Author's Note: this chapter is not safe for work.

Paid in Full

16 ATC. Yavin IV.

You understand that it was a punishment, yes? Lana rubs her eyes. For both of us- a reward on the surface, but underneath-

I know that now. It just took me a little while to see it from your perspective.

Lana starts to lift her water glass to her mouth but then stops, finding it empty; she keeps talking instead, and Nine rises and goes back to the bedside table to retrieve the pitcher. It could have been a fast track to a seat on the Dark Council. A worthy prize for any Sith Lord. If I'd failed, though… I was forgiven Ziost because of the Emperor's involvement, but one more misstep would have been a noose to hang me by and Force knows- holding the glass up, she sighs- I was grossly unqualified.

You listened to advice, at least, she says, and pours the water out carefully. That counted for rather a lot.

That's kinder than I deserve.

As I said before, it's a hard game. She leaves the pitcher on the table, this time, after refilling her own cup. A necessary one, but vicious and ugly and hard, and you had it worse than most.

She ought to be in kolto, probably- no broken bones, concussions or blaster wounds this time, but she's got char marks from lightning on both of her hands and an absolutely splitting headache- but there'll be time enough for that on the return trip to Dromund Kaas. Tonight she'd settle for a quick shower and enough alcohol to stun a Wookiee.

That ought to take care of the headache, at minimum.

(Come to think of it, she's never actually seen a Wookiee drunk. Jakarro ought to be celebrating with the rest of them tonight, though; maybe he'd be up for a challenge.)

Halfway clothed and halfway through her first drink, the last remnant of the bottle Theron had brought that first night, she's still pondering the idea when Lana comes back from her own shower.

"So," she says, pulling her shirt on over her head, "do I still have a job, or not?"

"Why wouldn't you?" Lana's already changed- she must have brought clean robes with her to the showers- and she looks up from towelling off her hair with one eyebrow raised.

"You're the boss now. You heard Marr- the 'terms of my continued employment'"- fingers putting quotation marks in the air around the words, she reaches down for her glass, taking a sip- "are up to you."

Lana sighs. "Don't be ridiculous. I know you're angry, but nothing has to change. We'll keep your previous contract in place unless you have any changes you'd like made."

"I do have one condition: all of my people stay with me. If any of them are reassigned against their will, I walk."

(Who were you thinking of, then? At the time I thought you meant Kaliyo, but-

She shakes her head. No. Raina.)

"Fine." She reaches for her comb, draws it through her hair before it catches on a tangle and, wincing, she pulls it free. "Anything else?"

"All things considered, I think I probably deserve a raise."

"All things considered, I think you're probably right." Towel draped over the end of her cot, Lana sits down at her desk and rests her head in her hands. "We'll look at the numbers. I'm sure it can be arranged."

"I'll send you the files. And my full dossier, when I can put it together properly, though I'll warn you now-" she can't possibly be out of clean trousers, unless- no, no, there's a pair tucked into the bottom of her duffel; she pulls them on- "I suspect you'll like me rather less once you've read it."

She chuckles, though it's muffled behind her palms. "I doubt that very much. Details notwithstanding, I'm aware in the abstract of what it is that Ciphers do."

"We'll see whether that's as true as you think. But-"

The pile of clothes beside the desk starts ringing; Lana bends forward in her chair, rummaging through, and lifts her holo onto the desktop. "Who- oh, Force, it's Zhorrid. Darth Marr must have just told her. Should I-"

"Don't." She draws two fingers sharply across her throat. "Keep her hanging. By the time we get back to Kaas City she'll be furious that you're ignoring her and she's absolutely stupid when she's angry- if you're looking to take her out, that'll be your best chance."

"If she doesn't come after me first, you mean." Lana's barely raised her hand from the 'decline' button when the holo starts to ring again and she switches it off completely; a moment later her own holo chimes and she does the same. "I didn't think you the type to get involved in Sith politicking."

