomplishments or passing trials of faith – henceforth, the larger or more diversified symbols would often signify a mature or accomplished individual of the species.
The ex-Inquisitor closed the text and reclined on her cot. It was time for a break, anyway. Otherwise, the Mandalorian would be right and she'd turn into a droid. But her tired brain wouldn't stop repeating the complicated jumble of words again and again. It wasn't entirely alien to her – in the Inquisitorius she had faith in her abilities, and her military awards reflected it. She wore them proudly. Why mar her skin with an inky needle when a neat pin of ranks did the job better?
Now, her awards were gone, along with any respect she had for them. She was back to respecting just one force in the galaxy, and that was herself. No colourful pin or uniform was going to advertise that. Besides, she already managed just fine. She was confident that every smirk and strut and sharpened word was proof enough of that. (And she liked knowing that someone found her sexier for it.)
So why was she unable to just put this last passage out of her mind? She rubbed her chin where two elegant, faded spots decorated her face. Above them were the modest dots and strokes on her cheeks. The only evidence that she was once a part of Mirialan culture before she found herself snatched away by the Empire. She had never given much thought to them – why would she? They never served many purposes to her. Now…
She supposed it was the faint traces of the Dark Side left in her. That tiny bit of greed – of want for something she didn't have. Because now it felt like the modest marks on her face were lacking. Everything she had accomplished in her life had been for the Empire, and they had rewarded her with some tiny badge for the effort. Now she was her own person. She wanted to start achieving things for herself, and she wanted to show them off too, damn it. Besides – wasn't that all part of having a fresh start? To build her catalogue of achievements from the ground up?
"Knock knock?"
She sat up with a start, once again finding her thoughts interrupted by the sudden appearance of Kanan Jarrus. She swore to herself that if she got out of her cell anytime soon, she'd attach a blasted bell on him.
"It's actually more of a ringing sound," she said, waving her hand at the cell door. "Since they're bars, and all."
"So they are. But how would you like a break from the bars for a time?"
She narrowed her eyes, swinging her legs around and planting her boots on the ground.
"I'd be suspicious, but listening."
"And you'd be smart in both parts," the Jedi said, leaning against the bars of her cage. "It seems that the Rebel Alliance could use your… expertise with certain Imperial elements. And it might go a long way in winning friends and influencing people."
"A more direct man would say that you 'want me to prove my worth' by doing something like an Inquisitor would do, Master Jedi," she said carefully. But she was intrigued. By the promise of getting out of her cell. By the possibility of impressing someone worth impressing. By showing what she could do. Most of all, she was just intrigued. "Tell me more."
"What do you know about Imperial Couriers?"
She grinned broadly. It was time to go and work on her first achievement as a new woman. She'd have plenty of time later to decide how best to reflect it as a small tattoo.
She sat on one end of a wide table, opposite the twitching captive. She reflected how a day before she had sat there herself, answering questions and making small talk to some nameless Rebellion officer. Now she was asking the questions. The shackles were on him. The power in the room was in her hands.
She leaned back and stretched her legs out, crossing one over the other and staring at him with a lazy expression.
"Tell me," she began, clasping her hands together. "… what sounds better to you? Limco? Or maybe Yivic?"
The courier's shoulder jumped, and he scratched the back of his neck. She'd never paid much attention to them before – as an Inquisitor, she had no need. Though she couldn't imagine that the effects she was seeing were from something they gave him. A captured informant was no good to anyone – better to poison them and be done with it. But this one was twitching like they were coming down from a Spice high. Either he was an addict or just an idiot. 'Or both,' she mused.
"I don't know anything about either one," he grunted, rubbing his nose. "And if I did, you'd never get it out of me."
"Don't be stupid," she sighed, waving her hand in dismissal. "They're not projects; they're names. You see, once upon a time I worked for the Empire too. But I was an Inquisitor." She paused, watching with satisfaction as began to wring his hands together. The only alien Imperials were the talented and the merciless, and everyone knew Inquisitors were both. "But now, I find myself doing what I want to do, so it's time I picked out a name… How about Shavo…?" Shavo might work – it was a good Mirialan name. Then she screwed her face up, deciding against it. Too soft on the tongue for her liking.
"How about 'traitor' instead? Or just 'dead'? Because when I'm found there won't be any hiding spot for you or your Rebel scum friends." The courier growled, but there was no mistaking the waver in his words.
She laughed, a high peal that filled the room. And he thought he had any chance of rescue? That was just 'so cute!' But she knew better than to reveal that pearl of wisdom just yet.
"Can I tell you a secret?" she asked, not quite waiting for him to answer her with an expletive. "I don't think you even know anything worthwhile."
"That's right," he quickly agreed, nodding. "Nothing. So you can give up now."
