Habits
She should have known it would be Kaliyo.
After all, she stopped believing in coincidence a long time ago and there are only so many quasi-anarchist firebug sociopaths in the galaxy. Finding one on Zakuul that was willing to work with the Alliance- of course it was Kaliyo. Who else would it have been?
Koth and Senya took some convincing. They're both Zakuulan first, protective of their people, and state-sponsored terror is still terror, still destroys bridges and levels buildings and ruins lives. The Spire plans helped soften then a little; Koth, though, still devoted to the legend of the Immortal Emperor despite all her and Lana's efforts to make him see reason, pushed back hard until she put her foot down.
(She understands it more than he knows. Even now she has to force herself to answer to Commander and not to Cipher or Agent, to remind herself that she isn't really Imperial, not any more. They gave their lives to their work- all of them did, not just her but Lana and Theron and Senya and Koth too, in one way or another- and then the work changed.
Now they are remembering how to be alive.)
They need a chief saboteur. With these latest attacks they can't afford scruples anymore, not when Vaylin's bombing innocent planets into dust out of sheer spite, and Kaliyo's the best they've got. They need to hit the Eternal Empire where it hurts. Aimless, left to her own devices, she's blind destruction, but with guidance-
So Kaliyo stays, despite Koth's scowls.
And when she hears when Arcann did, there's something else she needs her for.
"So who picked the name?" Nine's on her back across two blanket-covered crates in a storage room in the soldiers' barracks, jacket folded under her head and shirt tucked up beneath her breasts. "'Firebrand' has a certain panache, but it doesn't quite fit you. Not flashy enough."
"Like 'Outlander' sounds any better?" She grins. "You know me so well. I wasn't the first Firebrand, actually, so blame that moron's lack of creativity if you don't like it. He got himself executed about two months after I got to Zakuul. I took over his network." As Kaliyo talks she makes the first markings in ink along the tracing-paper template- she'd paused, seeing the saber scar, but didn't ask. She knew better. "He had a small following, too, so I kept the name. Upped the stakes."
"Upped them too high." She shakes her head, careful not to move the rest of her body. "After that clusterfuck with the Wheezer I told you not to push it again. This isn't like the old days when I could call in a Cleaner to mop up your messes. If you'd set those bombs off-"
Lips curled back from her teeth, Kaliyo scowls. "I didn't. So if you'd all stop riding my ass about it, that'd be great."
"You have no-" She starts to sit up before a hand on her shoulder pins her down flat on the crates. "You haven't dealt with Arcann before, have you?"
"Nope. Knights once or twice when one of the kids got sloppy. We weren't that high up the food chain." The brush keeps moving when Kaliyo lets go of her, the ink cold against her skin as she copies the second line. "And after the deal with Tayv- with Administrator Slen, the guards stayed away. Had a good thing for a while there."
"But then you got bored." The third line goes down; she suppresses a twitch. Her ribs were always ticklish. "You never did stay with anyone for very long."
One fingernail down the length of her side, making her twitch again, and a sly smirk- "Ouch. Right between the eyes- you kicked me out of bed, remember."
"That was your fault, 'liyo. Three days, and you came up for air asking for two kilograms of detonite. What did you expect I'd do?"
"Can't blame a girl for trying. I thought you were too smart to fall for it- just had to make sure I was right." Kaliyo shrugs, starts on the fourth line. "Shit, how long ago was that? Ten years?"
She has to think for a moment; it's still hard to reckon time with a five-year gap built in. At least when they'd all sat down to talk Lana confirmed that she really had spent that time as a carbonite statue- Kaliyo had honestly thought she'd just cut and run. That hurt more than she cares to admit. "Since Hutta... eleven. We're getting old."
"Says you. So- you and the 'pub are a thing, eh?"
That's one word for it (she's pretty sure they're avoiding that conversation, actually, which is just fine as far as she's concerned). She doesn't answer.
"How long?" Kaliyo prods her shoulder. "Oh, come on. I saw you two on the shuttle flight back."
"You remember Theron from the Revanite incursion, don't you? We've been working together for years."
"Someone's-" her voice rises and falls, singsong, as she re-inks the brush- "avoiding the question."
"He was giving me a neck massage- I tweaked a muscle dodging that hovertank. Not exactly the scandal of the year."
