The raid the next morning is uneventful and feels almost routine. This is all starting to feel easy . . . too easy, Gaius complains afterwards to Angral. The enemy fleet's absence from the battlefield and the perfunctory show of tepid resistance from the Rim systems are making Gaius nervous. So while he can claim complete success for yet another mission today, he worries he hasn't accomplished anything of consequence in the long run.
"Just keep doing your duty. Keep winning. That's all that matters," Angral responds.
"Are we winning?" he challenges. "Because it doesn't feel like we are even trying to win." Just like it doesn't feel like the Republic and the Jedi are bothering to defend their border worlds. This war is a grudge match a thousand years in the making and yet it feels like things are off to an uninspired, half-hearted start from both sides.
"We have taken two-thirds of the Republic Outer Rim systems in only a few months' time. Be patient. The road to Coruscant will be long."
"Yes, my Lord," he mutters.
His grumpy, harassed tone prompts Darth Angral to smirk. "Go home, Malgus, and go see the Emperor. A break will do you good. Maybe come back with a better attitude?"
"Yes, my Lord," he mutters some more. "No promises, but I'll try."
Angral shoots him a pointed look. "Keep your mouth shut in the throne room. No one wants to hear a brand-new Lord's opinion on the war. So don't start telling old Vitiate he's wrong. You'll be smoking on the floor with blue sparks if you try a stunt like that."
"I won't." Even he's not as bold as that.
After his formal debriefing, Gaius boards a transport for the journey back to the Empire's capital world. Rather than fret with anticipation of his homecoming, he sleeps the whole flight. Before he knows it, Gaius is being dropped off at his old Master's house on Dromund Kaas.
She's here. He would know Portia's Force imprint anywhere. But when he walks in, Lady Vindican and Lady Julia are the ones to receive him. His Master's widow kneels to him with a formality Gaius suspects she seldom used for her husband, but she evidently feels is now his due. He tries to be as gracious as possible about it, offering his hand to raise her up and chiding her gently not to repeat the gesture. Lady Julia smiles up at him, and that at least feels normal. Once he raises her to her feet, Julia sweetly hugs him and exclaims, "We're so glad you're still alive," into his chest. It tells him all he needs to know about how traumatized and grieving this household still is.
He is the cause of that sadness. But for the good of everyone, Gaius swallows his guilt. He'll play along with the misperception that his Master's death was merciful. It's best for all of them, he has decided.
He gets fussed over now as Lady Vindican rightly recognizes how tired and stressed out he looks. A Lord of the Sith is not supposed to admit to frailty, he is supposed to feed off conflict and to relish war. But truthfully, he feels exhausted and overworked and it shows. It's been months on end of killing alternating with training and meditation. That pace has given him shadows beneath his bloodshot and now almost perpetually yellow eyes. He needs a break and some rest. Some encouragement, too. Darth Angral is right-this trip home for the investiture ceremony should be just what he needs.
Lady Vindican has kept up with all his mentions in the press. Her obvious pride in him makes him want to cringe. It prompts Gaius to be exceedingly magnanimous with the estate he inherited from her husband. He reiterates again now how important it is that Lady Vindican handle all household matters as though she were managing for Lord Vindican. Gaius refuses to put her on a monthly allowance or crimp her lifestyle in any way. Likewise, he will pay whatever school fees, upkeep, and little splurges young Julia requires. He figures that the best way to honor his Master in death is to make certain that his loved ones continue to live well.
But where is Portia? Is she hanging back so as not to intrude? Once they have chatted a few more minutes alone, he casually asks Julia, "Where's your best friend? I sense Lady Portia."
Julia's eyes twinkle. Does she know about the comlink exchanges? He can't tell. But sweet little Julia is almost sly as she murmurs, "Portia took Milady out for a quick walk a few minutes ago."
Gaius' eyes narrow with suspicion. Could Portia be avoiding him? Portia can tend to blow hot and cold. She pushes him into a rosebush, but she sends him a bikini pic. Sometimes her texts are irreverent flirty fun and then suddenly they are distant and almost solemn. Is she leading him on? If so, it's working because he is seduced. He's been anticipating his reunion with Portia since he received word that he was coming home.
After a little more talk with Lady Vindican, Gaius excuses himself to divest his armor and clean up before dinner. This is such a short stay that he has very little luggage with him. Gaius declines the assistance of a footman with his duffel bag. When aboard the Interrogator, he insists on every courtesy afforded to a Lord. It's important that in a professional environment everyone see him as no different from any of his peers. But there's no one to impress in his own home. He'll carry his own stuff.
