A/N: Welp. This is where I live now.
In any case, I have decided that this takes place in my Meet Me at Zurkie's-verse. Which I realize doesn't make any sense here on FFnet. But as of now, it consists of The Captain Goes Down With the Ship and Quantum Theory. This takes place well before either of those, though, so it's not that important.
My brain has kind of just been half-heartedly pelting pre-RA ideas for these two at me since The Captain Goes Down With the Ship. This one smacked me over the head pretty good about six weeks ago but was still very vague. But I finally figured it out.
And because there are also no tags on FFnet, I'll add here that my personal interpretation of enemies with benefits is enemies having friendship sometimes but just generally considering themselves enemies.
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A knock on her bedroom door is what drags Rivet back to consciousness. The bleary sight of her desk, completely wiped clean, greets her. She stares at it blankly for a moment before deciding she'd rather just not. But no sooner does she close her eyes again than another knock sounds. She frowns—just ignore it and it'll go away. They know better than to bother her right now—and buries herself deeper into the mattress.
"Rivet? Hon, you awake in there?"
Rivet squeezes her eyelids even tighter, and when she doesn't respond, the door creaks open. Something scrapes against the floor as it does so. For a moment there's silence. A sad sigh follows. "Oh, Rivet…"
Rivet tenses at the tone, giving away the fact that she's not asleep. "You really don't need to keep checking up on me every day, Mort," she grits out, eyes still clenched shut. "I'm taking care of everything just fine on my own."
Mort ignores the snippy words with her usual boundless patience and instead asks, "Well now, what happened in here?"
"Just thought I'd do a little reorganizing. It's all exactly how I want it now."
It had started out as one of her rare good days. For the first time in weeks, she'd felt inspired to get back to her research and practice drafting up some blueprints. She'd had such a good feeling about it, too. But her left arm is all but useless for such intricate work, and her right? Well…
The paper crinkled and slid despite the tape she'd used to keep it in place, the pencil kept making ugly marks that strayed far from what her brain had asked it to draw, and after the fourth time that she tried reaching for something on the right side of her desk before being ruthlessly reminded of the impossibility of what she was trying to do, she'd reached her limit.
She'd worked herself into a furor that little in her room had managed to escape. Between that and the frustrated tears she couldn't choke back afterward, she'd been so thoroughly exhausted that she'd called it a day. She hasn't even ventured out to eat again since the small breakfast she had so excitedly put together first thing this morning.
Mort doesn't need to know any of that, though. However much of it she may already suspect.
"Your friends in the Resistance have been trying to get ahold of you. Sounded mighty important from what Mort told me."
In a flurry of blankets, Rivet pushes herself up and looks over her shoulder in disbelief. "Seriously? They've decided to start bothering you guys now? So I don't feel like talking to anyone. Sue me. It can't be that big of a surprise."
"Aw, Rivet," Mort says, stepping closer to the bed and looking her over fondly. "They just want to check up on things. Make sure you're doing okay and let you know they're thinking about you."
Rivet snorts. "Yeah, so they can stand there looking like they feel sorry for me or use me as an example of why we call in our findings and wait for more intel instead of just taking matters into our own hands. I don't need another lecture on following protocols. The first time was more than enough." And with that, she collapses back onto the bed.
Mort sighs again. "I know they were real hard on you after what happened—" another snort "—and I know you feel like there's nothing you can do right now to help. But Mort said the girl that came up to him in Zurkie's looked awful desperate when she talked to him. Sounds to me like they still got a place for you no matter what happened. Just think about it."
The blanket shifts, and Rivet ignores the comfort of Mort's hands as she gently smooths it out over her. "Anywho, left you something in the kitchen for when you feel up to eating again. Just say the word if you need anything."
The door clicks shut, and Rivet is left to wallow in peace.
She lays there for what feels like forever but can't get back to sleep. Her stomach gnaws away at itself in retaliation for her willful neglect, and her mind finds itself drifting to the thought of what the Resistance could possibly think she's capable of doing for them in her current state.
She doesn't want to let them down again.
