Author's Note: This is the only chapter that is T+.
Someone To Fight For
Chapter Eleven
Wendy sits up and rubs her tired, aching eyes. Her datapad is off, and as her hand falls to her cheek she feels the indentation of the datapad. She's fallen asleep reading more about the Esh-Ka from ancient files, what little is available. As she staggers upright from the chair, she sees that she is still dressed in her regular clothes, which are dark grey pants and a brown, short-sleeved shirt. The time readout is a little past midnight, and she runs a hand through her hair. Her throat feels dry and scratchy, so she decides to grab a blanket, wraps it around her frame as if it's a cloak, and heads for the small kitchen.
The ship is dark besides the few emergency lights lighting her path to the kitchen. She makes it without stumbling into anything, at least anything important. Her body and mind is sluggish and exhausted. Stinging eyes, an aching back, and stiff shoulders—she wonders how she'll be able to fall asleep again.
The kitchen too is empty and dark save for a shadowy figure lounging by one of the large windows. The light switch is momentarily difficult to find, but once it's found, the room illuminates dimly. One of the lights is busted and she makes the groggy mental note of getting it replaced.
"We need to stop meeting like this," Wendy says as she walks to the counter, grabs a mug, and receives hot water from the tap upon adjusting it. She isn't over their previous discussion and it's residual consequences, but she knows it's out of her hands.
He doesn't reply save for a grunt. She takes a tea bag from her small collection and goes to sit across from Zenith on the small couch beside the window. As she waits for the tea to diffuse, she leans her head against the ship's wall.
"Why are you up?"
"Couldn't sleep. They're counting up the votes on Balmorra right now."
"Oh, good." She blows cool air onto the surface of the tea and then takes a sip, only to cringe—still too early.
"Speaking of," she yawns, "you never told me how the speech went."
His eyes flash towards hers. "The crowd responded well. I stole Fiskan's momentum. His was good, but mine was better."
Wendy smiles softly. "It wouldn't be very humble and modest of me to say what I'm about to say, but," her smile turns into a grin, "I told you so."
Zenith nods appreciatively. Wendy tries her tea again and this time it's warm enough to enjoy. She reaches through the Force and feels him there, and she relaxes—his presence is calm and open despite the lingering threads of nervousness. She wonders if perhaps he wanted to come to her, to have her with him when the news came, as support, regardless of the outcome.
She hesitates—she isn't in the mood for an argument—but asks, "What did you decide about the refugees?"
"I sent them home," he glances back to her and holds her gaze. "They're under arrest for collaborating with the enemy." His voice is even and more diplomatic in tone, unlike before. He's no longer resentful or angry. "They'll be given a chance to pay for their crimes through the rebuilding of Balmorra. Reparations, in a way."
"I think you made a good choice, or at least the most level-headed one." She takes another sip of her tea and sighs.
"Whatever happens, Gaerwen, I'm…sorry for my behavior."
"Apology accepted."
Zenith's datapad lights up with a message and he looks down. His expression is stoic, though she can see the answer in his eyes.
"I won. I'm… I'm opposition leader."
Gaerwen smiles from ear to ear. She raises her mug to him and congratulates him. Zenith runs a hand over his face, as if he is astonished by the fact that he actually won.
"I'm sure Nalen Fiskan isn't pleased."
"If he's unhappy then I'm happy."
She smiles mischievously until the reality of the matter sets in, and it ruins her good mood. As she lifts her cup, she murmurs over its brim, "I'll tell Holiday to set a course for Balmorra in the morning."
He raises a brow."Why?"
"Well I imagine your constituents would like to see you doing your job."
"Can work as a leader from a distance until you're finished gallivanting across the galaxy."
"Gallivanting," she laughs and rolls her eyes, "hardly doing that."
"Tai and I can speak via the Holo, and when it's necessary I can take a shuttle there and be back in a day or so."
"You're sure?"
"Of course." He shrugs, places the datapad aside, and then folds his arms across his chest. He looks out the window and shrugs. "I've got my future to think about."
She hums in agreement. Her own gaze falls to the stars, to the perceived emptiness of space. She takes another sip of her tea and finishes it. "And what do you think it holds?"
"Pushing the Empire back as far as possible." She can almost feel the sparks in his voice. His fervor is still strong.
"I'm sure that will be good for morale back home."
He nods, and they both fall silent again. Wendy places her now empty mug on the ground, moves closer to him, and pulls the blanket around her more due to the cold.
