Rated M for the last section.

This one's a bit shorter, but I really didn't want to keep dragging Yavin out, so decided to just cut it off.

Complicated


Coalition Command Base

Zolah leaned against the terminal and coughed. The ground forces had finally beaten Revan's army back. She hoped that the distraction had been enough to give the temple assault team time to deal with Revan. Reports poured in about a beam of light flashing through the sky, some claiming to have heard a voice. The possibilities of what it could mean sent a cold shiver up Zolah's spine, but she refused to accept failure without concrete evidence.

A hand rested on Zolah's shoulder, and she turned to find Vector standing behind her. "Do we," she paused to clear her throat again. She'd shouted orders non-stop since the first attack and her voice cracked with the strain. "Do we have casualty reports?"

Vector nodded, proffering a datapad. Zolah stared at the screen for a solid minute while she calculated the numbers. Fifty-seven percent casualties, nearly half of which were confirmed dead. Those were outrageous numbers for any battle, but at least they weighed in the alliance's favor.

"Thank you," Zolah sighed, "I'll see that the major receives these."

Vector looked on the verge of speaking when Zolah's personal comm chirped. "Theron?" She answered before she could stop herself.

"Yeah, we're on the way back. Everyone survived, surprisingly." He sounded exhausted, and Zolah heard the hum of chatter in the background. "How did you come out?"

Zolah looked at Vector, his expression blank as he slumped into a chair. She couldn't imagine what it felt like to be in his head, to hear so many songs snuffed out at once. Perhaps, putting him on medical duty had been inconsiderate of her, but he'd performed superbly. Zolah responded without taking her eyes off her husband. "We'll discuss it when you return."

"That bad, huh?" Theron responded, then something that sounded like two pots clanging together echoed over the line. "Ow—what the hell, Fynta, stop it." The major railed at Theron for going into a combat situation without proper armor, her voice muted, but words clear enough. The line cut just as Theron began to make his defense.

Zolah shook her head and returned to her husband. "They've done it. Everyone is coming back." Vector nodded, eyes still on the floor. Zolah stepped between his knees to wrap her arms around his shoulders. She pulled his head against her chest and ran her fingers through his hair. There were things that she could say to try to soothe his bruised soul, but each one sounded inadequate in her mind. Vector needed someone capable of compassion, someone who could understand his pain.

"Let me send for Ashara to ease your mind," Zolah finally decided. "I'm sure Darth Nox won't mind me owing her a favor."

Vector's only response was a resigned sigh.

Triage Tent

Cormac helped Fynta settle Jorgan on one of the triage beds, then left in search of Elara. The reports he heard weren't uplifting, and she wasn't responding to his hails. Triage had spilled onto the battlefield, and a lot of medics were reported as injured or KIA while attempting to reach patients. Elara already had two medals for rescuing comrades under fire; he knew exactly where she'd be.

Cormac bounced from person to person, asking if they'd seen his wife, but everyone was either too distracted, or they simply didn't know. He could feel panic rising in his chest and nearly jumped out of his skin when someone touched his arm. "Come on, we'll find her."

Fynta took Cormac's arm, pulling him towards the speeders, and he climbed on grudgingly. Balic didn't want to check the battlefield; that's where all the dead medics were. He wasn't as strong as Verin; he'd fall apart if they found Elara's body. Cormac intentionally avoided the Bios program, too afraid of what he'd find.

The trip out to the battlefield felt eternal until Fynta parked on the edge of the main encampment. Suddenly, Cormac faced an uncertain reality all too soon. Fynta plowed through the crowds as she asked about Elara. A couple of people nodded and pointed, while others shook their heads. Balic trailed numbly along in the major's wake, knowing that if anyone could get answers, it was the boss.

A shrill whistle brought Cormac out of his fog. Fynta had her thumb and forefinger to her mouth, waving at him. He started towards her, and by the time he reached the major, he was at a flat run.

"This man is stable, get him back to camp immediately and have him prepped for surgery." Elara wiped her hands on a filthy cloth while she divvied out tasks to haggard looking medics. Cormac's knees felt weak as he stared at the most important woman in the galaxy. He didn't even need to talk to her, just know that she was alive.

Fynta cleared her throat, and Elara spun. "Major!" Elara threw her arms around the other woman, and Cormac had the distinct pleasure of watching Fynta go through the stages of shock before awkwardly returning the embrace. Elara only withdrew when she spotted Balic. His wife leapt into his arms, holding tightly around his neck. Balic squeezed her, unwilling to let go even though he knew they were causing a scene. He should feel ashamed of himself. Not everyone received good news about their loved ones today.

