A/N: The title came from the song Don't Fight It by 10 Years, More specifically, the line "Buried in the past. So many moments I want back."

Coruscant
Army of the Galactic
Republic Headquarters

Elara waited the appropriate amount of time before responding to Commander Malcom's summons. In the wake of Balic's desertion, she existed in a constant state of uncertainty and calculation. With her husband declared a traitor, the Republic's scrutinizing gaze swept back to Elara. If she answered a call too quickly from her commanding officer, she looked over eager to prove her innocence. Answer too slow, and she could be accused of stalling to fabricate a lie. Elara knew that Malcom had kept her in his office as a means to locate their wayward soldiers, so it was crucial for her to behave as normal as possible.

Rapping lightly on the open door frame that led into Malcom's office, Elara stood at attention until recognized. "Come in, Dorne."

Elara obliged, settling on the edge of a chair opposite of the commander's desk. The man made a show of finishing up the paperwork in front of him before looking up. "I'm not going to stand on precedence here," he began, much the same as he did every week. "We both know why I called you in." Malcom affected a tired facade to play on her need for acceptance. Though, Elara had discovered long ago that she could operate without it. "When was the last time you saw your husband?"

"Two months ago," Elara answered without hesitation. She refused to add more, keeping her answers as concise as possible. While she lacked Fynta's skill for skirting the truth, Balic's ability to lie outright, and Jorgan's intimidating glower, Elara had a keen understanding of how these games were played.

Malcom leaned back in his chair, folding large hands over his stomach. "Two months without contact is a long time." Elara remained silent, schooling her features to represent her cold, Imperial upbringing. Finally, the commander sighed. "I like you, Dorne. You're an amazing soldier with skills that have benefited the Republic. I hate to see you played like this."

Elara's brow twitched; this was a new tactic. Normally, Malcom apologized that she'd been saddled with a traitor for a husband, and assured her that Balic would receive a fair trial if she would pass along any information that led to his capture.

Malcom continued. "I've been looking into Sergeant Cormac's past, and I know his type. Girl in every spaceport." The commander held up a hand as if to forestall an argument that Elara had no intention of making. "Now, I'm sure he was faithful while you worked together. Personally, the man would be a fool to give up a woman like you." Malcom leaned forward with a grave expression. "But, he's not coming back. That man left you and your boy to chase another woman across the galaxy. You need to begin thinking about what the future holds for you and Tayl."

Elara's heart rate quickened at the mention of her son. That was another angle that Malcom had yet to approach from, and she wondered what intelligence the Republic had received to make him so brash. Settling her tone, Elara tipped her head. "Perhaps, sir, we should consider following Havoc Squad's example. Latest reports show that Zakuul is more unstable now than it has ever been. Perhaps if we—"

Malcom gave a snort of disgust and slid his datapad across the desk. "That, is what Zakuulan destabilization looks like, Captain."

Five planet names littered the screen. Each file led to a casualty report with numbers so astronomical that Elara could scarcely believe their accuracy. "These planets were attacked in retaliation of the Alliance's latest victory." Malcom sneered the last word, then smacked a hand on his desk to draw Elara's attention.

"Get me in touch with your husband," Malcom demanded, his tone no longer friendly. "If he helps us bring this woman, this anarchist, down, I'll personally guarantee him a full pardon."

"I'll give you a week to consider the offer." Taking a deep breath, Malcom leaned back in his chair and glanced away from Elara as if she were no longer worth his notice. "Dismissed."

Odessen
The Thunderclap
54 Hours Later

Jorgan groaned and nearly rolled off the couch. The two seater wasn't long enough to accommodate all of him, leaving him with sore muscles come morning. Pushing up, Aric rubbed a hand down his face to clear away the fog of sleep. Noise pulled his attention towards the small kitchen through the conference room. As he traversed the familiar layout, Jorgan couldn't help but remember the times that Havoc Squad had gathered there.

Aric rounded the corner in time for Fynta to straighten from a small cooler, and he paused to admire her curves. The halter she wore not only displayed her injured middle, but the muscular back and defined arms of a warrior. While unpleasant to look at, Fynta's latest wound certainly wasn't the worst Jorgan had seen on her.

Letting his gaze scan higher, Aric noticed that Fynta hadn't bothered to tie her hair back. It was shorter, the blonde strands hanging just above—Jorgan cursed and pushed away from the doorframe. He was already behind Fynta before she could react, hands on her hips to keep her from turning.

"What the—" Fynta tried to twist free, then hissed when it pulled at her wound.