"I'm not. You're appalling, frankly, the whole lot of you, but I've been chained to Zhorrid for the last half a decade. I've plenty of experience dodging her tantrums, and if I've got to keep working for a Sith I'd rather it be you than her-" trousers fastened, she catches up her glass again and raises it, inclining her head in Lana's direction- "so I've got a vested interest in keeping her from killing you. You'll need security. I'll make a few calls tomorrow after your first briefing."

She nods. "I appreciate it."

"For the moment, however, I'm going to go join the party. Are you coming?"

"I-" Lana turns her chair, looking up at her. "Actually, I could use a drink."

How many times did Zhorrid try to kill you in that first month?

Lana laughs. Actual attempts, or including all the plots that your people sniffed out- hm. Seven, including that fiasco with the poisoned wine, and another half-dozen foiled tries. Didn't they keep you updated?

That was part of the point. They weren't my people, they were yours- I gave you their dossiers, and I knew they were doing their jobs properly given you were still alive, but their allegiance needed to be to you. Otherwise, one ends up- she frowns- well. You remember what happened with Agent Kovach.

How could I forget?

It was quite a celebration, particularly with the Mandalorians still hanging 'round, though muted by their mourning. They all lost people here, too many people, and to know it was all part of Vitiate's plan-

That's a thought for tomorrow.

For their troops, spared the knowledge of the Emperor, it's simply a victory feast. Despite their better judgment she and Lana and Jakarro and Vector end up, glasses of narcolethe in hand courtesy of the Beroyas (she is going to feel properly awful in the morning but it does answer her question- Jakarro's roars are growing steadily more incoherent as his glass empties and is filled up again and again), watching the dancers in the common area.

They start betting on fistfights as they break out and a few rounds later- she's won most of a case of tihaar and four vials of ryll; for a moment she's actually tempted before she sends Jakarro back to her tent with the lot of it.

"I won't begrudge them their fun, legality aside," she grins as Lana raises an eyebrow. "It's always useful collateral for negotiations. But the last time I did that much ryll at a go I joined a sabacc tournament on Nar Shaddaa and woke up having apparently won a penthouse apartment and three Zeltron strippers, so-"

"Wait," Theron says behind her, "you woke up with the strippers, or you won them? Because-"

She turns around, laughing. "Both, if I remember correctly- it was a really weird night. Where've you been?"

"Conference call." And a shower, presumably- he's jacketless, his hair still damp. He makes a face. "Done now. What're we drinking?"

Lana shoves her own glass into his hand as he blinks, startled, then sniffs at it cautiously. "No idea, but you can have mine. If I have much more of it I think I might die."

"Sounds like I'm a lap or two behind, then." After a test sip, Theron shrugs. "Bottoms up."

"What's your poison, then? Can't have the leadership unhappy-" she slurs to Lana; that gets her a warning look- "when we're supposed to be celebrating. We've got this, regular beer, that tihaar, ne'tra gal probably, knowing the Mandalorians-" all of those meet a series of increasingly vehement headshakes. "All right, then. Give me a suggestion."

"You don't happen to have any bourbon? Or wine, I suppose, but this doesn't seem like that kind of party."

(I never did ask- why bourbon, of all things? There aren't even any Imperial distilleries that make it, so far as I'm aware.

Habit, Lana murmurs. When I first began my apprenticeship, my first master was Mantellian- there was a local variety she was particularly fond of. She used to say it reminded her of home.)

They all duck as a ceremonial blade goes whipping past a few inches above their heads. "You would be correct, and for future reference, in Intelligence we drink whiskey. But I suppose I can try to find you some bourbon."

"Hm- I might have a lead on that." Theron takes her arm, helps her up off the bench. "I know a guy. C'mon."

"Somehow that doesn't surprise me." Mostly steady on her feet, she knocks back the rest of the 'lethe and looks down to Vector. "You're on guard duty. Anyone tries something funny, let the babies eat them."

