Author's Note: Welcome to the next installment of my Meet Me on the Battlefield series, also know as Fynta's disaster of a life. We're going to get a little careless with canon in this one because let's face it, there was a LOT wrong with the way it played out in game for certain classes.

I'll be finishing the expansions with this one and will aim for a bi-monthly update. (fingers crossed)

Part one: Family is more than Blood
Part two: Heart on a Trigger

Hope you enjoy!

The Gravestone
En Route to Voss
Three Months After Arcann's Defeat

Fynta glared at her armor with hands on hips and eyes narrowed. She could choose gold and white to honor Cinlat. The huntress had worn those colors when Fynta first met her, though she'd never explained why. Cinlat had changed to black and red shortly after Fynta and Verin joined her crew. Again, no explanation. Well, not to Fynta, at least.

Glancing down at her hand, Fynta grimaced. She didn't consider herself vain, but shades of yellow wouldn't work well with her skin tone. Too many people would ask if she was feeling well, then Fynta would get annoyed and punch someone. Fynta couldn't take another lecture on proper decorum for a military commander from Lana. White and gold were out of the question.

White and black then, or maybe black and grey? Those had worked in Havoc Squad, and had the advantage of providing decent camouflage. Fynta sighed. She didn't want another reminder of the days she'd lost. When this war was over, she and Aric would leave the Alliance to do...whatever it was that two retired soldiers did. They weren't going back to the Republic, that much was certain.

Fynta didn't turn when the door hissed open behind her. Strong arms snaked around her waist, and Aric's musky scent surrounded her in a haze of security. "Still can't decide?" The seductive rumble of his voice wasn't meant to send shivered up her spine, but it did. Fynta closed her eyes, drinking in the moment of calm before reality dragged them back into battle.

Fynta and Aric were steadily rebuilding the relationship that had been lost for so long. Between her confusion of new and old memories jockeying for priority and the years that he'd lived without her, there had been plenty of moments where ideals no longer meshed. Aric had grown in ways that Fynta couldn't fathom, and there were parts of her that he felt that she kept from him. Fynta treasured the quiet times like this. With Aric's arms around her and his chin propped on her head, she could go back to those nights in their secret apartment and pretend that the past six years hadn't happened.

The illusion shattered when Aric shifted to accept a holomessage from Shillet. As much as Fynta hated it, that was one of the tensest issues between them. He was a father, and while Fynta got along well with the girl, she wasn't a mother. Aric chuckled, undoubtedly at some clever pun the girl made, and tucked the holo away. "She shouldn't risk contacting me." His smile softened despite the words. "But, damn, it's good to see her laugh again."

"You're her father," Fynta argued, looking over her shoulder before staring at the bland chest plate again. Blue and grey. She remembered helping her own buir touch up the paint on his. They were nice colors, and wouldn't Verin be surprised? "From everything you've told me about her, there's nothing she wouldn't do to make you happy."

Aric resumed his earlier position, arms tighter than before. He tried not to push Fynta into the role that she wasn't ready for, but she recognized his desperation for a cohesive family. Fynta didn't think it would be so bad, the Nautolan seemed like a great kid. It was in her own skill as a nurturer that Fynta lacked faith in.

Together, Fynta and Jorgan stared at the matte black finish on her chest plate, a reminder of the limbo in which she was trapped. Two months had passed since Senya snatched Arcann from beneath Fytna's boot. That failure dragged on, haunting sleeping nights and creating an unsatisfying routine with no end in sight. Arcann was Fynta's great hunt, and she couldn't rest until he was dead.

"Maybe it's already perfect," Fynta suggested, leaning against Aric's chest. Her fingers stroked the thin layer of fur that covered his forearms where they crossed beneath her breasts. "Maybe I'm not meant to know yet."

Aric's lips brushed Fynta's temple. "Or maybe it'll come at the right time." He inhaled along her neck before continuing. He did that a lot, lately, memorizing her scent. "That color camouflages well, at least."

Fynta snorted an unexpected laugh before turning in her husband's arms. "Always the practical one. Not sure how I made it without you."

The smile that tugged Aric's lips didn't reach his eyes. They were dimmed by years of sorrow that Fynta wouldn't have survived. "You had good people looking out for you." He sighed, smile slipping into a familiar scowl. "Do you have any idea how annoying it is to owe Shan for dragging Havoc out here?"

Fynta shook her head. If Aric had gone missing instead, she'd have abandoned the Republic and probably gotten herself killed trying to find him. Then, Lana would have thawed him out with the news that he'd not only lost years, but had also become a widower. The amount of strength that it had taken for him to carry on long enough for them to be reunited amazed Fynta.