The eyeroll that elicits could probably be seen from space. "You don't let anyone touch your neck. How long?"
She sighs. They know each other too well for that to slip by. "A month and a half. More or less."
"Practically domesticated. Tell me you aren't going soft on me."
She doesn't answer that either, just exhales as the last line goes down and she feels the template paper pull away from her skin.
"Off-limits. Check. Not my type, anyway- too clever by half." Kaliyo sets the little brush back into the inkpot and starts rummaging through the drawers of the toolchest against the wall. "You still sure about this? Ribs are a hell of a place for your first round."
She's sure. It'll hurt like fuck, probably, but that's part of the point. "Yeah. Let's do it."
"Spelling check first." After another minute of searching- the kit, like the space, is borrowed; when she'd told her to arrange it it took all of ten minutes for Kaliyo to drag her down to the sub-basement- she looks up to the Rattataki mercenary dozing on a chair in the corner of the room. (When you need ink-work done, she'd said, find one of us. Or a Mandalorian, of course, but they were short on Mando'ade at the moment.) "Hey. You got a mirror?"
He gets up for a second, opens the lid, and tosses a little flat mirror toward Kaliyo, who catches it one-handed before she wipes it on her sleeve. "Needles in the second drawer, inks in the fourth-" he switches to Huttese, the tattooed lines running down his cheeks curving into a sneer- "and I'll bet you a thousand she cries by the third line. Imps always do."
She manages to keep a straight face.
"I'll take that bet. She's a lot tougher than she looks." Shifting back, deliberately, to Basic, Kaliyo sets the mirror in her hand, folds her fingers around the glass. "Are these names? I don't recognize any of them."
Lifting her head, she looks at the reflection of the words written on her ribs. Five lines; five worlds she'd barely heard of before today. Five worlds no one will ever hear of again, dust and ash and bone drifting through the void of space. "Planets. They were planets."
"Were?"
"Arcann thought they were helping us," she says, and sets the mirror down at her side. "Hiding us in their cities, providing unofficial aid. While you played anarchist today the Fleet bombed them into oblivion."
Kaliyo slides a clean needle into the machine, dips it into an uncapped vial of crimson ink. "I didn't-" She stops for a moment. "Damn it. Were they? Helping, I mean."
"No. I only half-know what systems they were in. But I feel like I should remember them."
She whistles, long and low. "You weren't kidding about high stakes."
"Welcome to the Alliance, 'liyo." Eyes closed, she takes a deep breath in. "Light it up."
It does, in point of fact, hurt like fuck, but it's the good kind of hurt. The cathartic kind. Two hours later, as Kaliyo cleans up, she rolls off the table and pulls her shirt down over the bandage on her ribs.
On her way out of the room she hooks her foot around one leg of the mercenary's chair. "I haven't cried since I was six," she says in Huttese and kicks him off-balance; his eyes go wide, both at the sudden movement and her choice of words. "Pay up."
To: Kaliyo Djannis boom#command*alliance
From: Alliance Commander IX#command*alliance
Subject: KNOCK IT OFF
If you need more supply funding, you could just ask instead of cheating at sabacc. I've had twelve complaints in three days, and Len still needs his clothes back from last night.
To: Alliance Commander IX#command*alliance
From: Kaliyo Djannis boom#command*alliance
Subject: Re: KNOCK IT OFF
Fine. I need a box of fuses and some baradium for the prototype.
I wasn't cheating, by the way. Zakuulans are just lousy at cards. What am I supposed to do for fun?
To: Kaliyo Djannis boom#command*alliance
From: Alliance Commander IX#command*alliance
Subject: Re: Re: KNOCK IT OFF
We can get two grams of bisulfate, per Hylo, but more will draw attention. Is that enough?
I don't know. Play something else. Drinking games. Take up knitting. Not sabacc.
To: Alliance Commander IX#command*alliance
From: Kaliyo Djannis boom#command*alliance
Subject: Re: Re: Re: KNOCK IT OFF
Two should be fine to start. Not even Centran variant?
To: Kaliyo Djannis boom#command*alliance
From: Alliance Commander IX#command*alliance
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: KNOCK IT OFF
I will shove that baradium down your throat, schutta.
