#Imperial agent/Theron Shan

[inyri]

Equivalent Exchange (a SWTOR story): Chapter 41: Good Soldiers Follow Orders

Equivalent Exchange by inyri

Fandom: Star Wars: The Old Republic Characters: Female Imperial Agent (Cipher Nine)/Theron Shan Rating: E (this chapter: M. Trigger warning: graphic violence, depictions of torture, body horror.) Summary: If one wishes to gain something, one must offer something of equal value. In spycraft, it’s easy. Applying it to a relationship is another matter entirely. F!Agent/Theron Shan. (Spoilers for Shadow of Revan and Knights of the Fallen Empire/Knights of the Eternal Throne.)

*

Comments are always appreciated! Visit me at:

Archive of Our Own

Fanfiction Dot Net

*

Author’s Note: Please note the trigger warnings. I had to step away from this for a little while (all right, more than a little while). Chapters are consecutive, of course, and as I posted the last one and moved to wrapping up this one I found life imitating art in a very, very uncomfortable way. I don’t talk a lot about my work for many reasons. Normally it’s not very exciting. And then there are the days that stay, the reminders that sometimes the world is deeply, viciously cruel in ways that are hard to process. As part of my work I met two men who were subjected to that cruelty, heard their stories, and helped care for them on their paths back home.

The first iterations of this series of scenes were very different from where we ended up. Nine and her team were far nastier at first, which wasn’t really true to her, and then I tried to make it funny which- well, obviously we can see the problem with that approach. So this is where we ended. It’s still an ugly chapter, but here we are.  

This chapter is dedicated to AD, AH, and all victims of torture. 

Good Soldiers Follow Orders

Theron follows her close as a shadow as they make their way from her ship across the base, dodging carefully around the first watch guards on their patrol routes. A month ago it would have been simple but a month ago they’d been sloppy; since then she’d ordered new watchposts set, new floodlights installed, locked down the turbolift platform to the valley below. There were so many other places to land a ship on Odessen, canyons and clearings and deep, dark forest far beyond the view of the towers, and it would have been far too easy for an infiltrator to sneak in.

Or one might simply use your landing bay. Valkorion’s armor gleams as an arc of light cuts across the path. In through the front door. All comers welcomed. Perhaps Arcann should-

The illusion shatters when she steps through it, the sentence left ominously unfinished. 

Second patrol. Third patrol. Through the external door on the heels of a pair of Sana-Rae’s adepts, weaving through the hall and crammed into the back corners of the lift with an absolutely massive Zabrak with a distinct half-ring of glitterstim around one nostril (she makes a mental note- the cantina’s more than necessary but if they’ve got a spice problem that’s another vulnerability they can’t afford), down the hallways into Science Wing and nearly to the lab- outside door’s open, good, but how’s she going to-

Shit.

She’s six steps ahead of herself in contingency plans as usual, mind racing, but that doesn’t matter worth a damn when she fucks up Step One. Stopping so abruptly he almost runs right into her, she grabs Theron by the wrist and pulls him into the darkest corner of an empty meeting room. His head tilts in silent confusion as she reaches toward the stealth generator clipped to his belt. I thought- he starts to sign, one hand raised. 

Switching, she replies, left-handed; pulling it free, she replaces it with hers. Backup has a shorter clock when the main’s off. If it overloads-

Theron nods. Bad. Right. Where should I stand?

Back- her fingers stutter as she considers (Void, she really isn’t thinking, is she? She needs to be. One mistake and the whole thing comes apart)- back left corner. You’ll have a five-count to get through the door before it closes, then don’t move and-

Don’t say anything. I know. He repeats the sign, an added emphasis. I promised. 

She rubs her forehead, trying and failing to settle the ache building between her eyes. I know. Come on. 

***

The inner laboratory door slides closed with a soft hiss, just muffling Theron’s last few footsteps as he settles carefully into the corner, and she lets her stealth field drop. 

“I got your message.” Nine forces the words out, forces strength into her voice as she sets the lock. She cannot falter, not now. “SCORPIO, give me the holo. Let’s get it opened up.”