Pulling Fynta closer, Aric pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. "We'll be dropping out of hyperspace soon. Want some help with your kit?"

"Sure." Reaching for the troublesome beskar, Fynta looked over her shoulder. "Your men ready?"

Aric had been given command of the battalion slotted to take the plateau and open a path for Fynta's main assault. Neither had been fond of splitting up, but the Alliance was desperately short on experienced military leaders. Aygo and Aric were the most senior, which meant a lot of paperwork for Aygo, and the front lines for Aric.

"Everything is a go. We drop twenty minutes before you." Aric's eyes trailed over Fynta's body, a flash of desire lighting them from within before they settled on her face. He grinned openly at her accusatory eyebrow raise. She shoved the backplate into his hands.

"Can't blame a man for wishing." Aric's fingers skimmed down Fynta's ribs, his breath hot against her neck. She shivered, then nearly whimpered when the chest and back plate connected. The window closed; it was back to business.

Fynta cleared her throat as she bent forward to retrieve her gloves. Aric let her ass graze him before stepping aside to finish his own preparation. "Anyway," Fynta sharpened the word so that he knew she was onto his game. "I'll have Torian with me now, and I transferred Kaeto and Kozen to your group."

Aric paused while securing his pauldron, mischief draining from his glacial eyes. "Damn it, Fynta. You know how much I hate last minute changes to the roster."

"Yeah, I know." Fyna stalked closer with a smirk that would either make it worse, or ease his annoyance. Aric's nostrils flared, but not in the sexy way. She sighed. "I need the Mandalorians on the big push through the Alien Enclave. Kaeto and Kozen are open field warriors. It made more sense."

Aric rubbed the top of his head. "Fine."

Fynta grabbed Aric's gauntlet when he started for the door, forcing him to turn back. They held one another's gaze, the knowledge that this could be the last time they spoke bleeding the irritation from him. Fynta stood on her toes to give him a final kiss. "I love you, Aric Jorgan."

Aric lifted Fynta's hand and kissed the back of her knuckles. "Think you'll ever take my name?" It wasn't the response she expected, nor something she'd ever considered. That wasn't the way things were done in her world. People pledged their lives to one another, but taking on a different name felt like a mark of ownership or running from past shames. Verin had taken Cinlat's because he wanted to distance himself from their former clan. Fynta had followed her brother's example.

Fynta forced a grin, realizing for the first time what taking his name might mean to a man like Aric. Cathar bound themselves to a single partner, body and soul. To them, sharing a name was a matter of pride. She wondered if he'd take hers, then disregarded it immediately. There were too many ironies there to be taken seriously.

The more Fynta considered Aric's question, the more she realized that she could. Wolfe was just a name, one that she would gladly give up to made Aric happy. "I've done it before, what's one more name?" Aric's head tilted, brows pulling together. Shab, she'd never told him how she got the name Wolfe. It had been so long since she'd thought about it that her old clan barely registered anymore. "Long story, I'll tell you about it another time."

"I'll hold you to that," Aric warned, but there was a teasing note to his threat. He'd stopped trying to force the past from Fynta years ago, finally reaching the understating that Fynta didn't hide things to be secretive, but because they weren't important. Wolfe was the name Verin had given her after escaping their clan's massacre. She'd vowed to hunt down the people responsible and make them pay. Wolfe is who she'd been during the wildest parts of her life. Maybe Jorgan is who she could grow old as.

Aric watched Fynta while her thoughts spiraled light years away. She did that a lot, new and old memories stumbling over one another while her mind recovered from Valkorion's forced amnesia. She was still trying to slot everything into its proper place on the timeline, and Aric had learned to let her.

"Fynta Jorgan," she said after a moment, shifting the words around her mouth until they sounded almost natural. Fynta nodded again, adding a smile for good measure. "It's got a nice ring to it."

A Cathar's grin was an impressive sight. Aric's sharp teeth, so carefully hidden to avoid scaring others, flashed in a way that Fynta had only glimpsed a few times in their marriage. Exposing the full length of both upper and lower canines meant that he wasn't merely satisfied with Fynta's answer, he was ecstatic. Hearing his name attached to hers signified a finality on her part.

"Yeah," Aric agreed, voice lighter than she'd heard it in months. "It does."

Fynta had never been able to resist a smile like that. Not from Aric. She laughed. "After the war, once we've left all this behind, I'll take your name. Hell, we'll even have a ceremony and get a legal wedding, how does that sound?"