"I'm so glad you're safe. I was worried," Elara whispered. "I'll be done here soon. Why don't you go back and rest. Have you been seen to yet?"

Cormac almost laughed even though there wasn't a single thing funny about standing in the midst of a hundred dead or wounded soldiers. He lifted his hand to wipe something dark from Elara's cheek, unsure if it was blood or dirt. "I think I'll wait for my personal physician if it's all the same to you. I can stick around to help with the heavy lifting."

"If you're staying here, I need to get back. Jorgan wasn't exactly being cooperative when I left, and we need to figure out what to do next." Fynta heaved a sigh as she scanned over the battlefield. "All of this, for nothing." Cormac watched her stalk back to the speeder and realized that she was right. They'd lost all these men, lost Cinlat, and the Emperor returned anyway.

Medical Tent #5

Jorgan's ears were still ringing. One of Master Satele's stray boulders had scored a direct hit to his helmet. Fifteen years in the military without a single concussion; four years under Fynta's command, and he had three.

"Captain." Elara rushed forward, covered in blood, with her normally tidy hair looking frayed. "Have you been seen yet?" She shined a light in Jorgan's eyes and turned his face before he could answer. All the while, Cormac looked on with a cheeky grin.

"I'm fine, Dorne." Jorgan tried to push her hands away, but she clicked her tongue in annoyance. He knew better than to fight back when she was in that kind of mood. Havoc women were to be obeyed when they resorted to non-verbal cues.

"I read that you had a concussion and a bruised clavicle, are you in pain anywhere else?" Dorne asked, pulling out an equally blood-spattered datapad. A cold chill settled over Jorgan, and he wondered what name belonged to that particular stain.

Shaking the grim thoughts away, Jorgan raised a questioning eyebrow at Cormac while Dorne was distracted. "A lot of the medics ended up on the battlefield assessing the wounded. Give you one guess where ours was," Cormac replied. As much as she grumbled about having to stitch Fynta up, Elara was more like her than she would ever admit. If the Havoc medic saw an injured soldier, she forgot about her own mortality in a rush to be sure they didn't meet their end. Just like on the Gauntlet.

"How's the boss?" Cormac asked, head swiveling with a look of surprise. "I thought she'd be here, keeping an eye on you."

"I haven't seen Fynta since she dropped me off," Jorgan answered. "She said there was a meeting to wrap things up and make sure we didn't all start firing on one another now that Revan's gone." Jorgan had tried to go with her, but Fynta ordered him to submit to a medical evaluation. At least his head had stopped spinning.

The triage tent grew quiet as the sound of nearly a hundred voices died, leaving only the beeping of machines and the occasional whimpers of the wounded. A slow tide of men and women stood, both Imperial and Republic, as someone made their way through the makeshift hospital. Jorgan expected to see Grand Master Satele or Darth Marr, but it didn't surprise him that much when Fynta broke through the crowd. She met Jorgan's eyes before turning back to look at the men and women around her, and they all snapped off a salute.

Jorgan couldn't see Fynta's face, but he could tell she was way out of her comfort zone by the rigid set of her spine. However, when she spoke, her voice carried over the mass with a strength that made him smile. "You all made history today. You should be proud, and we'll remember those who sacrificed to make it happen. As you were."

Seemingly as one, everyone turned back to their previous tasks, and Fynta let out a shaky breath. Cormac slapped her on the back. "Careful, boss, that was a little wordy."

"Shabuir," Fynta muttered in response before turning her attention to Dorne, "Is the captain fit for duty?"

Dorne eyed Jorgan for a moment before nodding. "Light duty, sir."

"That's all I need." Fynta pulled on Aric's arm to get him to his feet and didn't let go. "Cormac, help Yuun and Vik pack up. Elara, finish here and meet us aboard the Thunderclap. We're leaving first thing in the morning." They both nodded, and Cormac gave Dorne a kiss on the cheek before squeezing back through the crowd while Elara moved further in to evaluate patients.

"Where have you been?" Jorgan asked, leaning closer to his wife while they navigated the cramped space.

"The Supreme Chancellor wanted a word. She wasn't thrilled with our excursion, but she's allowed Theron back into the SIS." Fynta and Jorgan finally broke through the crowd and into a somewhat open clearing. The major sighed, eyes closed. "I've been named the Primary Military Advisor to a new joint task force for hunting down the Emperor." Jorgan raised a brow at his wife when she wouldn't meet his gaze. "I was kind of hoping you'd want to come with me."

