A/N: This piece has annoyed me for months. Theron and Fynta work together in some weird way, but I could never figure out how it all started. Finally, I found their "jumping off" point. As always, Mando'a translations can be found at the bottom. Hope you enjoy.
This one is rated M for some language and light smut.
Reluctant SOS
Alderaan
House Baliss
Three days, seven hours, and forty-two minutes. That's how long it had been since Theron Shan last slept. Those were the kinds of useless numbers that the SIS agent wished he could disregard. However, since that particular implant aided with his ability to read the binary coding in the computer console he was currently linked to, he couldn't ignore it. Rubbing his thumb and forefinger over his eyes, Theron stifled a yawn and got back to work.
The file the agent was laboriously downloading registered at a whopping thirty-one percent complete, and he'd been in there for two hours already. It was Theron's third night as plaything to the head of House Baliss's niece, and if his current progress gave any indication, Theron was looking at a long week with a lot of stims. Fifty-five minutes left until I have to pull out. His internal chrono ticked down the amount of time he could be absent from the girl's bed before she came looking for him. The blasted woman rarely slept longer than three hours before she was ready to squander her husband's ample supply of credits on fine foods and expensive wines.
Theron's proximity implant beeped, giving him just enough time to unplug from the console and stash the datapad in his night robe. The door swung open to reveal a busty redhead smiling through a haze of alcohol. "Ian, baby. What are you doing in here?"
Theron tightened the sash around his waist, ensuring the valuable device stayed tucked against his body. "Couldn't find the can. Saw the light on in here," he lied through a false slur.
Bright red brows furrowed at him, as if the woman couldn't remember why Theron's presence in the room was odd. He silently prayed she was still intoxicated enough to make her forget the triple lock mechanism he had to pick to get in. "Come back to bed. This belongs to my husband."
Clearly you don't, Theron thought with some annoyance. Outwardly, Theron plastered on a lopsided grin and swaggered after the red head. Damn, fifty-two minutes short tonight. He'd need to find a way to make up for that tomorrow. Suppressing a groan, Theron realized that would take a lot more alcohol and imagination on his part.
Day number four had been the most exhausting yet. The woman wanted to try a few of the new recreational drugs that a visiting Zeltros had to offer, more than one of them aphrodisiacs. Theron had spent all day pretending to be properly tanked as he played sleight of hand with the drugs. Finally, the woman succumbed, and he could get on with his mission.
Hiding another yawn behind his hand, Theron tried not to think about the woman he'd left in bed and the effort it had taken to put her into such a peaceful slumber. He was, however, thinking about the fact that he was going to need sleep soon. Even his brain could only last another day on stims alone, but no one expected this job to drag on like it had. This encryption was far too thorough to hide simple bank statements.
Finally, Theron had been able to sneak away again. The download had just passed thirty-seven percent when the beeping in Theron's inner ear warned him that someone was coming. He recognized the danger too late, the alarm muddled in his sleep deprived state. Theron had just managed to stash the datapad when a large hand wrapped around the back of his neck and hurled him away from the computer.
Theron struck the wall with a grunt moments before a sturdy forearm pressed into his throat. Gritting his teeth, he tried to swallow against the pressure, finding his airway closed off. The man's face loomed into view; a mean looking Devaronian with blood red skin, black eyes, and horns large enough to gore Theron should he so desire.
"Looks like a spy to me," the Devaronian growled through a mouthful of rotten teeth. "Rival gang you think?" A fist drove into Theron's stomach, and the only thing that kept him from doubling over was the restraining arm at his throat. Implants only helped with the slow build of pain from torture, so Theron's gut felt every bit of that punch.
Another man stood behind Theron's horned captor, a human with broad shoulders, waist, and jaw. He wasn't chubby, just generally large everywhere. Theron blinked a few times, trying to focus on the other man through watery eyes. He wasn't surprised to find Antonio Balhath, one of the crime bosses for the Hutt cartel, scowling at him. "My wife's an idiot. I knew sooner or later she'd let this riffraff into my house."
House Baliss, one of the smaller houses of Alderaan, struggled to keep up with their wealthier neighbors. They had been forced to look for outside means to maintain their hold on the stolen Teraan lands. Balhath provided a steady stream of income, and received a lordly title for his services. No one seemed to care what the niece got out of the deal.
Theron considered denying the accusation, but the Devaronian guard reached into the agent's robe with his free hand and snatched the datapad. "What's this?" He asked with no small amount of sarcasm, holding it over his shoulder for his boss. Balhath retrieved it with a snort and flicked the device on.
