A huge, massive shout out to Dimigex for helping me angst through this. She made this chapter 100% better.

Boiling Point

Havoc Squad
Republic Military Vessel #2287

Jorgan oversaw the jump to hyperspace before heading towards the showers. Unlike the Thunderclap, this shuttle's refreshers were tiny, so tiny that only two people could wash at any given time. He'd set up a roster to keep things organized, but arguments still broke out from time to time.

Cormac waited outside, towel in hand, when Aric approached. The opened door revealed Kanner and Xaban, lost in conversation. Without their armor, Kanner looked fragile next to the Twi'lek's bulkier form. Xaban's biceps were nearly as large as Cormac's, and the arm wrestling vendetta between he and Vik had naturally transferred to her.

Jorgan and Cormac stepped into the already steamy room. There weren't stalls, just two sinks, toilets, and spigots. No privacy and minimal hot water meant that the freshers weren't quite the social hub they'd been when Fynta commanded Havoc. Jorgan smirked at the thought of what Fynta would say about their circumstances, then instantly regretted letting his mind wander.

Jorgan turned on the lukewarm water and scrubbed at the dirt and sweat that had accumulated in his fur. He had nearly finished when a meaty thud against metal broke the silence.

Cormac shook his fist as it fell away from the wall. "Shab, we were so close."

Risking a glance over his shoulder, Jorgan noticed his friend's eyes squeezed shut. Cormac must have been talking about Elara. His wife had been called away during a comms blackout, leaving Balic with no clue when he'd talk to his family again.

Jorgan opened his mouth to offer encouragement, then snapped it shut when he realized what the words actually meant. It wasn't Dorne Cormac was talking about, but Fynta. Sympathy washed over Aric. Cormac still believed that Fynta was alive, despite every evidence to the contrary. The man tortured himself with what-if scenarios.

Cormac had already convinced himself, and half the squad, that Fynta was planetside by the time they intercepted that damned transmission. Of course, it sounded like her. Cormac wanted it to be Fynta, and the mind could play cruel tricks on a person.

Sighing, Jorgan turned off the water. "It wasn't her," he ground out, retrieving his clothes. There was no way say it kindly or soften the blow; facts were facts. "She's gone."

Cormac rounded on Jorgan, jerking his towel from its hook with enough force to rip the corner. "She's your wife for fierfek's sake." Cormac's hands balled into fists as his eyes flicked to Jorgan's neck. "Why are you so eager to forget her?"

Caught off guard by the hostility in his friend's eyes, Jorgan couldn't form a response. Balic's nostrils flared. He took a step towards Jorgan and grabbed at the chain resting against the Cathar's chest. "Do you even think about her anymore?"

Anger surged through Jorgan as he knocked Cormac's hand away. "I'm done discussing this with you." It had been a hell of a day. The last thing he needed was to be reminded that his wife wasn't here. Again.

Growling under his breath, Jorgan turned to leave. A strong hand closed around his biceps and hauled the Cathar back. "No, you're going to listen to me this time," Cormac snarled.

Jorgan ripped his arm free from Cormac's grasp. One look at his friend's livid expression had Aric calculating the risks involved with a fight in the 'freshers. The slick floor and sharp appliances could lead to catastrophic injuries that couldn't be taken back.

"Can you hear yourself, vod?" Cormac's voice held a pleading note, despite the fury radiating off of him. "Everything points to Fynta being alive, but you don't want to see it."

Jorgan pressed his lips into a thin line, refusing to give in to Cormac's delusions. Fynta was gone, and no amount of wishful thinking would change that. When Jorgan made a move toward the door, the big man squared his shoulders, drawing up to his full height. Jorgan hadn't thought about how much larger Balic was in a long time. "You can't even say it, can you?"

"Say what?" Jorgan's voice rumbled low in his throat. Regardless the differences in their statures, he wouldn't hesitate to end whatever altercation Cormac started. As commander, he couldn't afford to have his men question him, even on something like this. It was a short jump to disobeying his orders in the field.

Cormac crossed his arms, taking up more space. "I want you to claim Fynta as your wife."