Aric snorted, then regretted it when his head swam. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Because this effectively takes me off the front lines unless we find the chakaar." Fynta stomped around to stand in front of Jorgan, hands on her hips while she glared at her boots. "We'll be mapping Wild Space trying to root him out. I think they plan to split Havoc up."

Jorgan took a minute to process everything. It would be a colossal mistake on the Republic's part to disband Havoc, but that had never stopped the bureaucrats before. Jorgan put a hand on his wife's shoulder, careful to keep an appropriate amount of space between them. "I go where you go, major. You'll need someone to watch your six."

Fynta heaved a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Aric." She draped his arm over her shoulder again, and Jorgan leaned into her more than was strictly necessary. "Lana has already taken off with Marr, but the two factions are leaving men behind to study this place. They are claiming it as neutral ground."

Jorgan huffed a laugh that hurt his ribs. "We'll see how long it lasts."

"The good news is that Agent Holran has decided not to kill me. She claimed that I'm more interesting alive." Jorgan snorted, not sure he believed that the cipher agent would simply drop a vendetta that easily. "On another note, I found out who Theron's father is." Fynta stared straight ahead, keeping her voice low.

The Cathar's ears twitched, interest officially peaked. "How'd you manage that?" Jorgan had wondered more than once what kind of man could make a Jedi like Satele Shan forget her vows.

"Something Theron said during the briefing," Fynta continued. "Then, he appeared via holo alongside Saresh."

They limped along towards the Thunderclap in silence until Jorgan finally prodded. "And?"

"Jace Malcom."

Jorgan stopped and looked down at Fynta. "As in Colonel Malcom from Alderaan; original Havoc Squad commander." She nodded. "The new Supreme Commander of the Republic army is Theron Shan's father?"

"My thoughts exactly," Fynta remarked as she steered Jorgan towards the ship. "I can see it now, though. He's got a lot of his father's personality."

Malcom had been promoted a year earlier, after Rans retired. The old man had taken down Rakton and decided he was done. Jace Malcom was as big a war hero as the Republic had. There hadn't been a need for Special Forces before the Sack of Coruscant. After that, people started to take notice, and Havoc had been embedded in the heart of the fighting on Alderaan during the early days of the Galactic War. In fact, Malcom was the one who earned the call sign for Havoc Squad with his unorthodox approach. Afterward, he'd been promoted to colonel and remained on Alderaan to help out with the impending civil war. Command had fallen to Kardan, then Tavus, and eventually, Fynta.

Jorgan mulled over the information, trying to recall anything in Theron's actions that reminded him of the legendary military commander. Nothing came to mind. "Where is he now?" Aric wanted to take a closer look at the SIS agent, to see if there was any physical resemblance.

Fynta offered a devilish smile. "He had his own farewells to deliver."

Coalition Command Base

"This is it," Theron said, leaning against the holotable. Everything had been powered down and packed up. All that was left was to pile onto the ships and go their separate ways. Theron had a shuttle standing by, a simple, one-manned vessel to deliver him to his mother's command ship for an incredibly awkward trip back to Coruscant.

Theron hesitated, though he knew it had nothing to do with the dread he felt about being trapped in hyperspace for seventy-six hours with Satele. Well, not completely. Pushing himself off the table, Theron turned to find Zolah standing directly behind him. It had taken a while, but he finally got used to reading those solid, red eyes. Something he'd never managed with his old mentor. The irony being, spending so much time around Zolah made reading Vector's expression easier as well.

There was a man that Theron didn't fully understand. He'd gotten the distinct impression that Vector was flirting with him before he excused himself to ready the ship, which normally, Theron wouldn't have minded. However, one Imperial was more than enough trouble for now. At least, that's what Theron continued to tell himself. Open relationship aside, he simply couldn't get involved. He shouldn't even be here with Zolah, yet he made no move to leave.

Zolah's head tipped to the side, and all Theron could think of was how soft those dark blue lips felt against his. He craved more of what they'd shared in the pre-dawn shadows before he left to take on Revan. It was a bad idea, maybe the worst he'd ever had. So, Theron opted for the cowardly way out, leaving the ball completely in Zolah's court. "Back to being enemies, I guess."

Zolah took a step closer, only a breath of air between them, and Theron smiled down at her. Maybe, if it wasn't completely his idea, then it wasn't really treason, right? After all, even Jedi Masters scratched an itch sometimes. He veered away from that thought before it could lead back to his mother and Jace.