"Looks like it's locked," the gangster commented. "Got something you don't want us to see, son?" The big man tapped it on the palm of his hand, beady eyes boring into Theron.
The SIS agent was likely looking at a beating no matter what he said, so he'd try to keep his cover intact as long as possible. It would take them a while to hack into that datapad since he'd written the security protocols himself, giving him time to work out an escape plan. Forcing the same lopsided grin he had for the wife, Theron prepared himself for the pummeling he knew was coming. "Just a few holos of your wife." The fist that connected with his temple made Theron's head swim. The attack had come faster than he'd given the big guy credit for.
"Take him downstairs," Antonio growled. "Let's pry those implants out and see what he knows." The mob boss waved the datapad at Theron as the Devaronian spun him around, wrenching Theron's arms behind his back. The last thing the SIS agent saw before being shoved out of the room was his datapad cracking over Antonio Balhath's knee.
Nar Shaddaa
Star Cluster Casino
"If that guy smacks my ass one more time, I'm breaking his wrist," Fynta grumbled. The bright red server's outfit she wore was covered in sequins that barely concealed anything.
Sen Dewu, or Big Blue when the Chiss agent was on the clock, guffawed and gave Fynta's rump a rough tap. "You volunteered for this sting. Maybe next time you'll take my advice and enjoy a night off."
Fynta narrowed her eyes at the man before reloading her tray with the next round of drinks for a pompous kid whose daddy had too many credits. The dad was the target, but since he never left their penthouse, the plan was to snag the kid and lure pops out with a ransom. The only problem was that junior's tastes swung wildly between species and genders, so Dewu had called in everyone available to help corner the brat. So far, Fynta didn't appear to be to his tastes, but that didn't keep his guards from grabbing a handful whenever she passed.
Truth be told, it looked like Shasot might have the best odds of tempting the kid away from his security detail. The Nautolan woman wore a silky number in seafoam green that complimented her light blue complexion perfectly. It suddenly dawned on Fynta, That ord'inii has a blue skin fetish, which explained why he eyed Dewu with the same lust as the woman currently curled in his lap. Fynta smiled pleasantly at the guard who eyed her approach. She really, really hoped Dewu won out, because the Chiss man wasn't known for being gentle.
Fynta's earpiece crackled, almost making her miss a step. Epoch was supposed to be on radio silence, communicating with hand gestures only. The static continued without a word, punctuated by only the slight ticking of background noise. Shasot met Fynta's eyes briefly, indicating that she'd heard it too. The familiar pattern scratched annoyingly at the back of Fynta's mind to the point she forgot to make good on her threat to seriously injure the grabby guard.
Dewu had returned to the stage by the time Fynta got back to the kitchen and slipped into the makeshift ops room behind it. The man who owned this little cantina offshoot of the casino allowed Epoch to operate here with no questions asked so long as they kept the local gangs from coming after protection money. There had been no way to carry her datapad in the miniscule outfit, so Fynta dug through her locker to grab the device. Sure enough, there was code running in the background. It was a failsafe, something that should only be used in the direst of circumstances.
"Shab," she hissed.
The music cut off, and Dewu stormed into the back room, snatching Fynta's datapad from her. Anyone else might have received a few broken bones for the impetuous act, but Dewu was Fynta's mentor, and she respected the fact that he could probably kill her before she landed a hit. "You know what this is?" He asked without looking at her, his black, perfectly manicured brows furrowed in concern.
Fynta nodded. "It's an SOS."
Dewu swore, and Fynta flinched. The man was always relaxed and smiling, even while he beat the osik out of his recruits during training. Any time he lost his temper, death usually followed. "You're sure this is his code?"
Again, Fynta nodded, swallowing past the lump in her throat. "No doubt about it."
"Go, we'll handle things here." Fynta immediately began digging her clothes out of the locker to change. She knew Dewu and Theron went back, she just wasn't sure how long or why. As she turned, the Chiss called her name. "Fynta. Don't come home without him."
Dewu's red eyes narrowed, and Fynta felt her heart rate accelerate. "I won't, sir." Death at the hands of Imperials would be preferable to returning to her handler with a failed mission report. Especially this time.
Fynta managed to commandeer a two man fighter and lifted off from Nar Shaddaa in under three hours. She'd deal with the fallout from the unauthorized departure later. For now, the sergeant sat in the pilot's chair with her feet propped on the dash trying to decode Theron's message.