Eschewing the footman's help turns out to be a good call. Because as Gaius walks down the hall to the small Apprentice suite he occupies in his Master's home, he senses Portia.
His pulse quickens.
She's close. And getting closer.
But still, it's a revelation when he waves open the door to his bedchamber to discover Portia Metellus inside waiting for him. She whirls as he walks in, but they both know she's not surprised.
This move is exceedingly forward. Shockingly so. It gives him pause. How does he handle this situation? What happens next?
Portia has Milady in her arms. The pooch starts barking happily at his arrival. He watches as Portia stoops to set the little mutt down. Milady runs to him, yapping away. His dogs is jumping up at his shins, nudging him to pick her up. But he ignores his little pet. He only has eyes for Portia.
Damn, he forgot how good she looks. The pictures don't do her justice.
They lock eyes and Gaius sets down his duffel. He waves the door closed behind him and locks it with the Force. Then he steps forward to intercept her.
"Welcome home," she breathes out as he comes to a halt standing in her space. He's crowding her intentionally to see what she will do, testing out his advance. Will she step away? Maybe throw him across the room? Portia's just the type to send the mixed message of waiting in his bedroom only to reject him. An outsider might assume that he's the older, manipulative seducer in this relationship, but in truth it feels like she's the one in charge. Who's toying with whom exactly? Is she playing games with him? She might be. And that's fine. He will gladly be her plaything.
Right now, the Force tells him that she's nervous. It encourages him. Portia looks so pretty now in the flesh, mere inches away. Her ruddy skin is impossibly smooth, her spicy perfume near intoxicating. Yes, he is most definitely seduced just by her very nearness. And that's the impetus he needs to close the remaining space between them.
If she can be this bold, then he can be bold too.
Lifting his hands to cup her cheeks, Gaius gently brushes her lips with his own. But while his touch is firm, his mouth is tentative. He wants this badly, but only if she wants it as well. He tells himself that she's had plenty of forewarning. He's lost track of how many times he has lamented that he left for war without giving her a kiss. He won't make that mistake again. So here goes . . .
This is an entirely new experience. He has killed, but never kissed. That's typical of the Sith aristocracy. Back home, he might have a live-in girlfriend at this age. But Lords only have wives, and they are celibate until their wedding. After all, there are midichlorians involved where elite sex is concerned. Kinship has power and thus it is zealously guarded. It's why courtship and marriage have so many rules and why bastard children are completely unheard of among aristocrats. And if that means young, single Lords like himself burn with unspent lust, then so be it. That's just more frustration to churn into Dark power to aid in their Force development.
And so, while Gaius has lost count of how many souls he has dispatched to the Force, and while he has recently been entrusted with not one but two entire legions under his permanent personal command, he's rarely had a woman in his arms. Growing up there was no mother or sister to hug him. There has never been a lover to kiss and embrace him. But that ends today with this brash-yet-shy kiss with trembling lips to Lady Portia Metellus.
Her breath is sweet, her lips are soft, and her body is warm. Yes, this is perfect. Absolutely perfect. He couldn't ask for a better homecoming.
Portia steps back now, but she doesn't push him away. Instead, she ducks around him, murmuring wryly, "Now, you can die without that particular regret . . ." It's a casual dash of snark that reminds him immediately of her brother.
Gaius stops her, catching her trailing hand. More . . . he wants more. He wants to yank her back to him. To crush her in his arms and to devour her mouth for a truly passionate kiss. And then, he would dearly love to throw her down on his bed, hike up her skirt, and end the torment of their mutual virginity. But he knows he can't do that. He would never do that. But he will squeeze her fingers as he responds in a low voice, "There's so much more I plan to do to you." He lays awake nightly imagining it in lurid detail. "We're just getting started."
Was that comment going too far? Will she slap him or choke him or send him hard into the wall?
She does none of those things. Portia blushes and ducks her chin. There's that hint of a coy smile. Softly, she tells him, "I need to go. I was expected at home a while ago."
"But you waited for me . . ."
"Maybe."
Not maybe, definitely. This whole moment was very premeditated, he realizes. And that pleases him beyond measure. It tells him that he is wanted.
Portia now pulls away, her fingers slipping through his. She waves a hand to easily undo his potent Force lock on the door and steps out into the hallway. Little Milady runs to investigate, looks at retreating Portia, and then back at him.
"Go on," he tells the little dog, who barks once and runs down the hall after her.
Gaius stands there a long moment grinning ear to ear. Today might just be the best day in a long, long time.