"I don't think you ever knew anything. In fact, we're probably wasting time and just keeping you here."
"Well if I did know, you'd still get nothing." He was twitching again, jumping between denial and defiance. Whatever chemicals were hopping around in his blood were steadily burning out, and she knew he'd only grow more unstable as they did. She slid her boots off the table and leaned forward, grinning darkly.
"So I think I'll just go ahead and kill you and save us all the time and effort."
Her prey baulked, eyes widening. Next door behind the one-way transparisteel, Mon Mothma's lips became a tight line.
"Do I need to have a guard intervene, Master Jarrus?" she asked tensely. Kanan frowned but shook his head.
"No, Ma'am," he murmured, watching the Mirialan tilt her head like an amused bird. "She's bluffing – at least she thinks she is. I'm not sensing any intentions there-"
"What'd I miss?"
They turned as Ezra Bridger all but jogged up beside the mirror, his focus already on the shield and the interview room on the other side. Sabine Wren came up behind him, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes.
"I couldn't keep him busy enough when he heard what was going on," she despaired, but the older Jedi just waved her concerns away.
"Your girlfriend is scaring our captive," Kanan said to Ezra, almost immediately making the youth snort and shoot a glare his way.
"What? No, she's not my - "
"Yeah, sure. Just pay attention in case things get messy."
On the other side of the screen, the Imperial tightened his grip on the edge of the table. The short chains around his wrists clinked as his leg bounced up and down. He hardly blinked, staring at the ex-Inquisitor as if she were a dangerous beast.
"You wouldn't dare," he croaked, more to himself than to her. "The Empire – "
"Is a long, long way away," she sang. "And we're not on speaking terms anymore."
"Your Rebel friends won't let you."
"My Rebel friends aren't here. I'm not sure just what you swallowed, but a smart courier would have taken their lives. You're either a drug user, or you're stupid. Either way…" She slowly stood, her alien grace accentuating every step like a hunter stalking its prey.
"We're all alone, and you're worthless to me," she hummed. "I'll say you attacked me, and how I bravely fought you off. I might even get myself a medal." One long, lithe leg moved in front of the other. She gazed at him with eyes of malice – gold and black beacons that he stared at fearfully.
Unseen, Kanan held out his hand to calm the adjacent guard, who grew more anxious as the exchange went on.
"She's playing him," Ezra said, and there was a current of awe and even pride as he watched. Sabine nudged him with her elbow.
"That how she got you?"
"Hey – you can't say it's not working," he deflected. "Admit it. Part of you is having fun watching her scare this guy."
Sabine didn't answer, but he had a point. If Kanan held his hand up to calm the guard, she trusted that all she was seeing was an elaborate act. And the Mandalorian wondered how much more efficient interrogations were if they were able to get a little more 'intense' with their questioning.
"I'll open the pack." Even through the filter of the speaker, the Imperial's fear was palpable. And the Seventh's laughter was mocking.
"You don't know how," she insisted. "I'm better off saving the air you're stealing."
"But I do!" he insisted, his pitch rising as she took another fluid step forward. "I do, and I can even point who the message was from."
"We'll get 'nothing out of you,' remember?" Her voice became mocking. And then it became husky and dangerous. "You're dangerous. You attacked me. I defended myself so bravely."
"I'm in chains!" He shook his wrists, rattling the shackles loudly against the table.
"Later tonight? I'm going to be enjoying celebration sex, and you? You will be dead." She sat on the edge of the table, her grin growing malevolent. "I hope you're a screamer."
He yelled and pulled on his cuffs, trying in vain to lean away from the Mirialan with the Sith eyes. She stood, smirking down at him as he began pleading his immediate usefulness. The ex-Inquisitor made a gesture towards the mirror, moving back to her chair and sitting as a pair of armed guards filed into the room. The courier looked up at them like they were salvation, his face red and eyes swelled as he appealed to them.
"I can open it," he was babbling as they unhooked his cuffs and pulled him towards the door. He didn't dare look away from the smirking Mirialan, trying to keep as much distance between them as they passed by her seat.
Soon she was left alone, sitting at the table she had occupied the day before. She knew she was only pretending to be on the other side of the exchange this time, but she had to face facts. It all felt… good. She didn't question it – she had been an Inquisitor, after all. Her career had depended on her being able to win an argument before it even begun. To intimidate with a glare, or silence someone with a wave of her hand. And Force knew she was endlessly amused when she frightened someone quite so much.
But this was new. This wasn't her job anymore. She wasn't scaring some civilian Togruta into giving up a suspect's hiding spot. This was lashing out at the Empire that used her. This was a chance to show off what she had to offer, and she knew she had cinched it. The 'impossible to crack' courier had withered under her glare in no time.