"What have you gotten yourself into now?" Fynta wondered aloud. They'd set up this particular code a year ago when an op went bad, and they'd been separated. She had been badly wounded with no way to get a message out. A black ops squad had finally found her a week after she'd missed her check in. Theron had pulled a lot of strings to get that squad after her, then set up a covert way for them to communicate should it happen again.
Theron, Dewu, Fynta, and a couple of other unidentified SIS agents had access to it. Still, she wasn't sure how broad a net it cast. Dewu assured that he'd let the others know that a commando was on her way to get Theron out so that the agencies weren't tripping over one another. A single soldier would be a lot easier to sneak in than a squad, after all.
Yawning, Fynta checked the chrono. She'd been in hyperspace for four hours, hurtling towards the Inner Rim. It was all the information she had on Theron's current posting. Maybe the decryption program she'd been running since taking off would shed some light on his location. As if on cue, the datapad beeped, stirring Fynta from a light doze. Kicking off the console, she grabbed the device and hurriedly scrolled through the information.
Scowling Fynta reread it.
M-10. AIS 5. Red or Black. Retrieve Intel.
"Fierfek," Fynta growled and threw the datapad across the small ship, ignoring the way it clattered off the wall. Theron had gotten himself in deep this time and didn't expect to survive. He was calling her for a shabbing data pick up, not a rescue op. The threat ranking and colors being the condition of his health at current versus projections of when she'd arrived.
Regaining control of her temper, Fynta punched in the new coordinates. M-10. Alderaan. "You better not be dead when I get there, Shan."
Alderaan
House Baliss
Theron teetered at the edge of consciousness. Balhath had made good on his threat to attempt to pry out Theron's implants, but those had proven difficult, and fried the moment the outer casing cracked. Now, he had a nice set of burns around his already tender skin.
As far as he could tell, Theron had been left alone for roughly two hours. It was more difficult without the aid of the implants. Silently, he cursed how dependent he'd become on them, wondering idly how people functioned under normal brain power.
Theron sat shackled to a chair in the middle of a dim room with the ever cliché single bulb swinging overhead. He'd been left in the tattered house robe and his boxers, nothing else. Theron worked his jaw and ran his tongue over his teeth. A few of them were loose, but none had been forcibly extracted yet. His ribs ached when he took a deep breath, but the SIS agent didn't think any of them were broken.
All in all, Balhath's thugs didn't seem to be interested in anything other than using Theron as a punching bag. Even then, their efforts had been halfhearted once his implants were useless. Theron wondered how long before they decided he was useless and put a bolt through his head. At least he's gotten off that retrieval burst before going dark, maybe Dewu would get an agent here in a couple of days to finish collecting the data.
The sound of heavy boots pulled Theron back to full consciousness. He glanced up at the door as they stopped outside. The deeper tones of the Devaronian resonated through the divider, and they were answered by a throaty, feminine laugh. Before Theron could register the familiarity in the woman's voice, the door swung open, and Theron suppressed a groan.
Fynta had the Devaronian's head turned towards her, locked in a sloppy kiss that made Theron blanch. She wore her standard seduction number—leather pants and cut off vest—and had Theron's jailor thoroughly distracted. It probably didn't hurt that her fingers had latched onto the man's belt, either.
Fynta pressed her body against the Devaronian, sliding her hands up behind his head. The man chuckled against her lips, groping her ass to pull her closer with a rough jerk. "Like what you feel, baby?"
The sergeant stood nearly as tall as her soon to be victim. She was thickly muscled, a fact made blatantly obvious when her vest slid higher to reveal hard abs. "Oh, absolutely," Fynta purred. Resting one hand behind his head, she walked the fingers of the other up the side of the man's face. Before he realized the danger, Fynta wrapped her hand around one of the horns and gave a sharp twist. Theron winced at the audible crack, and the guard slumped to the floor.
"Ugh," Fynta spat, then wiped her hands down her vest. "I'll never get that taste out of my mouth." The woman squatted next to the body to rummage through his pockets. "Do you have any idea what a Devaronian male looks like without clothes on?"
It took Theron a moment to realize that Fynta was not only looting the corpse, but stripping it as well. He didn't like the implications. Her task complete, Fynta plopped the clothes into Theron's lap while she moved around behind him, still complaining about the dead man. "I would hardly call it anatomically compatible."
Theron hung his head with a sigh while Fynta released his cuffs. "Where's the data," he asked, pulling his arms around slowly so that his shoulders didn't grind from being held behind him for so long.
"That was my next stop." Fynta stood by the door, checking the hallway. "Get dressed, we need to move."