"Do you know-" Vector's smile is wide, his eyes glittering in the evening light- "we were just thinking they needed feeding?"

She laughs. "Not in public. I'll be back shortly."

He nods agreement as Theron leads her off into the Republic side of the encampment, toward the supply shed just beyond the armories. A single guard's stationed between the tents, leaning against one support strut with arms folded across his chest; as they pass he snaps to attention, then relaxes again as Theron glances in his direction, one hand signaling a message she doesn't quite catch.

The reply's clear, though- see what? signed in smugglers' cant- and the guard nods as they keep going.

Once they're around the corner she shoots him a look. "Something I missed?"

"I walked in on him and your quartermaster's assistant in one of the showers earlier. I figured it'd be a little hypocritical to report 'em, so he just owes me a favor." He reaches out toward the door of the supply shed but the handle only rattles as the lock holds fast. "Owed me a favor, now. Though he probably thinks I'm sneaking off with you, which-"

"Aren't you? You're getting awfully close to defaulting."

(Lana tilts her head, a silent question.

Inside joke. Never mind.)

He smirks. "I'm working on it. And what was that about feeding?"

"Oh, nothing. The fingerlings mostly eat our leftovers, actually."

"You have Killik- never mind. Don't tell me. I'm better off not knowing." Theron peers around the edge of the tent. "You're not opposed to a little recreational breaking and entering, I assume?"

She grins, brows arching. "Certainly not, but I thought you knew a guy."

"You're the lookout, then. And I do," he says, bending over the security panel with one hand pressed to his implant. "A girl, technically. Busted her for contraband smuggling our second day here but she's got the only decent bar stock on this moon, so-"

"Is no secret safe with you around?" No one's coming- they're all at the party save a token few guards; when she hears the panel click open she turns back to Theron in amusement. "I'd better lock up my diary."

"I was on camp restriction, remember. I get bored-" he pulls the door open- "I go looking for ways to entertain myself. At any rate, I've got dibs on her stash. If anywhere's got bourbon, it'll be here."

They slip through the doorway into the building. The inside's dark, storage crates piled high one atop another with only narrow spaces between barely wide enough for two people standing side by side; she reaches for the light switch and he shakes his head.

"Better not. We're not exactly supposed to be here, after all."

Nodding, she presses a button on her commpad, illuminating it until she can barely see in the faint glow it gives off. Theron does the same and, standing together in the clear area near the door, they look from stack to stack.

"It's- um. It's in here somewhere. Should be a single crate on its own, not one of the piles, but-"

"Theron, there must be fifty of those."

He's sheepish in the sliver of light across his face. "Yeah. Sorry. It's labeled as clothing, she said, if that helps."

Each taking half the building- her west, him east; divide and conquer, an old work precept like any other- they scan the laminated shipping manifestos carefully. Medical supplies, foodstuffs, clothing (that one's actually clothing when she gets the latches open, extra infantry uniforms, and she resists the urge to steal one but stars, it'd come in handy). Nothing like his description, though. She keeps looking.

"Your meeting with Marr went okay? To go by his tone it sounded serious."

She just shrugs at first before she remembers he probably can't see her. "I'm alive. I've had worse meetings. I take it you're off the Republic's most wanted list?"

"Yup. Reinstated in full, though I had to suffer through an hour-long three-pronged lecture first. I expected to catch hell from Trant, but I can't believe she called my- never mind." Even in the dark she can imagine the face he's making.

"Do you think you'll be back in the field?" It's a valid question, though one she doesn't expect an answer to. Somehow they'd managed to avoid each other during fieldwork before this- either they're both that good or they were just lucky and she suspects it was the latter; she's had to go against old contacts before, but-

He hums in response, tone rising and falling, noncommittal. "Eventually. I'm terrible at administrative work. Never learned to delegate properly."

"Well, you know what they say." One row done. On to the next. "If you want something done properly-"

"Exactly. See, you get it."