Aric silenced her words with the kind of kiss that left her breathless and whole all at once. It held all the emotions that he couldn't put into words. Aric had asked Fynta to make their marriage official for years, but she'd been afraid. Of course, Fynta had wrapped that fear in logic until she no longer recognized it for what it was. Recent months had proved her wrong. Fynta was a coward, and she needed to take the steps to correct that.

An alarm interrupted their kiss before it grew into something that neither had time for. With a long exhale, Aric pressed his forehead against Fynta's. "Stay safe."

"You too," Fynta whispered, unwilling to release her hold on Aric's belt. Now that she had decided to make the change, she wanted to do it immediately. Maybe Fynta should have, but the moment had passed again. Fear tightened her stomach that she'd missed her chance to do the only thing that Aric had ever asked of her.

Aric moved first, pulling Fynta's hands free and kissing them once more. He offered a tight smile, the kind that begged her not to do anything stupid until he could be there to watch over her back. Fynta responded with her traditional grin that made no promises about her own safety while demanding his.

"I'll see you soon," Aric finished, stretching their arms into the growing space between them as he turned to go. Fynta could see that there was more, but he kept it to himself.

Fynta forced deep breaths when their fingers lost contact, then her heart pounded an unfamiliar beat when Aric left her sight. Fynta told herself that this wasn't the end. They'd take Voss back, finish Arcann, then she'd deal with Aric. It sounded easy when put it into tidy steps.

Grabbing her helmet, Fynta started for the bridge to check on Koth before her team disembarked for the surface. Her confidence grew with each step, as did the assurance that everything would be fine. Somewhere in the back of Fynta's mind, Valkorion laughed.

Coruscant
Special Forces Headquarters

Elara smiled to herself, satisfied that she'd increased SpecForce efficiency by thirteen percent. Energy vibrated through her body as she sat, waiting on a call from Fynta. Elara had occupied herself by dealing with the adoption company to buy more time so she could clear up this mess with Jorgan. She refused to believe that it was hopeless; they just needed a little more time.

"Captain Dorne." Elara looked up to find Jace Malcome's secretary standing in the doorway. Her throat constricted with the knowledge of what would follow. Everything relied on her reactions during the next five minutes. "The commander requests a meeting."

"Of course." Elara secured her holopads in a desk drawer and locked it. She knew better than to make conversation with the woman as they walked. It wasn't her style, so any deviations from the norm would raise eyebrows.

The woman, Elara knew her name but rarely used it, opened Malcom's door, and stepped aside. The pity in her dark eyes made Elara's stomach clench. She hated lying, even for a good reason. It didn't help that she was completely rubbish at it. The bile at the back of Elara's throat was real enough. She held onto that sensation to keep her reaction from seeming scripted.

"Elara," Malcom began, nodding towards a chair. Using first names indicated that he wanted to be viewed as sincere, possibly friendly. Elara painted a quizzical expression on her face to hide the apprehension building in the back of her mind. Mr. Hyllus had suggested that they go into this without a script so that her reaction would appear genuine. His only instruction was to find a strong emotion and amplify it. Elara had no idea how to do that, but had agreed. Fynta had faith in her ability to present a compelling show, she wouldn't let her friend down.

Once seated, Malcom shook his head. "I'm sorry, I wish that there was some other way to do this."

Without waiting, the commander turned his chair to reveal the full size image of a man that Elara had come to know well. Even with her familiarity, Vector Hyllus struck a primal chord in her. The man was handsome, with fine bone structure and the bearing of nobility, but it was his solid, black eyes that made her breath catch. No doubt this is why they assigned him to the task. Mr. Hyllus knew how to play on his alien features when needed, and had chosen the garb of Dawn Herald, rather than the upper class Imperial he normally presented.

"Hello, Mrs. Cormac," Vector began as any proper diplomat would. Elara wondered if Malcom knew that he was speaking with the husband of the dreaded Cipher Nine, or that Vector was an accomplished spy himself. One who had infiltrated the Republic blockade more than once. She pushed those thoughts aside. Now was not the time for distraction.

Sitting straighter, Elara replied, not bothering to correct that she was military or that she hadn't taken Balic's name. Cleverer people than herself had chosen the dialogue, all Elara could do was try to keep up. Malcom's eyes never strayed from her face, and she spared him what she hoped was a curious glance.

Vector's hands intertwined in front of him, voice strong and polite. "We regret that it is with grave news that we reach out to your government." He paused to take an adequately deep breath, and Elara marveled at the man's skill. Even without proper pupils, Vector's eyes bore the sadness of his task. "Sergeant Balic Cormac was killed in action two days ago. I'm not at liberty to divulge the details, only that he did not suffer."

