A/N: My grandmother passed away shortly after I started writing this chapter, hence the delays in getting it out. The finished product is a mix of several versions of the scenes that I wanted taking place. The chapter ended up being quite long, but somewhat rambly in places, which is not atypical of my writing.

Writing gave me such an escape from the madness that was going on around me in the past several days, so I'm thankful that I had this to work on. This is definitely a section I want to edit someday, so please leave me some constructive feedback.

And if you're grandparents are still living, give them a call and let them know that you love them.

The problem with a job like this was always finding the target. Once the target was found, there was usually no trouble in taking them out of the picture. A simple sniper shot or a thermal detonator usually got the job done cleanly, particularly for a bounty hunter of Boba Fett's skill. The trouble was primarily that it was so hard to find these kinds of targets without having some kind of an in with their people. This target was a political target, but predicting their whereabouts in time for a clean kill was difficult. The client, not surprisingly, wanted this job done cleanly, with no loose ends and no pandemonium. He wanted the job done in private, where there would be no witnesses.

He and Torscha spent the first hour or so of the journey coming up with some semblance of a plan. As he had always assumed, she was an infiltrator, which was one of the reasons why they had been particularly hired to go on this job together, as opposed to one or the other. Without much debate, they had decided that she would have to put her infiltration skills to good use to find the when and where for the job. Boba would do the particularly dirty work of the actual killing, but she would do the hard part of it. He leaned back in his chair in the cockpit, where they had stayed for their conversation. An awkward silence fell over the two. Boba stared blankly at a spot on the floor. Shab. Next time he was cleaning the ship he would have to mop the floor up here. There was still dried mud from the Byss job.

Glancing over at her, he noticed that she was in a similar state of distraction, staring blankly ahead but at nothing in particular. "How long until we're planetside?" she asked quietly.

Boba absently glanced over the displays. "A few hours," he replied.

She nodded. "Then I'll get ready," she replied, very business-like. "Can I use your shower?"

"Yeah. I don't care."

"Thank you." Then she got up and went about her business.

Boba stayed where he was, absently dusting off the panels. When had they gotten so filthy? He wasn't wearing armor, since Torscha had come to the ship that morning. He was just wearing a simple blue tunic and pants, standard garb for any man of his stature travelling the galaxy. Obsessively, he grabbed a rag and cleaning fluid from a cabinet off to the side and cleaned the displays so that they were free of dust. He was still cleaning when Torscha came back from showering. She was running a comb through her long hair. When he caught sight of her reflection in one of the displays, he turned to look at her, mortified that she had caught him cleaning.

She was standing, frozen in mid-motion, staring. She blinked a few times, confusion muddling her expression. "Well… I honestly didn't expect a hunter of your reputation to be so… neat and organized. Your whole ship is rather immaculate."

"It's just… the monitors were all dusty…" he explained. "I like a clean ship is all."

She smiled. "I've never seen a ship quite like this one before. She's older than we are, isn't she?"

"Yeah. How did you know?"

"Because she was built to last. They don't build them like this anymore." Without another word, she disappeared back down into the cargo hold.

He grunted in response. She was right.

XXX

"Nice landing," squeaked Torscha.

"It's not my fault the local dock authority changes their docking protocols every other day," Boba defended.

Slave I had gotten rather jostled on the entry into Corellia's atmosphere. It seems that Coronet's docking protocols had been changed yet again and that they had entered the planet in a no-docking zone. They had been chased down by the dock authority which had threatened them with a fine and possible ship impoundment if they did not switch course to a new landing platform immediately. Boba Fett had barely been able to switch the controls in time and was pretty sure he'd grazed the side of an adjacent landing platform when he'd changed course. Shab. Slave I was going to need another paint job.

Further, he'd almost crashed and hadn't been fully even when he'd engaged the landing sequence. Something was going to need fixing. All the better that he and his partner get this job done quickly. Repairs and parts were not cheap, and Slave I had enough imminent issues without messy landings.

He glanced at Torscha as he powered down the engines of the ship. She was positively white, and was still gripping the arm rests of the co-pilot's chair. She took a deep breath and let go of the chair, knuckles white. "Well," she said. "It looks like it's about midday, so I guess I'll get to work. I'll have my communicator in case there's an emergency, and I'll let you know when I find some useful information."

She got up and disappeared down the steps into the cargo hold. Boba followed her, feeling somewhat useless and apprehensive about letting her be in-control. She was wearing navy with gold trimmings, though he doubted they were real gold. She was standing at her cases, from which she took a small, concealable pistol. She slipped this into her top, which ended at her ribcage. Also from the case, she pulled a small knife. She was very focused on what she was doing, and only glanced in his direction. If he understood anything about infiltrators, she was 'getting into character'. No doubt she had some false identity that she would be operating under.