To: Alliance Commander IX#command*alliance
From: Kaliyo Djannis boom#command*alliance
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: KNOCK IT OFF
XOXO. Drinks on me tonight, okay?
"Alright, next round." Len reaches out to take the deck from Koth as they all set their glasses down. "Something less boring this time, yeah?"
Koth shrugs. "Luck of the draw. Anyway, I figure you've all embarrassed yourself enough already."
In hindsight she should have been more specific on the type of game. Something harmless and short, maybe, to get her mind off the Nar Shaddaa problem- they still can't get at the shield generator atop the Ternion building, even with a dropship approach; the last try cost them six resistance soldiers and a scuttled dropship. More annoyingly, her side's itching under the bandage and she ought to go put salve on it. Instead, they're all wedged around one of the round tables in a back room of the cantina, seventeen rounds in on a game of Aces, and if they go more than another few passes around the table she's going to be too drunk to stand.
"Let's see." Len draws off the deck, pushing Tora's face away with one hand when she tries to peek. "Mistress of Coins… that's 'I've never,' right?"
It is; they all lift three fingers in anticipation. (She lost the Mistress of Staves, three for three.)
"Number one. I've never crashed a ship." When he says it Len looks straight at Koth, who folds his thumb into his palm. She loses a point on that one, too, as do all of them but him.
Koth snorts. "Only because I never let you drive, Parvek. And I thought we were aiming for 'less boring' and not 'ragging your CO."
"Yes, sir. Um." Len considers. "Less boring. I've never… um. I have never slept with more than eight people."
"Very specific. Total, or at the same time?"
As Tora asks she grins at her- she was thinking the same thing, not that it would have made a difference- as Len looks thoughtful.
"Total."
Senya, Lana, Len, Koth and, interestingly, Theron's fingers stay up; Tora eyes them with an exaggerated yawn. "Ugh. I'm surrounded by boring people," she drawls, pushing a strand of blue hair out of her face. "Next?"
"I didn't hear any complaints last night." As Len winks at Tora, Kaliyo scowls, and she figures out in that second exactly why he lost his clothes. Smarter than he looks, that one. "Same question, her version."
This time, mostly unsurprisingly, she's the only one who lowers a finger, and as she drinks she raises her free hand to bump fists with Kaliyo's outstretched one in a cloud of raised eyebrows. While Tora draws, Theron leans over and murmurs in her ear. "You are awful, you know that?"
She covers her mouth to hide her grin when she answers. "I know." (He's teasing. She can tell by the rasp in his voice.)
"Is it wrong that I sort of want to hear that story?"
"Ever played stealth generator hide-and-seek?"
He nods, still whispering, as Tora holds up the Ace of Sabres and they all drain their cups; the serving droid circles the table, pouring refills. "Once or twice, in training, yeah."
"Right before Academy graduation. Same idea. Less clothing."
If the look that provokes is any indication, she's just given him an idea. Before he can respond, though, Lana clears her throat loudly and they both sit up, arrow-straight. "If you're quite finished over there," she says, "this one requires some audience participation- not that kind, Senya-" Senya looks relieved at that, though from her previous answers in the game so far she's had rather a more interesting life than one would have thought- "so enter your answer on the pad as it comes around. Master of Flasks. If we all got into a fight, who do you think would win?"
"How much prep time?"
"You're overthinking the question, Theron."
"I disagree!" She looks across the table at Lana. "It makes a huge difference."
Lana sighs. "Honestly, you two. No prep time. Straight fight. Go." She types something, then passes her datapad to Senya, who considers for a moment before she scrawls her answer on the screen with a fingertip and hands it to Theron.
That's actually a good question. She has to think about it for a second- with no time to prepare that probably rules her out against the Force-users, so she narrows it down to Lana and Senya almost immediately; Lana'd win on finesse, but on power… Senya went one on one with Vaylin, and she's watched Vaylin rip down buildings with her brain.
Senya it is.
When the datapad returns to Lana she taps the screen twice, then looks up. "Fair enough. The winner, with four votes, is the Commander. Drink up, the rest of you."
"Oh, now you're all just sucking up." She snorts and points to Senya, who's sipping, ever-graceful, from her wineglass. "Have you seen her fight? She'd squash me flat."
"She was second place," Lana nods. "Two votes. And it's also her turn."
