Summary: Theron needs help on a case, and things go wrong, as usual.
A/N: Possible trigger warnings for the mention of molestation and domestic violence. The middle section gets an M rating.
Nar Shaddaa
"I need a girl."
Laughter met Theron Shan's request, and he rolled his eyes. When Senior Agent Sen Dewu finally regained control, the Chiss took a deep breath. "About time you settled down."
Theron pinched the bridge of his nose. "Are you done?"
"Not even close," Dewu chuckled. "What do you need?"
Theron glanced over his shoulder before slipping into an alley. "I need one of your girls, Blue. I've got a lead that could turn messy. She needs to be able to handle herself." Theron paused, waiting for Dewu in interject. When the Chiss remained silent, Theron continued. "And, look good in a dress too."
More chuckling followed. "All of my girls look good in dresses, Theron. Why do you need one of mine instead of a fellow agent?" Theron remained silent, pressing his lips together while he tried to think of a convincing lie.
"Ah," Dewu answered for him, all merriment vanishing from his voice. "This isn't a green-lit op, is it?"
"The less you know—"
"Yeah, yeah," Dewu sighed, then fell silent for a while. "Fine. What species?"
Theron exhaled, knowing that he'd have a professional at his side loosened the knot in his gut. "Human or Twi'lek."
"Alright, I've got the perfect girl in mind." Theron heard the rustle of clothing and a woman's moan. He realized too late that he'd interrupted Dewu during—whatever the hell Dewu did in his down time.
"Thanks, Blue," Theron added, eager to get off the comm. "Oh, one more thing. Not Fynta Wolfe." Dewu chuckled again, and the line went dead.
Twelve hours later, Theron sat in the cafe attached to the spaceport watching for anyone who looked like they might belong in Epoch. Dewu's girls could blend in or draw a crowd, depending on the job. It had become a game; he wanted to see if he could peg the woman before she arrived at the rendezvous.
"Head on a swivel, spy boy." A blaster pushed into Theron's ribs, and he suppressed a groan.
"I specifically asked for you to be left out of this," Theron growled, leaning forward to sip his caf.
Fynta spun around to take the seat across from the agent, flopping into it with a grin. "That was your first mistake." She reached over the table to pluck the cup from Theron's hand. "What's the gig?"
"I'd asked for someone who looked good in a slinky dress," Theron groused. Fynta crossed her arms, displaying ample cleavage over the top of her armored vest. "I see you've replaced your gear." She'd cut the last one up in order to make him shoes. Theron preferred not to think about that job on Alderaan, a lot of things hadn't gone according to plan.
"You don't get this one," Fynta leaned back, grinning into his mug of caf. "So, keep your clothes on."
On that note, Theron pushed from the table and headed for the exit. There was at least some small part of him that hoped Fynta wouldn't follow. He could always hire a dancer.
SIS Safe House
Theron sat on the sofa in the suite that he wasn't supposed to be in without proper authorization. He'd decided to hold the op in the casino below to give the target the feeling of home field advantage. Since no one else was using the safe house, Theron didn't see any harm in acquiring it for the evening. No one would know.
"Honestly, Shan. I thought after how well our last mission went that you'd be at least a little happy to see me." Fynta pouted. Theron saw through it. The kriffing woman was enjoying this; he knew it.
"And, I thought we agreed to never discuss that again," Theron grumbled. Truthfully, he'd hoped to avoid the young commando for the remaining future. There hadn't been enough time to truly let the horror of sleeping with Fynta on Alderaan sink in. No, that had come days later, when he realized that neither had used protection, and he hadn't cared at the time. It had been a mild relief to see in her file that Fynta was sterile, and that her most recent screening had come back clean. But pregnancy and sexually transmitted diseases weren't his only concern. The way she'd made it so effortless troubled Theron, not because it had been easy, but because he'd enjoyed it so thoroughly.
Fynta's reflection in the window smirked. Clasping her hands behind her back, she turned to face him. "I was talking about team work, getting out of enemy territory alive." The blasted woman tipped her head to the side, effecting an innocent expression. "What were you talking about?"
Theron snorted. "Just get dressed. We're on a tight schedule."