Theron forced himself up on shaky legs, staggering slightly as he donned clothing too baggy and short, refusing to think about the fact that they'd been taken off a dead man. He grasped the blaster Fynta held out to him in still numb fingers, annoyed that she'd defied the parameters of the mission. Again. "You were supposed to get that first."
"Di'kut," Fynta muttered. "You're welcome." Before Theron could argue further, the sergeant stepped into the hallway, snapping her wrist away from her body. Theron stumbled out behind her to see another guard collapsed against the wall, a blade sticking out of his chest.
Alarms started a few seconds later, and Fynta grabbed Theron's arm. "We'll come back for the data. Right now, you are priority." They ran in the opposite direction from where the guard had come. Fynta had both hands on her blaster pistol, the barrel angled down like a proper soldier. Theron considered himself more freestyle. That, and he was kriffing exhausted; crashing hard after days of stim abuse and beatings.
Fynta lifted her blaster, taking out two guards in their path, then shoved Theron against the wall. She used her body as a shield, something Theron planned to protest about, until she peeked around the corner. When she looked into his eyes, Theron saw the same determination he'd seen during her training, which never bode well.
"You can swim, right?" Theron opened his mouth, then snapped it shut with a suspicious glare. "I'll take that as a yes. Come on, Shan."
Grabbing the cuff of Theron's collar, Fynta shoved him onto the balcony overlooking a waterfall. He hit the railing, and she put her back to his. Even without his implants to estimate the exact distance, Theron could tell it was pretty kriffing high. "Feet first, arms to your chest," she instructed. "Go."
"I'm not jumping off a waterfall, Fynta." A group of guards rounded the corner, and Fynta opened fire with a muttered curse. Theron fired over her shoulder, pleased that his aim hadn't been affected too badly by the lack of sleep and stim abuse.
Fynta elbowed Theron in the ribs to get his attention. The agent hissed and stopped firing long enough to catch his breath. He hunched slightly, wrapping an arm around his torso. "Either you jump, or I throw your ass over, Shan. That's our only escape route now."
They'd whittled the guards down to three when Fynta's blaster ran out of charge. "Go, Theron!"
The sergeant ran at the men, tackling the smallest of the trio. She threw her empty blaster with force at another, his nose erupting into a fountain of blood when the heavy weapon connected. Fynta pummeled the one she'd taken down while the third stared on stupidly. Theron saw his chance, raised his blaster, and took out the threat before the guard could remember that he was supposed to be one.
Fynta staggered to her feet, tripped over the unconscious guard, then caught herself on a piece of furniture. "Waterfall," she growled. "Blue's orders."
Hearing that Dewu had ordered Theron's safe return changed things. No one disobeyed an order from the Chiss double agent, meaning any further protesting on Theron's part would likely be met with violence from Fynta to ensure his compliance.
Theron climbed onto the railing, looked over, and swore. Before he could make the decision to jump, Fynta's hand pushed against the small of his back. Theron screamed as he toppled over the edge.
Theron gasped as his head broke free of the water. The rapids pushed him under again, and the agent had to rely on his training to keep from panicking. The next time he came up, he blinked away the liquid in his eyes to see that the bank wasn't that far. Theron scrambled onto the shore with half frozen limbs, then looked around for Fynta. The damn woman had made good on her threat to push him over, but he wasn't sure if she'd followed. It would be annoying to have to go back for her.
Swearing drifted towards Theron from downstream, and he staggered to his feet. The agent did his best to ignore the sharp rocks slicing into the bottoms of them. Sparing a glance over his shoulder, Theron could just make out the sounds of the alarms of House Baliss, indicating how far down the current had carried them.
Fynta bent forward on hands and knees, long, blond hair draped across bare shoulders in tangled strings as she coughed up more water. Theron gave himself half a second to be relieved that she'd made it out too before crouching beside her. "Come on, we need to get out of the open."
Theron wrapped an arm around Fynta's waist to pull her up, but she hissed and shoved him hard enough to plop him on his ass. "Okay?" Theron stood, rubbing his hands together for warmth as Fynta clambered to her feet, swaying slightly, before straightening with a groan. "Are you hurt?"
"I'll be fine," Fynta groused, waving Theron away when he got too close again. The fact that the sergeant hadn't said anything about wet clothes or made some sort of inappropriate sexual remark should have been an indicator that she was injured. But, Theron was freezing, and shelter snapped to the forefront of his thoughts.