"Far too well." How are these crates so dusty? They haven't been here long at all, but this one's covered with cobwebs- stars, she hopes that spider's not still lurking. "That's why we get along so nicely, isn't it?"

He laughs, moving toward her, and she can see his outline in the light from his wrist. "Maybe."

They pass another few minutes in silence, focused on their search, until they're both back near the center of the building and Theron clears his throat in a way that she knows by now means he's about to ask her something she probably oughtn't answer.

(Does he really? I'm not sure I ever noticed that.

She thinks for a moment. He does, but-

Come to think of it, she can only remember him doing that with her.)

"So I heard an interesting rumor," he begins, turned away from her, face pressed up against a crate to get a better look at the tag. "I heard your people are getting the band back together, as it were."

"Is that so? You know how people talk." Her tone's flippant but her mind kicks into overdrive- a leak already? That bodes poorly given that they haven't even started back officially yet. "I wouldn't put too much credence into that one."

"That's about the answer I expected." They both keep moving, row by row. "That rumor crops up about once a month, but the source on this version was better than most and mentioned you specifically."

More food, backup generators, blankets- "I don't expect you'll tell me the context?"

"If I believe the story, I should be congratulating you on your promotion. Or running. Probably I should be running."

"The truce holds until tomorrow, remember." She glances back over her shoulder but can't see him. "And if that's what you heard, don't pay your source. He's wrong."

Light above the rim of a crate: his hand gripping the top edge as he stands up, looking across at her. "Isn't that what you'd say if it were true?"

"Normally, yes. But that's a target I'd rather not have on my back if it's been painted on in error."

"Fair." He's frowning, she thinks, given what little she can see of his expression; she can hear it in his tone. "I'm pulling that source, by the way, so don't bother looking when you're back, but if it's really not true then you should probably know that Darth Zhorrid's out for blood. Yours and Lana's both."

"Someone in the Citadel, hm? I'll have to look in any case. You know that." A container full of lanterns, now, and one of electrical supplies and still no Force-damned bourbon. "And yes, I'm aware. I can take care of myself, and Vector's guarding-"

(She'd blame the narcolethe for that one if she could, but they were just too used to each other by then.)

She cuts herself off but she's already said far too much.

"The leadership." Theron barely mutters it, an echo of her comment to Lana, but sound reverberates off the durasteel crates and she hears it like he's next to her. "You've got to be kidding me."

"That's what I said, if we're being honest. Plus a little profanity." She sighs. "Oh, hell. There's no point denying it. You'll find out soon enough, in any case."

"So Imperial Intelligence is back in business."

The last crate on her side's smaller than some of the others, chest-high on her and tucked into a corner- clothing, assorted. Promising. This one opens on the top; she starts on its seals. "Sith Intelligence. New name, new management, and I won't say more."

"And here I am fetching her drinks." He crosses back toward her now, light swinging to and fro with the movement of his arms with each step. "Wish I'd known that before."

(Lana frowns. I wish-

I know.)

"But you were fine when you thought it was me."

"Fine is a word. But you and I know the game, and you never-" she's almost got the lid free by the time he's there beside her and they lift it off together. "Do you know, I almost wish we were still fighting Revan? Not the actual fighting part, but the rest of this- imagining what it might be like with the war over for good."

"You know what it'd be like with the war over- it'd be the same as it was when we both started out years ago. Even with a treaty, it's just a different kind of war."

Theron looks at her, then shrugs as they set the lid aside, propped up at an angle against the corrugated wall. "I guess. But we can still pretend, can't we?"

"I suppose we can. At least until tomorrow." Peering down over the rim with her arm extended into the crate, she can see the glint of glass as her commpad illuminates the contents. "I think this is it."

"Looks like it. Let's see what we've got."

Three neat rows of bottles packed in insulating foam and a small metal lockbox sit at the bottom of the container; even leaning over as far as she can, the necks of the bottles are too far out of reach. She boosts herself up, gripping the rim until her arms straighten and the edge bites into her belly and she can balance. Mostly. "Hold my legs."