Fynta had managed the change from travel clothes to trophy wife in impressive time. Theron stepped out of the bedroom, attaching his custom wrist cuffs to the suit he planned to use to fake his way into the back room of the casino. His target had a tendency to gamble with the black-listers. Nothing short of one million credits would buy entry. Luckily, Theron knew a virtual credit launderer who was really good at creating false bank accounts.
"We leave in twenty minutes, hope you're ready, Wolfe," Theron called, inspecting his suit jacket for wrinkles or fuzz.
A soft chuckle pulled Theron's attention up. "You clean up nicely Shan," Fynta teased as she strapped a taser to her thigh.
Theron's voice failed him for the first time in recent memory. Fynta wore a classy, navy blue dress that hugged her figure, yet managed to avoid being slutty. It shimmered when she let the layers fall into place, but the split that ran up her hip offered just enough thigh in tantalizing glimpses to suggest a mistress. In a word, Theron was seriously considering whether or not to postpone the mission to see exactly how comfortable the bed in this suite really was.
The SIS agent shook those thoughts away when Fynta raised an amused eyebrow at him. He cleared his throat and fiddled with the bracers again. "Intel states that the target has a thing for well-dressed men. I'm hoping that you can distract the guard while I cozy up to him."
"I'm sure I can manage," Fynta responded, adjusting the bodice to somehow produce more flesh. Once satisfied, she refocused her smirk on Theron. "Shall we?"
Casino Floor
Getting into the illegal Sabacc game was easy enough. Fynta provided a suitable distraction while Theron flashed the fake credit chip. It wouldn't hold up under thorough inspection, but the doorman was more interested in the cleavage on display rather than Theron's credentials.
Once inside, events moved quickly. Theron sat in a high back chair, looking over his cards and trying to make a decent show of skill. The longer the game went, however, the stronger the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach became. He'd been flirting with the target all night, and the man hadn't shown the least bit of interest. Not in Theron, at least; he'd eyed Fynta more than once. It wasn't until the guard coughed when Theron made a thinly veiled suggestion about calling someone's bluff, that he realized how badly they'd gotten their intel wrong. The guard was into men, not the target.
Unfortunately, that called for a drastic change in plans, changes that Theron had no way of indicating to his partner. The only thing he could do was make his move blatant enough that maybe Fynta would hopefully catch on. "I'm all in."
Theron had spent the last two hours losing every credit in his stipend. If he played this hand right, they'd finally have a way in. The target sneered, then laid his cards on the table. "I believe that is the end for you. Good evening, sir."
"Now wait a minute." Theron gestured in a motion of surrender, while Fynta rubbed his shoulder soothingly. "Give me a chance to win it back."
The man chuckled, leaning an elbow on the armrest and propping his chin in his hand. "You have nothing left to bid." His eyes traveled over Fynta in silent suggestion.
Theron leapt at the opening, grabbing Fynta's arm and pulling her into his lap. "You like her, right?" She flashed him a scalding glare before affecting a confused look for the target. "One more hand. If I lose, she's yours for an hour." He couldn't make it too easy, otherwise, the target might get suspicious.
As expected, the man waved the offer away. Theron almost laughed at the man's predictability. "Fine, the rest of the evening."
"What are you—"
"Hush, darling. I've got this," Theron interrupted Fynta's pleas. He hoped that meant that she understood the stakes.
The target took his time considering, his eyes drinking in every part of the woman who now fidgeted in Theron's lap. Finally, he nodded. "Very well. We'll see how your luck holds out."
The whole plan nearly went down the crapper when the dealer dealt Theron a particularly good hand. It took every trick he had to throw the match, and when the target finally revealed the winning cards, Fynta slapped Theron hard enough to make his ears ring. If the target didn't buy that act, he was insane, because Theron sure as hell did.
Fynta made a show of fighting off the guard when he collected her, while Theron apologized and begged for another chance. He didn't stop until the door slammed. "Thanks for the game, gentlemen," he offered, darting out into the main casino and opening the line to the ear bud he'd given Fynta before leaving the room.
"Look, whatever he owes you, I can pay," Fynta pleaded. "My old man's rolling in it. I just like to play with that loser from time to time."
The target chuckled, a sound that made the hair on the back of Theron's neck stand on end. "A debt must be paid, my dear. And, you were the price."