Senya draws the six of Coins, Theron the five of Sabres (one drink for the women, then one for the men) before she draws a card herself.
"Master of Staves... question time." She tries to think of something unlikely to be self-incriminating as she opens her datapad, though she's still got work on the brain which isn't helpful at all on that front, and finally comes up with one. It's a bit tame, but it'll do. "Who gave you your worst kiss? It doesn't have to be anyone here, and assuming we don't get a winner on numbers we'll all vote for the most amusing."
Nar Shaddaa does give her a frame of reference for an answer- probably not actually the worst kiss she's ever had, but the kissing and the sex that followed were pretty terrible, even by the low standards of undercover work in seedy cantinas- and she enters the name into a standard voting template and pushes the pad to Kaliyo. While it makes its way around the table she pats at her side, trying desperately not to scratch along the bandage.
Theron hands her datapad back to her after a minute; she scrolls through the answers, tallying in her head. Three names she doesn't recognize: two look Zakuulan, so probably Koth and Len, and the third's got a surname she's seen on Dromund Kaas which would make Lana the likely unlucky recipient there. One abstention, almost certainly Senya (poor Senya), one vote for an Archiban Kimble, which rings a vague bell from an old rant of Kaliyo's, one for 'your mother' (Tora, she'd bet) and two for…
That can't possibly be right. Hers must have been duplicated- she counts the votes again. Eight votes, seven names, and she's nearly positive the last one must be Theron's, which also means-
Oh.
She definitely didn't expect that.
"The winner of the worst kisser award, with two votes, is-" she focuses, very carefully, on the table in front of her, a howl of hysterical laughter threatening to claw its way out of her throat- "Jonas Balkar."
Theron, drink already in hand in anticipation of the end of the round, freezes with the glass halfway to his mouth. "Wait. What?" Out of the corner of her vision, she can see him glance around the table, at six of them drinking and at her still staring at the tabletop, and his eyes narrow, teeth sinking into his lower lip-
In that moment, as she feels a familiar prickle in the back of her brain, Lana claps her hands over her mouth.
"Lana." She's desperately trying to sound stern but now Senya's- Senya, of all people - grinning, too, and she presses her hand to her forehead with a sigh. "Get out."
"I'm sorry, but I couldn't help it-" her voice is muted behind her palms- "you were thinking it so loudly."
This has gotten quite entirely out of hand. There's nothing she likes less than a situation not under her control and Theron's completely flustered, looking as though he'd like to crawl beneath his chair to die, so she does the only possible thing she can. She turns to him with her most practiced smirk and a delicately lifted brow.
"Well, that's convenient, darling," she says, sotto voce, just loud enough to know it'll be heard around the circle; it's a bridge too far on several fronts, yes, but more to the point it's a distraction. "We've got similar taste in men."
That pulls him back together. Returning her smirk, Theron finds her hand under the table as the rest of the group collapses into laughter, laces his fingers through hers.
(She definitely needs to hear that story. Later, though.)
They're almost calm again when Kaliyo reaches into the middle, drawing off the deck. "Ooh." She bridges the card between thumb and index finger, lets it snap into the air. "The Idiot. New rule." It lands atop her glass, the horned triangle facing upward, as her nails rap an idle pattern on the table. "Let's see."
She knows that tone. That is not a good tone.
"Since we're such a friendly group here," Kaliyo runs her tongue over her upper lip- what's she doing?- "let's share a little more. Swap drinks with anyone at the table you've slept with."
Len and Tora shrug, trading cups, and she switches her glass with Theron's; they're both drinking whiskey anyway, as usual, and she goes to down it when Kaliyo steals it out of her hand, replacing it with whatever frothy pink thing she's been drinking all night.
"You've got shitty taste in alcohol." It tastes like strychnine cut with sugar. Knowing her, it might be strychnine cut with sugar.
Kaliyo clinks the whiskey glass- Theron's whiskey, technically- against the little flute and knocks it back. "You're welcome."
"And if you thought this was going to embarrass me, you-"
If she hadn't been looking to her right she'd have missed it. Koth's leaning forward across the table, lips moving, silent- Well?- holding out his half-empty glass; she tracks the trajectory of his hand by where he's looking, though she knows, before it stops, where it's going to end up.
Lana reaches out to take it from his grasp, drains it in one go, and turns on her heel; before any of them can move, she's gone.
