Author's Note: Just a general warning to all you less than mature readers. This chapter contains some very minor smexiness and several hints at naughty activities. Please, no giggles from the cheap-seat crowd.

The Chaka Noodle Agreement

Issagra, Outer Rim Territories

For once, Ro was actually having a good dream. A very good dream.

There was no one clear image to the dream, only a diaphanous sequence of sensations that nonetheless caused her to shiver and pant slightly in turn.

Fire: that's what it felt like. Fire was racing from the base of her throat down her body, to pool in her chest, stomach and between her legs.

In the dream, she could see more colors than the Human eye could grasp and she could taste them as they melted on her tongue like a bowl of frosty treat.

Ro turned over in her sleep, further tangling the blanket around her gently twitching legs. Beneath the lids, her eyes were shuffling back and forth rapidly as the colors and the fire of her dream coalesced and swirled in a dizzying kaleidoscopic array and her skin began to prickle.

Acting on a long-held - and long unfulfilled - wish, her subconscious opened itself fully to the sensations flooding her. Ro tossed her head on her pillow, the rapid pulse in the throat shining through strands of pale blond hair. Her breathing hitched and one hand slowly opened and closed, as if reaching for something - or someone.

The fire continued to burn, grew in intensity, stretched and her mind reached out to embrace the flames, as helplessly caught in their tantalizing pull as a moon moth and...

The pain - hotter than any fire and a poisonous green - slammed into her just as Ro's vocal cords worked to emit a low moan.

A second wave of pain squashed the flames and scattered the colors and Ro jerked upright in her bunk, hands flying to her temples in a vain effort to push the pain out of a skull that suddenly felt too small and crowded.

What the...

She gasped and unwanted tears sprang to her eyes as the pounding ache in her head was joined by a bright flare of...of...Desire, hot and red surged together with the prickling burn of lust and the blazing yellow of feverish energy. Ro swallowed and felt the dizzying combination of emotions slide down her throat like frill syrup mixed with Zeltron pop-peppers.

"Oh sweet ladybabies." The words came out in a breathless whisper. Ro's head rolled back; her eyes closed and her breath hitched as it all...flowed down...

The mind-block slammed her again with a fresh dose of pain, tearing her back to reality.

Ro cried out and wrapped her arms around her head and ears, trying to get her mind clear enough to bolt down all of her mental shields, but losing her balance instead and tumbling off the bunk.

She hit the deck plates hard, unable to break her fall due to the blanket which had become hopelessly tangled around her legs and torso.

Another wave of mingled pain and desire washed over her, threatening to drown her in panic. The combination was robbing her of any sort of control, overwhelming all of her senses. She felt the pain pressing down on her from the inside; the...the hunger and enthusiasm crushing her from the outside.

Next the mind-block would freeze her in place and then she'd be stuck, unable to escape the alien feelings filtering through the ship like pollen.

Ro thrust her elbow against her bunk. The pain that shivered up her arm and into her stomach was nauseating, but it was immediate and neutral, coming from her rather than the two independent sources making her life a current misery.

Ro cried out and held her elbow tightly to her chest, avoiding the tingling, hard buds of her breasts as she did so. The throbbing in her elbow - she didn't want to consider all the other parts of her that throbbed - had the desired effect. For a telling moment, Ro's head cleared of all outside influence. It was like breathing in a gust of Hoth air: stinging in its frigidity, but revitalizing in its cleanness. She gulped it in and at the same moment locked every mental shield she had down into place.

The pain in her temples from the mind-block eased almost instantly.

Sobbing quietly in relief, Ro pressed her legs up against her chest and dropped her forehead on her knees, just breathing for a few seconds.

The deck plates were cool beneath her bare feet and she quickly became conscious of the fact that her nightgown was sweated through. And the pulsing flames that had invaded her sleep were still licking at the edges of her conscious mind.

"Ah, phooey." Now that she wasn't half-mad from pain and someone else's libido, Ro could untangle the threads that were vibrating so hard, they were making the Force hum in response. Two people; male and female and they were close. Just across from her room, in fact. The female was a stranger, but beneath the burning blaze of her lust were undertones of cool liquid and beckoning depths. Ro shook her head violently, clearing the presence of the woman out of her mind before she could be pulled under again. The male was...familiar.

