"Stay back! Stay back! Stay back!"

Guri was under that piece of rough, canvas fabric. His blood was soaking into her knees. His brains… his face was no more… his hand was there, she could see it, just at the edge of her jacket. Crushed, misshapen. He'd tried to catch himself. She wondered if it had hurt—it had to have hurt—those impacts as he fell, as he tumbled, breaking himself into pieces before the hard permacrete surface caught him and ended him, shattered him.

"I don't know what to do," she confessed, eyes wide and panicked but voice even. "Stay back until I can think. I have to move him. I have to….. I have to…"

"Come here, Ad'ra," Skip called to her. Stood a full ten feet away. She'd drawn her pistol when others had run up on her. "Come away from him and let us-"

She shook.

Shook her head at him, surely. But shook.

Every fiber of her seemed to shake.

Her finger was in the trigger assembly. Poor form.

She carefully released it, replaced it on the hard plasteel hook-guard outside it.

"He fell," she told the man. Focused on him.

"I see that. It's going to be all right."

"I never saw that part before. I didn't know. He made a sound. He didn't scream. He didn't call for help. He tried to catch himself. He wasn't dead yet. Do the dead tumble like that? He broke himself up trying to grab a handhold. I watched him. I watched him all the way down and I couldn't move and I didn't know…"

Hashery was there. Thank gods. H.G. would know.

"I didn't shoot him. I shot the others. I didn't know. How did they get them back? How did they… what do I do now? I've never… I didn't know it looked like that, from here, from where they were… I don't know what to do."

"Shush, child," she was soothed. "Let me-"

"Don't look at him! Get away! Get back from him!"

She shoved away from the hands. Shoved the hands away from him.

"I need a litter. And a sheet. And a bag."

.

She shot bolt upright, fought the hands fighting hers for control.

"Stop it!" Vau hissed at her. Took the blow to the face before he could overpower her thrashing body. "Stop it! It's a dream, Ad'ra! It's just a dream and no one's coming for you."

She froze, gulping for air.

He'd dressed, it seemed, after their loving. Had pulled on a black undershirt and loose shorts.

She'd never seen him dressed this way. Didn't know that he simply—even after decades—simply wanted free of the beskar'gam sometimes. He'd grown up in a society of posh fabrics and luxurious comforts. When he was in for the night, when he worked in his rooms, sometimes he wanted the looser, freer clothing.

Now he reached for her, pulled her to him, tight against his chest.

"Which one was it?" he asked.

"What?"

"Which one did you dream of?"

"Guri," she answered.

He didn't know what that meant. Without more information he didn't know which death, which mission, she'd relived.

He hadn't been one of the ones to rush in that morning when the man had fallen to his death.

He held her, though, and stroked her hair.

"It sucks so bad," he said softly. Blinked. Rocked her. "It sucks so bad, Ad'ra."

He hadn't lost any in training yet. Damn near did some of them in himself a time or two, but he hadn't lost a single one of his boys. Saw the way the others suffered, though. Wondered how any of them were going to survive sending them away. Hell, Rav Braylor—tough old bird that she was—had wept for the last two days at one of Vhonte's lads getting himself trapped, probably drowning before the tube he'd been wiring blew. So his last mission was a success at least.

He wondered if that was what had set Ad'ra off.

He nuzzled the hair away from her temple and kissed her hard there. Just held his lips to her sweet flesh and let her feel him around her.

There were no words of comfort.

"It sucks so bad. It just sucks."

.

He hadn't been beside her when the thrashing had started. Mird heard it before he had, keening quietly from his nest and rocking his head side-to-side at Vau's closed door. He'd glanced up from his work. Wondered if she was up, dressing, and the strill heard her moving around. Or if she'd gone to the 'fresher to clean up. Re-eval. He'd wait for her out here. Give her some privacy.

Something in the animal's demeanor changed, though, and the hackles went up. He'd heard her then, heard her call out, heard the tears and the frustration in her voice.

Moved fast. Found her like this.

Suffering.