It was a little personal, but most of all it was satisfying. The Seventh folded her hands in front of her as she heard the door open again, expecting her own shackles to be reattached anytime soon. Instead, she was greeted by an entourage of Jarrus, Wren, the Senator Mothma who had questioned her before, and a flushed and embarrassed looking Ezra Bridger, who she favoured with a coy wink. He looked much better now that he had shaved, she thought.
"Well," the Senator began. "I can honestly say I haven't witnessed an interview quite so… unique before." She had observed other officers come and go in her time, issuing their own empty threats. But never had they been quite so believable as the ex-Inquisitor had been. "You've done the Rebellion a service, and one that won't be forgotten."
The Mirialan nodded, her gaze flickering between Mothma, Jarrus, Wren and finally back to Ezra. She saw amusement on the Mandalorian and quiet contemplation in the Jedi, but now she was left wondering what was next.
"If the time comes, I wouldn't say no to doing it all over again," she remarked, spreading her palms across the tabletop. "So… am I right in guessing it's back to my cell now?"
"Actually…" Kanan scratched a bearded cheek before motioning towards Mothma. "Considering your cooperation and services today, the Senator would like to put you on probation for a while. Give everyone a chance to see how you'd fare in the long run." Ezra gave his Master a look as Kanan struggled with the words when the Senator stepped in and relieved him.
"To be sure, you've been extraordinarily helpful during your time with us, despite it being under guard. And the Rebellion can always use good people, even if their motives are more personal than political. That said, I believe you would appreciate staying more if you weren't confined to a small cell of a daytime, correct?"
The Seventh chewed her lip, looking at the faces around her. They seemed impartial or patient, except for Ezra, who hovered between anxious and alert.
"I'm not so sure I'm in the right place," she answered carefully. She was still oh so very aware that most of her 'charm' in her last test came from corrupted eyes and appearing genuinely excited at killing her target. "… but if your Rebellion is willing to give me a chance, then I accept."
The Senator nodded cordially, turning to Jarrus and asking him to 'make the preparations' before she departed. And then she was alone with the three of them. The stern Jedi, the indifferent Mandalorian and the attractive Padawan.
"I'm guessing you're going to tell me not to try and steal a ship or torture anyone?" she ventured, wondering if Jarrus was rolling his sightless eyes behind his shield.
"Something like that," he muttered. "But you can probably guess just what a probation entails. You'll be monitored and kept busy. You might be called on to do some grunt work, even. It's not all scare tactics and interrogations."
"Plus you'll have to meet the rest of the family," Sabine interjected, earning a 'glare' from Kanan and leaving her shrugging. "What? You know they'll want her placed near a team she's already familiar with – how long did you think it was going to be until Hera comes and gives her a stern talking to?"
"Yeah, well…" He rubbed the back of his neck, giving the sitting Mirialan a look. "… you might feel like you're being interrogated when it happens, so we'll try and put that off for a while. Any questions?"
"Just one. Care to point me towards the refresher? And maybe give me a 'do not disturb' sign, too."
Sabine sniggered as Kanan shrugged helplessly, wondering aloud what he had managed to bring on himself before leaving the room.
"You know, we still don't know just what to call you," the Mandalorian said.
"I'll let you know when something good comes to mind," the Seventh answered, before Wren departed after Kanan, leaving her alone with Ezra. "So – you have any ideas? What about Cimue? I think I read that somewhere in the book your 'dad' gave me…"
Ezra started, stopped, and finally couldn't keep the question down anymore.
"… celebration sex?" he asked, eyebrows knitting upwards. She shrugged.
"It's not like I was working with a script," she said offhandedly. "… what about Mirv?"
"Oh, sure," he murmured. "Mirv, the ex-Inquisitor with the perfect timing. Did you know I was bragging about just how good you were when you dropped that little pearl?"
"Are you're asking if I knew you were standing right outside, about to become very embarrassed? No – but I had a hunch. I would have bet good credits." She could already picture Wren giving the Padawan a nudge and fuelling his awkwardness. "Should've, too – I would've won."
"You…" Ezra opened and closed his mouth a few times, finally settling on pointing at the Mirialan. "You're just evil, you know that?"
Her grin widened.
"Yes, I am. You can go ahead and admit that you find it gorgeous on me." She gave Ezra a sideways look, admiring just how cleaner he looked with his cheeks and neck shaven. Force knew they scratched last time. Speaking of… "And give me a kiss, while you're at it."
The Jedi struggled to say something as she waited, favouring him with a batt of her golden eyes. Ezra gave up and descended, her grin becoming a coy smile as she grabbed the back of his neck and pressed her lips against his own, inviting his now-familiar warmth to bleed into her.
