Epilogue
The Thunderclap
862 Days After Ord Mantell
"Vitiate is not our Emperor," Lana spat, her face contorting in anger. The Sith's normally golden eyes burned fiery red in the reflection of her ignited blade. Fynta stumbled over Jorgan's body, landing hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs. Lana raised the lightsaber for the killing blow, then paused.
"No." The voice came out of the Sith, but it wasn't hers. This one resonated through Fynta's body, pinning her on the spot. "When I am finished here—when every life on this world has been exhausted—I want you to live. To know that I succeeded. Then, after I've bathed the galaxy in blood, I'll come for you."
The scene shifted, and Fynta found herself standing on the space station above Ziost, watching the survivors search for their loved ones. The wounded spilled into the main viewing area from the medcenter. Vitiate's words still rang in her ears, but there was nothing left to do now that he'd departed for parts unknown.
A woman gasped and dropped a box to Fynta's right. She stared out the viewport with a hand covering her mouth, and Fynta's stomach rolled as her feet carried her unwillingly to the window. This felt familiar, and her mind screamed to stop, to look away, but she couldn't. Outside sat Ziost, just as grey and dreary from up here as it had been on the surface. Then, Fynta saw the reason for the woman's tears.
A wave of dust swept across the surface, massive enough to be seen from orbit. It started at the planet's northern pole and expanded outward, consuming everything in its path. Jedi and Sith alike began to scream, some collapsing, while others stood frozen in horror. The phenomenon had nearly reached the equator before Fynta realized what the dust was. The physical incarnation of death.
People, animals, plant life, even the shabbing atmosphere, reduced to atoms as she watched. Fynta swallowed past the lump in her throat, Vitiate's laughter so loud that blood dripped from her ears. He'd done exactly what he promised to. He'd wiped out all life on Ziost, just to prove to her he could. Fynta's legs buckled and she fell to her knees, staring at the drab, brown planet. Who knew that grey contained so much life?
Fynta sat straight up in bed, blaster in hand. Her heart pounded as she gasped for breath. It took a few moments to reorient herself with the fact that she was safe aboard the Thunderclap. She dropped the weapon and rubbed both hands down her face.
"Ziost again?" The voice came from the desk chair where Aric sat, scanning his datapad. He met Fynta's eyes, then nodded towards the Verpine at her side. He'd made her unload it every night before bed since visiting that accursed planet.
Fynta took a deep breath. "You too?"
Aric sighed, turning his eyes back to reading. Fynta wondered what the Cathar found so calming within his datapad, and if he'd share if she asked. "Understandable," he commented after a while. "Ziost was a cluster fuck on a grand scale."
Fynta winced. Apart from calling her a damn nuisance from time to time, Aric generally kept such curses for heavy combat situations. He'd never spoken of the millions of deaths they'd witnessed, and, apart from a few quiet whimpers in his sleep, Fynta wasn't sure if he shared her nightmares. Then again, the Cathar hardly closed his eyes anymore.
Untangling herself from the blankets, Fynta crawled to the edge of the bed and put a hand on Jorgan's thigh. "Hey." He looked up, and she offered a half smile when she asked again. "You too?"
Aric dropped the datapad on the desk and folded his hands over Fynta's. "We're out here searching for a deity that can eat planets." His eyes hardened. "We aren't even Force sensitives, what does the galaxy expect us to do about it?"
Fynta had wondered that more than once. "We find allies."
Jorgan snorted and looked at the door where the rest of Havoc slept. They'd been alone on Ziost while the others ran errands for Saresh and her diplomats. The remainder of the squad hadn't seen what Vitiate was capable of until well after the fact. "Like Lana and Theron?" Jorgan continued with a shake of his head. "That's not enough."
Fynta reached for the datapad on the desk and keyed it open to find that Aric had been looking through travel brochures. She pretended not to notice and opened a new tab. "Darth Marr mentioned being interested in a team up again. Even if Saresh continues to drag her feet, we can find others who will join us."