"Shush, Ad'ra," he ordered sharply. Tilted so he could curl around her on the mattress, pulling her back down, cradling her against his chest.

Let her tears soak into the front of his shirt while he rubbed his hand down her hair over and over and over. Held her long after she quieted. Just lay there and held her as tight as he could. Prayed peace over her. Prayed justice and judgement over Fett for giving her a place here.

This was no place for her.

She'd never been anywhere with a garden. She was fascinated with them.

She dealt death for a living and wanted to know how every civilization they taught the clones about watered their crops and if they grew flowers for personal satisfaction.

This was no place for her, this damned clinically sterile city in the middle of a never-ending hurricane.

His lips found her brow and he kissed her again.

"Shush, ad'ika. Rest. It just sucks and then you move on and go to the next."

She nodded against his chest. Shifted closer to him.

Closed her eyes again and slept with the sound of his heart beating under her cheek.

.

.o0o.

.

The next day he went back to pretending he barely knew her. Walked past her in the halls without more than cursory acknowledgement. Didn't seat himself beside her at Fett's unnecessary meeting, despite the chairs open on either side of her. Ignored the urge to find any reason whatsoever to comm her, to send her a message, to make up an excuse for contact.

Maintained it remarkably well for the seventeen hours it took her to come to him.

"I'm sorry," she whispered when she joined him on the balcony overseeing the ordnance depot. Good job, that, the charge that sent up just enough metal so that gloved hands could reach out, bend it further, and drop into the new egress.

"What on earth for?" he asked sharply.

"Last night. Or… I guess… this morning… I…"

"We all have nightmares, Ad'ra," he told her bluntly.

Her shock slapped up against him like a palpable thing. He twisted. Looked down at her.

Sometimes he wished their buckets had the option of revealing the face inside.

"I… I… I…"

He chuckled.

"Did you think that I was such a hard heart that things never bother me?"

"I know things bother you. I didn't know you let them disturb your rest."

He shifted, turning to rest his elbows on the railing, splaying his legs out in front of him.

"My usual SOP is to work my ass off, stay up until all hours. That way when I go to bed I'm too tired to notice bad dreams. Go do something menial so your hands are occupied and you're processing in the back of your mind while still being productive."

"Oh."

She didn't know what else to say.

"I think better when my hands are busy. It helps me focus. Takes the edge off of my mood when I'm irritated."

"That's why your beskar is immaculate and your rooms are spotless. You just think you're a neat-freak. What you are isn't obsessive, you're a compulsive worrier, then."

"Think what you want."

"I didn't thank you."

"For absolutely mind-numbing sex or for holding you after?" he asked.

He thought he could hear her blush of chagrin when she turned to look at him.

"Take off your bucket," he demanded.

"Why?"

"I want to see your expressions when I make you speechless."

"You're an asshole," she told him. Turned around.

He followed her. Jerked her around.

Hauled her up against him.

"No one could see us up here," he told her. "Take your kriffing bucket off."

She shook her head. Denied him. "I don't think you should kiss me out here!" she squeaked.

He was incredulous.

"Not out here," she pleaded.

Turned again. Took his hand in hers and gave him a tug, begged him to follow.

He followed. Of course he followed.

.

.

By the time the doors closed behind them his hands were shaking for her. He ripped off his bucket, slung his gloves to the table. Caught her up against him.

"Did you eat dinner yet? Are you hungry?" she asked, nervous. She was nervous.

He laid his lips on hers.

"I'm starving . I need the taste of you," he told her. Devoured.

Wrestled with plates, seals, zips, clasps and clips. Gasped and groaned and trembled even as he made her tremble. Made her knees buckle.

"This is ridiculous. This is why Mando'ad adopt instead of procreating. You can't get to the other person fast enough," she laughed up at him.

"I'm not above using a can opener on you," he swore, ripping away another panel. He bent, pulling them from his own knees and calves. Hitting the release on his cetare.

Finally, finally, just the barrier of the kute under their armor. He was hard as a rock when he tipped her, pressing against her. Her hands were so fucking sweet against his overheated skin as she stripped him of that, too.