Aric ignored his wife's protests and tightened his grip. "Be still." To his surprise, Fynta obeyed with a curious glance over her shoulder.

When Jorgan was convinced that Fynta wouldn't strike out, he moved his hands away to brush her hair back with a snarl. "Arcann." Her earlier words about finding a new hairdresser finally made sense.

Fynta pulled away and tugged at her hair until it draped over her shoulders like armor. "Yeah," she confirmed, staring at the floor. "Arcann."

Aric's fingers squeezed into fists. He had to force a deep breath to avoid the growl building in the back of his throat. Jorgan wanted to demand an answer for why he hadn't been told, why Fynta still hid things. But, it had never been her way to share. Her scars were a private matter, even from him.

Leaning back against the counter, Jorgan sighed. "How are you feeling?"

Fynta shrugged. Her wince might have gone unnoticed by anyone other than Aric. Fynta's shoulders sagged when his brows rose in silent challenge. "Osik."

"I won't tell you to get back in bed," Jorgan began, then smirked when Fynta mirrored his stance with narrowed eyes. "Wouldn't listen to me anyway. But, I don't want you leaving this ship until you're more stable."

"I don't need a sitter, Aric, and—"

Jorgan cut Fynta off. "Do you really want the Alliance to see you stumbling around like this?" He waved a hand at the still seeping wound on her back. "I've managed to keep this out of the public eye for now, but it won't work without your cooperation."

Fynta opened her mouth to argue, then her brows pulled together. "But, I woke up in a tank. In the medbay."

Aric crossed his arms, offering a satisfied curl of his lips. "I had Lana pull some strings to make sure no one bothered us."

"Us?" A playful smile tugged at the corner of Fynta's mouth, the familiarity of it bittersweet. "So, they left you alone with my unconscious body?"

Jorgan had heard that line before, but it didn't unnerve him the way it had then. He took a step closer and leaned forward until Fynta was pinned, his hands splayed on the counter to either side of her waist. "Wouldn't be the first time."

"Fierfek," Fynta breathed. Jorgan didn't have time to register the way her eyes darkened before a hand twisted in his shirt to haul him flush to her body. Fynta growled against Aric's lips when his weight pressed her wound into the hard surface, but didn't relax her hold when he tried to pull away.

Shock morphed into desire, overwhelming Aric's senses. He groaned, deepening their kiss and encircling her in a firm embrace. The sheer bliss of having his wife in his arms again made Jorgan's heart pound so loud that he couldn't hear anything else, certainly not common sense whispering in the background. Until Fynta's tongue brushed his teeth.

That small act, as innocent as it was, brought Jorgan out of his stupor. He pulled back to search Fynta's face for any proof that she understood the depth of their connection. Her eyes drifted open lazily, and Fynta sighed. "Damn, Jorgan."

Aric's chest tightened with the knowledge that this Fynta still wasn't his wife. He'd simply triggered her lustful nature. To avoid making the situation awkward for both of them, Jorgan tried to a lighthearted joke. "Good thing there wasn't a weapons rack around, huh?"

A bright smile split Fynta's face. "Now, that sounds like an interesting story."

Jorgan sighed and stepped away, feeling cold without the heat of Fynta's body. "I'll tell you some time." He needed to put space between them to straighten out his thoughts. "How about I fix some 'caf?"

Fynta moaned so provocatively that Aric's body responded of its own accord. He nearly drew her back into his arms. "You bring me 'caf," Fynta continued, unaware of the effect she had on him. "And, I'll give you whatever position you want." It took Jorgan longer than it should have to realize Fynta meant within the Alliance. His thoughts had strayed into dangerous territory. Not for the first time, Aric was glad that Cathar couldn't blush.

Clearing his throat, Jorgan adopted a casualness that he didn't feel. "Go back to bed. I'll bring it to you."

Fynta yawned and blinked a few times. "Yeah, I'm beat." Aric kept his eyes off the swing of her hips as she passed, determined to get his mind and body back under control before venturing into a room that held so many vivid memories.

By the time the 'caf was finished, Jorgan felt confident enough to enter their old bedroom. Fynta had propped herself at an angle with a datapad resting on her knees. "I know you're not working," Aric teased, holding the mug towards his wife.

"I could be," Fynta responded. She almost managed to say it with a straight face. When Aric arched an unconvinced brow, Fynta gave up and took the caf. "Actually, I've been reading back over some of these messages from Cormac. It sounds like we had a great thing going."

Aric lowered himself into a chair next to the bed. "We did. Havoc Squad was a family, even Vik participated." A strange furrow appeared in Fynta's forehead as she looked into her mug. Jorgan wasn't sure if it had to do with the caf, or the Weequay.