Jorgan raised a brow, his lips pressing into a tight line. They'd argued about the merit of Imperial allies multiple times, and neither were willing to change their stance so far. Even so, Fynta persisted. "We aren't just Republic soldiers, anymore, Aric. You and I killed that Monolith under a Sith's guidance. We fought side by side with Imperial Intelligence, made allies with bounty hunters and Jedi alike. No matter what the Chancellor says, we are facing a larger threat than Imperial rule." She paused to bring up a picture of a Republic planet before showing it to her husband. "What if Vitiate targets Rendili next?"
The Cathar growled. "That's below the belt."
"No, it's the reality we face." Fynta put the device aside and looked Jorgan in the eye. "Whether it be Coruscant or Dromund Kaas. The more he kills, the stronger he becomes. It's our job to keep that from happening."
"Because Lana said you'd been chosen?" Aric crossed his arms and rocked the chair side to side, something he often did when pacing wasn't an option.
Fynta steeled her voice when she answered. "No, because it's the right thing to do. It's our job as soldiers." She'd clearly hit a nerve, because Aric's eyes snapped to hers, his glare gradually softening as her words sank in.
With a sigh, Jorgan crawled onto the bed beside Fynta and pulled her back with him. "Just promise me you won't do anything stupid."
Fynta chuckled and patted his arm. "As long as you promise to keep watching my back."
The Red Blade
Vector watched his wife mill around the ship, checking diagnostic scans that he saw no reason to run. Her aura had changed after Yavin. At first, he'd attributed it to the stress of the emperor's escape, or perhaps her annoyance with what amounted to a failed mission. However, it had only grown stronger over the last month, and it concerned Vector. He'd always seen his wife in shades of deep red with vibrant sparks of orange that glowed like a sunrise. Now, angry blues and frustrated greys wove throughout, warning of a coming storm. He'd seen these colors once before.
Zolah's moods shifted with increasing ferocity, not unlike when she'd been under the effects of the Castillan Restraints. However, her resonance had been muted then, now it blazed brightly, flaring into anger more often than not. That rage colored her aura at the moment, and she pressed her lips in a thin line, fingers flexing around the casing of her datapad. Zolah muttered a curse, practiced some deliberate breathing, then resumed her task without comment.
Finally, Vector decided that he'd waited long enough for her candor. Slipping around the pile of crates that she'd moved four times and still seemed dissatisfied with their placement, he touched her shoulder. "Beloved?" He paused when she jumped, arching an eyebrow at her reaction. "We couldn't help but notice that you've been—" Vector cut the sentence off to gently pry the datapad from her hands.
Zolah relinquished the device with a string of helpful words to fill in the blank. "An idiot, a fool, a moron, a complete and total rookie who should be immediately sent back to training."
Vector hid his smile by turning to lay the datapad aside. "We were going to say distracted." Zolah huffed and crossed her arms when he faced her again, red eyes narrowed and jaw working furiously. "Would you care to unburden your anger?" He asked tactfully. Surely, she knew that after such an outburst he would not be able to let the matter drop.
The Chiss threw her hands up and stomped in a compact circle as if she couldn't decide which direction she wanted to go. Eventually, Zolah settled into her original spot. "I should have stayed with you, Vector. On Yavin. I shouldn't have gone to that damn meeting with Theron."
At first, Zolah's admission surprised Vector. They'd agreed that she must continue her work, and he would stay behind to collect himself after the battle. Ashara had been kind and understanding, offering him a quiet peace while his mind buzzed with the deaths of so many. Vector realized that his wife was far too pragmatic to be angry with herself for not remaining by his side. In any case, that would have incurred feelings of guilt, not wrath. Another thought raced through his mind, one that instantly tightened Vector's chest in anger. "Did he hurt you?"
Zolah had been vague on the details of her dalliance with the Republic SIS agent, and Vector had respected her privacy. While they remained honest with one another, she was in no way obligated to share with him the details of her affair. If Agent Shan had abused his wife in some manner, Vector would be sure to visit recompense.
"No," Zolah sighed and covered her face with her hands. "He was a perfect gentleman." Vector waited patiently, though it took some effort not to prod for more information. Were he any less skilled of a diplomat, his resolve would have broken long before she spoke again. "I told him my name."
His wife's confession rendered Vector momentarily speechless. "You—what?"