"Ah. Ah. Ohhh. Oh, Ad'ra," he panted as he slid inside her.

Warned himself to be gentle even as she cried out in her own pleasure.

He'd felt the strain of unused muscles throughout the day. Knew she must feel some soreness at least.

He tilted his head back against her strong fingers. The way she handled him made him want to purr like some jungle cat. Made him want to lick his lips in pleasure and scream out the absolute perfection of being deep inside her while she touched him.

"Why is your bed so much bigger than mine?" he gasped instead.

"What?"

She went absolutely still.

He gestured with his head to the size of the mattress under them.

"You're a third of the size of me. Were a tiny thing when you got here. How did you get the larger billet?"

"You're addled." She closed her eyes when he shifted down on his elbow and slowly slid against her, pressing the length of him against her before ensheathing himself again.

It made her gasp. Made her cheeks burn in shame at the feelings that welled up in her.

"Please, Vau."

How could he know what that would make her feel, the thick hot length of him pushing up against her, then gliding into her. Skimming over her. Then inside her. All the way until he could circle his own pelvis against hers. Pulling out so deliberately to do it again. Stroking against her. Now into her, the tip of him angled so she felt every inch of the invasion. Again. Again. She gasped. Pleaded. Begged. Trembled and cursed him. Curled her nails into her palms.

"I outrank you," she said weakly.

"That's against the rules. Can't pull rank."

"No. I mean… the bed… I outrank you. I'm next to Fett. Rank hath privileges, osik like that."

Interesting problem. He'd followed her here because it was closer to where they'd started than his billet across the compound. Something to think on. He wondered how soundproof these rooms were. Knew damned well there'd been other pairings and partnerships amongst the Cuy'val Dar.

You couldn't put that many healthy men and women together and not expect some rutting.

"I wonder if this room was added as an afterthought. It's bigger, but lacks some of the amenities of mine."

"I assume they thought we'd be working together in the office if I needed desk space," she told him.

He smiled down at her. Warmly, which was disconcerting.

"You feel so fekking amazing."

It made her beam up at him.

"I should probably be the one to thank you," he told her.

Stroked down the pretty face. Outlined the lips where she'd dragged them between her teeth again.

Tonight he bit. Suckled, laved, nibbled, and made her pant, no more than the torture of his teeth and lips and mouth on hers. He just buried himself hilt-deep and waited her out, those long legs wrapped around his waist and anchoring him inside her. He felt her clamp around him as she fought off the orgasm that was so close. Moved to her neck and marked her there.

No one would see it. No one would know.

He would, though.

He closed his eyes and let his hips move as they would, pounding up, higher and higher and higher toward that crest. Held himself apart from her, lifting himself so that his arms were extended, gave himself the leverage to plunge harder into her.

Kept on long after she'd shouted that she'd seen gods and heavens and stars.

Trembled through his own capitulation.

Hung his head, sweat dripping from his brow.

"If there's anything else you want me to teach you, you'd better tell me now," he decided. "I'll be dead in a week of this."

She let out a little half-laugh, swallowing hard and trying to catch her breath.

"I'm teaching myself how to dance," she told him. "Real dancing, not Mando chants and war lines."

That made him smile.

"I'll take you dancing," he promised.

"You know how? Like in holovids, Walon. Girl vids, probably."

He nodded. "Royalty, remember. I'm the product of the society that inspires those holovids."

.

It was hard to sleep the next night, then the next and the one after. He tossed and turned. Got up more than once to move around his rooms, looking for something to take the edge off, something to occupy him. Took another shower, a longer one. Smoothed the water over his face and told himself it was madness to think he could smell her on his pillow even though he'd changed the sheets. Poured another drink when he got out and wondered if she'd like the bottle he'd opened. Worked on his training schedule. Plotted. Got out his datapad and looked some stuff up. Set it aside and reminded himself that he wasn't courting her.

Placed the order anyway. He'd deal with Fett's irritation.

Looked at some specs. Made another purchase.

Imagined their boss's frustration when he told him he either needed him to play post master or else arrange a drop point.