Glancing up at the sky, Fynta put a hand to her ribs and started forward. "Come on, Shan. We've got to find a place to crash before the sun sets. It would be nice to get back into Antilles territory." Technically, Baliss was neutral, but rumor had it that the Empire had been trying to lure them towards the dark side with promises of financial backing and personnel. Not to mention, Fynta had made a mess, which they undoubtedly were going to hold against the Republic.
Fynta and Theron walked for an hour. The SIS agent wrapped his arms around his body, shivering from not only exhaustion and pain, but the fact that the temperature had dropped at least twenty degrees. What concerned him more than the inclement weather, however, was the fact that his rescuer didn't seem to notice. Fynta hated the cold; that had been her only true weakness during training. Every time Dewu had lowered her core temperature, the woman had seemed on the verge of breaking. She hadn't, but it had been a close thing.
Now, Fynta trudged on, swaying or stumbling every so often, but making no effort to warm herself. Theron forced his legs to close the space between them, but just as he opened his mouth to ask, Fynta pitched forward. The woman didn't even throw her hands out to slow her descent, and she hit the ground with a teeth jarring thud. "Shit, Fynta?"
Theron knelt beside her, finding that the sergeant was completely out. "Shit," he repeated, sitting back on his heels to take in their surroundings. He glanced in the direction where Fynta had been heading and saw a small building. It was the best they were going to get. Theron slipped a hand under the soldier and grunted as he pulled her off the ground. Fynta was far from a lightweight, and Theron was in no condition to be carrying an unconscious woman anyway.
Fynta groaned, her eyes fluttering open as she blinked at Theron. "Hey, can you walk?" He tried to keep the strain out of his voice, but he really didn't think he'd be able to drag her up that hill. Kriff, he was barely dragging himself.
"'m fine," Fynta slurred. She got her feet under her again, but didn't pull away from Theron this time. That, in and of itself, was worrying.
The two struggled up the hill, making it to the structure just as the last slivers of golden light vanished below the horizon. Theron sat Fynta on a bale of hay and decided to explore while she recovered. From the looks of the high ceiling and immense vertical stalls, Theron guessed they'd stumbled upon an old Thranta barn. Judging from the disrepair of the walls and floor, it hadn't been put to use in a long time, probably since the Teraans lived here.
When Theron returned to tell Fynta that they should be safe for the time being, he found the woman sitting cross legged on the floor. Her vest sprawled to the side, and shirt pulled up to reveal a nasty gash along her ribcage. "How did that happen?"
Fynta gave a start, dropping the fabric and glaring at Theron. The man rolled his eyes and slumped to his knees beside her. After a brief stare down, Fynta lifted her arm to let him pull the shirt up again. The wound wasn't deep, but had turned red around the edges, the veins beneath looking painfully blue against skin that was far too pale for the normally tanned woman. "That shabuir tried to stab me while I dealt with the other guard."
"Ah," Theron responded, bending closer to see if there were any signs of infection, or if it was just the cold that had discolored her skin. He'd wondered why she'd taken the extra time to pound the guy's face into a bloody pulp and guessed it was revenge. It also explained why she'd passed out. Between the pain and the cold, her system had simply shut down for a few seconds to reboot.
Fynta pushed Theron's hands away and lowered her shirt. "We need to sleep. You look like hell, and I feel like osik."
Theron sat back and looked at the broken walls that provided only a small relief from the frigid wind outside. "We can't risk a fire, can we?" He knew the answer before Fynta's disgruntled snort. "We could use dry clothes and food."
"You need shoes. Shab, Theron, I didn't even think about that." Fynta leaned forward, shoving him on his ass again, so that she could examine his feet. They'd gone numb a long time ago, which probably wasn't a good sign. "They don't look too bad, but these cuts need to be tended to."
Fynta reached into her back pocket and pulled out two travel packets of kolto. "Here, apply these, I'll work on something to cover them." Theron was about to protest that it should be either saved, or used for her side, then realized it wouldn't do any good. He knew the woman well enough to guess how that argument would go, and she wasn't wrong about the importance of staving off infection in his feet.
Theron had just finished applying the gel to the worst of his cuts, sparing a little for the inflamed skin around his implants, when Fynta returned. "I found one blanket that smells like dwang, and some twine. Time to get creative, Shan."
Fynta lowered herself to the floor across from Theron, pulling a knife from Force knew where, and grabbed her vest. Before he could stop her, Fynta stabbed the tip of the blade into the seam of her durasteel lined clothing and ripped it upward. The bindings snapped under the sharp blade, and Fynta motioned for Theron's foot. He balked for a moment, until she huffed and grabbed his ankle, yanking on his leg until he was positioned the way she wanted. "It won't be perfect, but it's better than nothing."