Zolah groaned into her palms. Vector knew how closely she guarded that secret. How she valued the ability to slip into any persona she wanted, but saved her true name for only those she trusted implicitly. As far as Vector knew, only he and the Rakton family knew of it. And now, Zolah had added a Republic spy to that short list.
Vector gripped his wife's shoulders in an effort to force her to look at him. "Why?" Concern pushed him towards a state of near action. He felt that he needed to do something, anything to ensure her safety.
"It slipped out," Zolah admitted. "He's a talented lover."
Vector puffed out the breath he'd been holding. Zolah had a penchant for talking during sex, although it had never been an issue on the job. His wife became someone else while she worked, focused on gaining intel or completing her mission. When she let her guard down, she had a tendency to direct the course of their lovemaking with intimate details. Vector had found this quirk endearing mostly, as he had no intention of betraying her trust.
When Vector remet Zolah's solid, red eyes, he saw panic rising behind them. "What have I done?"
The desire to settle his wife's nerves took precedence over any fear Vector felt. Rubbing Zolah's arms, he smiled. "You wouldn't have let it slip if you weren't sure about Theron." He trusted Zolah's ability to read people. Surely, she wouldn't have let herself get carried away if she hadn't decided that Theron Shan was trustworthy on some level . After all, Zolah had returned without him, indicating that she had changed her mind about kidnapping the prized SIS Agent.
"My name hasn't appeared on any of the Republic channels we monitor," Zolah confirmed, though hesitantly. As if she dared not hope that Theron would be honorable, putting her well being above his job. If the Republic had her birth name, there was no end to the damage they could do to her reputation. The fact that the repercussions hadn't started even after a month's time was a good indication that Theron hadn't shared the information.
"Neither has his in Imperial space," Vector added. Zolah offered an almost sheepish grin, an unfamiliar expression on her stern features. He'd watched to see if either Zolah or Lana would turn Theron's personal information: His previous exploits within the Empire, the truth of his parentage, or his current location, over to the Empire. But, both women appeared disinterested in outing their Republic ally.
"We will help you watch, and hope that there is no need for worry," Vector smiled, giving her shoulders a light squeeze. "You mustn't keep such things to yourself. We are here to help in all matters."
Zolah threw her arms around Vector's neck, and the Joiner embraced his wife. All the while contingency plans formed in the back of his mind should Theron prove not to be the man Vector hoped him to be. Perhaps he should open a line of communication with the SIS agent once they reached Dromund Kaas, just to be certain of Theron's intentions concerning his wife.
Coruscant
Jedi Enclave of Healing
Theron sat in the gardens of the Jedi medical center, mulling over his notes from Ziost. Director Trant had once again kept Theron's ass out of prison, though administrative leave didn't feel much different. He'd spent his time checking up on the surviving members of the Sixth Line, more importantly, Master Surro. At least Fynta hadn't agreed to let Lana dissect the woman's brain. Still, he'd screwed up by sending them to the Imperial planet alone. In hindsight, Lana probably should have been his first call, followed by Fynta. Maybe then they could have worked together sooner and saved a lot of lives.
"Guilt will get you nowhere, Agent Shan." The thick, appealing accent startled him from his thoughts.
Theron looked up to find Master Kaeto Vaa standing over him, arm still held in a sling, but the brace missing from her leg today. The knot in Theron's chest loosened slightly at the knowledge that at least one of his Jedi was healing. The Togruta had joined the Sixth Line against the council's wish. Theron had a full roster already when the Hero of Tython approached him, but he couldn't possibly pass up such a seasoned warrior in the face of the unknown. It wasn't until later, when Satele called him into a private, but formal meeting, that he learned the reason behind the council's verdict.
"You look well, Master Vaa," Theron responded, ignoring her advice about guilt.
According to Theron's mother, Master Vaa had suffered greatly at the hands of the Emperor, and they'd denied her request to join due to the vengeance in her heart. To be honest, vengeance was an old friend of Theron's. It helped get the job done when things got hard, and he saw nothing wrong with it. Satele had pursed her lips when he voiced these thoughts, leading Theron to believe that he'd once again disappointed his absentee of a mother.