Win-win.

He liked to win.

Fek.

He liked her in his bed. Liked being in hers.

Wanted her back here and under him and screaming his name.

.

.o0o.

.

"Wait," he told her, dropping her hand to move to the control panel near the wall.

She'd bent, scratched Mird under the jaw.

"You're getting chubby, kitty," she told the strill.

Vau took offense. "He is not."

"He is. You need to get him up and moving. I'll take him with me tomorrow."

"Oh great plan. There's nothing says We're sleeping together, like sharing the family pet," he countered.

"Do you miss hunting, little Mirdy?" she cooed, shaking the face so the loops of fur—and, yes, some extra poundage—wiggled and flopped. "Do you want to go with my babies tomorrow and fly from the steps? We're going to rappel down stretch lines. Won't that be fun?"

"Not if one of you gets eaten."

She grinned at him. Blinked when she saw him offering her another rose.

"What is this?"

"Well, as I suggested before—and apparently you don't have the near-didactic memory your slave-lord boasts of you, so you should probably take notes—a man presents a flower to a woman when he wants something. Or on memorable occasions."

"Which is this?"

"This is your first dance."

Her absolute delight made him smile.

"Wait. I look like this… I'm…"

"We're just staying in. And you're perfect."

He reached for her, tugged her close. His gaze flickered over her face.

"May I loosen your hair?"

She nodded. Reached to help him.

Today it fell in layers. She'd done something with matching braids and coils on either side of her head and when she released the first one the sides were still pulled back.

"You're beautiful," he told her, reaching for her hands.

She pinked. Looked away.

"Walon… you don't have to…"

He cupped her face. Pressed his lips to hers. Looked hard at her.

"You're perfect and you're beautiful. I'm the one who looks at you, ad'ika. I should be the only one with a say in it."

She nodded.

Gulped.

"Dance with me?"

"I don't know how yet," she reminded him.

"I do," he said softly.

Pulled her into the open space, tucked her hand in his, and caught her waist with the other. Moved to sway softly.

She was breathing harder than if she'd run a kriffing marathon.

"It's easy, Ad'ra. It's just swaying. Following me. Like sparring, but working together. More like when you learn the motions and are just repeating them. See? Back and forth. Back and forth. Easing around when I put a little pressure on you. Just being close. Listening and moving and just being part of a moment."

Her face was rapt, staring up at him.

"I love it," she told him.

He nodded. "I thought you would."

He lowered his lips when she reached up for him. Rested his cheek against her temple when they parted and swayed with her. Circled her around the floor, the music of a forgotten ballroom echoing in his head as his heart thumped in time with hers.

Her voice was like velvet in the near-dark.

"Um. Isn't it, in the 'vids, it's more like… a box, I guess. His arm is all the way out and she's holding her skirts…"

He nuzzled the side of her face. Shook his head.

"Life isn't a vid. This is better. Voice of experience here, this is better."

He had his hand at the side of her ribcage, just barely grazing over her with his thumb sometimes. Caught the other one in his huge palm. Had their elbows tucked in tight to their bodies. Barely moved his feet, barely dipped his hips a little as he rocked her. Her free hand was up on his bicep, just curled around his arm. Toying with his insignia a little bit.

Vau smiled down at her and it was such a pleased expression he wore that she dropped it. There was plenty of time for daydream dances.

"You're so handsome," she told him in an undertone. "Something about the way you stand, the way you move. It's almost leonine."

"I'll take that as a complement. Although draconian is the description Vau men aspire to according to our family tradition."

She nodded. "I can see that."

"You wanted to be like your father because of the bond between you," he told her gruffly. "I both hated mine and tried to mold myself after him."

"And neither worked?"

"Oh, both. Far too well. I'm like him and there's nothing good for all that. I'm well-rid of them. Of everything to do with that place, that part of my life."

"But you were in love…"

He'd told her. Years and years and years ago he'd told her. Before he'd thought that he'd ever be holding her under him, in the years she was a child and he was simply one more teacher, he'd shared that he'd been exiled for a liaison with the daughter of a neighboring providence.