Opening her eyes, Rivet flops onto her back and stares up at the ceiling. Her hand slips through the collar of her shirt and over the stump of her shoulder, fingers tracing the bandages there. She doesn't need them anymore. Nearly four months after the fact, the wound has long since closed and is, for all intents and purposes, considered healed. But it's hard to look at that puckered, furless expanse of skin without them. So until she can figure out how to build a stupid replacement, they stay.
Heaving a sigh, she surrenders to her stomach's ceaseless bellyaching. She won't have to put together the meal herself at least, so it seems like a safe and easy bet if she's going to try and salvage something of her day.
Her comm is already flashing when she passes through the living room. It had only taken a few awkward exchanges with her co-rebels in the beginning to prompt her to mute it, and to her relief, the calls had dwindled down after that. But it looks like today…wow. Her brows furrow as she scrolls through the list of missed calls. The current caller gives up, and she chews on her lip.
Before she can second guess herself, she calls them back. She panics for a moment, looking down to see if she's presentable. Her oversized shirt is wrinkled but otherwise decent, and she's raking her fingers through the messy tuft of hair on her head—her goggles an unfortunate casualty of her earlier meltdown—when they answer.
"Oh, thank goodness, Rivet, I've been trying to reach you all afternoon!" The words gush from her in a single, frantic breath, and the hologram in Rivet's living room doubles over with a small gasp.
Taken aback by the intensity of the not-quite-greeting, Rivet stares for a moment before saying, "Hey, Astra. What's going on?"
Astra straightens and looks Rivet over, eyes wide. Feeling self-conscious about the fact that she hasn't looked in a mirror once in the last who even knows how many days, she goes to flatten down the hair she'd recently detangled.
"It's so good to actually see you. I know you haven't really been up to…I wouldn't call you like this if it wasn't important. But we have a big problem." With an apologetic look, she clasps her hands in front of her chest. "And we need to ask you a favor."
Rivet gives her a skeptical look. "And I'm really the only one who can do it?" She waves a hand at the empty sleeve dangling off her shoulder. "How?"
Astra throws her hands out in front of her. "No! No, it's nothing like that. We just need you to…so we're having issues with the pirates right now. In the last week, they've stopped trading with anyone from the Resistance."
Rivet's jaw clenches. Of course she should have seen that coming. It's her 'thing'. Not that she'd ever asked for it to be. Pierre just seemed to have a special affinity for making her life even more difficult and hectic than it already was. Her earlier snappishness seeps into her voice when she says, "You know. I'm sure you could just have someone talk to Pierre and get it all sorted out. He can be reasonable sometimes." Simple, really. No need to blow up her comm all day about it.
"We tried that," Astra says hesitantly. "But he's apparently the one that gave the order in the first place. He refuses to talk to anyone but you."
Yeah, no.
Her hand balls into a fist at her side and her teeth grind together and she swears to herself that the next time she spots him out in the wild she's going to murder him.
Why? How does he always know just how to press her buttons? She doesn't want to see him like this. She doesn't want him to see her like this. Rivet can handle his outlandish remarks and jeering crew, the way she has to be annoyingly thorough whenever she strikes a deal with him and half the time still gets something wrong. Time and again they've underestimated her, and time and again she's proven herself capable.
So how's she supposed to face him now, when she can't even wield a drafting pen without ending up in tears?
Rivet clutches her shoulder. Her gut twists around in a way that has nothing to do with the promised meal she's yet to make good on. "Did you say anything about why I'm gone?"
"No, never. We just told him you weren't available right now. But he insists." She winces. "He said if he doesn't see you before Zurkie's closes tonight, they're not dealing with us at all anymore."
Today was supposed to be such a good day, too.
.
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It really is too bad that Zurkie's is a violence-free zone.
Mort chuckles from her place behind the flight stick. "Oh, Rivet. Sweetheart. I'm sure it's all just a simple misunderstanding. And it might actually do you some good to get out and see another familiar face for a change."