"What?"

"Hold my legs. It's too far down for either of us to reach, and I'd rather not fall in head first."

"Oh. Right." As she starts to lean forward he grabs onto her upper thighs, holding them firmly against the crate. "Good?"

She lifts one hand in a thumbs-up as she starts to check the bottles. The bulk of it's cheap, the sort of stuff infantry would buy with the little discretionary money they were given, but there's a halfway decent bottle of bourbon in the second row and something shimmering in the far corner-

"Hel-lo," she murmurs, reaching for it, rotating the bottle to check the vintage. "Come here, you little darling."

"Something interesting?" His grip slackens a moment as he shifts, probably trying to lean down to take a look for himself; she slips a little, the rim of the crate digging in, before he catches hold again. "Sorry. Got you."

Flicking one foot backward by way of demonstrating her displeasure- he's standing right behind her to judge by the placement of his hands and the space between them broadens for a moment as he dodges- she pulls the sealed bottle free, along with the bourbon. "As a clarification, do you have dibs on anything in the crate?"

"I don't recall her specifying, so I'm going to go with yes. Why?"

She hands Lana's bourbon up first. "Here. This is for Lana-" he only lets go with one hand, this time, to take it from her- "and this one-" the other bottle, now- "is yours, minus my finder's fee of a very reasonable fifty percent."

"That's extort-" He must have finally looked at it. "Never mind. Halfsies it is. I didn't know they let this stuff off-planet- I thought it was a legend, to be honest. I'd never even seen it before now."

"I'm pretty sure they don't, usually," she says. "Alderaanian cognac, coronation vintage. I've had it once, when I was visiting House Thul- a hundred credits for barely a thimbleful. Thankfully I wasn't footing the bill, so I took full advantage. Pull me up."

Theron shifts again- glass clinking on the floor grate, the sound muffled by the walls of the box she's still hanging halfway inside- before he wraps both arms around her waist and hauls her back up over the edge. "I'm jealous. Best I ever get out of my contacts-" her feet touch down- "is whatever's on special at the local cantina. I doubt we've got the right little fancy cups, though."

"What're they going to do, put us in etiquette prison? We've already broken into a military storage unit in search of smuggled alcohol of extremely dubious provenance, not to mention that little war earlier today where we killed your ancestor and somehow still managed to let an incorporeal maniac loose on the galaxy." As he murmurs agreement behind her she steadies herself, continuing. "Tomorrow, while I train my new boss, I need to figure out how to keep my old boss from murdering her- to make a long story short, I have had a very trying day and right now I am going to be awful and drink thirty-year-old cognac straight out of the bottle and there isn't a damn thing you can do to convince me otherwise."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he drawls. "I'll even lend you a corkscrew."

"Oh, good." She turns around as he stoops to retrieve the bottle, pulling a folding multi-tool from one pocket and holding it up in the light from his commpad.

"Okay, it's one of these- there we are. Seal off first, then the cork-" he grumbles under his breath- "gotcha. Ladies first."

She snorts, takes the bottle from his hand, and drinks.

Force, that's good. She must have made a noise accordingly, head tipped back as she takes a second sip; when she opens her eyes Theron's watching her, grinning.

"It's the real thing, I take it?"

"Even better than I remember. Here-" she passes it back- "your turn. Cheers to bad behavior."

"I'll drink to that." He does, and licks his lips. "Okay, yeah, wow. That's amazing."

She winks, reaching out for his free hand. "You're welcome. Now, speaking of bad behavior-" they were already close together in the narrow aisle and when he steps nearer they're toe to toe- "come here."

(Lana scowls. Wait. I had to wait nearly an hour for that bourbon, and you're telling me it was because you two were drinking and necking in a supply shed?

That makes it sound so adolescent.

Because it was.