Her fists clenched. "I'm going to kill him," she growled. It was Wren and why the sweet crumblebuns she hadn't guessed that in the first place was beyond her.

He must have returned to the ship after trolling through the Issagra Space Station and brought back...a friend. And judging by the peaks they were climbing in the Force, Cookie was having a bombad Hutt-load of fun with his newest pal.

As if the thought had summed it, a wave made of burning embers and spiraling lights broke over her and slid down her shields like raindrops over a viewport.

Ro leaped to her feet as if the floor had burned her.

Those two ain't stopping any tick-tocks soon, she realized. She had to get away from them, preferably to the other side of the system. Already she could feel the first warning echoes of pain as the mind-block felt the beginnings of cracks in her mental shields and prepared to step back in.

Hastily, Ro scooped up the clothes she'd discarded when going to bed, wriggling out of the nightgown and pulling them over in record time. As she did so, she caught a fleeting glance of her chrono and groaned. It was one in the morning, local time.

Stumbling out of her room while trying to pull on her boots, Ro almost shied back into the cabin.

Out in the corridor, the feel of them was much stronger, like undiluted perfume. And now the sound effects were kicking in as well.

Mockingbird was a well-built ship, but its walls weren't 100% soundproof.

Ro's face paled, then flushed as she heard the muffled, but still distinctive and unmistakable sounds of a man and woman engaged in a few rounds of intense limb-twister.

And a strange, new urge came over; namely to stay right where she was and...peep in on them through the Force.

Her stomach cramped up and a bitter wash of tears blurred her vision, even as bright spots of color danced before her eyes as Wren and his friend enjoyed each other's company. The thought shamed her and worse, she knew its source. This was about as close as she'd ever come to experiencing what Cookie and company had; voyeurism was her only insight into that particular brand of passion.

Ro didn't care if she made a sound. It was clear from the red and gold humming of the Force that the two in the opposing cabin were far too involved with one another to take note of an airstrike, let alone her. She made her escape with her hands clamped to her ears, sweat beading her brow and tears glistening on her burning cheeks.

Issagra Station was three kilometers long; a garish, noisy gambling pit filled to bursting with desperate smugglers and expectant crooks. She could surely manage to find a distraction there or else drown herself in the station's manic atmosphere. Either way, Ro wasn't planning on setting foot on the Mockingbird until Artee gave her the all-clear.

Five hours and absolutely no shut-eye later, Ro got a comm call from Artee, informing her that the pheromone levels in the air had returned to normal and that he was venting the ship's entire supply of recycled air and cycling in a fresh supply from outside.

Wearily, Ro dragged herself away from the glittering neon signs and noisy crowds of the Issagra Station, stumbling back to the docking ring and her ship with heavy eyes and a splitting headache. The euphoric and slightly desperate ambience of the station had indeed been thick enough to shield her from what was going on aboard the Mockingbird, but had only aggravated what was already working up to be a major vexation and migraine.

The ramp was already down and waiting for her and Ro felt a flicker of gratitude for her droid before dragging herself up the ramp and towards the galley. She didn't feel like breakfast, but she needed something to quell the sour feeling in her stomach and replace the missed hours of sleep. The Issagra Space Station, made out to attract gamblers as much as trade, was not conducive to catching a few winks of sleep after being driven out of your own ship and they only had an hour before they needed to haul jets.

Rubbing her temples, Ro passed the Mockingbird's lone 'fresher, hearing the shower run inside. For a moment, she was tempted to lift her shields and see if it was Wren who was up or his bed buddy, but decided against it. She could still feel the lingering effects of their lovemaking hanging heavy in the air, like the last dregs of an especially musky perfume. She didn't need the full taste to hit her Force-senses and send her running again like a hyperspace route, choking on emotions she'd never experience but as a bystander.

Listlessly, Ro got a plate from one of the cupboards, then turned on the perculator on a whim. Fixing herself a breakfast derived of her usual flair, she sat down heavily at the table and rested her forehead on the cool tabletop. Waiting for the perculator to finish and trying not to smell her ungroomed self, Ro listened to the gentle creakings of her ship and the sound of stranger in her 'fresher and tried to convince herself that the tears she felt pricking her sore eyes had nothing to do with despondency and everything to do with a lack of sleep.