“Commander.” Doctor Lokin looks up from across the room, setting a handful of instruments and an empty syringe- not all clean, she notes- neatly into place on a polished metal tray. Beside him, her would-be killer slumps forward against the treatment chair’s restraints, an intravenous catheter in his right arm and his lower body wrapped in a surgical dropcloth, head covered by black fabric and bound around the middle with thick strips of spacer’s tape. “We were just beginning.” 

[ sleepy already, cipher? but we’re only just beginning.

when hunter’s slap hits she startles bolt upright in the chair and then wishes she hadn’t, her ribs shifting beneath the straps like so many shattered potsherds as she grinds her teeth to keep from screaming. she’s screamed so much already and she won’t give him the satisfaction of another, won’t-

hunter gestures- toward the woman, she thinks, it’s getting hard to see now with her face so bruised. let’s wake her up, hm? ah, no- something cold and metallic tightening on her right index finger- the other hand, to start. now the left side, still the index finger, tighter and tighter and oh void it hurts it hurts it hurts she’s got to say something or it-

i’m telling you, she gasps, when those reinforcements get here from- and there’s a sharp snap and she can’t help it and she screams-

keep singing, little bird. I do so hate to have to break your pretty wings.]

Her hand throbs.

“I didn’t tell you to start without me.” Her stomach churns even as she curls her fingers into an easy fist, testing their movement; she couldn’t do that for a month after Corellia so it’s only the memory of pain, isn’t it? “And how long has that tape been on? We need his eyes open, not swollen shut. It’s too fucking tight.”

“If you’re referring to this-” Lokin lifts a pair of bloody-gripped forceps with one finger and a long-suffering look- “your knife tipped his saphenous, and I assumed you would prefer he not hemorrhage before you had the chance to work. I’ve only just run the amytal in, nothing more. But,” he squints at the rings of tape, flips a vibroscalpel from the tray into his palm and before she can even begin to move he slices through the binding neatly, once and then again, “you aren’t wrong. SCORPIO restrained him while I was busy with his leg, but I ought to have-”

SCORPIO turns from the console, shoulders lifting in what might have been a shrug. “My primary directive on Odessen remains operational security, Commander. He cannot share what he cannot see.”

“Yes, but-” 

One of the wall-mounted monitors beeps, shrill and insistent, until Lokin prods it with a gloved finger and it lapses into red-flashing silence. “He’s starting to wake. Shall we?”

Void, she hates interrogations. (She used to be good at them once, when she was younger and followed orders better. She used to be good at them because of course, why waste precious time on subtleties when you can simply pry and bend and break and it all comes out in the end either way- maybe in pieces, yes, but that was just another puzzle to solve if one was clever enough, even if it was messier-

Orders were orders. 

She used to be good at them once. Before Corellia.)

“Is Lana coming? She’s covering for me with Sana-Rae, I think, but-”

She turns too quickly as the door opens behind her and as she spins the room tips sideways and then it starts to spin, too; pausing midstep, she grabs at the nearer benchtop to steady herself, her left hand raised as a counterbalance. Lana clears the doorway in two steps, the worry lines across her forehead deepening. 

“I’ve got you,” Lana murmurs. “We’ve just finished, and I had a feeling you might-” she only wrinkles her nose a little as she glances toward the instrument table- “want my help with this.”

When she nods the world shifts unpleasantly anticlockwise. “Yes. Dialing out blind on his holo’s a losing proposition. With any luck he’ll talk, but I’m not counting on it and we haven’t got the time to wear him down.” Pressing her lips together against a wave of nausea, she inhales. Exhales. Inhales. The spinning slows. 

“Physical methods, then?”

She shakes her head- oh, Force, there it goes again- inhale. Exhale. “Just tell me what you see. I’ve been bled on enough today, and if we push too hard-”

“Does it matter? You can’t possibly intend to let him-” at her gesture Lana lowers her voice, just above a whisper- “walk away from this. An attack, here, on you- there have to be consequences.”