Theron imagined if anyone had reason to understand his feelings on the Ziost mission, it would be the Jedi before him. The Sith Emperor had nearly destroyed Kaeto, and she'd seen taking out Revan as her second chance. When that failed, she'd sought out the means to confront the ancient Sith personally through Theron's Sixth Line. Unfortunately, it hadn't worked out well for either of them.
The Togruta sat beside Theron and stared out over the artificial garden. Her golden skin complemented the stark white of her lekku. There was something classically beautiful about all Togruta, male or female, in Theron's opinion. Kaeto tipped her face into the sun and took a deep breath. "We are much like these plants, are we not?" He raised an eyebrow, and she smiled, rubbing a deep blue pedal between her fingers. "We live such vibrant lives, leaving our mark on the galaxy, but who will truly miss us when we are gone?"
"You've still got a few fans left," Theron remarked dryly. He'd pretty much burned every bridge on his quest to destroy a monster that he couldn't fathom. Had his pride over their victory on Yavin gotten the better of him, or was it simply that no one else seemed to take the threat seriously, and someone needed to act?
Kaeto looked wistfully towards the sky. "Perhaps." Before Theron could ask for further explanation, the woman stood and dusted off her robes, a modest brown, nothing like the revealing halter and pants she usually wore. Theron felt that change was important somehow. "I think I'll meditate a while longer. Will I see you tomorrow, Agent Shan?"
"Maybe," Theron replied. "Master Surro still hasn't recovered enough to return to Tython, I'd like to make sure she's alright before going back to work." Not that he got a choice in the matter. Director Trant and Saresh had used the word indefinitely, which never bode well for a spy. Especially one who'd outed himself so publically. A shining career of infiltration and high value targets disappeared down the drain with one stupid call.
"Take it from someone who knows. Let this go, and move on with your life." Kaeto bowed at the waist, her tattooed lekku slipping over to dangle before him. She offered a sharp-toothed smile that spoke of anything except giving up, before ambling off.
Theron tried to take the Jedi's advice regardless, but it was no easy task. He got the impression that Kaeto hadn't mastered it either, and had taken her defeat on Ziost personally. Theron considered her part in it all the way back to his apartment. Kaeto Vaa had witnessed the horrors of Ziost through unfiltered senses, and she'd fought to protect Imperial citizens from her fellow Jedi. Theron wondered if the Togruta's time in the Emperor's service had somehow offered a kind of immunity to the mind control, and if that was something they could exploit for the next time.
"Next time," Theron grumbled to his dark apartment as he unloaded his pockets on the counter. As if Director Trant would let him off planet any time soon.
After a shower and meager dinner that consisted mostly of scotch, Theron settled onto his sofa to go over a few messages. One in particular intrigued him. The contact was routed through four different sectors, and that was after he decrypted the original address. It contained nothing more than a holo frequency, but Theron was certain he knew who the message was from. His heart beat unnaturally fast when the line rang. It was hard to say if he hoped for an answer or not.
The man who appeared on the image wore a fine waistcoat and had handsome, sharp features. "Ah, Agent Shan, we rather expected your call sooner."
"Sorry, been a bit busy, how are things?" Theron still couldn't believe that his life had reached the point of exchanging pleasantries with an Imperial spy. The last time he'd seen this one in particular, they'd shared a drink the night before going after Revan. That was before having a fling with the man's wife. It still confused the hell out of Theron.
Vector looked over his shoulder before answering Theron's question. "There is a matter of importance that we must speak about." Theron waited in silence while Vector moved somewhere more secure. "Our wife told us that she divulged her true name to you . . . we trust that you've handled this information with care?"
Zola'hes'naru. Theron still felt her breath against his ear, and filed the memory away for later use. The Chiss had fled before Theron could offer any assurances that he'd keep the secret between them. He supposed it shouldn't surprise him that Zolah had run to Vector, and that now Vector wanted to ensure his wife's safety.
"I didn't put it into the report, if that's what you mean." Theron had thought of that name daily, though he never dared to speak it out loud. Even on Ziost, as stupid as it had been, he'd hoped to see the Imperial spies again. Vector had become just as much a part of Zolah's identity as the fact that she was Chiss. Theron would be lying to himself if he didn't admit that running across the Joiner would have been just as much of a relief.