He turns his attention now to unpacking the few possessions he brought with him. After dinner, he needs to clean up his armor to make it more presentable. Maybe he can get the footman to polish his boots. He should probably take a razor to his head again too. If he goes more than a few days, the telltale golden glint of his blonde hair starts to show through.
As he busies himself with preparations for tomorrow, he catches his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Something's different. What's different? His eyes aren't yellow. The rare sight makes him smile yet again. He credits Portia Metellus.
And that's when he hears his name being called. It sounds like Lady Vindican. The bedroom door is still open, so Gaius sticks his head out. Sure enough, here comes the lady of the house walking up.
"My Lord, forgive me, but I almost forgot. This arrived for you yesterday." Lady Vindican gestures behind her to the footman who hefts a large trunk. "Just in time," she smiles.
It's an armor case, Gaius realizes upon a second look. "Bring it in," he orders, standing aside from the doorway to let the footman pass. He's intrigued.
Julia now appears to excitedly ask, "Did he open it? Can we see?"
Her girlish enthusiasm matches his own curiosity. "Unlatch it," he tells the footman.
The man complies. Then, he, Lady Vindican, and Julia look on as Gaius reveals the contents.
Someone has sent him a full set of ceremonial armor.
He pokes through the various pieces. One by one, he lifts out the pauldrons, the matching brassart, and the cuirass. Yep, it all looks big enough to fit him, he judges as he holds it up. He's surprised and pleased by the timely gift. It's just what he needs to make a good impression tomorrow.
It's a lavish gift, as well. Ceremonial armor is very expensive due to the custom workmanship involved. There is nothing interchangeable and generic about these handcrafted armor pieces. They are highly personalized, often depicting family crests and emblazoned with Kittat mottos. Oftentimes, sets are passed down as heirlooms to sons and grandsons much like a daughter might wear her grandmother's wedding veil or her mother's jewelry. This armor is brand new. It has none of that family lore. But it's exquisite all the same.
Gaius inspects the pieces, admiring the scrollwork and etching. None of this would stop a lightsaber or blaster fire, but that's not the point really. Ceremonial armor is not about function, it's about flash. The goal is to get noticed for your wealth and consequence as you stride in the room. For much like Sith Ladies might don a dramatic evening dress to preen on the red carpet for an important gala, the Lords of the Sith put on their own fashion show at the Palace. This armor set is the traditional high gloss black, not the silver that some Lords favor or that crazy red getup that Angral chooses. As far as sartorial choices go, it's not meant to stand out, but rather to fit in. That makes it perfect for him.
"Did you order this?" Gaius looks to his Master's widow.
"No," she declines to take credit. "Gaius, I assumed you did."
"There wasn't time. I was going to have to show up like I am."
"Oh, you can't do that!" Lady Vindican objects, clearly scandalized by the suggestion. "You must be dressed appropriately for the Palace. Er . . . most especially you, Gaius," she adds in a delicate reference to his lowly background.
Lady Vindican was slow at first to come around to accepting her husband's embarrassing Apprentice who was foisted on him at the last minute. But she has far more empathy for him now than scorn. Ironically, their mutual loss in Lord Vindican has cemented Gaius' position as one of the family. And for Lady Vindican, like the rest of the tribal Sith elite, family is of utmost importance. The first and best loyalty of the Sith is to their own. The Sith might deceive and betray their enemies, but never their brethren. To finally be part of a family again—even if it's this well regarded but not particularly impressive household—matters both personally and professionally.
"Then who is this from?" Julia wonders aloud.
There's a receipt inside the trunk. Someone has scrawled across it in handwritten Old Sith 'vis te servabit.'
"The Force will protect you," he translates out loud. It strikes him as an odd sentiment to accompany a suit of armor. Especially ceremonial armor that will never be worn against a true enemy. What enemy does he have at the Palace that he needs protection from?
"Huh," Julia grunts as she snatches away the receipt for a good look. "That sure sounds ominous. Why didn't they just say 'vis vobiscum'?" She refers to the Kittat benediction 'may the Force be with you' that is said universally in situations ranging from casual interactions with strangers to formal speeches.
"Keep looking," Lady Vindican urges. "There's more inside."
Gaius pokes around. He reaches to lift out a cape carefully folded in tissue paper that is nestled at the bottom of the trunk. It's black velvet, naturally, but the inner lining is a handsome grey satin. The cape is richly embroidered with a matching silver border.
"Oh, it's so beautiful," Julia gushes as she reaches to finger the fabric.