Even expecting it, hearing the words delivered for the first time, slammed into like a charging rancor, stealing her breath. "I-I was told that he was on medical leave for another month." Her voice sounded convincingly hollow, flashing into the denial stage of grieving. It had been decided that flavoring her lies with the truth was the only way to convince them of her sorrow. "How was he killed in action?"

Balic had been giddy as a boy on Life Day when he told Elara of their plan. He was to be declared killed in action, severing all bonds with the Republic and freeing her from political scrutiny. Seeing the logic in a plan was a long way from carrying it out to success, however. Elara knew that Balic was alive and well, but she needed to believe that he was out of her reach forever, even if only long enough to get through this meeting.

"There were unforeseen circumstances that required his...expertise." Vector cleared his throat as if embarrassed. "The commander has been inconsolable and would rather place this call on her own, but she was called to aid an ally."

Elara stood, trying to summon all the fury of a woman betrayed. Visions of her husband's broken body overlapped those of men that she'd treated over the years. She saw his leg brace torn away, limbs twisted at odd angles. That image did the trick.

"Did Fynta let him go out there?" When Vector opened his mouth to respond, Elara cut him off. "I need to speak to her at once." Malcom's dark brow lifted in Elara's peripheral. It was an admission that she'd spoken with the commander of the Alliance without informing them. An omission brought into the light to save Balic's life.

"Apologies, that will not be possible, she's out of reach-"

"This is inexcusable," Elara interrupted, sounding convincingly panicked in her own ears. "I want an explanation as to why my husband was sent into battle while still recovering from horrific injuries. Fynta should know better. She should have considered-" Elara stopped mid-sentence, the words forming on her lips before her mind had finished processing them. Stick to the truth.

"No, of course, she didn't." Elara's hands fell limp by her sides. Unexpected anger welled in her chest. "She's never believed in her own mortality, why should anyone else's be different?"

Silence followed those broken words as tears threatened to spill down Elara's cheeks. While she realized that this conversation might be staged, a very real one just like it could take place tomorrow. Fynta had already vanished once, and what if something happened to Aric? They'd already lost most of Havoc Squad, mere children, to this war.

Swallowing, Elara sagged slowly to the chair, exhausted. This wasn't an act, the stakes were real, and each day ticked off another moment that she missed with her family. If any one of those reckless idiots were killed before she'd had a chance to hug them, Elara might not survive it. Only Tayl and Shillet kept her going as it was.

"Again," Vector said in a solemn tone. "You have the Alliance's deepest sympathies."

The holo cut, leaving Elara to face Malcom's regretful gaze. "I wish he had come home," the commander sighed. "You and your boy have been through so much already. If there is anything that we can do…"

"I'd like to get back to work, please," Elara answered, squaring her shoulders to hide the pain of pretending her husband was dead.

Malcom nodded, and Elara stood to leave. "Captain," he called, a hint of regret edging into his voice. "These people, they don't have your best interests at heart." Elara turned to face him, chin held high. Malcom wet his lips. "I'll overlook what I heard, but a gesture of goodwill would go a long way towards exonerating you in the Republic's sights."

It had worked. Elara wanted to laugh at the predictability of men who sat behind desks. She'd been burned by the Alliance, and thus must surely want revenge. Elara released an elongated breath, chin dipping as if she'd been swayed by his words "You'll have my report before the end of the week."

Malcom nodded, hiding his pleasure remarkably well. Elara excused herself, eyes forward until reaching her office, then calmly shut the door. It wasn't until she'd swept the room for listening devices that Elara collapsed into her chair and finally let the tears flow freely. Balic is alive, she repeated. And I am not as strong as I thought.

Odessen
Alliance Base

Zolah stood to one side, cataloging the crates being unloaded from the ship. It was a beat up piece of junk that belonged to a Mirilain captain with a bad habit of drinking on the job. Zolah didn't understand why Hylo put up with such abysmal levels of debauchery, then reminded herself that their options were few. Individuals like Rossi were inevitable.

"Are you taking our advice?" Vector asked, appearing at Zolah's side like the wraith he'd become. Her implants had always intrigued him, and Vector had been all too willing to help her find their weaknesses. He tested them, hers and Theron's both, and delighted in finding some way to surprise them. There was an innocence to Vector's subterfuge that she'd lost decades ago.

"What advice would that be, darling?" Zolah responded in a sweet voice as she ticked off another item on the inventory sheet. Of course she knew what he meant, but the agent inside her couldn't help but push back whenever a possible flaw was scrutinized.

Vector chuckled and kissed her cheek. "We have not seen you down here in some time. Have you learned anything of value?"