Jorgan seethed. He almost hoped that Cormac struck out. At least then, he'd have a physical release for the fury rising in him. "I know who she was."

The confession washed over Jorgan like ice water despite the steamy room. He saw Fynta clearly, blue eyes shining with a hunger for battle. How many times had Aric dragged her away from a fight because the violence fed some dark part of her soul? How many times had he stopped her from doing something she would regret in a moment of anger? Fynta had once called him her conscience, the thing that kept her from going too far. Now, she was his.

Taking a step back, Jorgan reminded himself that Cormac wasn't the enemy. The big man followed, jabbing a finger into Jorgan's chest. "Look me in the eye and tell me that you really think she's dead." After a heartbeat, he continued. "You can't do it, can you?"

Jorgan swallowed around the lump in his throat, trying to find the words. As the silence strained, he realized how tired he was. Tired of mourning and denying his pain. Tired of trying to be the leader that Fynta was. Tired of being disappointed time and time again when he couldn't find any sign of her.

Rubbing his eyes with a thumb and forefinger, Jorgan sighed. "Balic—"

"You know what, I don't want to hear it," the big man interrupted before Jogan could get the words out. Cormac paced both directions across the small room, throwing his arms in the air with disgust. "If that were Elara, I'd be searching every square inch of this galaxy to find her. Proof of death, proof of life, anything is better than this."

"Yeah? And, where is your wife right now?" Cormac's face crumpled, the steam of his anger giving way to hurt. Jorgan regretted the words as soon as they left his lips, but the accusation that he didn't care about Fynta struck a nerve so raw that it stole his common sense.

Recovering his composure, Cormac shoved away from Jorgan hard enough to stagger the Cathar backward. "No, I haven't got a shabbing clue. You know why? Because I chose to stay and watch your back, to honor Fynta. Because I haven't forgotten her."

Cormac shouldered past Jorgan without a backward glance, slamming his hand into the wall plate to shut the door. As the silence descended, Jorgan warred with himself. He should go after his friend and try to settle this before it got out of hand, but guilt stayed his feet.

No one knew that Aric whispered Fynta's name every night before allowing sleep to claim him. He couldn't share that with the squad. The new soldiers could never see what an emotional disaster their commander was. If Aric paused long enough to consider living the average Cathar lifespan without his mate, he'd crack. Then, command could finally be rid of him.

Banishing the thoughts, Jorgan stalked through the small ship to his alcove and jerked the curtain closed. He paced for half a dozen strides, then sank onto his bed and activated the biolock on his trunk. Jorgan lifted Fynta's helmet from the jumbled mess and dusted it off. The emotionless faceplate stared back until his eyes blurred with unshed tears. There had been a time when he could read her expression by the slant of her helmet. Now, it was nothing more than an empty husk from a life that he barely remembered.

Sighing, Jorgan returned the memento to its resting place and flopped onto his back. He squeezed his eyes shut, fingers idly rolling the small, white stone of Fynta's necklace.

A memory sprang into Aric's mind, one that hadn't tormented him in years. He and Fynta had been in the apartment on Nar Shaddaa, tangled in partially shed clothing. Fynta straddled his hips, and when she leaned forward for a kiss, the jewel swung forward to pop him in the head. Jorgan had growled something about taking the thing off until they finished, but Fynta had only laughed that she could make him forget his protests.

Jorgan opened his eyes, hoping to banish the memory of warm skin beneath his hands. His fist tightened around the trinket that Fynta had loved so much until the stone bruised his palm. Jorgan exhaled and released the necklace before he broke it. If you're still alive, why haven't you come back to me? Jorgan silently asked, not daring to give voice to that hope. Give me a sign.

When only silence answered, Jorgan rolled back to his feet and gathered the rest of his clothes from the footlocker. He needed to make things right with Cormac. The man had stayed in Havoc out of loyalty to Jorgan and at Elara's behest. But, the Cathar hadn't realized the toll that the decision had taken on Balic. He'd taken the man's optimism for granted.