Theron watched as Fynta pressed the thin strip of metal against the bottom of his foot and used the ties to bind it in place. She followed suit with the other, then sat back to grimace at her work. "That's shabbing awful." There was a hint of laughter in Fynta's voice that Theron didn't understand. Then again, the woman had always had a strange sense of humor.
Theron wiggled his feet, still unsure how he felt about the fact that Fynta had destroyed her favorite article of clothing, not to mention protection, to make him a pair of shoes. She was right, they were hideous, but they also might help stave off infection and frostbite.
"Time for some sleep," Fynta announced, standing to pull off her undershirt. Theron stopped her when she reached for the button on her pants, and the sergeant gave him a flat stare. "My clothes are soaked, as are yours. I'd rather not die of hypothermia because you're shy."
"I'm not shy," Theron protested before he could stop himself. A playful glint entered into Fynta's dark blue eyes, and he instantly regretted his statement.
Fynta kicked her pants off, then draped them over one of the stall doors. The sun had fully set, but the gradual onset of darkness had given Theron's eyes plenty of time to adjust. He had to admit, Fynta didn't exactly repulse him. "Come on, Shan. I know those spooks had to have trained you at least a little bit for cold weather survival."
They had, but Theron hadn't paid attention. Most of his opts weren't the rugged type. He was the kind of agent who infiltrated high end businesses and slave rings on city planets. Or the occasional Sith ship; ironically, he'd ended up naked on that one too. Environmental preparedness usually didn't go beyond knowing how to ask where the 'fresher was in the local language. Fynta crossed her arms, wincing slightly as it pulled at the cut along her side. "If you sleep in damp clothes, your core temperature will continue to drop. They need access to air flow to dry, and you need body heat."
Fynta wore an expression similar to back at the estate when she'd threatened to throw Theron over the waterfall. The agent pushed himself up and shucked his ill-fitting clothes. He pointedly ignored Fynta's smile, and the way her eyes roved over him, knowing the damn woman was only doing it to get under his skin. After draping the shirt and pants over the stall door, Theron turned to face Fynta with arms held out. "There, better?"
The sergeant's eyebrows pulled together as she looked over his torso. "Shab, Theron." He looked down, finally having a chance to take in his appearance. His abdomen was a plethora of bruises ranging from several days old yellow, to fresher blues and blacks. Seeing them brought back all the soreness and exhaustion, and suddenly, Theron didn't care about clothing anymore. He just wanted to be warm and to get some sleep.
Fynta jerked her head to the nest of old hay and blankets she'd put together while he tended to his feet. The two settled in awkwardly, Fynta huffing in annoyance when Theron couldn't stay still. After a few failed attempts, they discovered that Fynta lying with her back against his chest provided the least amount of discomfort for Theron's sore ribs. Wrapping his arms around her, the agent immediately drifted towards sleep as the heat from Fynta's back seeped into his chest and stomach.
Theron couldn't be sure how long he slept, but when he woke, it was with a suddenness that startled him. Judging by the lack of light filtering through the broken walls, and the wind howling outside, he hadn't been out for long. Fynta shivered in his arms, and Theron realized he'd become cold too. Cold enough for his fingers and toes to have gone numb. He might not be the survival specialist that Fynta was, but the SIS agent knew that losing feeling in one's extremities was never a good thing.
Theron shifted onto his back, pulling Fynta with him. He ignored the dull ache in his ribs, hoping that if she turned towards him, it might provide more warmth. The sergeant obliged, and Theron realized she must have been awake for some time. Had he not been so exhausted, he probably would have woken sooner too. Fynta draped an arm and leg over Theron's body, but they felt cold against his skin.
"This isn't working," Fynta complained.
"I'm open to suggestions," Theron answered, teeth chattering.
Fynta's head snapped up, the expression on her face determined. "You won't like it." Theron couldn't fathom what he'd like less than freezing to death in his underwear in a Thranta stable. "Body heat," Fynta continued. When Theron didn't catch on, she elaborated. "And adrenaline."
Body heat and adrenaline, that sounded an awful lot like—"You can't be serious."
Fynta's hand slid over Theron's stomach, and he jumped when cold fingers slipped below the waistband of his shorts. "You don't seem completely against the idea." The heat that Fynta poured into her accusation wasn't lost on Theron, but he knew it for the act it was. He'd trained the woman; he knew all of her tricks. Granted, they'd never been turned on him quite like this before.
