Kessel Run Week Eight Challenge: Write an AU (alternate universe) story of at least 400 words where a character ends up in a committed romantic relationship with someone other than the person they ended up with in canon or in your existing AUs. That's right, guys, it's time to break up your OTP, or never let them get together in the first place. Whether or not the characters are happy about this turn of events is entirely up to you.
A/N: Look, to work this prompt in with my overall theme, there was really only one logical outcome: I'm gonna burn it all down. Thanks for the prompt, Vi, I hate it :P
Detour (Nadira Sirel, Ronan Jade, 21 - 22 BBY)
"Nadira Sirel?"
Lowering the periodical she was reading, Nadira glanced up. The young blond man at the counter was looking at her—of course he was, she realized. She was the only customer currently in the waiting area.
She set the periodical back on the table and stood. "Yes."
The young man nodded, then turned back toward his datapad. Through the large transparisteel window behind him, a speeder was on a lift with a human mechanic and a droid standing beneath it and examining the undercarriage, while another pair of mechanics—a Twi'lek and a Duros—appeared to be arguing over something to do with the speeder bike that stood between them, partially disassembled. "We fixed your blown motivator, but also discovered that your brake lines have a great deal of wear, more than you really want to take a chance with. We can have them repaired within a week; it'll cost an extra thirty credits."
Nadira winced. It wasn't an impossible sum, by any means, but it wasn't exactly nothing, either. On the other hand, flying a speeder with faulty brakes was a quick route to an early death. "I guess that's what I get for buying a used speeder."
Behind the window in the shop's work area, she saw out of the corner of her eye, the tall human mechanic pulled a section off the speeder perched above him—an access port? She didn't know much about mechanical things—and the droid beside him extended a thin manipulating arm to reach into the speeder's insides.
"These things happen," the young man agreed. "But it seems to be in good shape otherwise. Do you want the added repairs done?"
"Yes," Nadira said with a sigh, opening her bag. "You said thirty credits?"
"Yes, ma'am." He waited patiently, then took her credit chip and did something to the register in front of him while Nadira watched the tableau playing out behind him. She imagined that the work area was a noisy place, full of clatters and whirs and hums of machinery and loud voices pitched to carry over it all, but the transparisteel blocked all of it, leaving only a distracting pantomime. The human mechanic glanced toward the window, and their eyes met. He was a nice-looking young man about her own age, with dark red hair and brown eyes. A very nice-looking young man, she thought, and smiled at him. Something about his expression changed, ever so slightly, a new lightness and focus in his expression, and he smiled back.
The register beeped as a receipt emerged from the printing slot; Nadira looked back at the blond man as he took it and circled a date at the bottom. "It'll be ready then, ma'am."
"Thank you," Nadira said. She tucked the receipt into her bag, glancing toward the work area again as she did so. The red-haired mechanic's attention had been claimed again by the droid he was working with, and he was peering into the open section of the speeder he was working on. She watched for just a moment longer, but felt conspicuous standing alone in the lobby, her transaction obviously done, and so she turned away. Maybe he would be working the front desk when she came to pick up her own speeder.
She left the shop and headed toward her usual shuttlebus stop.
The ride home was uneventful. That was hardly uncommon, of course, but Nadira was thankful anyway. Even here on Coruscant, she found herself feeling uneasy with a galactic war going on, and the news reports of battles elsewhere only made her feel that much more fortunate to live on such a safe world, and grateful to live an ordinary, quiet life. She looked out the window, watching the familiar scenery pass by, until the shuttle pulled up at the stop closest to her apartment. She was only a few steps from the exit door when a passenger in the row just ahead of her stood up and stepped into the central aisle, swinging his bag over his shoulder. Nadira was too close to avoid the collision, and the bag hit her shoulder, knocking her off balance. She made a grab for something to steady her before she tipped completely over, and felt someone else's hand close around her arm, keeping her upright.
"I'm so sorry," the man with the bag gasped; it was he who'd grabbed her arm. "Are you all right?"
"Yes," Nadira replied, feeling her face warm. The shuttle was full, and nearly all eyes were turned toward them. "Thank you."
"I wasn't even looking—"
"Really, it's all right—"
"Hey back there," the driver called from the front. "I've got a schedule to keep. You getting out or not?"
"Yes," Nadira called at the same time as the man with the bag, and they looked back at each other. "Please, go ahead," she told him.
"No, I insist, after you—"
"I'm taking off in about thirty seconds," the driver warned, and the man with the bag exchanged another embarrassed glance with Nadira, then quickly stepped toward the exit and out onto the sidewalk where he waited, hand extended to help her out.
Nadira took his hand and stepped from the shuttle, holding his hand a moment longer against the backwash of wind as it took off behind her. She met his eyes, noticing that he was also flushed, and quickly looked away. "Thank you again."
