(author's note: this is not in the timeline of Equivalent Exchange. Instead, it's the answer to a question I found myself musing over- if Zakuul had never invaded, what would happened to Theron and Nine? It's not a happy answer. Warning: major character death.)

hold on to yourself ('cause this is gonna hurt like hell)

There were a thousand ways it could have gone, in the end.

She turns her head, a split second too late, when she sees the glint off the scope out of the corner of her eye and the shot takes her clear through the temple and she falls-

He should have known better; this was her territory and she knows it like the back of her hand and the tunnels beneath the city are full of horrors. There is no way out, not-

That is not how it happens.

They've been hunting each other for years now, she and Theron, as the war dragged on. There are so few of them left now on both sides, Sith Intelligence and the SIS both worn thin by attrition, and they know each other too well to make it easy; they ran circles around each other until one day he sends her a message.

She knows, before she opens it, what it will say.

To: IX
From: TShan .gov
Subject: Drinks?

I'll be on Corellia for a few days next week- a work assignment I can't get out of. I've heard the new bar at the Star of Coronet's worth a stop. Drinks on me?

-T

(She knew this day was coming. She just didn't think it would be quite so soon.)

To: TShan .gov
From: IX
Subject: Re: Drinks?

Let's make it dinner- the restaurant's better than the bar. Seven o'clock on the fifteenth?

-IX

To: IX
From: TShan .gov
Subject: Re: Re: Drinks?

See you then.

-T

It could just as easily have been a day before, or a day after, but the fifteenth was midweek and business would be slow. Less potential for collateral damage that way. She spends the next few days getting her affairs in order- her finances, her networks, all the contingency plans to be set into action should she not survive. (Should: she may as well not kid herself. There's only one way this can end, and she's so tired of the war that she is ready for it.

It will be good to see him again, one last time.)

She is ten minutes early coming down from her room and Theron's already seated at a table at the back corner of the restaurant.

He smiles when he sees her, glancing down at her dress- she bought it yesterday, a simple black sheath; it seemed appropriate, given the occasion- and back up to her face, red lipstick and her hair done up with jeweled pins. He's in black, too, a sleek leather jacket still stiff and new-smelling, a buttoned-up shirt and neatly-pressed trousers.

"I thought I should wear something different," he shrugs, "considering the circumstances. You always said the old one was too flashy."

"It is." She sits down carefully when he pulls out her chair. It won't be here- that's not his style. They may as well enjoy dinner. "Though I will admit I was rather fond of it. Hello, Theron."

"Hi, Nine. It's been a long time."

By dessert they've both drunk too much. In their defense, the champagne was excellent.

She charges it all to her account; he protests for a minute, then lets her. It won't matter in a few hours, in any case.

"I've got a room," she says, "if you'd like to come up."

There's no way out of this. Orders are orders and his are clear (Kill or capture by any means necessary- he shows her the mission briefing. She will never go alive. He knows that.) But-

His hands only shake a little when he undoes the fastenings of her dress.

It's been almost three years since Yavin and his kiss makes it feel like yesterday and it makes her think, just for a moment- what if they just run? There must be somewhere they could hide, some backwater planet where they'd never be found-

They'd be bored out of their minds after a month, if the Council or the Republic didn't find them first. There are things worse than dying.

There's no way out of this.

She pulls him down onto the bed.

Later, after, he gets up, gets dressed. She'd left a bottle of Whyren's on the bar, two glasses ready beside it, and she wraps a dressing-gown around her while he opens the seal- he checks it first, of course. She expected him to.

She waits for him to take a sip before she drinks, too, as he sits back down beside her.

"So." He drinks, again- she expected him to do that, too; he always drank too fast when he was thinking. "How do you want to do this?"

She smiles, slow and sad, and raises her glass to tap against his, and she watches his face change and she knows that he knows.

"The glasses."

"Yes."

"How'd you know which one I'd take?"

It won't be long. Colorless, tasteless, swift-acting and best of all, painless- he deserves that. He would have done the same, she thinks. "I didn't."

"I- Nine-"

"You should have enough time to make it back to your room, if you prefer. I've no one left who'll care, but if they find you here with me, Theron-"

He sets the glass down, cups her face in his hands, kisses her hard and she can taste the blood on his tongue or maybe it's hers, she can't quite be sure anymore. "No. No- come here."

Even now it's a little hard to move- was she too generous with the dose? She curls onto her side and he half-falls beside her, arm around her waist; she lifts his hand to her mouth, presses her lips to the back of his hand as she feels his breath, slowing, soft now on the back of her neck, and-

It won't be long.