"You really don't want to do this," Fynta continued, playing the part of the terrified victim so well that Theron had to remind himself that she was a soldier, trained for these types of situations. That didn't keep him from wincing at the sound of the man's hand striking her, or the distinct rip of fabric.
Theron paced at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the private rooms, anxious for the signal to intervene. They had to wait for the guards to vanish or risk inciting an incident and blowing the entire operation. Unfortunately, it looked like the target wanted an audience.
Theron tried not to imagine what each sound meant, but he failed at ignoring the grunts and pitiful whimpers that transmitted directly into his ear via implant. It felt like an eternity before the target finally ordered his men away. Theron took that as his cue to bolt up the stairs.
As expected, it didn't take long for the tables to turn. The target grunted again, but this time it was joined by a few choice words from the woman he'd just molested. From the sound of it, Fynta was going to beat the man to death before Theron could reach them.
"You stupid whore," the man growled. A glass broke as the two crashed into something. Then, Theron's implant buzzed with feedback so loud that he tripped, nearly landing on his face. After it cleared, the voices on the other end grew silent. Theron swore. The room was in sight with no goons to guard it, and the lack of sound from inside concerned him more the longer it went on. Theron slipped his slicing tools into the mechanisms of the keypad. They were the longest twenty-six seconds of his life, and when the door finally slid open, he gaped at what he saw.
"Damn it, Fynta."
Theron squatted next to the prone figures, taking controlled breaths. Tasers were excellent if you didn't mind hauling an unconscious body through a crowded lobby. Theron usually tried to avoid such measures when possible. The weapon also had one other drawback. If someone, namely a stubborn blonde who rarely thought about anything before she acted, used it on a target while still in their grasp, then both got the jolt.
Theron now had two unconscious bodies to extract, and he wasn't completely sure that Fynta hadn't done it on purpose as a form of revenge. Running both hands over his face, Theron puffed out an annoyed laugh. No doubt Dewu would find this kriffing hilarious.
SIS Safe House
Everything hurt when Fynta came to. Her tongue tasted like cotton, her eyelids felt like sandpaper, and every joint ached like they'd been turned to liquid. It took several moments to remember why she felt like osik, and consciousness flooded back all at once when she did.
"You're an idiot, you know that, right?"
Fynta reacted without thought. Her fist connected solidly with Theron's jaw, and she used the moment to roll away. Theron sat on the floor, rubbing his chin. "Okay, I deserved that. But, did you have to taze the guy? You have no idea the stories I had to tell people while trying to get you both up here."
Fynta narrowed her eyes, straightening from her crouch to examine her clothing. Her dress was torn, although it looked like Theron had attempted to mend the worst of it to give her a little coverage. Har'chaak, I liked this dress. "You're welcome," the agent snorted, pulling Fynta's attention back to him.
Maybe it was the snotty tone, or the fact that she was still addled from the shock, but Fynta's temper erupted suddenly and she stormed across the room to clout him again. Theron saw the attack coming and leapt to his feet in time to deflect. "Hey, I'm not the enemy."
Fynta swung again, her movements sluggish and clumsy. "No, but you're a shabbing di'kut," she growled. "Didn't you case this op yourself?" Theron dodged to the right, but tripped over her foot when she caught him in the shin. "You should have known which target was which. Look what he did to my dress." Her anger made no sense, but she couldn't stop it.
Theron sidestepped Fynta's next attack, spinning her around to pin her to the wall. "It's the after effects being electrocuted, take a few deep breaths and it'll pass."
Fynta bucked her hips, ramming her ass into Theron's pelvis and successfully driving the air from him. His grip loosened, and Fynta spun, but the agent managed to snag her wrists. Before she could land a hit, he had her pinned again.
Angry glares ended abruptly when Theron crushed their mouths together. The kiss was as unexpected as it was rough, but Fynta didn't mind. Their bodies pressed flush against one another, making his arousal plain and igniting a flame within her. It had been months since that night on Alderaan, during which Fynta had waited for regret that never came. In fact, she'd thought back on the encounter with fondness more than once, and often wondered if Theron did too.