She grins. Oh, no. Decidedly adult.

I thought you- you swore it only happened once. Her eyes narrow. Once, you said, and never again.

I lied.)

(Another omission; another memory that is only theirs.)

She can still taste the liquor on his tongue, honey-sweet and burning, when they kiss.

Theron pauses a moment, recorking the bottle and setting it down beside them, before he leans in to kiss her again. Winding her arms around his neck, she could probably stay here for an age and be content- an odd feeling if she focuses too much on it, no hurry and no agenda and no artifice between them; she cannot remember the last time all those things were true except with him- but this time he's the first to move, reaching down toward her belt and the buttons of her trousers.

"Not the surroundings I'd hoped for," he murmurs against her mouth, "but if we're leaving tomorrow-"

"If this isn't what you want, you know-" even as she speaks he's pushing her trousers and underwear down over her hips and she has to stop to find her words as his fingers slide between her thighs- "you know we don't have to."

Theron settles in front of her, kneeling, looking up, and in the faint light she can see by the gleam in his eyes that she misunderstood. "I only meant a bed would probably have been easier. Of course I want to. Besides-" his mouth replaces his fingers, tongue tracing slow flickering patterns, voice muffled- "I've still got a debt to work off."

She would have said something clever but- well, words are overrated, really, and why is it so dark in here? She wants to see him, it isn't fair-

She ought to be quiet, especially here in the middle of camp, but he's not making it easy- she bites her lower lip and even so she's whimpering aloud before too long. She covers her mouth with one hand to mute herself and damn him, he takes that as a challenge, sliding his hands up along her thighs to nudge them further apart, mouth pressing harder until she's arcing her hips against him and then his fingers, ever so slowly, slipping in- one, two, together, yes- and out again, together in time with the curl of his tongue.

She tries to breathe, reaching down with her other hand to trace the lines of his face as Theron says something she can't hear over her heartbeat pounding in her ears; this close she can't keep her eyes open any longer and it's easier just to feel him move instead, steady first and then faster, more and oh-

When she comes it breaks on her like a wave and nearly takes her legs out from beneath her, leaving her staggered against the container at her back. Her hands drop down, bracing against his shoulders, keeping herself upright; when he finally pulls away he nips at her inner thigh and she twitches and gasps.

Theron looks, she thinks when his eyes meet hers again, entirely smug.

She'll allow it.

"You're very unfair, you know." She helps him to his feet, draws him down for a kiss- he did the same for her, that day at the cave, and turnabout's fair play; she can taste herself on him, now, and she bites at his lower lip. "Holding that back until our last night here."

He stretches out against her, pushes her back until she's pinned flat between him and the container wall. "Not on purpose. We needed more time."

"I know." Her fingers roam along the gap between shirt and waistband. "But we have now."

"I-" He breathes. "How do you want to-"

He has to curve away a little with their hands between their bodies, a space between them as he unfastens his own belt and she the fastenings beneath, and when that's done she turns away, back to him, and guides his arm around her waist. Hand splayed flat on her belly, Theron pulls her in close again; her back arches and she steadies herself, reaches out, grabs the rim of the crate and when he pushes into her for the first time he whispers her name like a benediction and stars, it shouldn't be this good, fumbling awkward in the dark together, but-

(But it was, even this first time, so much more than it had any right to be. When she thinks of him later she will blame it on so many things, on adrenaline and alcohol and the thrill of the forbidden. It was all of that, a little.

Mostly it was him.)

Any further noise Theron makes is caught on her skin as he buries his mouth in the curve of her neck.

They go hard at each other, then, fast and frantic, her grip catching at his hair to keep herself upright against him and his fingers sliding down her stomach again to settle back at the apex of her thighs until she grits her teeth to keep from crying out and there, ah, she can feel him tense behind her and don't stop, not yet, not- almost-

There.

In the silence afterward she counts his heartbeats against her back, his breaths against her throat, both in time with her own.