Searching the small shuttle took only a few minutes. Jorgan found Cormac in the rations pantry, staring at the shelves, mind clearly parsecs away with his wife and son. Jorgan cleared his throat, and the big man jumped, hands coming up to wipe at his cheeks. "Major," he answered without turning. "I'm sorry, sir, I shouldn't have said—"

"Don't," Jorgan interrupted.

Cormac nodded, then his shoulders rose and fell as he exhaled. When he faced Jorgan, red rimmed eyes and flushed cheeks stared out of the normally cheerful face. The remaining frustration drained out of Jorgan, and he leaned against the wall beside his friend.

"We've been through a lot together," Jorgan ventured. A choked laugh escaped through Cormac's defenses, easing the tension enough for Jorgan to continue. The Cathar stared at his feet, and Cormac waited in silence; neither man met the other's eyes.

"I don't know if Fynta is alive," Jorgan offered, meeting Cormac halfway to calling the woman his wife by using her name. He needed to say more, but the words refused to break free of his strict sensibilities. Hell, he'd never even shared them with Fynta. She'd just always known, and that had been enough.

Unable to get the words out, Jorgan changed tactics. "I had no right to use Elara against you." Cormac shifted, and Jorgan plowed on before the man could wave away the apology. "The not knowing wears on you. It carves out chunks of your sanity, and if you acknowledge it too much, you end up with a psych discharge hanging over your head."

Jorgan folded his arms and continued to glare at the floor. Maybe he'd already shown too much weakness. "I have to focus on my job; it gets me through the day."

Silence met Jorgan's confession. When he looked up, Balic's expression was the exact one that he'd been trying to avoid. The pity made Jorgan feel like a fool. Shoving away from the wall, he moved to leave when Cormac's hand caught his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I know you love her, I just miss the boss."

"I know you do." Jorgan patted Cormac's hand before reaching for the door handle. "You have my permission to look into the Outlander, just don't let the brass catch you."

Cormac forced a grin reminiscent of the one Fynta used every time she tried to charm someone into accepting her bad behavior. Jorgan shook his head. He didn't have the heart to tell Cormac that he fully expected the investigation to prove him wrong. Let the man hold onto hope a little longer. Someone had to.

Odessen
Alliance Headquarters

Cheers welcomed the assault team back to Odessen. They'd taken out one of Arcann's deadly weapons platforms and survived. Of course, the revelry hadn't lasted long as reports of counter-attacks poured in. Bey'wan scattered fighters for aid. The Bothan assured Fynta that everything was under control and politely suggested that she get some rest.

Akaavi had excused herself to mull over data from the Star Fortress with Zolah and Theron. However, the surly Zabrak had requested dismissal before leaving this time, which Fynta counted as progress. That left her and Iresso to drag Peirce's ornery ass to the medbay. Fynta knew the man would walk again, but after the amount of damage done to his leg, she didn't want to waste time getting him seen to.

The hefty commando objected to their treatment until a nurse sedated him. After ensuring that Pierce wouldn't cause problems for anyone else, Fynta excused Iresso for the evening, then headed for the cantina.

Fynta passed by the armory on her way to a stiff drink, and thought to check with Hylo on their supplies. The hallway grew more crowded the closer she came to the indoor firing range. Men and women of varying affiliations and species muttered to one another, pausing only when someone at the front called a number back to them. A chorus of cheers or groans followed the announcement.

Being momentarily sidetracked from her goal, Fynta tapped the tech blocking her path to ask what the commotion was about. "There's a Jedi on the firing range," a nearby woman answered, her accent and uniform marking her as an Imperial. "She's yet to miss the bloody target, no matter where they put it."

"A Jedi," Fynta repeated. "This I've got to see."

Fynta pushed through the cramped space, pulling command to get a better view of what was happening on the firing range. At last, she joined a line of whispering officers while the Hero of Tython hefted a rifle to her shoulder. Kaeto looked down the mounted sights on her weapon, then signaled to the man operating the targeting simulation. Fynta let out a low whistle. Kaeto's accuracy was unrivaled, especially at the speed those targets flashed down the line.

The last shot echoed through the air, and Kaeto turned with a smile. "Satisfied?" Her eyes fell on Fynta, and the commander offered an appreciative applause.