Rivet hums, leaning her head back against the passenger headrest with her eyes closed. Maybe. Outside of the, uh…mission she'd been tasked with, it's hard to deny how nice it had been to see and hear one of her old Resistance friends again.
But why, of all the faces she could be leaving Sargasso for the first time since the accident to see, did it have to be his?
"Besides, you two are friends, aren't you? I'm sure you'll have it all squared away in no time."
That's a word alright. Rivet scoffs and cracks open a disbelieving eye.
"Hey, Mort. What do you call someone who shares top-secret information with you, trades you stuff you need while scamming you in the process, sometimes helps you out on missions, and still tries to blow you up whenever you meet and your goals don't match up?"
Mort thinks it over before turning to Rivet expectantly. "Ooh, well you got me there. What do you call them?"
Rivet closes her eye and shrugs. "Yeah, I dunno either. But whatever it is, that's Pierre."
The closer they get to Zurkie's, the more that hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach seems to expand. She had actually eaten after promising Astra she'd take care of things. Showered. Agonized over what to wear that didn't look completely ridiculous hanging over her empty socket but also didn't make it look like she was trying too hard to hide it completely. (Just because she is a pathetic mess right now doesn't mean she needs to advertise it. She has a reputation to maintain, thanks.) Then she'd smothered what she could of her pride before going out to ask Mort for a ride.
"Mind if I come along, or would you rather me stay out here and wait?"
Rivet stares helplessly out at the building, her feet pushing against the floorboard and keeping her firmly rooted in her seat. She takes a breath to force herself to relax and lets it all back out in one long, dejected exhale. Fumbling with the clasp on the safety belt, she answers, "You should probably come on in. This could take a while. Nothing's ever simple with him."
Thankfully, they'd snagged a spot fairly close to the entrance, and Rivet's chest swells with affection when Mort hovers at her right side the entire walk, making it impossible for those strolling along the fueling platforms to notice anything out of the ordinary unless they were to go out of their way to look for it. They almost manage to make it through the weapons drop-off area, but when the bot at the front desk falters partway through his standard greeting, Rivet darts through the door before he can catch himself back up.
The good news about the pub area at Zurkie's is the fact that the place is jam-packed. All the better to make herself more inconspicuous among the crowd.
The bad news about the pub area at Zurkie's is the fact that the place is jam-packed. So she'll have to wander around the whole thing in search of Pierre, pushing her way through crowded walkways and dodging dozens of gazes from every direction in the process.
Mort taps her elbow and points to a stool that just freed up at the bar. Rivet nods. Before heading off, though, she reaches down for Rivet's hand, squeezes, and offers a reassuring smile that Rivet returns weakly.
It doesn't help that not only does she have a reputation to maintain around here, but lombaxes don't exactly grow on trees. More than once, as she skulks along the outer edge of the room, someone recognizes her, sending a smile and eager wave her way. She does her best to reciprocate before slipping back out of sight.
She finally spots him once she's made it about halfway around the pub, frowning out the battleplex window and tapping his fingers on the table like he's frustrated about something. What? She didn't get here soon enough for him? He's been waiting here all day because of his own ridiculous demands, not hers, and she has half a mind to hide out until five minutes before closing time just to spite him. Maybe she would if it wasn't for the fact that Mort has already dealt with an unfair share of her attitude lately.
So she squares her shoulders, fights back the annoying urge to hold on to her right side that keeps plaguing her, and marches to his table, too furious to care who might see her now. The fact that he still hasn't noticed when she's right up on him makes her seethe even harder.
"You summoned?" she says, voice fraught with contempt, and Pierre startles. When he turns to face her, he looks baffled, like he truly hadn't expected her to show. She scoffs. As if she could ignore him making threats against the Resistance. He knows better than that. It's why he'd done it in the first place, isn't it? "Looks like that little fantasy world you've got running around in your head all the time isn't too far off base, after all: Pierre calls, and here I come, rushing out to meet him."