"I was. And what did it bring me, Ad'ra? I hurt her, hurt my family, nearly destroyed a peace accord two hundred years in the making, and for what? What do I have to show for being fifteen and stupidly naïve about what is possible and what is not?"

"You have a place in a clan far older than two centuries, Walon. You are part of our song and part of our accord. You belong to the Manda'yaim and it's a good, strong thing to belong to. Mando'karla."

He snorted in disbelief. Turned her. Lifted his hand and used his other to urge her to spin under their joined fingers. Tugged her back into place, close to him.

"Mandokarla?" he asked her. He loved the way she spoke the language. He knew the words. Had for decades. For longer than she'd been alive, in truth. Knew the phrases and etymology and conjugations. Ad'ra? She knew the bloodbeat beneath it. Spoke it like the language had been created for her tongue.

She'd been born on Manda'yaim. He knew that now. She thought she'd probably spent a year with her mother, knew she'd spent time home with both of her parents whenever her father could take leave or was recalled to their homeland.

She didn't remember the landscape there. Couldn't describe anything but the inside of her home. He probably knew more about the climate there than she could recall. Academically she knew there'd have been growing places that produced their food, some kind of livestock kept. Nothing, though, she'd retained nothing of that aspect.

She remembered the way Jango had re-nicked her father's neck when he'd confirmed the position upon his own appointment as Mand'Alor. She remembered the old one, she'd shared. He'd been sweet on her, she assured those listening to her remembrances, and had always had some candy on a stick for her to try out. Once a whole muj'fruit dipped in sticky substance and rolled in crispy nuts.

He was glad she had those memories. The ones of her mother were unkind. The ones she'd made with her father were bloody.

It was good that the leader of this mercenary clan had seen her as a child and treated her as a child. Indulged her as a child should be indulged.

Gods in heaven, there were few enough indulgences for the children that had been raised here.

"Your face went hard."

"My mind wandered."

She reached up, stroked the side of his jaw. Traced the shape of his ear and the edge of his severe hairstyle. Studied the skin she touched as though memorizing code.

Her fingertip trailed round, shaped the way his mandibles met at a bulge of muscle. Ran just one brush of a touch along the razor-sharp line of it. Tapped the dimple in his chin.

"Wander back to me," she whispered.

"Say it in Mando'a."

She considered. Twisted her lips.

"You won't like it."

"Try me."

"VercopaO yaimpar Ret'urcye mhi cyare."

"Oh, Jesu," he groaned. His gut knotted up. He knew that sometimes the sum of a group of words was more than what they meant at face-value. Knew the literal translation was more than what either of them was looking for at present.

Couldn't stop himself from repeating it.

"VercopaO yaimpar Ret'urcye mhi cyare."

She smiled at him, amused but indulgent. Shook her head.

"I'm with you now," he assured her. Bent to kiss her.

When he lifted his face from hers he was smiling smugly. Whirled her out again. Approved of the light way she moved on her feet. Added more swing to the dance, more of the footwork that would have been expected of him as the heir to the ruling body on Irmenui.

.

That night when he loved her it was soft and slow and so tender that she cried when they both capitulated with sighs instead of shouts.

.

The next morning they showered together, him sudsing her with his own foaming cleansers and shampoos. Sliding over her until they were giggling and playing like children.

"I think your shower is bigger than mine," she told him, considering, as she toweled her hair dry afterward.

"I didn't notice, but promise to measure the next time we're there. Do a comparison study."

Her lips twisted and he caught her to him.

"Whaaat?" he complained. If he was going to be the butt of her private jokes he wanted her to share them.

"I was just imagining you going about your day conditioned and slathered in smoothing lotions and washing clean with pink face cloths."

He groaned. "I'll leave a set of things there. I need to anyway. You need to bring some of your pink face cloths here."

She laughed at the face he made, the accent he added to the addition.

He immediately retracted his offer. "Actually, no. No pink face cloths. Lacies, delicates, uniforms, scrubs, scent, whatever else. But I like my linens just as they are."