“Do I look like a Jedi to you? You know me better than that.” When she says it Lana snorts and rolls her eyes and to be fair she has a point- of course she has a point- but a misstep now could be the last strand of a rope to hang herself by, the final block knocked loose that brings the whole tower crashing down, and she can afford that far less than to give away a shred of undeserved mercy. “You’re a step ahead of me, that’s all. I need the who before I decide the what.”

Lana sighs. “I know. I only- I defer to you, Commander. It’s your decision.”

“Maybe, or maybe it’s Trant’s. But we won’t know until we know, and-” another warning chime from the monitors; another warning look from Lokin. “We’re running out of time. And when we’ve finished I’ve still got to talk to Koth and Senya, and-”

“Already postponed, and that can wait in any case. There’s nothing to discuss that won’t keep for a day. We’ll call them once we’re in transit,” Lana eyes her up and down, “after another round of kolto.”

“I’m fine.”

“Liar.” Lana’s hand comes to rest beneath her lifted arm; with the world still half-spinning she’d have missed the subtle pulse of energy if Lana hadn’t flinched when their fingertips meet. “Force help me, you’re not - I’ll take it over, Nine. I’ll… I can do it. You should rest.”

“No.” When she shakes her head the room stays level now, at least. It’s something. “No. This is my mess to sort out. Just lock the door.”

***

Five minutes later all she’s got out of him is a slurred sequence of names, ranks, and serial numbers (lying, Lana says each time from her perch behind the chair, though she knew that long before she said it) and the unwavering gut-punch certainty that the man is an SIS agent. With so little actual information to go on and their databases two years out of date- when Theron left he’d downloaded what he could but slicing back into the mainframe to sync them’s a risk none of them are willing to take right now- trying to find a name for her attacker’s useless, with dozens of dossiers a partial match to the same physical parameters: average height, average build, Underlevels accent, Republic emblems tattooed on biceps and back and another handful laser-faded to barely visible outlines. With half the Republic’s infantry dredged up from the Coruscant undercity’s gangs and prisons and half the SIS (and nearly all of SpecOps) poached from the army, she could have shot into the Dealer’s Den or the Red Rancor on a Primesday night and hit five clones of him in a straight line between the door and the bar.

She studies his face from every angle, waiting for a memory to trigger, and- no, still nothing, barely a nod in the corridor or a passing glance in the mess line. Three weeks on Odessen and the man’s practically a ghost, a traceless alias for a name and a ride hitched on a transport from Port Nowhere. Granted, both she and Theron had been off-planet most of that time, but stars, if this one got in so easily how many more could?

That’s a problem for another day. It has to be. 

But for now SCORPIO runs the serials, just for the sake of thoroughness, and- ah. Those faces she knows: Corellia, six years ago; a Coruscanti gala, bloodstains on a black dress; Dromund Kaas, only a month or two before Zakuul. 

She just hadn’t known their real names, then. It wouldn’t have mattered if she had. 

Orders were orders.

“So you’re ten dead men in a trenchcoat, then? And you’re wrong about that last one, by the way. That was probably Cipher Four. I’ve never been to Ord Mantell.” She pushes his commpad away with a scowl. The damned thing’s wiped clean- all the more likely he’d spoken to Trant within the last half-day, then; that was a lesson from Alderaan that only the Director ought to have learned. With enough time they could have recovered it, but they don’t have time. So she turns back to him instead, her thumb and index finger poised on closed eyelids gone puffy from the pressure of the binding. “Last chance to make this easier on yourself. When did you last hear from Marcus Trant?”

“More’n ten. Way more.” His words are less slurred now, the serum finally taking effect, and Lana sits up straighter. “‘nd hells take your easier. You’re gonna kill me anyway, so-” 

Void, why are they always so insistent on dying?

She doubts he can see her, so she just adds a twinge of melodrama to her sigh. “Not necessarily, agent. You tried to murder me. Naturally, I objected-” a little more pressure on his eye, just enough that he starts to shift against the restraining strap- “but if I really wanted you dead I’d have let you use your kill pill instead of wasting perfectly good antitoxin on you. I can be civil if you can.” 

Lana closes her eyes, focused and still.