"Please don't," he said. "It was all my fault to begin with. I should have been paying better attention."
"It's all right," Nadira said, lifting her hand to brush back a stray lock of hair. "It happens to everyone sooner or later."
"Javad Fardin," he offered, holding his hand out again.
"Nadira Sirel," she replied, shaking his hand. She had a hard time suppressing her smile now. The whole thing was absurd—a little bit embarrassing, a little bit amusing, and thoroughly absurd. "Nice to meet you, Javad. Even under these circumstances."
"Nice to meet you too," he said, and smiled. "Do you take this route often?"
"Fairly often," Nadira answered, and let her own smile slip free of its restraints. "Though perhaps not so much in the future."
"Ah," Javad said. "Moving?"
"Bought a speeder."
"Ah," he said again. "I congratulate you; the convenience factor is enviable. But it's a shame to let a new acquaintance lapse just because of that, wouldn't you say?"
Nadira couldn't help it; she laughed. "It's a fair consideration, I suppose."
"I'm on my way to work," Javad said, "or I'd offer to buy you a cup of caf to make up for all of this. But—" He opened his bag and rummaged within for a moment, coming up with a small rectangle of flimsi that he then held out to her. "I work at a small concert hall a few blocks away. We have a new leap-jump band coming in at the end of the week. This pass will get you in, if you'd like to see them."
She took the pass, then looked back at him. "This really seems excessive for bumping into someone on the shuttle."
"Not at all," Javad assured her. "If you do come by, just ask for me at the door. I'll make sure you get a good seat."
Nadira looked back at the pass; tucked it carefully into her own bag. "Thank you, that's very kind. Maybe I will."
"I look forward to it," Javad said. He smiled again, then walked off. Nadira watched him go, then headed for home.
"You'll find everything to your satisfaction, ma'am," the polite Besalisk behind the mechanic shop counter told her.
"That's good to hear," Nadira replied, surreptitiously looking past his shoulder toward the work area. A number of mechanics were milling around, but none of them were the red-haired man she'd seen before. "The brake lines weren't a problem, then?"
"One of our best handled that job," the Besalisk assured her. "And all our work is guaranteed. Any issues, you come right back here and we'll take care of it. But I don't expect you'll need any more work for a while. Looks like a good model you have there."
Nadira turned her gaze toward him fully. Really, the least she could do was be polite in return. "Thank you so much, I appreciate all you've done."
"Our pleasure, ma'am," he said. The work area door opened, and both Nadira and the Besalisk turned toward it. The mechanic who leaned into the lobby was, she rather thought, the Duros she'd seen before. She looked past him, trying to get a better glimpse of the others working in the back.
"You done out here, Eska?" the Duros asked. "We could use your help on this."
"I'll be right there," the Besalisk told him, then turned back to Nadira. "Zuva will bring your speeder around to the front in a moment, ma'am."
"Thank you," Nadira said again. He joined the Duros, the door closing behind them, and she was alone in the lobby once more. She watched through the window until she heard the sound of her speeder out front, then reluctantly turned away.
Zuva was a Mirialan woman, not the red-haired mechanic, and Nadira sighed as she thanked her and got into her speeder. Well, the important thing was that the brake lines were fixed. Her bag tipped on its side as she settled herself, and as she reached over to right it, she caught sight of the piece of flimsi that Javad had given her. That's right; the concert he'd mentioned was tonight. Nadira picked up the pass and gazed at it thoughtfully. She really didn't have anything else to do, and after the unexpected expense of this repair, a free night's entertainment was welcome.
Nadira checked the address on the pass, then started the speeder.
The late afternoon sun was slanting through the shop's front windows the next time she entered it, nearly a year and a half later, and recognition lit in the eyes of the man behind the counter even as it registered with her as well. It was the red-haired man from the last time, and he was smiling brightly at her. Nadira returned the smile without thinking as she stepped forward, sweeping her hair back behind her ear with one hand.
"Nadira Fardin," she told him. "My husband dropped off our speeder last week."
His smile faltered, then reasserted itself. "Your husband. Yes, of course." He turned back to his datapad. "Yes, it's showing ready. I'll—I'll just go tell them you're here, ma'am. Someone will bring it round front in a minute."
"Thank you," Nadira said, and watched as he entered the work area, feeling a slight pang as she did. He was still a very nice-looking young man, and she'd always liked red hair. And he'd remembered her, too, she was sure. Unusual, she imagined, for two strangers to remember each other a year and a half later after only a fleeting glimpse like that. If they'd had a chance to speak to each other that day…
But then, she really wouldn't change anything, would she?
Nadira breathed out the faint wisp of regret, and stepped outside the shop to await her speeder.