Vector nodded and crossed his arms. "Having multiple names allows our wife to walk in many circles. I'm sure you appreciate how important this is in our line of work." Theron wondered how Vector managed to stay by her side. Being a Joiner made him stand out, but Theron got the impression that he was an ever present source of aid.
"I have no intention of telling anyone who Cipher Nine is, any of her names," Theron assured the man. "Is she there?"
Vector shook his head. "She was summoned to a meeting. We should return, but we wanted to take this call. It has been much anticipated." Disappointment wormed through Theron, though he assured the man that he understood. Vector hesitated. "We heard rumors of your involvement on Ziost. How are you?"
Theron shrugged. He had talked with Kaeto about the experience briefly, but neither had much to say on it. Trant had offered counseling, and Theron said he'd think about it, though he had no intention of actually letting someone inside his head. Vector took Theron's silence without comment, no doubt being used to such answers given who he'd married.
"You contacted us from a disposable holo, yes?" Theron nodded. He wasn't stupid enough to contact Imperial agents through official channels, no matter what his file said. "Then, we shall keep this, should you need to reach us in case of emergency. Take care of yourself, Theron."
The holo disappeared, shrouding Theron in darkness again. Sighing, he looked around, trying to decide what to do next. He wondered if that holo frequency had a text option, and if so, how weird it would be to contact them again. Groaning, Theron dropped the datapad, coming to terms with the fact that his life was a kriffing mess.
Dromund Kaas
Zolah watched Lana carefully. The Sith had always been focused, but her current state bordered on obsessive. As an expert on such, Zolah felt confident that she could recognize the signs. Tentatively, she took a step closer. "Lana, when was the last time you slept?" The Sith glared up from her datapad. "Or perhaps ate?"
Instead of snapping, Lana heaved a sigh and rubbed her temples. "There isn't time," she growled. "Vitiate is loose, and there is no telling where he will strike next. We got lucky last time."
"So I've heard." Zolah had been away on another assignment when Ziost came under attack. By the time she and Vector had arrived on the scene, the clean up crew had already landed. The damage was staggering, worse even than the aftermath of the Eradicators. Seeing the look on Vector's face had stirred pity inside her. Not for those who'd died, but for the ones who survived.
Lana hadn't spoken of it, but the dark bags under her eyes were testament to the nightmares that haunted her. Zolah had asked Vector what it had felt like on Yavin, but she knew that Ziost must have been compounded a thousand fold for someone as in tune with the Force as Lana. She's shielded her husband from the destruction she wrought upon her own people in order to kill Jadus, so thankfully, he was not haunted by those deaths.
When it became apparent that Lana had no more information, Zolah excused herself. "I'll leave you to it, Minister. Contact me if you find anything significant." The blond woman nodded, and Zolah slid the door shut behind her.
Vector rounded the corner as Zolah exited the office. "Who was that?" She asked. He'd stepped out to answer a priority call, though she hadn't been aware that they were expecting one. Naturally, she'd assumed it had something to do with the Killiks.
"We were seeing to a potential complication." Vector kept his eyes forward while they walked through the Sith Sanctum towards the speeders. "We are confident there will be no more cause for concern."
Zolah knew a cryptic answer when she heard one, and let it rest until they reached the ship. As soon as the airlock closed behind them, she rounded on her husband. "Which complication?" There were so many to choose from these days.
"Theron Shan," Vector answered simply. Zolah's breath caught, and it took a few seconds before she could regain it. She'd been stupid, how could she give him her birth name? The worst part was that Zolah didn't even remember doing it. She'd given the Republic agent too much control over her, and now she'd pay the price.
Even through the fear, Zolah dreaded asking Vector for clarification on how he handled the threat. "Is he dead?" She asked, swallowing to control the pitch of her voice. It was foolish to concern herself so much over an enemy. That's what Theron was, right? Republic SIS, the enemy.
Vector's eyebrows drew together, and Zolah felt a weight lift from her shoulders even before he answered. "Of course not," her husband almost snorted, though that was a bit blase for the diplomat. "We simply asked him about his intentions, and explained that there would be consequences should he feel the need to leak sensitive information to the wrong people."