"I sent Lana a message about Kozen," Fynta admitted in a small voice, still staring into her cup. "He and Kaeto are off planet dealing with the Star Fortress above Nar Shaddaa, so we'll have to wait on the dream haunting for a bit." Fynta huffed and leaned back. "They took my squad."

"Follow the doctor's orders, and you'll join them soon." Not that Jorgan wanted his wife back on the battlefield so quickly, but it made for a decent bargaining chip. "After we get your dreams sorted."

Jorgan appreciated that Fynta had made the call. He knew that couldn't have been an easy thing to do; to voluntarily let another Sith into her mind. The fact that Fynta was willing to go through that for Jorgan meant that his wife was still in there, somewhere. There was still hope.

When Fynta looked up, Jorgan saw a familiar determination in her eyes. "I won't do this alone," she declared. "It was your idea, so you are responsible for whatever damage I do while Kozen scrambles my brain."

Aric chuckled, then sipped his caf to cover it. He didn't doubt Fynta's seriousness for a moment. In all the galaxy, only his stubborn wife could possibly pose a threat to an adversary ten times stronger while she slept. When Jorgan lowered the mug, it was to offer an encouraging nod. "I'll be here."

Odessen
The Thunderclap
Next Morning

Koth wandered around the Thunderclap, appreciating the elegance and simplicity of the military vessel. Last time he'd been aboard, Tora had the entire thing gutted, and Koth couldn't walk more than a couple of meters without the threat of electrocution. Now that it was put back together, she was quite a ship.

"Aric?"

Koth turned back toward the main room to find Fynta standing in the middle. He cringed at the size of the bandage that covered her back, and was glad he wouldn't have to change it. Blood was not his thing. "Jorgan had to go back to Zakuul," Koth answered, holding his hands up when Fynta rounded on him. He offered a grin. "I'm on babysitting duty."

"What happened on Zakuul?" Fynta asked as if she hadn't been about to deck him. Koth noted concern in her voice that hadn't been there the last time they'd chatted about the Cathar.

Koth tucked bare hands into his pockets and shrugged. "The creepy droid found a way into the Spire. Havoc Squad is running point while Kaliyo offers backup." Fynta's brow shot up, and Koth sighed. "Yeah, tell me about it. I told Zolah it was a bad idea to put those two together, but she called it strategy. What do I know? I'm just a decorated soldier."

Fynta rubbed her brow. "I should get in there." She swayed, then flopped into one of the less padded chairs.

"I don't think so. You still need a couple of days to rest." Koth squatted in front of Fynta. "Besides, they are in the planning stages now. The window doesn't open for another two weeks."

"Fierfek, I hate this," Fynta groused. Koth found the commander's pout kind of cute. Not that he looked at her in that way, just that she clearly hated her job. He could sympathize with that, but was glad it wasn't him.

Looking to cheer Fynta up, Koth patted her leg. "Captain Jorgan said he'd return in a couple of days, and that you can move back onto the base when you're done complaining." Koth held his hands up in defense when her eyes snapped up. "Don't shoot the messenger."

The commander slouched deeper into her seat with arms thrown over the handles and legs stretched in front of her. "Who has the next shift?"

"Trying to get rid of me already?" Koth argued in fake offense. He plopped down in the chair across from Fynta where he'd left his holomag. It was an old, outdated issue from nearly three years earlier, and Koth enjoyed that peek into Havoc's old life.

"No," Fynta huffed, then grinned. "I actually like you. Just wondering who's on the docket to watch over me. Knowing Aric, he didn't leave me a moment unsupervised."

Koth chuckled. "Nailed it. I think it was Vector, that new Jedi that you liked so much, Lana—don't make that face, she promised not to boss you around—Notiac, and I forgot the rest." The commander's mood turned surly again, so Koth nudged her foot with his. "That Jorgan's a good man, cut him some slack. He really cares about you."

The subtle shift in Fynta's posture drew Koth's attention. Otherwise, he might have missed her mumbled complaint: "That's the problem."

Never being one to leave well enough alone, Koth pressed the issue. "Why is it a problem that your husband cares about you?"

Fynta heaved a sigh and stared at the floor. "You know why. Don't pretend otherwise." When Koth shrugged, Fynta rolled her eyes. "I'll never get my memories back, I can't—it's just not possible."

Koth leaned forward. "Something you're not telling us?"

Fynta puffed a breath that ruffled her bangs and made a sound that the inner circles of Zakuulan society would have thrown a fit over. "I only get my memories back if I accept Valkorion's power. And no, Koth, I'm not about to give that shabuir control of my body, regardless of how good he was to your people."