"Do you have a plan?" Boba asked as he observed her.

"Yes," she replied simply. "I'm going to look for a way to meet our dear candidate, and I'll go from there."

"That's all?"

"Well I don't know what kind of man he is yet. Once I've met him, I can figure out how to get him alone so that you can finish the job." As she did this she hiked her dress up past her knee and strapped the knife to her calf.

"Fair enough."

"I'll call you." She pinned a long, matching veil onto her head. "I just have to find out how to get to our target first. If I'm not back by midnight, get off-planet as fast as you can." With finality, she pulled the veil down so it covered her eyes. She made eye contact with him, and Boba looked her up and down. She certainly didn't look like a hunter; if he didn't know any better, he would have taken her for a courtesan. Without another word, she left the ship.

He watched her go, closing the cargo bay door behind her. He was beginning to think that perhaps coming on another job with her had been a mistake. Things were already awkward, and making them less-awkward would probably require breaking one of his cardinal rules. He had seen her without any clothes on twice now, and not breaking one of his cardinal rules was only going to get more difficult. Boba Fett was stronger than most, but even he would break down eventually. He was mildly surprised that she hadn't tried anything on him this time. She had been all business so far. It was like she wasn't herself.

He wished he had never met her.

XXX

Torscha Lahiri watched the swirling colors of Corellian high society from her place in the shadowy corner of the room. She had managed, with all her skills, to infiltrate a party that she was sure her target would be attending. Because of her partner and his… exposure issues, she was working the party alone. So much, the better. She was better off working a job like this alone. Women alone were perceived as vulnerable and naïve, the perfect way to lure in unsuspecting male targets.

She watched her target, a tall, thin man by the name of Jorah Dorel, from across the room. Though she stood across the room from her completely oblivious target, now was not the time and place for a murder. There were too many witnesses, a ridiculous amount of security, and far too few escape routes. Besides, she was here on strictly-observational business for now. She needed an in with the target, some way to get him alone.

During her initial wanderings that afternoon, Torscha had found out about a party, a fundraiser, that her target was going to be at. While parties usually had decent security, they were easy to sneak into, especially for girls like Torscha, who infiltrated for a living. She may not have had an invitation, but she knew that every ballroom had a back door, or guests who were desperate for a date to make them look respectable. Once she'd found out about this event, she had run straight back to the Slave I, deposited her weapons and briefed her partner. He hadn't had a lot to say. He was like that, mostly responding simply and shortly.

Torscha had personally chosen the back door approach. She didn't have time to have to pay attention to anyone other than her target. She had lurked on the edge of the floor for at least half an hour now. Her target was greeting all of his donors, and she was waiting for him to have a free moment. She was still wearing the navy, though she had pulled the veil away from her face. She didn't particularly stand out. Really, she could have been anyone, an ambassador's assistant from another planet, perhaps, or a business tycoon's daughter wearing a new designer. Her stomach growled.

She realized that she hadn't eaten since the morning. She had eaten breakfast before she'd left Coruscant. It was the last of the food she had in the crappy apartment she was leaving. Moving with dignity that was far above her pay grade, she crept over to the buffet table. There were fruits she had never seen before and that she'd never tried, and they had her favourites. She took a few fruits from the table and nibbled at them as she stared out at the swirling colors once more.

This was what she had once been used to. She had been used to a colorful word of glitter and parties. It had been a long time, six years really, and even though she knew that she was blending in perfectly, she felt wrong. Sometimes she still missed the life she'd had to leave, though she'd never admit it. She looked around wistfully, suddenly noting in alarm that her target had moved, and that he was no longer

"Excuse me, I don't think we've been introduced," said a voice from one side.

Torscha shook herself out of her thoughts. "Pardon?" she asked, looking to the source of the voice. It was the target. Her stomach churned, as it always did just before a performance.

"I said that I don't think we've been introduced," Jorah repeated.

"Oh no, we haven't," Torscha replied, grinning. "My name is Torscha Carpelle." She used a false last name, though her real first name. The likelihood that anyone was going to remember her name after tonight was slim enough that she need not worry about being remembered.

"Jorah Doren, though I'm sure you new that," he replied, grinning back at her. "Is this your first event, Miss Carpelle?"

"Oh yes," she said, playing dumb.

"Well I shall have to educate you. Care to dance?" He extended one hand to her, like a true member of Corellian high society.