She leaned up, pecked a kiss to his lips.

"Beige and black. Understood."

"Hey," he called when she slid by him. Slung her the undies he'd taken out of his laundry. "You look good in beige and black."

She did a little shoulder shimmy and stepped out of his field of vision.

He added water to his brush and lathered his shaving soap. Started to scrape the razor across his cheek.

It was still kriffing tender.

"I have night ops the rest of the week," he told her. "I don't know how much downtime I'll get."

She nodded, came back in and perched on the edge of the sink to watch him.

"I'm not a wife. Not a girlfriend. And I have the same job you do."

He nodded thoughtfully. Glanced over at her.

"Might be I'm greedy for you."

That made the light come into her eyes.

"Am I good at this, Walon? Or am I just available?"

"Incredible," he told her in a bland voice without looking at her. "The way you feel, the way you move, the way you respond… men go their whole lives without a woman like you in their beds."

He changed direction and her head tilted to take in the new angle, the new way he held his wrist. Never in his life had he known someone so thirsty for every single thing they could absorb.

"Are you still sore?"

She shook her head.

"I mean from the other day."

"Are you?"

"Yeah. I don't think Gilamar approves of me."

"That's because you're an asshole, you're a superior bastard, and you're sadistic."

"I thought we decided we weren't going to discuss work in here."

"I wasn't."

He pressed his lips together and allowed her her little joke.

"You get smoother and won't get cut if you use long, smooth strokes. All the way up."

"I promise you, I've been shaving long enough to know how it works," he assured her.

She just lifted her brows. Crossed her legs.

She'd dulled one of his razors making them smooth as satin.

He ran his hand over her knee.

"You grow all one direction and it's a different kind of hair. Plus you're one smooth line. I'm dips and angles and you'd never be able to get a single movement of the blade to accommodate all of the changes. Feel."

He took her hand. Rubbed it through the foam under his chin. Moved it up to the cheek he'd already done.

"See?"

"I guess."

"Do you want to do it? Do one side my way and one side your way and see which one really works?"

"No. I'll trust you. But teach me to do it your way?"

He shifted slightly, tugged her legs open to stand between them. Gave her just a brief instructional before taking her hand and putting it on the handle, offering her his neck.

"What if I hurt you?" she worried suddenly.

"Wouldn't be the first nick I got."

"I could really cut you, though."

"I have complete faith."

He guided her hand. Felt the tiny tear when they hit a little resistance and her hand faltered. Kept his steady on hers and kept it moving onward.

"Learning curve," he said through barely parted lips. "I won't bleed out. Keep going."

She pressed her lips together. Never caught him again.

She learned fast.

He smiled at her as he wiped the remains of the cream away.

"See? Smooth as silk now. I could run my face over you and never leave a trace."

He proved it, rubbing his cheek along her shoulder, nuzzling the strap down again.

She laughed. He wanted her to. Tugged it back up.

"I like starting my day with you," he told her seriously.

"I like starting my day with you," she agreed.

"Wanna run away with me? I'll take you to some exotic forest where we'll never eat anything but fruit and learn to make wine from the dew on the flowers."

"Rain check?" she asked him. "I actually have a date to take a couple guys I know to this really cool vid-forest so we can blow up some insurgent listening posts."

"Another day, I guess," he sighed impishly.

She'd never known he had a playful side. Loved it. Loved the sarcastic and superior, too.

Hated the brutal and the cold.

She hopped up, kissed him deeply enough that he considered what the repercussions might be if both of them were late to muster.

"I have some stamina stuff my guys are going to be working through while we run stim-ops. Did yours do okay with them or do I need to make any adjustments?"

He made his suggestions as they dressed. Watched her slap the tech-cuff back on over her cammies. She was the only one he knew who wore the gauntlet to her beskar'gam with utility blouse. Couldn't say that it wasn't handy as kriff.

Not that he'd be copying the affectation. Not unless he saw a few more Cuy'val Dar first.

What she needed was a nice chrono that would do most of what the embedded 'pad would…