"I was asleep," Theron protested weakly. "It happens."
Fynta rolled up, settling over Theron's hips and pressed against him. "Then we should make use of it," she grinned, grinding purposefully.
Theron tried to control his breathing in order to keep his voice steady even as his hands rested on Fynta's thighs. "You have a knack for this romance thing," he responded dryly. While his mind raged against it, Theron's body was completely on board. He'd prefer it if they agreed this time.
Fynta took in his expression, then leaned forward, careful to keep her weight off Theron's midsection. "Then let me set the mood," she purred. This time, she put a lot of effort into it, rolling her hips against his. Before he could protest further, Fynta's lips were on his, and the heat that flooded his body was anything but unpleasant.
Fynta shifted enough to get her hands between them, and Theron broke their kiss with a gasp. "Kriff, this is such a bad idea." Yet, he didn't push her away.
Deep, blue eyes grew darker as Fynta chuckled against Theron's throat. The woman had improved more than he had given her credit for, because the agent was almost convinced this wasn't just about staying warm. Tangling his fingers in her hair, Theron crushed their mouths together.
Theron felt Fynta's fingers brush against the front of his shorts as she adjusted what little clothing they still wore. He sucked in a breath when her still cool fingers guided him where she wanted. Meanwhile, Theron tried to focus on leaving a trail of rough kisses across her neck and shoulder, hoping the shiver that ran through her body was because of him instead of the cold.
Theron thrust his hips forward when Fynta's hand moved, finding her ready for him. She gasped, fingers digging into his shoulder. The SIS agent growled into her throat from the mingled pain and pleasure she provided. He shut his eyes and listened for cues, determined to make this a mutually enjoyable endeavor.
Theron had seduced Balhath's wife multiple times, it was part of the job, no matter how much he hated it. But, it hadn't felt like this. In fact, Theron hadn't felt this in a long time. Fynta knew who he was, and that provided a measure of intimacy that sleeping with a mark lacked. There was no reason to stand on pretense, or to maintain total awareness of his surroundings. It also didn't hurt that the sergeant was inadvertently fulfilling one of Theron's naughtier fantasies. After all, who hadn't considered sex with a teammate in an abandoned barn before?
Their tempo quickened, moving against one another with a dangerous friction that threatened to push Theron over the edge faster than he expected. He cleared his head, measuring his breathing in order to maintain control.
Fynta's arms shook from the strain of keeping her weight off Theron's bruised ribs, breath ragged against his face. As he neared completion, Theron was overcome by the need to feel every part of her. Sliding one hand along her spine, he pulled her down forcefully. Fynta sucked in a sharp breath as her arms gave way, and Theron groaned when she fell flush against his body.
Fynta kissed him hungrily, her nails scraping Theron's scalp, fingers tightening in his hair. She swore into his mouth, her walls clamping down around him as she shuddered through her orgasm. Theron's world went silent as he tipped into oblivion after her, hand splaying across Fynta's back to hold her in place. Nothing existed outside of those few blissful seconds.
The two panted together, coming down from their mutual high. Slowly, the chill seeped back into Theron's body, but the look of satisfaction on Fynta's face went a long way towards alleviating that. Fynta rolled onto her back, both of them groaning in tandem as the soreness from the assorted injuries returned along with their other senses.
Fynta pressed into Theron's side, her body still flushed from their—whatever that had been—and warm against his. "We'll be cold again soon," she whispered.
Theron laughed, then winced and draped an arm across his ribs. "Just give me a few minutes to recover."
Fynta woke when a sunbeam slanted through the broken boards directly into her eyes. She groaned and rolled away from the offending light directly onto Theron's chest. It took her muddled mind a few seconds to remember why she was cuddled against the SIS agent's mostly naked body.
"Fierfek," Fynta hissed when she sat up too quickly, stretching the torn skin on her side.
Theron came around slowly, taking in Fynta's disheveled state with a few bleary blinks. Hazel eyes widened, and he lifted both hands to his face. "Kriff." The muted curse would have been comical were it not her that had to face the consequences of their actions.
We're adults, Fynta mentally scolded herself, this is no big deal.
Pushing to her feet, Fynta went in search of her clothing. While half frozen, she was grateful to find that they were mostly dry. Searching for some way to would make their trek less awkward, Fynta put on a coy grin. "You are to be congratulated, Shan." The man peeked through two fingers, making no move to get up. "I haven't slept that well in ages." Theron's fingers snapped back together, hiding his eyes from view again. Fynta chuckled and nudged his leg with her foot. "Come on, we shouldn't have any trouble making it back into Republic territory today," she affirmed before leaving the man to dress in private.