Luckily, Torscha was well-prepared for this. Bounty hunting by infiltration frequently had called for her to blend in with echelons of society that she didn't exactly belong to. In fact, it always did. But she was good at it, probably one of the best, though she wasn't taking bets on it. She put her hand in her target's and joined him in on the floor, attracting the eyes of many, but the suspicion of none. As far as any of the spectators were concerned, she was nothing but the flavor of the night. Torscha always hated playing the stupid girl, but it was good armor.

As she danced with the man she was going to trap and kill, he pointed out his various political allies to her, and she smiled an nodded as if she cared. The truth was that she didn't care. Regimes could rise and fall in a day, and in the end, no one in this room would matter. No one would remember their names, and they would all eventually die and be forgotten. And if Torscha could make some money off of it, she was happy. Whatever this man wanted, or whatever plans he had, none of it mattered to her. Business was business, and her business was to make sure that he met a swift, clean end.

This wasn't to say that she didn't feel a little guilt that the perfectly normal man who was acting like such a gentleman to her didn't have long in this world. He seemed to be a perfectly alright person, but he'd gotten on someone's bad side, and that person wanted him removed from the equation as a result, and they were willing to pay. Whatever there was, she crammed it away to the back of her mind, a place that was now becoming full. She would deal with those emotions later, when she had time for them. For now, they served no practical purpose.

She stayed near him for the remainder of the party. He introduced her here and there, but mostly kept her at his side like a trophy. Torscha minded, but she was used to it. For years, she had been considered as nothing but a trophy, the possession of Torsch and his agent. Even if she wasn't bound to him by law, she was by custom. Of course, that had been back when she and the Red Warrior had been different people. Now that the fact that she was the Red Warrior was common knowledge, she no longer had the security that it had provided. The few clients who'd even agreed to see her had looked down upon her for being a woman, even though she'd proved herself dozens of times over. They assumed that, since she was unattached, they might enjoy certain benefits. Sometimes that was alright; she usually wanted some just as much as they did. But when it wasn't alright, she usually wasn't hired again. The worst was when clients offered to pay her for sex.

Still, she gritted her teeth and played dumb in the company of her latest target. She did not interrupt when she had an opinion to assert, and didn't complain when the men talked across her as if she were nothing more than a child. She smiled and nodded and tried to look attentive, though not intelligent. Torscha was small in stature, which had always been something of a problem when she'd masqueraded as a man, and Jorah towered over her. She was on edge all night, worried that someone would recognize her, or suspect her, or approach her for sex, and, worst of all, that she wouldn't be able to say no.

She downed a glass of champagne and carried on.

XXX

Boba was still cleaning when he heard Slave I ping. Since Torscha had left, he'd cleaned the floor of the cockpit, reorganized the cargo hold, yet again, and done his laundry, because even bounty hunters had to do laundry. Torscha had come back briefly in the late afternoon, rambling on that she had some plan or another in mind. He didn't want to know where she was going, or what she had to do to get that information. He had his assumptions, but he didn't dwell on them. He'd already seen enough of his partner, it wasn't going to do any good to dwell on it any more.

"Don't wait up for me, dahling," she'd said as she'd ducked out of the ship again. He scoffed at the thought.

He stopped what he was doing when he heard the ship ping. He'd set it to ping once if someone approached, twice if it was his partner. He waited for just an instant to hear the second ping, and opened up the cargo bay door when he heard it. Torscha trudged in. It was late and she looked tired, though not beaten up like she had that time on Coruscant, when she'd come back with a black eye and claiming that she'd been sucker punched. Boba still didn't believe her.

"I told you not to wait up for me," she said as the door whooshed closed behind her.

"I didn't," Boba replied. "I was cleaning."

She gave him a long, hard look. "Anywayyyy," she said, changing the subject. "New plan. We're not getting the target alone."

"We're not?" Boba replied, suspiciously.

"No. He'll be with me. He… uhhh… he took a fancy to me at this evening's festivities and has asked me to the opera. So I'll go to the opera, and after, I'll get him alone, and you can… do what you do." She crossed the cargo hold and sat down on her little cot as she spoke.

"When?"

"Two days."

"Two days!?"

"Yes. It would be improper for him to be out with me two evenings in a row after we've only just been introduced."

"Improper."

"Yes. This is Corellian high society we're talking about, not some swoop racers in a Cantina."

"But two days?"

"Do you have a better plan?"