Laughter bubbled up Zolah's throat, and she clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle it. Vector had done it again. He'd used words instead of violence to cowl someone who he viewed as a threat. She would never understand how he accomplished such feats.
Vector took Zolah's hands, rubbing his thumbs over her palms as he stared at them. "Although, we do not believe there was cause for fear to begin with. Theron appeared quite distressed by the method of your departure." Solid, black eyes rose to meet hers. "He says to tell you hello."
"How did we get to this point, Vector," Zolah asked. She should have killed Fynta Wolfe by now. Or, at the very least, made good on her plan to abduct Theron once the truce ended. Instead, she'd told a Republic SIS agent her real name, then condemned herself to suffering the consequences alone until Vector pried the information out of her with patient skill. He'd soothed her panic and assured her that Theron would be honorable. However, to find out now that he'd harbored his own fears without her knowledge filled her with guilt.
Looking into Vector's kind face, Zolah resolved to finally be worthy of him. She'd work to become the woman he thought her to be. Vector smiled as if he could read her thoughts and kissed her forehead before answering her question. "We entered into an alliance with some truly remarkable people."
The Thunderclap
Cormac reclined in one of the chairs in the main room, watching Elara through the doorway leading into the medbay. He'd made himself scarce when she started muttering, but that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy observing while she worked. Even after years together, Balic found his wife fascinating. She soaked up knowledge like a sponge, and he couldn't help but imagine more each day what a great mother she'd make.
Movement caught Balic's attention just before the major swung into the chair beside him. Fynta propped an elbow on one knee, then rested her chin in her hand. "You're staring," she commented, watching Elara too.
"So are you," Cormac countered, stretching to clasp his fingers behind his head. "Where's Jorgan?"
"Napping," Fynta responded. "I'm bored."
Cormac chuckled, though it felt empty. He'd read the reports on Ziost and knew how terrified Elara was of those events repeating. She'd worked around the clock with Yuun, searching for some pattern that would lead to the emperor's whereabouts. When they hit a dead end, the two brains tossed ideas back and forth on how to kill the shabuir once they found him. So far, nothing stuck.
Part of Cormac wished he'd been on Ziost to back his commanders up. They'd both looked like death warmed over when Havoc finally coalesced on the Thunderclap again. He knew neither of them slept well, and he couldn't help all of the what if scenarios that ran through his mind. If they'd boarded that shuttle just thirty minutes later, SpecForce would be interviewing for new commanders, and Cormac would be down his two closest friends.
"She's going to run herself into the ground," Fynta mumbled, fingers pressed against her lips.
"Probably," Cormac replied. He knew better than to get between Elara and her research. "Eventually, she'll pass out, then I'll carry her to bed. Kind of like you and Jorgan." He didn't meet Fynta's gaze when her head turned towards him.
Cormac expected some speech about how she was fine, or maybe a smart assed remark about being invincible. What he hadn't planned for, was the pointed jab to the ticklish spot in his ribs that nearly launched him out of the chair. Fynta grinned, the same mischievous expression he'd seen for years.
Cormac settled back into his chair, keeping a wary eye on his commander. They sat in silence, which he hated. The quiet let the thoughts that he'd buried long ago creep back to the surface. "Wanna' talk about it?" Fynta asked at last, chin still propped in her hand. When Cormac squeezed his lips tighter, she sighed. "Verin's okay, you know that, right?"
Taking a deep breath, Cormac dropped his hands into his lap. "I wish I could make it right, somehow."
"We've all lost men on a mission before. Friends and family," Fynta continued, still watching Elara to avoid pinning Balic down. "It's part of the job. Verin knows that better than anyone. Cinlat did too."
"It's not that," Cormac countered, then winced when Fynta turned an upraised eyebrow on him. He'd bumbled right into her trap, and now she wasn't going to let up until he spilled all of his secrets. Balic knew better than to resist the eyebrow.
Cormac gathered his thoughts while Fynta waited in silence. She'd joked that Cinlat had taught her more about interrogation than the SIS ever could, and having met the famed hunter, he didn't doubt it. "You know I had a little brother, yeah?" Fynta nodded. "Our mom was a Spicehead, and who knows where the sperm donor went. It was always me and Duke against the world, except he didn't inherit my charm or physique. So, throughout a lot of our childhood it felt like me, dragging my kid brother, as we ran from the world."