"You are here," he says dumbly, eye darting over her face. "I was beginning to think…"
But whatever it was he'd thought, she never gets to hear it. His demeanor changes from tense disbelief to his usual amused teasing in an instant. "So I see you have been avoiding me, after all. And here I thought our working relationship meant more to you than—"
He stops himself again, but the way he's gawking at her now, it's not too difficult to figure out why. This time Rivet gives in to that desperate impulse to grab her shoulder and glares. He meets her gaze, horror-struck, and has the gall to say, "Oh."
"Yeah," she mocks. Or at least tries to. Her throat has chosen this particular moment of all moments to start closing up on her, and it kind of ruins the whole effect when her voice sounds like she might burst into tears without any warning. She grits her teeth and puts everything she has into willing the tightness away. "Oh."
His jaw bobs up and down, and he jumps to his feet. She takes a step back, not expecting the sudden move.
"I apologize. It was a misunderstanding on my part. I shall return to Ardolis at once and rescind my order to the crew immediately."
She blinks, incredulous. He takes a step toward the entrance, but she blocks his path.
"That's it? Really? You throw a hissy fit over…I don't even know what. And I get a call begging me to come out here to deal with it, and for what? For you to take one sorry look at me and decide oh, ha ha, just kidding, everything's good now?" He looks up at the ceiling and, placing a hand on his hip, sighs. He's not taking her seriously. Big surprise there. "So no. I dragged myself all the way out here despite it being the absolute last thing I wanted to do. The least you can do is tell me what your actual problem is."
Rivet hooks a foot around the leg of one of the chairs, letting it scrape against the floor way louder than necessary as she pulls it out. They stare each other down for a minute until, eventually, he holds his hands up in surrender, returning to his seat. She takes her own, moves to cross her arms, and is flustered when her left arm is the only one to take its place over her chest. Blinking away her dismay and embarrassment, she lays it awkwardly on the table instead.
They sit there in silence, her watching him expectantly and him avoiding her gaze, looking unhappy about the whole thing.
"We just gonna sit here staring at each other for the next six hours until they kick us out? Because I can do that, you know."
To punctuate the fact, she leans back and wiggles in her chair as if making herself comfortable for the long haul. He frowns down at her.
"My problem," he says at last, "is that you are my contact for the Resistance. When the Captain has information he wishes to be passed along, you are the one I entrust it to. And you have not been here."
She rolls her eyes. "So what? I'm not the only person you know who's in the Resistance. Find one of them." He looks insulted by the mere idea. "Fine. I'm here now, aren't I? What've you got?"
He freezes and his mouth snaps shut. Exasperated, she says, "You don't even have anything and you're still getting all bent out of shape over it?"
He cuts a hand through the air between them. "Whether or not I have anything for you is not the point. The point," he continues before she can get a word in edgewise, "is that once I realized something was amiss, I could not get any information at all. For weeks I have been inquiring after you. And while I can understand that you would not wish for what you have suffered to be spread around needlessly, what am I to think when I know for a fact something has happened in the city to put the Emperor in a fouler mood than usual and all of a sudden, you have become unavailable?"
He shrugs. "So I devised my own means of uncovering what exactly that meant. If you did not appear here tonight, then I would know not to expect to see you again in the future."
Rivet…isn't sure what to do with that. She should still be mad at him for causing such a ruckus with the Resistance—and she is. Kinda. She gets it, though. She'd probably feel similarly if Pierre were to suddenly fall off the face of existence.
"So you were bluffing." Her lips twitch slightly. She never gets an opportunity to get him back like this. "Because you were worried about me."
He bristles, squinting down at her. "How is it after all this time, I am only just now realizing how full of yourself you are?"
That's rich coming from him, and it has the effect of bringing a full-blown grin to her face. His eye is still narrowed, but the lilt of his jaw is enough to hint at a smile of his own.
"In any case. Until you have returned, I would be open to—"
"I don't know that I'll be back, Pierre." Her smile vanishes, and her shoulders slump, and she hates how thin and fragile the words come out. "I really messed this one up."
"Rivet." Dragging her name out in gentle admonishment, he fixes her with a knowing look. "I am willing to bet half my treasure stores that you have been working on a solution already."