Zolah huffed and ignored the question. Vector had been trying for weeks to lure her out of the war room to mingle with the rest of the base. He claimed that the pulse of their Alliance was shifting, and she needed to attune herself to its ever changing song. Zolah felt her time was better used in the ops room, crunching numbers and data. She had no need to understand the people unless it directly affected a mission.

Still, when Vector made a suggestion, it was unwise to ignore it. The man was suave and clever, if in a different way than herself. "We're three bottles short on sterilizing agent." Not that Zolah needed to look far to find them. "That is considered theft."

"It would be," Vector agreed. "Were it not for the spoken agreement with Fynta. Payment off the books for flying through Republic controlled sectors."

Zolah blinked, stunned for the first time in memory. "How do you know that?" It didn't surprise her that Fynta bartered under the table. Supplies were becoming more scarce, forcing pilots to venture into areas with heavier restrictions. Being caught on Rossi's run, with his cargo, carried a severe sentence.

Vector put a hand on Zolah's elbow to guide her out of the hangar. "We listen." As they walked the passages of the base, he pointed to various individuals, people that Zolah had never noticed before, and explained where they had come from. She stood in awe of the capacity for sentient interaction Vector managed without going insane.

Stopping, Zolah pulled her husband to the side and lowered her voice. "You know that I can't be that person." The mere thought of getting to know all of the inhabitants of the base the way that he had threatened to give her a migraine.

Vector offered the knowing smile that Zolah hated so much. Had it graced anyone else's face, she would have smacked it off of them. Being her husband came with a certain level of immunity. "We do not expect you to be." Zolah lifted a brow and crossed her arms. "We only want you to be aware."

Zolah started to protest, then closed her mouth. Perhaps Vector was right. She didn't have to socialize, but understanding who made up the Alliance would make assigning tasks easier, something more than words on a report. And, if Fynta wasn't against greasing a few palms to get results, Zolah was perfectly capable of that. "You might be onto something, love."

Before Vector could preen, his comm buzzed. Both looked at the pocket in his stately robes until it sounded again. "Odd." Zolah waved for him to retrieve the device, becoming impatient with the lack of momentum. She wanted to know who would call that frequency. The options were few, Theron being at the top.

Vector managed to answer before the call rolled over. Zolah felt her brows shoot skyward when a stern, blonde haired woman with a severe military bun appeared on the small device. "Captain Dorne," Vector breathed, clearly surprised to find her on his comm. "How may we assist?"

"It's imperative that I reach Major Jorgan or Fynta." The woman's accent surprised Zolah, though it shouldn't have. She'd met Elara Dorne years ago on Yavin, but the posh tone had become so foreign in the previous years that Zolah felt a pang of nostalgia for the Dromund Kaas she'd known as a girl. "I can't reach Balic, either."

"We can not speak as to the whereabouts of your husband, but Fynta and the major are engaged on Voss. That part of our conversation was not a lie." Vector glanced over Zolah's head, then nodded. "On second thought, we may know where Sergeant Cormac is."

Elara sighed, rubbing her temples to relieve whatever stress she could before squaring her shoulders. "I must speak to Jorgan before the end of the week. Please relay my message, Mr. Hyllus. I will be in your debt."

"Nonsense." Vector waved a hand, throwing away what Zolah considered to be an unbelievable opportunity. Elara was inside the Republic blockade. The amount of information she could provide the Alliance, and perhaps later, the Empire, was astounding. Better yet, she worked personally with Jace Malcom. Though a woman with her breeding might be insusceptible to blackmail, honor could be used against her.

"You have my thanks," Elara answered, posture relaxing marginally. Zolah doubted a less critical eye would have noticed. "If you happen across Balic, please tell him that I called."

Zolah heard the disappointment in the woman's voice, but took no pleasure in it. Of all the members of Havoc Squad, Balic Cormac was the least unlikeable. He stayed out of the way, displayed table manners, and didn't snarl or drink himself into a stupor. Zolah sighed at how far her standards had fallen.

Vector ended the call, then pocketed his comm and kissed Zolah's cheek. "Where are you going?" She asked when he started down the hall.

"The creche," Vector replied, pausing only long enough to smile over his shoulder. "The sergeant turns his comm off to avoid waking sleeping younglings."

"Of course he does," Zolah grumbled as she watched her husband retreat. She couldn't contain a sense of smug satisfaction in her choice of partner. Though Zolah would never emulate Vector's natural ability to connect to people, she could gather information. That was close enough to building a relationship. It's how she began with Vector and Theron, and that had worked out well enough.

Turning on her heel, Zolah started for the security room. It had been too long since she'd exercised her intelligence skill for more than data analyzing. It was time to stop searching the stars, and focus on what lay beneath the layers of diversity at home.