A/N: thanks again to everyone who's reading :)
The cantina was quieter in the day, as Ophelia had expected. She grabbed a caf from the bar and then sat one of the booths, flicking through — or at least pretending to — the data pad.
She was tired.
She remembered Krennic's words, and she remembered that they were harsh. That he had been serious. So she waited and waited. Waited for the cantina to fill up once more, and then she could make her move.
In a second, she'd finished her caf. She found that she did that — drink or eat too much when she was nervous. And she'd never been as nervous as she was now; after all, she was now a double agent working for both the Rebellion and the Empire.
She harrumphed. How many people could say they were part of that particular club?
Ophelia tried to be angry and whoever had put her in this position but she realised she couldn't. Realised she'd only end up resenting herself.
"Oh, no."
She'd looked up. And she'd nearly dropped the remains of the caf. She was so surprised by his presence that she stared at him for what could've been hours. The cantina seemed quieter, smaller. And she felt trapped.
She found her voice. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Fortnum grinned, little wrinkles forming around his eyes, and she found herself looking even closer now.
"Krennic sent me."
She pressed a palm to her forehead, pushed the hair out of her eyes. Then she glanced over to the bar, held out her empty mug.
"Then you'd better get me another."
Fortnum blinked, left, returned moments later, and Ophelia grabbed the caf hungrily.
She was really nervous.
"You were saying — Krennic sent you?"
Fortnum had got himself a bowl of something to eat; she wasn't sure what it was but it was loud and crunchy and annoying.
He swallowed. "Yes."
"And—?"
"Perhaps he didn't trust you." He snorted, continued to chew. "Although I can't think why."
Ophelia raised an eyebrow. "Me neither."
Then Fortnum leant forwards. "So you're not going to tell me what it is you're doing?"
"Does it hurt?" she asked, sipping at her caf, although it was really too hot.
He frowned. "Does what hurt?"
"Your leg. When you got caught in the explosion on the Star Destroyer."
He hushed her; she must've said Star Destroyer too loudly. "Not really. Not anymore. Krennic had you locked up for a good few weeks."
Ophelia saw something in his eyes then; she wondered what he was thinking. "So you want me to tell you what Krennic has me doing here?"
"We both know Krennic hasn't got you doing anything."
"What?"
"What I mean is, Tarkin's the one pulling the strings."
"Krennic seemed pretty in control," she said blankly, and she wasn't know if that was even what she thought.
"You got to know him well then?"
Ophelia didn't like the expression that swept over Fortnum's face then, and she hurriedly drank her caf. "No."
"Whatever the case," he continued. Then he reached to the side and pulled out a data pad. "Here. My orders. I'm your chaperone."
Great. A chaperone. Which presumably meant he knew why she was really there.
"Okay. You tell me." She caught his eye, dared him to look away. "Tell me why Krennic or Tarkin or whoever has me here."
He rolled his eyes, stood up and whispered in her ear.
"To infiltrate the Rebel base here."
She waited for him to sit back down. "Yes"
He grinned again, pushed the empty bowl back and licked his fingers.
Silence passed between them. She Waite for him to catch her eye again.
"You never did get your uniform back then?"
The question seemed to surprise him. "I— no, I didn't."
She sighed. More time passed. A bartender came up to them, eyed them curiously, and the moved on silently.
"We ought to go."
She raised an eyebrow. "We?"
"Yes."
"No. You go. I'm waiting for someone."
"Who?"
She sighed again, and her voice was now barely a whisper. "This bar is a favourite haunt of the Rebellion."
He blinked. "It is?"
"You Imperials really don't know anything, so you?" she said, almost laughing.
He did not laugh.
"Give it an hour or so, and a few Rebel sympathisers are bound to show up."
Fortnum nodded, apparently understanding. "Okay. Good luck." He tapped his fingers on the table. "So... What is it with you and Krennic?"
Ophelia bristled, and she wasn't entirely sure why. "What do you mean?"
"I'm not stupid, Lacemaker."
"Ophelia."
"What?"
"My name. It's Ophelia."
He nodded, wondering exactly why he should care about that information. "Okay, then, Ophelia. What's going on with the two of you?"
She blinked. "Nothing. Why?"
"As I said, I'm not stupid," he said flatly, and Ophelia realised he was no longer that flustered young Officer she'd met on the Star Destroyer. "You're captured on Tatooine. You manage to escape Imperial custody because there's a Rebel attack conveniently taking place at the same time you're arrested. And then you crash your shuttle — with Commander Krennic in tow."
She held up a hand. "I did not crash it."
"That's not the point."
"Do you want a drink?"
"Not really."
She harrumphed, slunk back in the chair. "Okay. Let me get this straight. I used to help the Rebellion on Tatooine — here, I mean — and I told Krennic this. I'm undercover."
"I know that," he said with a sigh. "I'm the one who's chaperoning you."
"Then why'd you ask me the question?"
"I didn't ask what you were doing here. I asked what's going on with you and Krennic."
She stood up, and the table shook. "And I told you." Before he could put a hand on her arm, she'd left the cantina.
Fortnum wasn't far behind.
"Look, I'm supposed to be meeting someone."
"Who?"
She sighed. Was he stupid as well as naïve? "My contact." Then she pulled him to one side, pushed him against the dusty, dirty wall of the cantina. "My contact from the Rebellion. We go back a way. We trust each other."
"You trust a Rebel?"
She let go of him. "You're meant to be my chaperone. So why don't you do it? Chaperone me."
And so they waited outside the cantina, avoiding the curious glances of passers by, ignoring the way the stormtroopers pushed and shoved the locals, trying not to laugh at the chittering Jawas selling dodgy droids.
Ophelia elbowed Fortnum, and he nodded. She left him, slunk over to the dark-cloaked figure who had swept through the alley way. She walked slowly, and then quicker, and soon enough she'd caught up with him.
She was whispering now. "It's me."
"Ophelia?" He didn't look at her.
"Yeah."
The cloaked figure stopped walking, looked down at her. "What are you doing here?"
"What do you mean? Aren't you glad to see me?" She liked up, about to kiss him, but he turned away.
"I heard you'd been captured."
"Well, I escaped."
"By the Empire." There was venom in his voice, and in that moment, Ophelia wanted so much to refuse the mission, to return to her life — their life — on Tatooine. It may have been dangerous and dusty but it was home.
"You know I'm good with my hands," she said shortly, but he didn't seem to be in the mood for her humour.
"Whatever the case, I need to know what you want."
"I suppose our marriage means nothing now, does it?"
He scoffed, nearly laughed. "We were married for barely a month."
"Still, it was a good month."
"Fine." She bit her lip, tried to steal a glance at Fortnum in the distance, shrouded in the suns' bright glare.
Then he lowered his voice, and his words were nearly lost to the desert wind. "There's a salvage yard not too far from here." He looked around; she wondered if he'd noticed Fortnum. He didn't appear to. "I'll meet you there at 2100 tonight."
"I need to speak to you about the shipment," she hissed.
That seems to make him stop, make him think. "You mean the trade?"
"Yeah, the trade."
"We'll talk about it later."
