Skira came to in the brig.
At least he assumed it was the brig. The room was about the size of his quarters on the Bes'bev, with a bunk and open air fresher. There were bars on one wall though.
For a moment he lay on the bunk and tried to remember how he'd gotten there. They'd been playing Meshgeroya. Raana had gotten hurt and started screaming. Then nothing.
"You're something else, Adenn," Ordo said from the other side of the bars. "I'll give you that."
Skira didn't say anything. There was a slight imperfection in the bulkhead directly over the bunk. Maybe it held the answers to the questions of the universe.
"How fucked am I?" he asked after a moment.
"Depends." Ordo said, leaning against the bars and resting his forehead on his arm. "You wanna tell me what happened?"
"I listened," Skira said softly. "I listened to the things I swore I would never listen to again. The things that spoke of something I should never have, that I'll never deserve."
Ordo made a thoughtful grunt.
"You know, the captain wants to bring you up on charges," the other man said. "You damn near killed that guy. He's going to be in the bacta for at least a week, and require several treatments after that. Not to mention, owning a slave is illegal in the Republic."
Skira put his arm over his eyes. The artificial lights were too bright, and they stung his eyes. If she were here, his buir would be smacking him up and down the backside of his head for being an idiot. He'd deserve it to.
"I know," Skira said softly. Letting out a sigh, he felt himself collapse. "Look, I have no right to ask this, but could you get my armor to my buir? Last I heard, she was out Concord Dawn way. She'll...understand."
"First, tell me what happened," Ordo said, his tone firm. "Then I'll decide."
"My parents were tortured and killed by the Vongese," Skira said softly. "I had to listen to their dying screams for days. Raana..."
The words choked in his throat, so he stopped talking. Ordo let out a sigh.
"Aliit ori'shya tal'din." Ordo said softly.
"I betrayed her trust," Skira said softly. "She vouched I wouldn't snap. For what it's worth, I'm sorry if I've caused you trouble, Ordo Mast of clan Du'kal."
"For what it's worth, you have caused a fair bit," Ordo said.
Skira nodded silently behind his arm.
"You know," the other man said, "I was much the same way when I first fell in love with Shada. Anyone, anything hurt her, I wanted to crush it in my fist."
"I'm not..." Skira started to protest, then fell silent. Maybe he wasn't. Maybe he was. It didn't matter now. He'd screwed up. Ryn was going to pay the price. They'd separate them, and she'd either die to the bomb, or they'd force him to give up the heart monitor that bound them and put her under the power of someone else. Someone who wouldn't be able to handle what the Twi'lek girl needed. They'd be too kind, too soft, and they'd destroy her. Or they'd lose themselves in the power of a beautiful submissive who could barely conceive of the idea of denying her Master anything he wanted, even if she didn't want to do it.
"Look," he said. "It doesn't matter. What matters is Ryn has a bomb in her head. That's why I own her. There's a device attached to my heart. It ever stops, she dies."
"You trying to hold a hostage?" Ordo asked quietly.
"No," Skira said, softly. "I wouldn't do that to her. But I don't trust these Republic gimps to handle what it would take to keep her alive. I'll let you take custody of her. You can take her to my buir, or keep her, as long as you keep her safe. She...she doesn't need to suffer for my actions by becoming the play thing or dead houseplant of some New Republic stiff."
Ordo was silent for a long moment.
"You get all that?" the Mando'ad asked.
There was the hiss of servo gears and the silver protocal droid appeared, along with Captain Nub. The Sullustian looked unhappy, though it was hard to tell with his flabby, squashed rodent like features.
"He confirmed both women's stories," the droid translated for the Captain. "In the case of the Twi'lek, I will admit, there are extenuating factors, though his insults to the Republic Navy are unwarranted."
Ordo didn't dignify that with a comment, Skira noted absently. Glancing out from under his arm, though, he did catch the other Mando'ad giving the captain a stern look. The Sullustian shrugged nervously.
"That being said," the captain continued, the begrudging nature of his words making it through the droid, "none of my crew has the time or resources to spare on our mission to see to the young woman's needs."