"We don't have to be enemies," Zolah purred. "Not yet, at least."

"I kind of hoped you'd say that." Theron jerked his head towards the shuttle as he pushed away from the table. He'd barely hit the hatch close button before he had Zolah pinned to the wall. His kisses were rushed and needy, while his hands shoved her long jacket off of her shoulders.

Zolah Holran was thin and tall, but Theron felt the lean muscles moving beneath her skin as she worked her arms free. The garment clunked to the floor, and Theron glanced at it momentarily. She shrugged, then repeated the process with his, kicking the famed red jacket away with a muttered statement about it painting a bullseye on his back. Theron opened his mouth to argue that it had been fashionable during his last gig, but Zolah convinced him that there were more important things to focus on. He grunted against her lips when she pushed too hard against his still sore ribs while trying to remove his shirt.

Theron's fingers fumbled with the buttons of Zolah's vest, then the hem of her shirt. Breaking their kiss to pull the fabric over her head, he took a moment to let his eyes trail over her exposed skin. Zolah ran her hands through the dark hair on his chest to lace behind his neck. "We're on a schedule, Agent Shan." He groaned when she pulled his body against hers. Theron couldn't give two kriffs about the schedule, truce, or emperor at the moment.

Unfortunately, that didn't make Zolah's statement any less true. "This is a bad idea," Theron breathed in between kisses, letting his hands explore what his eyes couldn't. "A really, really bad idea," he repeated when the snaps on his pants sprang open.

"Don't think about it then," Zolah whispered, tipping her head back so that he could suck at the skin above her collarbone. He grunted a response, but had otherwise given up on words.

They'd taunted and teased one another throughout Rishi and Yavin, but at some point, things had changed. Zolah had ceased to become a mark and had slipped into ally status. Which should have sent him running in the opposite direction, not pressing closer.

Zolah's suggestion of a timeline lost any meaning as they undressed one another, finally coalescing with Theron supporting Zolah's weight as he drove her into the wall. They panted together, gasping each other's names and leaving raw marks on one another's bodies, until both trembled from the much-needed release.

Theron still had Zolah's legs hooked over his forearms, leaning heavily against her with his face buried in her shoulder. Once he'd steadied himself, he lowered her to the floor again. Zolah's hair slicked against her forehead, and Theron prided himself on being able to make the seasoned cipher agent flush such a pretty shade of blue.

Theron kissed her forehead, pushing a few of the sweat soaked strands back into their usual position. "Just like I thought, good at everything," he chuckled.

Zolah took a deep breath. "I do hope this won't be our last dalliance, Theron Shan."

Taking a step away from her, Theron bent to collect his clothes. "Well, I've been reinstated in the SIS, and you've got an intelligence agency to run." He tapped his implants by way of explanation. He'd listened in on her conversation with Darth Marr. It was his job, after all. "I'm sure we'll see each other again."

Theron grabbed Zolah's shirt from where he'd discarded it and tossed it to her. The Chiss pulled the garment over her head, gathering the rest of her clothing in contemplative silence. He kept his back to her while tugging on his pants. "It's a nice name, you know."

"What is?" Zolah asked from behind him. Theron heard the zipper on her jacket and looked over his shoulder to offer a cheesy grin.

"Zola'hes'naru." Theron had wondered about her name more than once, but when she'd breathed it in his ear; it had been his undoing.

Unfortunately, Theron knew he'd screwed up when the Chiss's face morphed from flirty to horrified. Kriff, she didn't realize she said it. "Zolah, wait." He saw the way her muscles tensed when he stepped towards her, how one foot slid closer to the door.

"Thank you, Agent Shan," Zolah began, her hand sliding up the wall to the controls. Her voice took on a tight sound, one that Theron knew all too well. Her expression became serious. "This is the point where we wish each other well, then hope to never see one another again."

Theron tried to grab her sleeve, but Zolah slipped away before he found purchase, vanishing without the knowledge that he didn't intend to include any of this in his report. It was a strange feeling, knowing that he'd take Cipher Nine's name to his grave, even if he couldn't explain why. Theron ran a hand through his hair. "Kriff." He punched the bulkhead for good measure, then resigned himself to the fate that awaited him aboard the Brentaal Star. There was nothing he could do about Zolah Holran now.


A/N: Theron and Zolah's little rendezvous was written to Complicated by Fitz & the Tantrums. I really love that song.