"I didn't say it." Truthfully, Koth didn't like what he saw in the rest of the galaxy. He didn't understand how a man who had been nothing short of a benevolent god to Zakuul, could reap such chaos on everyone else. He was sure Valkorion had a good reason for what had happened to Fynta, but Koth couldn't for the life of him understand what it was. It made blind faith more difficult.

Fynta shot a glare at Koth before continuing. "I can't take that hope away from Aric," she finally whispered, looking at the floor again. "No one can know. It's too hard to resist the urge on my own, and stars forbid Cormac finds out."

Koth nodded. He'd heard a lot about the loveable lug from other members of the Alliance, along with Fynta's grumblings every time her comm buzzed with a new message. Koth liked a man who never gave up on his friends. "Make new memories, then," he suggested. "From what I understand of Cathar, Jorgan's tied to you for the rest of his life. Give the man a chance, maybe you'll fall for him all over again."

Dark blue eyes slowly rose to meet Koth's, and an impish smile spread across Fynta's face. "I never pegged you for the romantic type."

Koth snorted a laugh. "Then you haven't been paying attention, my friend. I'm the king of romance." This time, Fynta burst into laughter, then double over with a gasp. "Hey," Koth protested weakly, but it was good to see her old spirit again. He'd missed that.

Shoulders still shaking, Fynta growled through clenched teeth. "Damn you, Koth." More chuckles escaped, and she winced. "I'm going back to bed before you kill me."

Koth helped Fynta to her feet, then watched her limp back towards the room. She paused at the door to look back. "Thanks for the advice. Don't eat all the food."

Odessen
The Thunderclap
0400 (Local Time)
1700 (Zakuulan Time)

Fynta chewed on what was left of her thumbnail while she stared at the holo. Felix snored in the barracks down the hall, loud enough that Fynta didn't have to strain to hear it. She wondered how his girlfriend managed to get any sleep.

The Nar Shaddaa team had returned the previous evening with a successful report. Not that the Holonet news hadn't blasted it all over the galaxy by then. Fynta felt both proud and useless when she considered how easily her squad had worked with the Force users. Felix arrived shortly after to take up guard duty and deliver his account. The soldier fell asleep halfway through it, and Fynta didn't have the heart to wake him. Eventually, he'd staggered off to find a bed.

Each of Fynta's sitters had demanded that she rest, and she'd done her best to comply for Jorgan's sake, when all she really wanted was some time on the base training course. Fynta paced her bedroom, slapping the datapad against the palm of her hand. She couldn't get her mind to settle; a single thought kept intruding: she wanted to talk to Aric.

That had been Fynta's latest indecision, whether or not to interrupt whatever the Cathar might be doing on Zakuul. She glanced at the chrono again to find ten minutes had passed. It was late enough now that he might not be busy.

"What will you tell him?" Valkorion whispered. "What could you possibly hope to discuss with a man you hardly know?"

"Stow it," Fynta growled and dialed Aric's number before the undead Sith could talk her out of it. By the first ring, she already regretted the rash decision.

Fynta had just reached for the disconnect when Jorgan answered. "Fynta, are you alright?" The concern in Aric's voice did strange things to her emotions. Fynta forgot to respond until he asked again, evident panic rising. "Fynta, what's wrong, where's Iresso?"

"Asleep," Fynta answered on automatic, then corrected when the Cathar snarled. "I'm fine, don't worry. Felix hasn't let me leave the ship, but he's exhausted."

Jorgan visibly relaxed, waving to someone out of Fynta's view. "Pack it in for the night, we'll pick up again in the morning."

"Shab, Aric, I'm sorry." Fynta should have known not to disturb him so close to the ops window. "This was a bad idea. I'll see you in a few days."

"Fynta, wait." She did, though every part of her demanded that she hang up. Fynta sat awkwardly while Jorgan dismissed his soldiers, then headed for the privacy of his tent. Once inside, he set the holo on the desk and settled onto his cot. "Can't sleep?"

Fynta started to ask how Jorgan saw through her, how he understood that she was osik at this sort of thing, but snapped her mouth shut. Fynta already knew the answer. Anger stirred that she'd once had someone so devoted and had allowed herself to forget. "Yeah, been cooped up too long."

Jorgan chuckled. "I'm not sorry. Vector is supposed to help you move back into your quarters tomorrow."

"Will I still be grounded?" Fynta asked with a playful smile. The more she talked with Aric, the easier it became to imagine spending every night with him. Their relationship was more natural than it had any right to be, with no shortage of teasing.