"I couldn't have done this without your help," he begins, breaking the silence, "I wouldn't have had the edge if it weren't for you."
"You would have broken a few kneecaps, granted, and I won't condone that as an optimal means to political power, but I'm sure you would have succeeded in the end."
"Doesn't matter what I didn't do. And I wanted to say thank you." He straightens and extends a hand, to which she takes after a moment of astonishment. "I'm done living in the past. Future's more important, for Balmorra's and mine."
Wendy nods and lets her hand fall away.
"I want to stay and fight the Empire with you."
"You know you're most welcome." She sighs. "Afterall, who'll watch my back if not for you? I…I meant what I said down in the cargo hold. I do think about you a lot. Sometimes I can't sleep because of it, and I'm sure you think that's bad form because it makes you tired when it matters most, but sometimes it's easier said than done."
"I know."
"My mother," her voice lowers a few octaves, "when she was in the final stages of her illness, she tried to pack in all the life lessons into what time she had left," she raises a hand and touches Zenith's cheek, running a finger over his one freckle. "She said to me, 'If you ever meet someone, someone who you really care about, make sure they're worthy.' Now I never really understood what she meant, but I think I do now. I always thought she meant, make sure they're worthy enough to risk falling to the Dark Side for. At least that's what so many people told me.
"But that interpretation was way off base. I think she meant for me to make sure they're worthy of my time and my heart—if you'll pardon the sentimentality."
Wendy swallows hard; it's all on display now, there's no turning back. He stares at her as if he's studying a piece of art or an artifact. His hand comes up and the blanket falls away from her face as he runs his fingers through her hair, slowly and gently.
"You think I'm that someone?" He sounds genuinely surprised.
"I," she blushes, "maybe—I'd like to think so. When I'm with you, you challenge me. I mean, you and I, we look tough, we talk tough, but we're just— I don't know. You make me laugh—yeah, that's right, I hear your little snarky comments during the briefings." He chuckles. "I don't know, I'm really just rambling. It's late, and tomorrow we'll be on Belsavis." She pokes his chest. "And you're coming with me to that planet. If there's anyone who can fight off potentially crazed Esh-Ka with me, it's you."
Zenith takes her head in his hands, and his fingers are light against her skin. "You need to sleep."
She sighs and closes her eyes. "You're right. No sense in staying up any later." She opens one eye and smirks. "Don't need two grumpy people in the morning. No amount of caf in the world could assuage it."
She slides off of the couch and with their hands clasped together, she pulls him through the dark hallways toward her quarters. They pause before the door, and it's clear that this is where the line is: Zenith's never entered her quarters, though they have shared a bed once on Tython.
"Goodnight," he presses a kiss to her forehead, and before he can turn and leave, she stops him.
"What? No—" finally, a test of her own resolve, "stay. Stay with me." She swallows and then adds, "If you'd like, of course."
Zenith takes a step towards her, and she falls back against the metal door. He places his palms against the surface on either side of her head. He leans forward and kisses her, traces the curve of her lips with his tongue, sucks on her lower lip—terribly wicked and yet terribly divine—and she lets out a moan. Her cheeks redden immediately. Gaerwen fumbles for the switch on the door until it opens. They need to make this private before something living and sentient, Holiday, makes their private business public to certain members of her crew.
Once inside, the door closes, and she guides him toward her bed. She can barely hear herself think over her loud pulse. Zenith sits down and she stands before him. With momentary hesitation, she starts peeling off the few layers of clothing he's dressed in. It's almost symbolic, she decides—and only a Jedi could find something as the removal of clothing as symbolic. Each piece of clothing is like each layer of protection over his body, mind, and heart. The storm's passed.
What innocence may have begot her exploration soon becomes curiosity which then develops into eagerness, and suddenly the game's changed—she doesn't care if they'll be cranky in the morning, because she's no longer against the idea of staying up all night with him. She wants to know him, and if she allows herself the vanity, she wants him to know her intimately.
Once his shirt is gone and his chest is bare, Zenith takes her hands and stops her, causing her to flush again.
Is it really that obvious how desperately I want this?
"Is this what you really want?" Gaerwen nods. "I'm older than you, I'm not a Jedi, I'm a vengeful man—" He trails off.
Wendy blinks and raises a brow. Vulnerability crosses his features, something she has never seen before. Her own feelings are echoed in his Force Signature: shared apprehension. He needs reassurance, he needs her to say the words he's fearful of admitting, even though the sentiment behind them is so clear.