"What, that's all? Cheapskate."
"I am confident, chérie, not stupid."
There's another twitch of her lips, but it doesn't quite manage to find purchase.
"I believe you will be back, however, and when you finally return, you will do so stronger than ever before!" He laughs triumphantly. Then his face falls. Annoyed, he says, "Which, incidentally, happens to be much worse for me." He heaves a sigh. "But no matter. I will just have to stir up as much trouble as I can in your absence, no?"
A challenge lurks behind Pierre's words, and though the pull to accept it is feeble at best, it does exist. She stares down at the table. Picks at a gouge in its surface. Looking up, she gives him a half-hearted shrug and says, "Guess I need to get back to work then."
"There you are. And now that we have attended to that, let us get back to business…"
.
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They get things sorted out. There's not much to it, really, now that Pierre's aware of her situation.
"Someone less sassy," he demands. "And more appreciative of my good will."
Rivet considers it for all of half a second.
"Yeah, I don't think so. By the time you see me again, you'll be bending over backwards to try and keep me around."
"And this is why we could never work out," he informs her with a long-suffering sigh.
She's got a few people in mind that she thinks can handle him, but she can figure it out later.
The pride on Mort's beaming face when they meet at the entrance is so blinding that Rivet can't meet it directly. It's like she's six years old again instead of twenty-six, being praised for the tiniest and simplest of accomplishments. But instead of the overwhelming joy that had consumed her back then, she feels timid and undeserving.
Mort fusses over her because she's never been able to do anything but, and looping an arm around her waist, she leads Rivet back outside. They're halfway to the ship when Rivet stops, dragging Mort to a halt alongside her. It's not the perfect place to do this, but it needs to be said while she's still got the nerve.
"Hey. So I know I haven't exactly been…" She trails off, voice wavering. Clearing her throat, she tries again. "I haven't been very appreciative, and—no, don't make excuses for me—I'm really…I haven't meant to be so…"
Her throat closes up again, and her vision blurs to the point that she has to wipe away the tears to have any hope of seeing. She thought she'd gotten it all out of her system earlier in the day. Apparently not.
"Haa. Oops."
Mort doesn't say anything, though, just tightens her hold and runs a soothing hand up and down Rivet's side.
"I, uh. I'm not having a lot of luck making this thing by myself. Would you mind helping me out with it?" It's the most pitiful she's ever sounded, and that includes when she actually was a whiny six-year-old.
"Oh, sweetie, of course! And I know just the Morts for the job. But first." A hand tilts her face downward, and Mort smiles at Rivet fondly, brushing a thumb over her cheek. "We're gonna get you home to call your friend back, and then we're packing up some of your things. You're staying with me and Mort tonight. And in the morning, I'm gonna fix up a big ol' breakfast for the three of us just like when you were a girl. How's that sound?"
Unable to trust opening her mouth without completely losing her composure in the middle of the bustling fueling platform, Rivet just nods. Then Mort puts an arm around her again and guides her the rest of the way to the ship.
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A/N: It occurs to me I might be a one-trick pony.
Brain: What if Pierre was worried about Rivet when she was out of commission after her injury and has no idea why he hasn't seen her in months so he gives the Resistance some sort of ultimatum to force her to meet with him so he knows she's not just dead in a ditch somewhere?
Me: *slow inhale* It sounds very original and not at all like anything else I've written recently at all before so far ever as of now.
Six Weeks Later
Me: *typing* She'd probably feel similarly if Pierre were to suddenly fall off the face of existence.*squints* Heeeyyyyyy, wait a minute…
Is absence make the heart grow fonder a trope? Because that's apparently my shtick when it comes to these two.
It kills me how I start these things for the Rivet and Pierre bits, but by the time I'm through I find there's other stuff I want just as badly. Last time I realized a need for more (any?) Pierre and Quantum in my life. And now I find myself longing for more Rivet and Parental Mort.
I'm kind of a sucker for that anyway, though. It's why I also headcanon Grim into the original canon.