Jorgan leaned back and crossed his arms. His short sleeves showed off impressive biceps, and Fynta didn't bother hiding her interest. "Depends. Planning to rush back into the field again?"

Normally, Fynta would lie. She'd tell the man what he wanted to hear, but something stopped her this time. "I can't sit out this war. You know that." To her surprise, Aric nodded.

Desperate to change the subject from her bad behavior, Fynta leaned closer to the holo. "Tell me a story," she requested. "Jog my memory."

Aric's eyes drifted for a second, and Fynta glanced down to realize how low cut her top was. No doubt the Cathar had a tempting view. To his credit, Aric met Fynta's gaze again. "It'll be hard to think of one that Cormac hasn't already mentioned."

Guilt gnawed at Fynta. She still hadn't responded to the soldier's messages. Every time she pressed reply, Fynta stared at the flashing cursor with nothing to say. Shab, she really was lousy at this. "Maybe something from our past. Cormac couldn't have been there through it all."

A twitch at the edge of Jorgan's lips was the only indication that he'd thought of something. Fynta wondered if it was a fun memory, something not suitable for the ears of friends and family. When Aric spoke, his question surprised her. "Do you remember that mutant Rakghoul on Taris?" Fynta reached for the memory, but only hazy images appeared.

"I'll give you a hint," Aric tapped the top of his head. "That's where your scar came from."

Fynta's hand went to her hairline where a small, white line was barely visible with her bangs slicked back. No one else had seen it, but Aric knew. "I remember that the stitches kept coming out."

Jorgan snorted and looked away. "No, you kept pulling them out. I had to suture that wound once, and Dorne took over the second time." Eyes made pale by the monochromatic image shifted towards her, and Aric smirked. "I learned a lot of Mando'a the day Elara decided to double knot each line."

"I don't believe you," Fynta laughed. She'd read the former Imperial's file too. Elara Dorne was married to Cormac, currently worked for Commander Jace Malcom, and had a son currently living on Coruscant. Fynta kept that to herself since Cormac hadn't mentioned having a kid in any of his letters, and his wife only once.

Aric shrugged and looked away. "You didn't break them again."

The night ticked on while Fynta and Jorgan reminisced. Every topic consisted of Aric regaling her with a story that sounded exactly like something she would do, and Fynta denying it. When the Cathar yawned, she glanced at the chrono. "Shab, Aric. You need to go to bed."

"I'm fine," Jorgan argued through another yawn. With those two words, the Cathar wormed his way deeper into Fynta's defenses. He could barely keep his eyes open and had a meeting scheduled in a few hours, yet chose to stay on the line.

Fynta smiled in a way that she hadn't imagined herself capable of and forced a yawn. "Well, I'm not. I think I'll turn in." If Fynta had a choice, she'd stay on the comm until he returned to Odessen. At least this was a safe way to experience her husband without her libido getting in the way.

"Before you go," Aric started, leaning closer to the camera. At that angle, Fynta could see the detailed patterns on his face. "How's the wound healing?"

Tugging up the back of her shirt, Fynta angled the holo so that Aric could see the pristine dressing. "I'm not leaking anymore."

"Good. If you take care of yourself and keep kolto on it, should be ready to go by the end of the week." Jorgan sat back to offer an expression that Fynta couldn't identify. "Thanks for calling, I needed to hear your voice."

Fynta almost grinned, that had been her reason too. "Going to keep me in the loop on this mission?"

Aric smirked and crossed his arms again. "Play your cards right, and you'll be participating."

Fynta's spine went rigid. "Wait, what?"

Jorgan nodded, his eyes serious. "Only if you can pass the physical. So, behave yourself."

"Playing dirty, aren't you?" Aric knew that Fynta couldn't resist the draw of a new mission. That it was the only thing that could make her follow through with a physician's regimen.

"I'm doing what I have to, because my wife won't take care of herself." Jorgan's expression shifted from playful to apologetic. Fynta knew that he tried not to bring up their marriage, and she hated to see him so cautious around her.

Fynta put her face closer to the camera. "It's fine. I've accepted that we're married." She paused, wondering if she should continue her train of thought, or quit while she was ahead. Fynta had never been one to play it safe. "I'm enjoying getting to know you again."

The Cathar's shoulders lifted, and he dipped his head. "It's been my pleasure."

Story Index:

The part about the weapon's rack can be found in Family Is More Than Blood: Chapter 18: Balmorran Contract

The scene involved the mutant rackghoul and stitches can be found in Family Is More Than Blood: Chapter 6: Pest Eradication