"I don't care about any of that. None of those traits define who you are entirely. I don't care if you're older or that you're not a Jedi, and I know that though you're vengeful, you're merciful." She shrugs wistfully. "I've never done any of this. But I want this," she tentatively places a kiss on his cheek, a hair's length away from his lips. She swallows hard. "I need this. "
He hesitates, lets go of one of her hands, and brushes away loose strands of red hair. "Do you trust me?"
Wendy knows that he wouldn't ask the question unless he knew it were time to discuss it for he values trust as equally as his own life.. When Zenith says something, it's meaningful. He never says an unnecessary word.
"Yes, I do. I always have since Balmorra. If I can't trust you, I can't really trust anyone now, can I?" She presses another kiss to his lower jaw and barely moves away afterward. Her breath is warm despite the chilly air, and her eyes flash back and forth from his own and his mouth.
"The real question is do you trust me, Zenith?"
He buries himself in her hair and murmurs against her ear. "You're the only person who has earned my trust to its fullest."
It doesn't take another word; they jump together off of the cliff, and it's not so bad. There's no darkness in the Force, there's nothing lurking in the shadows except bad memories and worrisome dreams that fade away with light kisses.
Gaerwen pulls back and looks away in order to catch and collect her racing thoughts. She reminds herself of what she desires in order to make her happy and how it will require bravery on her behalf.
"I've heard some people talk about this before." She sits down on the bed beside him. "About knowing someone. My cousin's like my sister; she's told me stories, about what's done and how it should be."
"And how should it?"
"It's strange the first time. Sometimes it can hurt for the woman. But it's enjoyable if you take it easy and make sure you're both ready."
"It's your decision, Gaerwen."
"No, it's ours," she insists. Her hand reaches up and runs down his lekku. It twitches beneath her, and the physical response is clear. "Do you want this?"
He pulls away from her, with his hands on her shoulders, holding her steady. Zenith nods.
"Say it." Her voice is a bit firmer. She knows she needs to tease the words out if they're to be said.
"I want this—you." In his eyes she sees the added trait—he's also a passionate man.
"I don't know when we'll have another chance," she shrugs half-heartedly. "The stakes are higher. They'll only get higher as we get closer to the First Son." She closes her eyes and whispers, "So make love to me, Zenith."
"Logistically speaking, what about—"
"Always practical," she laughs, with an added rush of heat to her cheeks. "But rightfully so." Neither of them can risk those potential consequences. "Billie sent me a type of medication that can prevent pregnancy. I—" she stands and points towards her 'fresher. "Let me go find it."
She leaves and returns quickly enough, to see him removing his boots and insulated socks. She consumed the pill according to instruction's attached to the container. She's thankful for Billie's kindness and thoughtfulness and for practicality. Wendy crawls onto the bedside again and exudes her bravery by stealing his lips with her own.
Zenith's response is powerful, and she feels the pent up, perhaps at times confusing and conflicting, sense of longing release. He's experienced in kissing, they both are now, but beyond that, it's learning and exploring. They are quick and adaptive learners.
He falls back against the bed when they part to take a breath. She moves to lean over him, to look into his purple eyes as she trails her hand over his body. His chest is solid yet scarred, a consequence of combat. The scars on his lower side are from a grenade, from a battle long ago, she can tell, from the smallness and clustered character of them.
Gaerwen has her own. In order to share them, she stops her exploration and lifts her brown shirt over her shoulders to become as bare as him, save for her grey breast-binder. When Wendy goes to remove it, he swats her hands away and sits up.
"Let me," he requests in tone that makes her wonder of it is hardly a request and more an order.
At night her quarters are mostly dark, with only the one small emergency light. But the light—even with so little—it always manages to catch his eyes and it always creates rough shadows over his face. He undoes the binding leisurely, with his fingers brushing over what bare, pale skin lies on the edges of the cloth until it's gone and she's half-naked before a man for the first time.
As if instinctual, Wendy covers herself out of self-consciousness. He kisses her again, teasing the apprehension away from her, and her hands slip away from her body in order to explore his chest. Zenith smirks against her, the successful victor in this first of many contests, and she makes sure to turn his smirk into a groan by upping the stakes. She lets one hand slide over his abs to the brim of his belt buckle to deftly trail lower—a trick from one of Billie's more explicit letters.
There's no going back now, but the thought doesn't bother her.