“To be clear, you’re alive as a means to an end and it’s in your best interest to cooperate. But you and I know how it goes, don’t we?” When she lifts her open hand SCORPIO presses the holotransmitter into her palm. “Good soldiers follow orders. It’s not personal. You were only doing as you’re told.” She leans in closer, knee jostling against his mended leg just a little harder than necessary as the paper drape crinkles, voice lowered in a simulacrum of confidence. “Stars, I remember those days. He sits in his big office and sics you on a target, unclips your leash and you just- well. Ours not to reason why, hm?”

The cuff around his right wrist clinks against the arm of the chair as he makes an obscene gesture. 

Wrong tactic. Well, then.

Her sigh’s loud enough to make him flinch. “And it was all wrong, wasn’t it? All that planning, all that time pacing, writing a five-line message that he never even saw, all for nothing?” His breath stills, his heart rate spikes, and Lokin hooks another syringe to the IV port and slowly pushes the plunger down. “DId you think I wouldn’t see? I’d almost feel sorry for you if it wasn’t so utterly pathetic.”

His head lolls forward against the restraint, a counterpressure against her hand. 

“Oh, no, no.” Shifting, she pushes him back upright with two fingertips in the center of his forehead. “Not yet. Not until-”

“I almost got you.” His mouth contorts- it might have passed for a grin in a darker room, teeth bared, feral-  and something in his voice makes her hair stand on end. She recoils, pulling her hand away from his face even as he pauses. “So fucking close. Just a few more seconds and I’d’ve bled you dry, Cipher, and then I’d-”

(The words barely register; he’s not the first and certainly not the most creative person to threaten her with postmortem indecencies but somehow they always think it’s going to shock her into silence, as though it’s the single most awful thing that could ever happen when she’s lived through far worse horrors and more to the point she wouldn’t even know, she’d be dead).   

“-see enough and you know Shan’d come running- Force, that would’ve been even better, the look on his traitor face even if it was the wrong way round-”

wait. 

WAIT.

no, Trant wouldn’t have- 

When she blinks she sees it all in the span of a millisecond: half a hundred ways it could have gone, half a hundred indignities inflicted, half a hundred times it breaks Theron for just long enough for the blow to fall. Lana must see something else; she makes the smallest little sound, a muffled gasp of disgust covered over by knuckles cracking in clenched-fisted fury and then a snarled Sith curse she doesn’t understand (but Valkorion clearly does- she isn’t wrong, he murmurs) and it brings her back to herself. 

Her comm buzzes; her eyes flick down toward the screen. 

<ask him about belsavis>

Kicking him for breaking comm silence would be counterproductive, she supposes, but what does Belsavis have to do with anything? If Theron knows his name he ought to have just said so, not making her work harder than she already is.

< don’t know him but think I know the unit> <told Marcus it was a bad idea> <don’t think he listened>

That would explain the burned-off tattoos. Stars, has the SIS truly become that desperate? Or was this another Garza project- some experiment likely as not to fail just as Eclipse Squad had, so why waste frontline troops when the Republic had a whole planet full of froth-mouthed maniacs more than happy to keep killing as the cost of their freedom and if things did go bad, well, they were going to die one way or another so what did it matter?   

Then SCORPIO blinks once, head turning toward her comm and then, slower, toward the corner and oh, damn it all-

“Didn’t think the SIS went in for necrophilia,” she says conversationally, covering her mouth over a particularly exaggerated yawn as Lokin barely stifles a snort. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell the Jedi. I am curious, though- did you pick that up on Belsavis, or was that why they locked you up in the first place?”

His teeth clench. 

“Piracy? Hm, no. Some flavor of war crime, I’m sure- oh, I know. Fragged your CO, I’d bet. You’ve got that sort of look.”

“Onomatophobia. Go fuck yourself.”

(She’d come at it all wrong, hadn’t she? 

She’d thought this wasn’t personal because for her it wasn’t. Okay, fine, with Trant maybe it is, now, but this is no old enemy. She only hurt him to start with because he cut her first and deeper and even Theron doesn’t know his name- and stars know his memory’s brilliant, to judge by his stories he remembers everyone he ever worked with and it was far harder for him when they weren’t all just Minder Ten and Fixer Twelve and Watcher Three. The garotte alone might have been sheer bloody-mindedness in a way she wouldn’t have expected from the SIS, but even the Republic for all its supercilious moralizing had its fair share of sadists; Hunter hadn’t truly been one of them but they’d certainly all thought so at the time and still they’d all turned their heads, every single time, even when she’d screamed until her voice gave out.