Fynta nodded again. They shared a similar experience, even if the circumstances leading up to it were vastly different. She saw thing's more from Duke's viewpoint, being the sibling hauled around by an older brother until she was old enough to make it on her own. Cormac worked at popping his knuckles for a distraction while he continued. "Duke did one thing well. That scrawny kid knew how to get into trouble. By the time he reached thirteen, he'd spent more time in lockup than most of the members of our gang. When he hit sixteen, I told him I was done, and he could get his own shit in order after that."
"That's when he joined up, isn't it?" Fynta interjected, and Balic tipped his head. He'd shared tidbits of information about his baby brother over the years, but it had always been such a sore subject that he usually steered the conversation towards the funnier moments.
"He joined the Alderannian Reservists the next week, met himself a decent bloke, and settled into life." Cormac smiled at the memory. He'd never seen his brother grin as much as he did the day he brought Gav over for dinner.
Fynta touched Cormac's arm, startling him from the memory. "What happened?"
"Spice is a tough drug to kick, and Alderaan had a steady stream of smugglers willing to transport the stuff after we pulled out of the Republic," Balic explained. "Regulations became more difficult to enforce, and it was like open season for all the despots in the galaxy. Duke slipped back into the habit a few years later, a lot harder than when he was a kid."
Cormac felt his throat tighten as old emotions welled inside him. Images from more than a decade past overlapped with the fresher pain of losing Cinlat on Yavin. "He got into debt with some disreputable people and used my account to get out of it. Only, it wasn't enough."
"They tracked the funds back to you, didn't they?" Fynta guessed, her voice colder than it had been before. When Balic nodded, and she snorted with contempt. "Cinlat taught me how to do that for clients who decided to skip out on what they owed us for a job."
"Lucky for me it wasn't you lot that got hired to jump me in an alley. Otherwise, we might not be friends." Cormac nudged Fynta's shoulder with forced humor, and she replied in kind. "Anyway, I went straight to Duke, showed him my black eye, and yelled a lot of not so brotherly things. I told him I was done cleaning up his messes. Don't call, don't write; I didn't need him screwing my life as badly as he had his own."
Cormac slipped into silence. He watched Elara move around the medbay, smiling when her eyebrows shot up, and she hurried out of sight to test some new hypotheses. Seeing her work so hard gave Balic a sense of normalcy. Even though everything outside of the ship was going to hell, in the Thunderclap, things were okay.
"Duke didn't die in combat, did he?" Fynta asked, her voice little more than a whisper.
Cormac shook his head. "Turns out, my little brother wanted to do the right thing. He confronted the bounty hunters without backup, to prove that he wasn't useless." Familiar grief washed over Balic, and he let it. Closing his eyes, he allowed himself to be transported back to that night. The knock on the door, the anguish and fury on Gav's face, and the hollow, gut-wrenching feeling that Balic had abandoned his brother the same way their mother had.
Cormac remembered opening the front door and feeling like a rancor had slugged him. When he recovered, Gav stood over him with bloody knuckles, screaming obscenities. Cormac hadn't been able to focus on the words, only the thought that one thing alone could have pushed this normally calm man to such bouts of hysterics.
Cormac squeezed his eyes shut. "They left him to bleed out in the street. He'd been dead for hours by the time news got to me. I think Gav would have gladly beat the hell out of me if I hadn't been twice his size, and I wouldn't have blamed him."
"Shab, I'm sorry, Cormac." Fynta moved to sit on the arm of Balic's chair and planted a kiss on top of his bald head. "You expected a similar reaction out of Verin." It wasn't a question, and Balic winced when Fynta's arms folded around his neck. His voice cracked ever so slightly when he answered.
"Don't think I didn't notice the matching bruises you and Verin came back with on Yavin." Cormac cleared his throat. "Those punches were meant for me, not you, boss."