"Force-" Breathless, she relaxes until her forehead's resting against the wall of the crate; Theron leans forward, lips brushing the back of her neck, and she exhales with a contented little purr. "I needed that."

He laughs, hands shifting on her skin, settling on her waist. "Such a romantic."

(It was a luxury they weren't permitted, then, and the easiest way to deal with its absence was to pretend it had never been missed.

They were both so good at pretending.)

"Romance is overrated." When she starts to straighten up he moves along with her, another kiss brushing feather-light. "Satin sheets and sentiment- give me this any day of the week."

"I'll keep that in mind." Theron takes half a step back, enough room between them for her to stand but his arms still around her. "Was it-"

"Consider your debt," she says, turning in his arms, "paid in full."

It was a good night.

Appeased by the bourbon when she and Theron finally return, Lana slides over on the bench and they all sit together one last time, drunk and trading jokes, singing along with the music, almost joyful at the end of it all. It's nearly the end of the night when the scout from that first combat session dances by, camera in hand; when the flash goes off they groan, hands over eyes.

"You could have warned us." Lana grumbles, rubbing her face.

"Give me that." She half-stands, snatching the camera to inspect the picture. "I- actually, it's not bad. Would you make me a copy?"

The scout pulls a little packet of datacards from his pocket, loads one into the camera and taps a few buttons. "Of course, Cipher. Here you are."

(I think I still have that picture. Reaching down for her datapad on the table, she opens a passcode-locked folder, then another and another until there it is on the screen- their little group in a mirth-filled moment, squeezed together on the bench with heads thrown back in laughter. Look. It could have been a night out anywhere, except that the next day we all went back to war.

Lana reaches out to touch the screen. We do look happy, don't we? It's hard to imagine that Ziost was barely a month later.

We were happy. She smiles.)

By one o'clock they're all yawning. Jakarro's the first to turn in, surprisingly, as the party starts to break up little by little with everyone staggering off, alone and in pairs, then Lana a little while later, until it's just her and Theron sitting together on the bench as the brighter lights shut off and the torches start to flicker and die.

"We should probably sleep," he says quietly, his arm half-draped around her hip. She almost moves away out of reflex but there's no one left to see and it's nice, really, the way he feels beside her; she relaxes into his side. "I'm guessing we've both got work to do tomorrow. But thank you again for tonight."

"You're welcome, and don't remind me." She rolls her eyes at the thought. "Between that and packing, it'll be a busy day."

"I know. But do me a favor?"

"Hm?"

"Send me a message when you're free?" The little bottle's nearly empty when he passes it to her, just enough for one last sip.

She nods, the drink sweet on her tongue; she remembers the taste of it on his. "I'm sure I'll have an hour or two to spare. We'll be on the last shuttle out- the usual protocol."

"Same. Good."

"Something wrong?"

Theron shakes his head. "No. I know there'll be formal farewells, and it'd be easier not to, but I don't want to leave without saying goodbye properly. After all this time we've spent, even just talking, I don't-" He sighs. "It'll be strange to be by myself again."

"Don't you work in operations teams in the Republic? You must have someone you're close to."

"Sometimes," he says," but never permanent ones like yours. I watch you with your people and I wonder why we don't- they don't want us to get too attached, I guess."

"You need to stop taking teambuilding lessons from the Jedi. That's- how do you even stay sane?"

He shrugs. "Assuming I ever was?"

"I'm being serious, Theron. After what happened-" Stars, she's such a hypocrite but hearing him's like looking in a mirror, cracks and all. "Just promise me you'll talk to someone when you get back, okay?"

"I'll think about it."

"Good. But to answer your original question, yes. I'll let you know when I can get free."

They stand, leaning on each other for one more moment until he straightens and pulls away. "I'll see you tomorrow, then. I-" He stops, the word slipping into silence. "G'night, Cipher."

"Good night, Theron."

She watches him cross the courtyard until he disappears into the dark.