Fynta sucked in a sharp breath when Theron freed her mouth to leave marks down her neck. His fingers loosened around her wrists, finally releasing her altogether in favor of tugging her dress out of the way. Fynta encouraged him by looping her leg around his hips, tugging him closer. It took only a few seconds to remove any hindrances to their common goal, and for Theron to have Fynta balanced between himself and the wall on the toes of one foot.
Fynta let her head fall back with a moan, and a shudder passed through Theron. She couldn't help but smile when an oath escaped his lips, too muffled to hear what language it had been in. They moved slowly at first, in an effort not to disrupt their precarious balancing act. Fynta focused on the friction of Theron's body against hers, the way he filled her, and the overwhelming sensation of rightness.
Despite their practiced stamina, heat coiled in Fynta's stomach far sooner than expected, and she dug her nails into Theron's back, begging him not to stop. He replied with an animalistic grunt, and his hand tightened painfully around her thigh, the other locking her wrists above her head. Fynta heard someone swear. Maybe it was him, maybe it was her. It didn't matter. Mind numbing ecstasy suddenly encompassed her world.
Fynta brought herself back to awareness by force of will, even though she'd like nothing more than to take a long nap. Generally speaking, this was the moment when one of them should throw their clothes on, thank the other for a nice shag, and vanish before things got complicated. Instead, Fynta dropped her arms and leg, slipping from Theron's grasp to regain her footing.
"That was probably a mistake," Theron managed through a strangled laugh while resting his forehead against the wall above Fynta's shoulder.
Fynta laughed. "Probably, but you won't hear me complain."
"Right." Theron pushed away from Fynta, gathering his pants from around his knees before walking to the table to retrieve his datapad. Neither of them were under any delusions of love, but for once, Fynta didn't feel like killing him. In fact, Theron was . . . comfortable. "We need to have a chat with the target," he continued, scrolling through the information on his screen.
Fynta had just fixed her own clothing when Theron groaned. "Kriff, I stowed the guy in the 'fresher. There's no telling what he heard."
A grin split Fynta's face. "Think he'll mind if I use the shower before we interrogate him?"
As it turned out, the target minded, a lot. So much so, that Theron had threatened to zap the guy again if he didn't shut up. Fynta bathed quickly, then dressed in something comfortable and easy to make a getaway in if need be. When she returned to the sitting room, Theron had the target strapped to a chair, straightening from administering something via syringe.
"Has he talked yet?" Fynta snatched a piece of fruit from the bowl on the counter and leaned against the table.
Theron crossed his arms. "Not yet, I think he was waiting for you. He had a few interesting things to say about your . . . encounter."
"Did he now?" Fynta leaned forward, taking a bite from the fruit and swallowing before continuing. "Was it good for you too?" She had just enough time to get out of the way before he spit in her face.
Theron chuckled, "I think he likes you." The SIS agent snapped his fingers to recall the man's attention and waved the injector. "See this, Reese? I won't go into the details, because they are really boring, but, it's poison." Theron reached behind the counter to hold up another medical device filled with an amber liquid. "This, is the antidote. Tell me what I want to know, and you get it. Simple, right?"
Fynta smiled at the beads of sweat standing out on Reese's forehead as his eyes darted back and forth. "You won't get anything out of me."
Fynta closed the space between them without warning, her fist connecting with Reese's temple. The man swore as he rocked to one side, and she grabbed his hair. "Elevated heart rate causes the serum to spread faster." She pulled back for another strike. "Let's see how high we can go before you succumb."
"Kriff, you want to kill the guy before we get the goods?" Theron hauled Fynta away from the man, motioning with his hands for her to stay back. As he turned back to the guy, Theron shrugged. "She packs a punch, huh?"
Fynta grabbed a knife and twirled it through her fingers while Theron squatted next to Reese. "Look, she's the boss's woman, so I can't keep her off of you for long before I have to think of my own hide. Now, you could hold out until the poison takes effect, and yeah, I'd be screwed." Theron glanced over his shoulder, and Fynta grinned. "But, she'd only administer the antidote, have some fun with you, then blame your death on me. So, you lose either way."
Reese squinted his eyes at Theron first, then Fynta. "You sayin' you can keep that crazy bitch away from me if I talk?"
Theron nodded. "If you give up the information, her boss will be satisfied. He doesn't want a power vacuum any more than you do, but," Theron shrugged. "The man's got a business to run."