"And the assault charges?" Ordo asked.
The Sullustian was silent for a long time.
"We all lost something against the Vong," the captain said softly. "Some of us more than others. Not even the Jedi were able to face them without grievous losses and terrible wounds. I've seen many a good sailor and soldier lose themselves to the pain and trauma of that war. My own captain took his life after the peace treaty was signed. He'd lost his family to them too, on Coruscant. The idea of living in a galaxy where those bastards got to live, and his family didn't, was too much for him."
"I cannot condone or forgive an assault on one of my crew," the Captain continued. "If I did that, I would lose all the respect and trust I've earned from them, just as I'm asking them to go and risk their lives. That being said, I understand the extreme circumstances that led to the situation. For the time being, Master Skira is regarded as a threat to my crew and confined to the brig. However, when we reach your destination, I will release him into your custody so long as he is promptly removed from my ship. Is that understood?"
"Understood," Ordo said. "I'll take full responsibility. I appreciate this, and I owe you one."
The captain said nothing, merely led his droid out of the brig.
"You screw this up," Ordo said conversationally, "and I'll put a slug between your eyes."
"I screw this up," Skira said softly, thinking of Ryn's life being on the line, and how lucky he was to have kin willing to put their necks on the line for him. "I'll stand there and take it."
Ordo left him alone to his thoughts. Any thoughts of bailing on the job early vanished from his head. He owed the other man now, and he'd repay that debt before setting off anywhere else.
Several hours later, Ryn showed up with a tray of food. Apparently the captain wasn't willing to risk the safety of his crew, regardless of whatever deal had been made. Skira didn't blame him. He accepted the food wordlessly, gave the Twi'lek a pat on her head, and ordered her back to the ship.
The next two days passed in virtual solitude, except for Ryn coming by twice a day to drop off food for him. The poor girl tried to get him to talk, but he refused, no matter how much she cajoled, seduced, or pouted.
The third day's meal came at what he presumed was the usual time, the door to the brig hissing open.
"Just put it down and go, Ryn," he said tiredly as he lay on the bunk, facing the wall. "I don't need you right now."
"If you're going to have the balls to beat up a man on my behalf," Raana's voice said coldly, "then at least have the balls to face me and not treat me like that slave girl of yours."
He rolled over and sat up, placing his back against the wall. She was right. She deserved his respect.
He notice the tray in her hands. Steam rose from the bowl, and he smelled the hot, spicy scent of tiingilar. There was even a small glass of tilaar on the tray. Slowly, his eyes met hers. She could have brought him mealgrain, or something from the mess like Ryn did.
She hadn't.
Skira knew he was bad at relationships, but his buir had beaten into his head certain facts of life. One, you never turned your back on a predator, and that's what Raana was, both as a Togruta and a Mando'ad. Two, Mando'ad women respected strength and skill more than looks, and they expected you to show that strength or skill when the time called for it. Three, Mando'ad women had no time for the games that the women of other races pulled. They spoke simply, they lived simply, and they had no time for bullshit, theirs or anyone else's.
Raana set the tray on the shelf meant for feeding the prisoners, then crossed her arms under her full breasts and glared at him. He took the moment to observe her. She was dressed in her kute and a pair of simple white boots, no armor. The white garment did little to hide her beauty or strength with the way it clung to her, but he knew she wasn't wearing it as a way to seduce him. It was to put them on equal footing. Just as he lacked his armor, she had forsworn hers for this confrontation. There was a bandage wrapped around her right montral where it rose from her skull, and he noticed she looked somewhat unsteady on her feet, as if her balance was questionable, but she did a fantastic job of hiding he. He doubted any of the Republic troops would have noticed.
"How's your head?" he asked, his voice soft.
She glared at him for a moment longer, than huffed.
"Fine," she said, her voice chill. "There was a slight crack in the bone, and the cartilage was bruised. Apparently the medics didn't bother to do a proper job fixing me up the other day and left a weak spot. I would have been fine if it hadn't been for an unlucky shot."