The officers surrounding Fynta grumbled amongst one another, passing cred sticks down the line until they ended in Kaeto's open palm. That pulled Fynta's inquisitive brow skyward. "Alright boys," one of the Republic lieutenants grunted. "Time to get back to work before Master Vaa cleans us out again."

Fynta held her tongue until the crowd dispersed, then smirked at Kaeto. "Taking advantage of your own men? I thought Jedi had more compassion than that."

Kaeto snorted as she turned her back on Fynta and hefted the rifle again. Too late, Fynta remembered how much Kaeto hated being called a Jedi. "The Order sent me on hiatus after my unsanctioned tenure with the Sixth Line." She left the rest unsaid, though Fynta understood the woman's bitterness. She'd taken on the Emperor at the council's command, and what followed had been a nightmare of blame and abuse at the hands of those who should have cared for her.

"And, I wasn't taking advantage of those men," Kaeto paused long enough to press her cheek against the stock to look down the sight. "I've worked with them before, they knew what they were getting into."

Now that Fynta could see it better, she realized that the weapon Kaeto held was too small for the battlefield, the barrel too short to be accurate. This was a game. Buttons traced the side of the mock-rifle that allowed for innumerable combinations of target patterns and speeds. She watched with envy while Kaeto finished with a rapidly blinking rotation before speaking again. "And the gambling?"

"It'll go to the alliance," Kaeto answered, powering down the weapon. "It's a game I've always played with the local soldiers. They place bets on how many I'll miss, then the credits are pooled and offered to the needy." The Togruta smiled wistfully at the hallway where her men had vanished. "I've never missed, yet they bet absurd amounts that I will."

Fynta nodded. "They're good men, all of them." She angled her head at the rifle case while Kaeto finished packing everything away. "When did you take this up? Wouldn't a lightsaber be more impressive?"

"I learned the beauty of a blaster when I was young. My parents fought in the resistance of a planet conquered years ago. I don't even know its name, but I remember my father cleaning his rifle." Kaeto sighed and waved her hand, calling the target platforms to her effortlessly. "After I was rescued by the Jedi, it became clear that my upbringing was not in alignment with their teachings."

"Not much is," Fynta grumbled.

Kaeto nodded, though it lacked her signature smirk. "They have their redeeming qualities like any other organization." She packed the rest of the equipment into the box and stood. "I was still a Padawan when one of the soldiers under my master's care invited me to join them at the firing range. We were on Coruscant, and bored while he dealt with meetings. They let me borrow one of their weapons, and I…." Kaeto trailed off.

"You what?" Fynta pressed, though she already knew where it would end.

"I'd never experienced anything so exhilarating," Kaeto finally admitted. "The combination of peace and violence wrapped into one. The effort of keeping my heart from racing so as not to shake and throw off my aim. Then, the satisfaction when my bolt connected with the target. There is no other feeling like it."

Fynta understood completely. It was the same reason that she fled to this sanctuary when she felt overwhelmed. Fynta relished in the silence that her ear protection supplied and focused on a single task. Nothing else mattered except her and the target.

Kaeto sighed, holding the case with both hands. "It's a safe outlet for my darker tendencies."

"Think it'll oust mine?" Fynta muttered.

Kaeto's head tipped to answer, but Fynta changed the subject. No doubt the empathic Togruta sensed her irritation. "Nevermind, just tired. I was planning on a drink, but I think I'll turn in for the night."

Fynta scurried for the exit, waving over her shoulder before Kaeto could press for more information. Unwelcome thoughts crowded her mind, and she didn't want to give the Jedi a peek at any of them. Fynta only half understood the swirl of emotion herself.

Hurrying back to her room, Fynta shut the door and took a moment to reflect on the day. The Star Fortress over Alderaan was gone, and the people free to live without Arcann's boots on their throats, or join the fight. At this point, Fynta didn't care which. She had her own problems to consider.

As if on cue, Valkorion chuckled in the back of Fynta's mind. You look tired.

"Shove it, laandur hut'uun," Fynta snarled at her sofa. Pushing away from the door, she climbed the stairs to her room.