Ro stared down balefully at the steaming cup of caf.

Normally, she wouldn't touch the stuff if she were a ten-foot pole. No matter the flavor, all caf tasted to her like muddy water, with a bitter aftertaste no amount of cream or sweetener could eliminate. She just didn't understand the attraction.

But these were extenuating circumstances.

Holding her nose against the taste, Ro drank down half of the mug's contents in one gulp, quickly biting into a thick slice of sweesonberry bread once she'd swallowed. The citrus tang of the sweesonberries took the worst edge off of the vile liquid.

The door to the galley swished open and Ro looked up, biting back a sigh.

Thinking of attraction and aftertaste...

The Nautolan blinked her large, black eyes as she saw Ro slumped at the table.

"Well." She had a voice that was dark and liquid, suggestive of the roiling waters of a storm tossed ocean. "I did not expect there to be another female onboard." The Nautolan looked Ro up and down, her many head-tresses shivering slightly as she took in the room's emotional state. "Who are you? A servant?"

Normally friendly and cheerful, Ro felt herself bristle. She didn't need the Force to sense the casual dismissal in the other woman's attitude, but bit back her urge to throw her half-full caf mug at the Nautolan's head.

Ro forced herself to take another bite of sweesonberry bread and decided to pay Wren's bed-partner back in kind. She gave the woman a quick once-over, her eyes lingering pointedly on the scandalously cut net costume, which revealed more than it hid and was only held together by several thin pieces of leather and the curves nature had endowed the woman with.

"I'm not a servant." Ro strove for a flippant attitude, but a small part of her cringed with the onset of some seriously low self-esteem. The woman was beautiful: buxom, with legs up to her face and a figure every artist Ro knew would have wept over. Her blue skin was smooth and invited the sort of touches Ro had gotten a taste of late last night. Though she couldn't have left Wren's bed more than fifteen minutes ago, the Nautolan already looked ready to dance for the Chancellor and a few hundred of his closest friends. She was sexy alright and Ro could see why a man like Wren would be attracted to her. Sweet crumblebuns, Sexy's attractions were practically leaping out at her. Compared to Wren's one-night-stand, Ro felt downright grungy with her unkempt hair pulled back into a messy bun and clothes that were over a day old and wrinkled, not to mention well-worn and meant to be comfortable rather than...alluring and see-through. But her foul mood won out over her inferiority complex and so she gave the woman still standing at the galley door a smile that showed all of her teeth - still unbrushed! - and said, "Norell doesn't need servants." 'Norell' was Wren's current alias and Ro had no reason to think he'd told Sexy anything different. "He's quite good at getting things done for himself." Hint, hint. "I do, however, on occasion take out his trash in the morning."

Sexy's many headtails twisted in anger and the blue skin of her cheeks took on a cyan tinge.

Well, Ro thought with a twist of her eyebrow, this one's smart enough to realize when she's being insulted. Cookie upgraded. Later, she might feel bad for such malicious thoughts, but right now, she was sleep-deprieved, grumpy and low on sugar and charitable thinking.

"You can't talk to me..."

"Trouble, ladies?" a laconic voice drawled from behind the Nautolan.

Both women looked up and Sexy quickly stepped aside as Wren swept into the galley. He was already dressed in a pair of loose pants and a maroon shirt, the dark stubble of his hair still gleaming wetly from his recent shower. Had they showered together? Ro quickly pushed the thought out of her mind.

Wren took one look at Ro as he walked over to the perculator, his eyebrows rising to his hairline as he noticed the mug of caf cradled in her hands. Then, for the second time that morning, Ro was treated to a rather unflattering appraisal.

"What the gfersh happened to you?" he asked as he poured himself a fresh cup of caf and took a quick sip - Wren preferred to drink his brew black and hot enough to scald. "Got run over by a kriffing ronto?"

From his sleep-accessory, such treatment was insulting. Coming from him, it was downright hurtful. And Wren was not a complete stranger she'd have a guilt-neurosis over. Without hesitating, Ro chucked her mug at Wren's head.