After a cursory look, Fynta slid the barn door open and did a circuit around the perimeter to ensure there weren't any surprises waiting. The sergeant did her absolute best not to replay anything from the previous night, a task made more difficult when Theron finally joined her outside. He kept his eyes on the horizon while scrubbing both hands through his hair. Fynta eyed it, impressed by the height that motion gave it. She wanted to reach out and touch it again, having been amazed by how soft it felt last night. Fynta dug her nails into the palms of her hands to keep them at her sides.
"Thanks for the, uh—shoes," Theron commented, then cleared his throat, still refusing to meet Fynta's eyes. "We should get moving."
"Absolutely," Fynta responded. Theron Shan was most definitely not her type. He was trouble in so many ways. Yet she didn't exactly regret the night before. In all honesty, Fynta wasn't sure how she felt about it and was perfectly happy to remain ignorant. Feelings weren't really her thing anyway.
As the day wore on, the atmosphere became less strained between Fynta and Theron. They resorted to arguing over direction, then it devolved into insulting one another in ever more colorful ways. The first friendly guard station came into view a little after noon, and Fynta grudgingly admitted that Theron had been right about which direction to go. How the man managed to look so damn smug while wearing grimy clothing and strips of leather strapped onto his feet was beyond Fynta.
After showing the appropriate ID to the guards, and vouching for Theron, they were shuffled into a military hovercar bound for House Antilles to receive medical treatment. Theron remained silent on the journey, staring out the window, but Fynta saw his eyes cut towards her every now and then. She sat unfazed, deciding that whatever had happened between them was simply for survival. Nothing more.
The car parked in front of the medcenter, and both Theron and Fynta slapped the nurses' away from them when the hoverchairs arrived. Fynta would submit to treatment, but there was no way in hell she was being wheeled anywhere. The fact that Theron apparently felt the same way earned him a little respect in Fynta's eyes. Not that she'd ever admit to it out loud.
Fynta sat on the bed, arm raised with her forearm resting on top of her head, while the medic tended to the gash on her side. Theron wandered in, properly clothed and shoed this time. He ignored the medic's tsk of annoyance and threw himself into the seat across from Fynta. When she showed no concern about her state of undress, the nurse continued with her task.
The two sat in silence until the nurse stood, declared that she'd done all she could, and left the room without a backward glance. Fynta twisted to see what exactly she'd been doing, finding her torso tightly wrapped. With a sigh, Fynta lowered her arm and leveled Theron with a cool stare. "So, you'll live?"
"Just bumps and bruises. You?"
Fynta shrugged and immediately regretted it. "Fine," she winced. "How long are you down for?"
Theron pushed to his feet and limped around the room, opening cabinets, pulling the lids off containers to check inside. Busy work. "It doesn't matter anymore. You and I are scheduled to head back to our respective bases. Nar Shaddaa for you; Coruscant for me."
Fynta watched the SIS agent pick up a cotton ball and begin pulling it apart. "What about the data?"
Theron gave a humorless snort of laughter. "As it turns out, the Baliss' were suspected of plotting with the enemy. House Organa swept through and rounded up everyone on my list." Theron looked up from his project, meeting her eyes. "One hour after we jumped over the waterfall."
Fynta stared at the man, mouth just shy of falling open. She brought her fingers to the bridge of her nose and pinched to relieve the pressure that had started building behind her eyes. "Fierfek."
"My thoughts exactly," Theron agreed. "Anyway, the data is no longer important. So, we get to go home." He dropped the dismantled cotton ball in the trash bin, then cleared his throat. "About last night—"
"Let's agree to never discuss it again," Fynta interrupted. Theron's lips pressed together, offering a curt nod of agreement before crossing the room towards the door. "Theron," Fynta called just as his hand rested on the doorknob. When he stole a look over his shoulder, Fynta grinned. "Feel free to give me a call the next time you need an emergency exfil."
The SIS agent's lips twitched in a partial smile as he pulled the door open. "Yeah, same to you, Fynta."
Mando'a:
or'dinii [Ohr-DEE-nee] moron
di'kut [DEE-koot] idiot
shab - excrement (used as a curse)
Osik [OH-sik] dung (impolite)
Fierfek [Fire-fek] a Huttese slang word that meant "hex" or "curse," but was commonly accepted to mean "poison" by non-Huttese-speaking races. Later adopted as an expletive.
Shabuir [SHAH-boo-EER] jerk, but much stronger