He nods, feeling similarly impressed. Together, the armor and cape are a conservative, unquestionably appropriate choice that manages to be both understated and yet obviously luxurious. Someone clearly wants to make certain that when Darth Malgus appears before the Dark Lord he looks like he belongs. And truthfully, Gaius is enormously relieved that he doesn't have to show up looking like the parvenu colonial pauper he is before the all-powerful Emperor. As it is, this investiture could get awkward if he gets asked too many questions about Korriban.
"Is there a note?" Lady Vindican inquires.
He shakes his head. "There's only the receipt." Whoever his benefactor is, they wish to remain anonymous.
"Put it on! Put it on!" Julia urges. "I want to see!"
So does he. The Ladies and the footman withdraw while Gaius dons the new armor and cape. He dutifully emerges for the household to see. Feeling a bit like young Julia when she twirls around the house showing off a brand-new dress, he stands there a little self-conscious.
"Wow, that is nice," Lady Vindican wholeheartedly approves. She straightens his cape and steps back to take the whole presentation in. "Gaius, you look like a hero."
"He is a hero, Mom. He's the Jedi Killer. I checked today and he's back to leading in the stats. Now, stand still," Julia commands as she holds up her comlink. "I want to take a picture."
"Horatio would have loved to appear beside you," Lady Vindican murmurs wanly as she looks on. "He was always so proud to present his Apprentices to the Emperor." The shadow of grief passes over her pretty features. His Master's widow blinks and visibly swallows.
Guilty Gaius catches her eye and softly commits, "I will try to make him proud tomorrow." It's the least he can do after failing his Master so spectacularly.
"You will," Lady Vindican replies. "I know you will. Gaius, we're all very proud of your war record. Tomorrow, I'm sure you will be commended by the Emperor."
"I hope so."
"Not to worry," she assures him.
It's the encouragement he needs to hear. He inherited Vindican's family to look after, but tonight they are looking after him. Truthfully, it feels good to be fussed over, especially coming from the often-hostile work environment of the Interrogator. It's hard to call Vindican's plush villa homey, but it feels that way tonight. But maybe that has more to do with the warm welcome he's receiving than anything else. First, that kiss with Portia, and then the surprise gift of armor, and now this moment of much needed personal support . . . It's a complete break from the grind of his naval duties, and that makes it just what he needs. For so often he feels like an unwanted outsider, like most everyone who matters is rooting for him to fail. But these people aren't. They know where he's from and who he is, and they like him anyway. It's the closest Gaius has come to true belonging since he left home as a child.
"Okay, give me your best battle face," Julia commands to him as she snaps away photographs. "Good. And let me get a profile pic, too. Pull the hood down. Right. Glower for me. And now with the hand on your sword for the subtle threat. Perfect. Gaius, you look amazing," Julia happily concludes. "You might have been born a colonial, but you're a full Sith Lord now."
"Send me those pictures," Lady Vindican requests. "And Gaius, you should send one to your Dad. Let him see who the boy he adopted has become."
"Yes, my Lady."
Julia pokes at her comlink. "Just sent them, Mom. Oh, wait—drat!" She makes a face. "I accidentally sent them to Portia too." Julia sends him a covert wink while announcing this, leaving no uncertainty about whether she's in on his virtual flirtation with her best friend. "Oh, well. Portia won't mind . . ."
Portia doesn't mind at all. When he is alone after dinner, Gaius checks his comlink to discover that Portia has forwarded him the pictures along with a message.
Random, you're giving me major Sith prince vibes . . .
They're on the same planet now only miles apart. Communication is instant. Gaius types back.
I want to kiss you again before I leave.
Kisses are dangerous. You're dangerous.
Is she flirting? Or is that a serious comment? He types back, I would never dishonor you, my Lady. She needs to know that, in case it's not already clear. He's not looking to despoil her. He only wants to care for her.
Too late. Cato would take a sword to your head if he knew about this afternoon. No one would fault him for it, too.
He's seen her brother use a sword. Gaius counts himself safe. My intentions are honorable.
It doesn't matter. Unless you turn out to be the Emperor's secret son, we will never be a match. This is reckless.
Good thing you're the reckless type, he writes back.
You're right. I am. But I thought you didn't like me reckless.
I told you not to get caught. There's a difference. Come over here tomorrow after school. I don't want to leave without seeing you again.
I'll think about it.
It's not just for a kiss. I want to talk to you. I want to know how you are.
That might be more dangerous than a kiss.
?
People like us aren't supposed to fall in love.
I'm a random and I break the rules.
Good for you. But I'm saving my heart for my husband.
That's me.
Dream on, Random.
I want to see you before I go.
I'll think about it.