"That's good," Skira said, not looking away from her. Never, ever show submission. Mando'ad didn't submit. Surrendered, occasionally, so they could live to fight another day, but they never submitted. Not to the Sith. Not to the Jedi. Not to the Vong. Not to anyone. "I was...worried."
"Is that what you call beating a man nearly to death?" Raana asked coldly. "Being worried?"
"I call it being stupid," Skira said. This time he couldn't help it as he glanced away, despite his efforts. He shouldn't have cared. Caring was dangerous. It got you hurt. If you didn't care, you couldn't get hurt when people around you god injured or worse.
"Oh," Raana snapped, her tone scathing. "So you think I'm stupid."
"I didn't say that," Skira said, looking back at her. She was furious. Good. Maybe she'd leave, and never come back, and he wouldn't have to risk getting hurt again.
"You saying I can't fight my own battles?" the Togruta snarled, pressing up against the bars.
"I didn't say that either," Skira said.
"Then what are you saying?" Raana asked, furious.
"I'm saying I'm stupid!" Skira snarled, rising to his feet. Guilt, solitude, loss. These things he could deal with. These emotions he could master. They were weapons, and he was the warrior who mastered them. But there was one he'd never mastered, never had to use. Even when he was adopted, and raised by Bo, and had a new clan, there was one emotion he'd never allowed himself.
Hope.
Hope was the worst emotion. Hope destroyed more people than anything else. Because it made you dream. And when you lost those dreams, when you lost that hope, everything was so much worse for the dream of having maybe been better.
"I was stupid," he snapped, "I knew better and yet..."
"And yet what?" Raana snapped back at him, cold fury replaced by hot. "And yet what, Adenn?"
"I still gave a damn!" he said angrily, twisting to drive his fist into the bulkhead. "I knew it was just drinks and sex and something to pass the time, but I..."
He trailed off, the brig going silent.
"Mir'osk," Raana said, reaching through the bars and grabbing him by his caller. She hauled him up against the bars, till their faces were almost pressed together. Despite her furious expression, it wasn't rage he saw in her eyes. "Gar mirsh solus."
She kissed him. Hard. It was awkward, prison bars weren't exactly meant to facilitate any form of affection beyond a handshake, but she managed.
"It wasn't just drinks and sex," she said softly, breaking the kiss and resting her forehead against his. "I knew you weren't ready for more. I know you may never be. Still, I'm willing to give a damn if you are, Adenn Skira."
"I still have to take care of Ryn," he said, softly.
Raana grimaced, but nodded.
"She's part of the reason I'm here." The Togruta admitted. "Along with Shada. Seeing how loyal she was to you, when she had the perfect out to get away. Learning what you'd done for her. Not many people would go out of their way to save a slave before killing the target, especially after what she cost you. She might be a delicate flower, but that's some impressive loyalty. Shada helped me see that a man capable of that was worth giving another chance to."
"Thank you," Skira said softly. "I don't deserve it, but thank you."
The togruta nodded and let go, stepping back.
"Now, Haili cetare," she said, picking up the glass of tilaar. "I made it myself."
Skira let out a mock sigh of relief. Raana raised a brow at him.
"For a moment I thought you'd let Ryn cook," he said, taking the bowl and leaned against the bars as he took a bite. "Her cooking is lethal."
Hot, spicy soup filled his mouth and healed his soul. It wasn't as good as Shada's, but he wasn't going to say that out loud. Raana was a better brewer than cook, but not by much, and it was far better than his own or Ryn's. It certainly was a lot better than the mess hall chow. He glanced at the glass in her hand.
"I don't suppose that's for me as well?" he asked.
"Technically," Raana said, "it's against the rules to give prisoner's alcohol."
"Technically?" he asked, curious.
Raana smirked and gave him a wink, before taking a drink from the glass. Then she grabbed his collar again, pulling him to the bars for another kiss. Liquor burned his tongue even as she teased it with her own. She kept it slow, languid, relaxed, letting them both enjoy the drink and each other, before parting.
"Technically," she replied, with a smirk.