Valkorion appeared in Fynta's mirror, smirking while she undressed. Rage mounting at his arrogant invasion of privacy, and she turned to spew more curses at the undead Sith emperor. Her tirade sputtered out with the realization that he wasn't really behind her. It was another tactic to undermine Fynta's mental stability, and she refused to admit that his ploy was working.

"You stole my life," Fynta hissed, facing both of their reflections as she tugged the binding from her hair to rake tired fingers through it. "You and your damnable spawn."

Valkorion let out an exhausted breath and began pacing behind Fynta. "I saved you from a distraction, that it all."

Fynta paused, brows furrowed at the man in her mirror. "Want to explain that one?"

"The memories would have kept you from completing your task, crippled your ability to function as leader of the Alliance." Valkorion paused to meet Fynta's disbelieving gaze. "You doubt?"

The insult on Fynta's tongue faltered when Valkorion's presence slammed into her consciousness. Images swam before her vision, sickening with their speed. Fynta clung to her dresser to avoid collapsing under the Emperor's onslaught as pain wormed through her body.

"Agent Shan was right, of course." Valkorion's voice pierced the overwhelming sights and sounds with a sharpness that made Fynta cry out. "A Mandalorian is not capable of the commitment required by a Cathar. See your husband, and the life you left behind."

Aric Jorgan stood over Fynta, finger in her face. An angry snarl twisted the spots around his mouth into a terrifying mask. A wave of anger swept through her, rage on the heels of injustice that this man would mark her as inferior. The vision shifted to the same Cathar shoving her backwards, snarling into the face of another human while keeping his body between them, reeking of jealousy. Fynta gasped, felt her knees give way as the conflicting emotions of fear and anger collided with images that her subconscious barely had time to register. Fynta smiling as she left Jorgan, hanging onto the arm of Jonas Balkar. Jorgan's betrayal of her rank, and the brutal fight that followed. Their blood mingling as he pinned her against the ship's floor.

Just as quickly as they'd begun, the visions vanished. Fynta came back to herself, gasping on her hands and knees in the middle of her bedroom. Sweat dripped from the tip of her nose to splatter on the floor, and her head felt as if it had been locked in a strill's jaws.

"He never understood the way your mind worked," Valkorion clarified in a bored tone. "A Cathar who committed himself to a woman who carelessly threw her life away. You knew what your death would mean for him, yet never once shied from its embrace."

Fynta clenched her teeth, snarling as she clambered up on shaky legs. "Lies," she managed, but her voice rasped from screaming.

"Is it?" Valkorion asked, fading back into obscurity. The pressure lifted from Fynta's mind, allowing her to breathe unhindered once more.

Fynta wiped the back of her hand across her face, only to realize that her cheeks were stained by tears, not sweat. Guilt consumed her, anguish over something she couldn't quite grasp. That frustrated her more. Fynta's mind's eye still swam in the misery of her former life, and she punched the mirror hard enough to crack both the glass and her knuckles.

Staggering back, Fynta sank onto the bed and ran both hands over her face. She willed her shaking fingers to still, unable to reconcile the memories Valkorion had shown her with the tales of wedded bliss that Theron spun. Fynta had always been happy to scratch an itch with whoever was convenient. She'd never once considered tying her life to a single partner. None of it made sense.

You're a fierfeking disaster, Fynta. The self scorn was nothing new, but the words carried greater weight this time. Pulling on her PTs, Fynta decided to skip the shower in favor of finding Theron. She knew he'd want to fix this, the man couldn't help himself, but Fynta refused to allow Havoc Squad to enter the alliance. Not until she figured out whether her Cathar husband would be more likely to put a bolt through her than Arcann.

Mando'a:
vod - brother
laandur hut'uun - pathetic coward

A/N: Each of Fynta's flashback were a real occurrence from Family is More Than Blood. The first was their meeting on Ord Mantell, which I didn't actually put into the story, but you all know how that went. The second from their meeting with Balkar on Nar Shaddaa, third was ironically from their first kiss, which can be found in Chapter 18: Balmorran Contract, and the final ones were from Ch 19 & 20. If anyone is interested in picking those out. I did promise a highlights reel after all.