Fynta pulled back, and when Balic refused to meet her eyes, she grabbed his chin to force him to look at her. "That had nothing to do with you, vod. It's a complicated Mandalorian thing. Verin wouldn't have hit you, he loves you like a brother." Cormac felt his eyebrows raise at the implications of her words. Fynta caught on and smiled. "But, I'm his sister by blood, and we've gone through a lot of tragedy together. We know how to push each other's buttons. I went looking for a fight, not Verin."
Cormac took a moment to process this new information, and wondered why it made such a difference knowing that Fynta had goaded Verin, not been attacked on sight. They were both important to him, hell, she was Balic's best friend. Still, the awareness that she'd gained those wounds intentionally somehow lifted a weight from him.
"You're a damn fool, boss," Cormac finally replied, patting her knee. "But, I love you anyway."
Fynta grinned and slid back into her chair to resume watching Elara when the medic reappeared in the main room to fiddle with the controls on the holoprojector. She didn't appear to notice either of her comrades, and they saw no need to disturb her. Fynta leaned over the arm of her chair and lowered her voice to avoid distracting the singularly focused medic. "You're a good man, Balic. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."
Cormac settled into his seat, arms folded behind his head again, and cast Fynta a sly grin. "I'll try not to let that go to my head."
"No worries," Fynta commented, matching his posture while her eyes trailed Elara around the room. Her lips twitched at the sides when she followed it up with, "I'll always be around to kick the osik out of you if it does."
Fynta rubbed Cormac's head for luck before pushing out of the chair. Their emotional chat highlighted Fynta's exhaustion, and there really wasn't anything for her to do. She might as well try for another attempt at sleep. Casting Dorne an amused look, she thumbed for Cormac to keep an eye on their emperor obsessed medic and smiled at his returned signal of confirmation. The big man's shoulders looked less tense, and Fynta hoped that she'd eased some of his guilt over Cinlat's death. These sort of wound took time to heal, but she'd help in whatever way she could.
At the last minute, Fynta turned towards the barracks instead of her personal quarters to check in with the rest of the squad. Yuun rested peacefully in his quarters, the dull buzz of meditation droning through the door when she stopped outside. Fynta watched for a moment, then decided to leave the Gand to do his Findsman thing in solitude.
Vik wasn't hard to find, Fynta just had to follow the smell of accelerant and cheap alcohol to the kitchen. The Weequay lifted a bottle in salute, and Fynta snatched it from his grubby fingers to knock back a larger mouthful than she'd intended. Vik chuckled when she handed it back, though it took all of her stubborn pride not to gag.
"See, now that's how you drink. Should give that uptight furball a few lessons, boss." Fynta rolled her eyes and left the Weequay to his ritual. She'd given him permission to smuggle that swill aboard the ship so long as it didn't interfere with their job. Surprisingly, Vik had held up his part of the bargain, so far.
Yawning, Fynta finally dragged herself back to the room where she'd left Aric and palmed open the door. Light flooded in from the main room, stopping short of illuminating the Cathar's face. Fynta heard the familiar rumblings of another nightmare as her husband shifted uneasily in his sleep. She wondered how long Ziost would plague them, and where Vitiate was. His silence troubled her more than the bad dreams, mostly because he wasn't something she could shoot. The Sith Emperor was entirely unknown to everyone.
Locking the door behind her, Fynta shed her clothes and slid under the blanket next to Jorgan. She ran her nails over the Cathar's scalp until his breathing took on a steady pattern, then curled against his warmth. He responded by flopping a heavy arm across her body and dragging her into a crushing embrace. Once she'd wiggled into a comfortable position within the confines of his grasp, Fynta sighed happily, letting his body heat leech some of the soreness from her artificial hip. Strategy and contingency plans threatened to crowd her mind, but Fynta pushed them back and clung stubbornly to the indomitableness of her aliit. They'd figure something out. Eventually.
A/N: Thank you all for joining me on this wild ride. This is the final chapter of Family Is More Than Blood, but, I plan to continue the story into KotFE with Heart On A Trigger. Which I will be posting immediately after closing out this story.
Once again, thank you for all the favorites, kudos, comments, and messages. And a special shout out to Dimigex and Kage69 for helping me catch as many blunders as possible, and generally making this story better.
You can also follow me on Tumblr