Honestly, he didn't. Then again, he didn't have much of any information. He mentally kicked himself as a reminder that this was why he never relied on others for anything. He shouldn't have even let this woman on his ship the first time, and now here she was again, taking advantage of him, using him to get jobs. What would his father have thought? Boba thought about that for a few moments, staring blankly at the wall. Jango had worked with Zam, and Zam had been just as witty and snarky as Torscha. But Jango had killed Zam in the end. Boba shuddered to think of how he'd felt when his father had told him what had happened to Zam.

He was drawn from his thoughts when Torscha spoke again. "Have you eaten?" she asked. She raised her eyebrows at him.

"No," he admitted.

"Are you hungry?"

"No."

"Right, well, I'm not particularly hungry either, but I was going to have a drink. Care to join me?" She held out a bottle, clearly filled with some sort of alcoholic beverage. Boba eyed the bottle carefully for a few moments before taking it from her reluctantly. A drink actually sounded almost nice right about now. He was wound up tighter than the compression coil on a Star Destroyer. Besides, what could it hurt?

Torscha took a second bottle out of her suitcase for herself and both hunters popped off the caps in silence. Boba examined the beverage again. It was some form of beer, though it wasn't a type he'd had before.

"It's not going to bite you," Torscha insisted, taking a long drink from her own bottle.

Boba conceded and drank, then settled himself down on one of the crates in the cargo hold, the same one that Torscha had used as a table only a few days earlier. The two drank in silence for a few minutes, each getting about a third of the way through their drinks before so much as making eye contact. Boba was never much of a drinker, though he had enjoyed an ale every once in a while. He imagined that, given her lifestyle, Torscha probably had a significantly higher tolerance for the stuff than he did.

He stole a glance at her. She did look tired, and frustrated too. He had imagined that she was downplaying her career troubles since the incident on Tatooine, and figured that she was probably at a loss for what to do. He wondered if something had happened to her while she was out that had put her in a mood like this. He told himself that he was only interested from a professional standpoint. This whole thing of telling himself things was starting to get a little old.

"So where are you from anyways?" he asked casually.

"Nar Shaddaa," she returned. "But my mother was from a little planet called Antissa."

"Never heard of it."

"Not many have. It's a tiny planet in the middle of nowhere. I've never actually been there."

"Oh."

She had fallen weirdly silent. Boba knew this was strange, since usually she was rather talkative. He wasn't, but she had gotten him to talk more to her than he had to anyone else in the past few months. He wasn't inclined to say much more to her, but he did note that the subject of her origins was a sore subject, though there were millions of reasons why that could have been. He had suspected that Torscha was more complicated than she let on, though all bounty hunters were. He wasn't going to speculate about her any more than he already had. Thinking about her was just going to lead to more trouble anyway.

He was already in a dangerous place in his feelings towards her. The emotions he felt towards her were nothing affectionate or decidedly amiable as much as they were seated in a desire to just see what would happen. But it was too soon, much too soon. He didn't think he was ready to try anything more than a commonplace acquaintance again yet, or even if he'd ever be ready. That was barring the fact that he was already married to someone else, despite the fact that he was pretty sure that person didn't want to see him again any time soon. Still, he was dangerously close to wanting something he couldn't have. It wasn't the woman herself he wanted as much as just the idea of not being alone. Just having Torscha sitting across the cargo hold from him was bringing all of these thoughts to the surface.

But it was worse than even that. When he had walked in on her the day before, he hadn't had the reaction he'd wanted himself to have. As he'd laid in his bunk later that night, he'd analyzed what had happened. He had stood and stared at her. He should have looked away right away. He should have just left and come back later. He realized that he couldn't get the image of her laying across her bed out of his head. Even worse, he realized that he was actually slightly angry that he had found her enjoying someone else.

"Why bounty hunting?" she asked suddenly.

"Nothing else. I… I tried, but this is just what I'm good at."

"Seems that way for most of us."

"And yourself?"

"The same. We have a pretty specific skill set."

"But we're very good at it."

"I'll drink to that."

And she did.

A/N: My favourite image from this chapter is of Boba Fett doing his laundry. Everyone's gotta do it.

I also figured that because I hand out alcohol to my readers, I should let our hunters have some too. Seriously though, Torscha usually possesses some form of alcohol, and decided that it was high time she shared. And Boba... he's getting a little tired of always evading her. I just liked the image of the two of them just sharing a drink in silence, because they can. They haven't graduated to actually having dinner yet. Maybe a few more years in the Slave I will cool things off.

Next Chapter, we'll get through those two days, and then Torscha will be making her trip to the Opera. Wonder what hydrospanners I can throw at them this time...

Please take a moment and leave me a review. I would really appreciate some constructive criticism on this chapter in particular.