Clone and Nautolan ducked the improvised missile, Sexy almost tripping over her high heels in the process. The mug was made out of good plastene and didn't shatter upon hitting the wall. Instead, it bounced off in a rather impressive aerodynamic display, spilling luke-warm caf all the way.

"What is the matter with you?" Sexy demanded in outrage.

"I'm sleep-deprived. Learn to fear it," Ro snapped back. "And while you're at it, learn the quickest way off my ship."

Sexy drew herself up - an action which pushed her impressive bosom against the black net costume - and turned towards Wren.

"Are you just going to let her talk to me like that?" she demanded. "To you?"

Wren looked from Sexy to Ro. He didn't look offended to Ro - who was in no mood to unclamp her tight mental shields to get a better sense of his emotional state - but rather, surprised and actually a tad amused.

Leaning his elbow against the counter, he gave Sexy a shrug that expressed a galaxy of indifference. "It's her fekking ship."

Sexy gaped at Wren. "I don't believe you. You're just going to let that little..."

"Careful," Ro interrupted and held up her plate, cleaned of most of her hurried breakfast, "I've still got objects to throw on my side."

Sexy gave Ro a look that told her exactly what she thought of the un-showered and slovenly dressed half-pint sitting at the table and glanced back at Wren, who'd watched the silent exchange with the interest of a man considering whether getting up to change the program was worth his time. "I would have thought you were man enough to stand up to a little girl, Norell."

Wren didn't even so much as twitch. With amazing calm he titled his head back to regard Sexy.

I've got to get him laid more often, a part of Ro noted. He's downright mellow-yellow after a good romp. Which was, funnily enough, the exact opposite of her current state of being. Late-night adventures were, like caf, apparently not her thing and left behind a bitter aftertaste.

After almost a full minute of silent regard, Wren took another sip from his caf, putting the mug down on the counter and pushing it to a safe distance, before deigning to say, "What's your name again?"

Sexy stared at him, then let out a frustrated little scream and stomped out of the galley. Ro and Wren listened to her high heels clickety-clack down the corridor. Artee, still ensconced up in the cockpit, let the cargo ramp down for her and Ro could almost see the sparks she was leaving behind as she sashayed out of their lives.

Good riddance.

"Where'd you find her?" Ro asked bitingly. "Accessories R' Us?"

Not in the least perturbed by the loss of his bed-partner, Wren shot Ro a bemused look. "What twist got into your effing panties? Where's the 'Helya, Cookie, isn't it a wonderful fekking day to be alive?' crap smile I usually get?"

Blushing at the mention of panties - Sexy sure hadn't been wearing any - Ro snapped back, "I don't know. Why don't you go look for it? Preferably in a black hole."

Wren cocked an eyebrow. "Ouch. It bites. Don't tell me it's your delicate kriffing time of the month again."

"Chauvinist roba," she snarled.

"Prickly bitch."

"Jerk."

He flashed her a slow, lazy grin, the scar at the right corner of his mouth stretching the gesture into something that was downright wicked. "Actually, she jerked m..."

Her plate was not as sturdy as the mug had been. When she sent it sailing after Wren's head - she missed, of course - it shattered against the edge of the sink.

"Fek!" Wren's good mood was slowly but surely giving way to his customary irritation and Ro felt a spiteful satisfaction at seeing his face darken. Good, let him share in some of her misery. Served him right for being so inconsiderate of her. "What the fek is the matter with you, you barvy little bitch?"

"What's the matter with me?" she repeated in a voice that was slowly building up to a screech. Her cheeks were flaming from built up frustration - of every sort - and her hands were searching the table for a new supply of ammo. It would be good to not have to hold things in any longer; to let her emotions free rein, just this once, because he could take it and bet your fur and feathers he would take it. "I could ask you the same question! What think was going on in that masc brain of yours to let a total strange skirt giddy-up our loading ramp? Oh wait," she threw up her hands in disgust. "I forgot. When a masc sees a shapely built tailpipe, his brain slips right down his pants."

He stared at her, torn between his building anger and rising incredulity. But he could deal out a healthy dosage of punishment as well. "Jealous, cheeka? 'Cause sure as all Nine Hells no fraggin' male ever turned around and followed your vaping tailpipe back home."