They end up back in her quarters, particularly since Theron's room is next to Lana's and he's better off out of blast radius tonight.
"Well." Theron slumps into her desk chair. "I'm never playing that again."
She sets the locks before she answers, leaning her forehead against the doorframe. "Lana's going to kill me. Kaliyo first, probably, but then me."
He chuckles. "I doubt it, though the locks are probably a good idea. Was that just a lucky guess on her part?"
"I don't think she had any idea- that one was aimed wide. Len turned her down and she's sulking about it. Koth and Lana were just collateral damage." Crossing the room to the desk, she sighs.
"Did you know?"
"I had a suspicion, but no, I didn't. Not with any certainty. Did you?" When he shakes his head she sits on top of the desk, letting her feet dangle off the edge. "Whatever happened between them, it clearly didn't end well."
Theron nods. "That does explain the look he gave me the first time we met. He must have thought Lana and I-"
"You- um. Stupid question, but you didn't, right?"
His facial expression answers that beyond any shadow of doubt. "You?"
"I don't sleep with Sith. I never got the sense she was interested, in any case." She rests her head in her palms. "I don't think Koth understood at first why anyone would go to such extremes to rescue a friend- I caught him watching Lana and me more than once."
"You two are close. I can see where he might have wondered."
She sighs. "I should go find her."
"Not tonight." Theron turns the chair to face her, wrapping his hands around her forearms. "She's tougher than that. Give her a few hours to lick her wounds and talk to her in the morning, if you feel like you need to."
"You're probably right."
"I usually am."
(He usually is- his gut instinct's like a compass. If he hadn't sworn he wasn't Force-sensitive, there are times she'd wonder.)
"Hmph. That doesn't explain Balkar, though."
He groans. "Don't remind me."
"Let me guess." Slipping out of his grasp, she slides down off the desk and behind his chair, lets her fingers creep beneath his collar. "VIP room storage closet, Dealer's Den."
"Is he really that predictable?"
"Not entirely, obviously, or I'd never have put his name down. I was trying for someone I didn't think anyone else would have-" stars, he's tense; she digs into the muscles, trying to work out the spasm- "I knew Kaliyo'd never met him. I figured you two had worked together, but… well."
Theron leans into her touch for a moment before he sits up straighter, catching her hands again and pinning them down to his shoulders. "At least tell me it was a work thing."
"Ancient history, Theron, and yes, it was a work thing. He'd gotten a copy of our Nar Shaddaa undercover roster about eight years ago. I was still field training Temple at the time." Her side's itching again, but he's got her held tight. "Should have been an easy honeytrap for her. She said she was ready for one, but at the last minute she got cold feet."
"So you took one for the team, as it were?"
"I wasn't going to force the girl. Thankfully I was undercover myself, and as you're probably aware, he's got kind of a thing for dancers. Lifted the datapad while he was- ah, preoccupied." She shrugs. "Mission accomplished. To make a disappointingly short story shorter, that closet's tiny and his reputation is completely undeserved. Your turn."
He lets her go and spins the chair around to face her, looking up beneath scrunched eyebrows with a decidedly rueful expression. "You ever get drunk enough that something really, really stupid sounds like the best idea in the world?"
"As you're unfortunately now aware, I've slept with Kaliyo. So, yes."
"That about sums it up. All the stuff with Revan… it messed with me pretty badly. I was trying to do some regular work, get my head straight, and he needed help with an op-"
"Hang on." She eyes him, pretending seriousness. "One, phrasing, and two, this was after Yavin? You rebounded from me with Jonas Balkar? I am offended, Theron Shan."
He laughs, hooks his index fingers over her belt to pull her closer. "You're not upset?"
"Why would I be upset? As far as either of us knew at the time, Yavin was a one-off thing. Besides, that was six years ago. I'd be more surprised if there hadn't been anyone else." His hair's mussed, and she ruffles it into neatness. "And I'm no paragon of virtue myself, so it'd hardly be fair."
"I meant-"
"I mean that on all fronts. I'm a-" she catches herself; that ought to be past tense- "I was a Cipher. If you're trying to shock me, you're going to have to try a lot harder than that."
"Is that a challenge?"
She grins.
"Well, to start with, you're right-" he pulls her onto his lap- "that closet's tiny."