It took Reese a few seconds longer than Fynta thought necessary to make his decision, so she huffed and started forward again. "Okay!" The man leaned back in his chair, trying to put more space between them. "Okay, I'll give you the information."
Theron patted the man's hair. "Good boy, let's check it out."
Nikto District
While Reese occupied the refresher back at the Safe House, Theron and Fynta lay prostrate in the rafters of a warehouse, watching the movement below. "There," Fynta pointed, and Theron eased his body across her back for a better angle. Of course, Fynta couldn't leave well enough alone, and wiggled her hips beneath him. "Didn't get enough earlier, Shan?"
"Shut up, Wolfe," Theron shot back, but his lips quirked into an unwilling smile. "Looks like Reese told the truth."
"What did you give him, anyway?" Fynta elbowed the agent to encourage him to remove his weight from her back and repositioned her rifle.
Theron grunted, sliding back into his original position in the confined space. "Saline with food coloring. Same with the antidote, maybe we'll get lucky, and he'll give himself a heart attack before we get back."
"I could always stage a suicide." Fynta glanced at Theron through the corner of her eye, and it took him a full ten seconds to realize that she wasn't kidding. "I've gotten good at those lately."
The agent snorted. "I don't want to know. Here." Fynta looked at the burner holo he held out. "Make the call to the local authorities. We've found the weapon." Theron paused, making sure that his face was neutral and his eyes forward before continuing. "See if you can sound like a scared little lady."
Theron could feel Fynta's glare, and attributed his ability to stay in character to his excellent acting skills. With a sigh, she gave up on intimidating him and affected a concerned citizen tone. The terminology nearly made Theron break his silence with a fit of laugher. She alerted the cops to where a bunch of scary men looked to be loading something suspicious into a hovertruck. Fynta gave the coordinates, then shut the comm off. "Shouldn't be long."
The two waited in silence, both determined to ensure that the threat was taken seriously before pulling back to safety. "Dewu is under the impression that this is off the books," Fynta finally whispered, though she didn't look over.
Theron worked his jaw while trying to decide how much information to give the commando turned SIS spy. Sleeping with Fynta didn't make them friends. Hell, ninety percent of the time they were doing their damndest not to kill one another. Still, she had as much to lose as he did, and for some reason, Theron trusted her. Finally, he sighed. "I'm helping out a friend who got in over her head. She doesn't know I'm involved."
"Ah, the mystery girl again." Fynta nudged him playfully. "As much as you do for her, I'm surprised you haven't settled down yet."
"It's not like that," Theron growled. "And, she's not my type."
Sirens wailed in the distance, and the men below stopped moving in order to listen. "That's our cue," Theron whispered, squirming backwards towards their exit. Fynta followed, although grudgingly, and not until he smacked her ass to get the irritating woman's attention.
Once back at the hotel, Fynta put on a pout while Theron administered the antidote to their captive. "Good news, your info checked out. You're free to go."
Reese rubbed his wrists, eyeing his captors as he edged towards the door. "Who are you people?"
Fynta blocked his path, distracting him from the question because the last thing they needed was to start a gang war. "Can't I play with him, just a little?" She produced her knife, running the blade along the man's cheek. "I promise he'll survive this time."
"You know the rules," Theron warned halfheartedly.
Fynta huffed in annoyance and stepped out of the way, letting Reese scramble down the hall. The lift doors had barely closed before Theron tossed Fynta her duffle. "He'll come back with an army. We should get moving."
Slinging the bag over her shoulder, Fynta grinned. "It's always interesting being involved in one of your missions, Shan. I'll see you around?"
Theron looked up from stuffing the last few items in his pack, startled by the hope in Fynta's voice. "Probably, if Dewu gets his way." His muttered response seemed to amuse her all the more. They did work well together, as much as Theron hated to admit it, and Fynta never had a problem bending the rules to get the job done.
"Oh, I'm sure." Fynta stopped just outside of the open door and leaned in. "One more thing, sorry about the punch." She winked, then slipped from the room. Theron called a curse after her, then grinned as he rubbed his jaw. Fynta Wolfe really did have a hell of a right hook. Maybe next time, he'd be able to stay away from it.