The truth behind his words stung, but not for the reasons he thought. She was jealous, but not of Sexy's looks or the effect she must have on men. For the most part, Ro was comfortable and happy with her body. No, what burned her green with envy was what Wren and Sexy had shared that night, because she could never have that kind of connection with a man. She couldn't just give in to her urges and abandon herself to a few hours of wild fun like Sexy. Or even share some sweet and tender romance with someone truly close to her heart. Because it would be too dangerous. Because she was a Force-empath who'd never learned how to fully control her emotions and just one moment of reckless abandonment and she could emotionally scar any bed-mate for life. Or worse, fill him up with her own lingering desires until every last patch of emotion that made a person an individual was drowned and pushed out, leaving behind a pale and disturbed soul. She had the power to drive sentients mad. She could even kill and all it took was for her to become so distracted and unfocused, so lost to a single sensation, that she lost hold on her self-control.

But she couldn't tell Wren that. The humiliation of that secret - of her deepest failure - revealed would be unbearable.

Some of her inner struggle, her confusion and loathing, must have shown on her face, because Wren's brow furrowed and he took a step closer. Not close enough to be in touching range - he was always wary of a potential hug attack - but it was a clear signal that he'd noticed something was wrong and was concerned in his own, gruff way.

"Cheeka? Tooka cat got your tongue or did I just effing win an argument?"

Ro blinked and shook her head. Back on track. She needed to focus.

Yeah, like that was ever one of your strong-suits, a little voice at the back of her head taunted. If you could focus, you wouldn't be in this mess.

Sarcasm was an easy tool in situations such as these and Ro grasped it gratefully. "Did it ever cross your testosterone-laden mind to think that not everyone in a two-klick radius wants a front-row seat to your performance of Romp?"

At first, he clearly didn't get it. Then understanding caused his eyes to widen and Wren threw back his head and almost dissolved in laughter.

"You..." He was trying to talk past his fit of hilarity and not having much success. "You got..." Her partner was incapable of getting any further and simply leaned against the counter, laughing his choobies off.

Ro felt heat flare in her face and knew she must look like a scalded topato. "Keep laughing, Cookie. I can assure you, you won't be chucking no chuckles the next time you try to fill up on tart on this ship."

He wiped a hand across his face, struggling for control. The smile he flashed her was pure, sardonic wickedness. "Didn't like the fekking show, cheeka?"

"No." She crossed her arms over her chest and spread her legs slightly, imitating the stance he so often adopted in preparation for a fight. "And neither will your next member of the oldest profession if you don't take her someplace nice."

He didn't miss the stance or the threat, but it was clear he wasn't taking her seriously. His smile, in fact, took on a slightly patronizing edge. "Are you kriffing threatening me?" He thought it was a joke. He was about to learn differently.

Ro put on her sweetest smile and dropped the attitude, sauntering up to him and putting a genial hand on his bicep. Wren's gaze dropped down to the hand, then met hers again. Some of the good-humor had left his face, to be replaced by wary suspicion. He already knew this sudden change in mood didn't bode well for him and the galaxy at large.

"Of course I'm not, Cookie," she purred and batted her long lashes. "I'm threatening your manhood."

"What?"

She started walking her fingers up his arm. "Silly Cookie. Don't tell me you forgot? I'm a stellar Force-empath. You go trysting under my nose again and I'll make sure you stay as limp as an overcooked chaka noodle for the rest of your lonely nights." She tweaked his nose for emphasis.

He was too cute when he gaped at her like a gooberfish. "You wouldn't." He took a closer look at her face. "You effing would."

Her smile vanished. "In half a heartbeat," she assured him, then cocked an eyebrow. "Deal?"

He pushed past her to the conservator, no doubt to get his own breakfast ready, muttering unflattering things under his breath. "Yeah, yeah, kriffing deal."

"Stellar." She brightened, because he would expect her to bask in her victory, but her heart wasn't in it. Creating a buffer zone around her did not eliminate the lonely ache deep in her heart, but only served to emphasize it.

Have all the fun you want, Cookie, she thought at his back as she started cleaning up the mess she'd made. You deserve it. Just please, don't force me to stand at the sidelines, looking in.

Rule # 10: Living space and close quarters are horizontal tango free zones.