Of course her control word was in her Republic file. He wasn’t the only one to try to use it, the first ones in earnest and then, when she’d shredded enough of them into bloody little pieces that they realized it didn’t didn’t hold her any more, as a vicious sort of mockery. That worked a bit, she supposes; maybe it always will. Not well enough to save them, of course.

She’d thought it wasn’t personal, that orders were orders and he’d come after Theron because he had to. But stars, she’d been out of the game for five fucking years and he’s practically got her dossier memorized, errors and all, and he’d called Theron a traitor and the first time she really pushes his buttons he-

Oh, this was very personal.)

“No,” she says, and breathes, trying to untie the panic-knot tightening in her chest, “I don’t think I will.” Snatching up a scalpel from the instrument tray as her voice wavers, she presses its tip, just so, beneath his chin. “You thought you were close? Close only counts in horseshoes and heavy ordnance, puppy, and that and a slip of my hand’ll buy you an unmarked grave. And-” he’s trying not to move, trying not to flinch. A single bead of blood wells up beneath the blade and stars, it’d be so easy, just one little movement and stay calm stay calm stay calm- “you still haven’t answered my question. When did you last hear from Marcus Trant?”

Lana exhales as her gaze comes back into focus, lip curling. Whatever she saw, she didn’t like it. “Today. It was today. But beyond that-”

“It’s good enough.” It was never going to be that easy. “SCORPIO, you don’t still have Belsavis census access, do you?” 

A yellow flash, and then- “I am no longer tethered to Ward 23, and what I retained is long out of date. Proximity would be required.”

“Never mind. We’ll move on to the holo, then. Doctor?”

“Ready.” Lokin nods approvingly as she sets the scalpel down. “Retractor?”

“Retractor, please. Left eye.”

One click. Two clicks. Three.  

The ‘pub squirms, fighting the restraining strap in earnest as he tries to blink against the cold metal instrument. “What are you-” his pupil constricts until she shifts the operating light away- “you gonna take my eyes now, Cipher? Keep ‘em in a jar somewhere, or-”

The holo’s scanner locks on as she holds it level with his forced-open eye. “No, thank you.  I never was much for souvenirs.” 

It chimes cheerfully as it comes to life in her hand; she flips idly through the settings. The user ID’s a string of alphanumeric gibberish, the message system’s not set up and the whole thing’s still on factory default but she’d expected all of that. It’s almost certainly a burner. The call log’s intact, though, with four time-stamped entries. One: incoming but barely five seconds long, likely a functionality test. Not useful. Two: outgoing, eighteen days old. Confirmation of arrival? That’s a Coruscanti subnet, but that could be a handler. Three: outgoing, one day old, to the same address as the second- they’d landed back from Nar Shaddaa by then. 

Four: incoming. Coruscant again, but a different address. One minute and six seconds duration. 

Two and a half hours ago. 

He said he’d call it off, Void damn him. If Trant kept his word and she’s wrong, if she burns the last thin strands of the bridge between Theron and everything he ever believed in to ashes and she’s wrong-

(He did say he would call them. Reflected in the freezer’s glass door, Valkorion tilts his head contemplatively. And tell them what?

He said- 

he said-

[-but those last few breaths last longer if you don’t struggle, don’t they? You’ll figure that out soon enough.]

For the first time she can remember there is something like approval in his smile. So you did hear it, he says. But oh, little Cipher, you didn’t listen.)     

She gestures to Lana and Lokin, pointing with two fingers at each one in turn and then the door with a snap of her wrist that sets it throbbing. “All of you but SCORPIO, clear the room. Now.”

Lana blinks but it’s Lokin who speaks first. “Commander, if I may? If you plan to proceed further, the subject may require additional stabilizing mea-”

“Wait outside until I call for you. That’s an order.”

He’s halfway to the door before Lana starts to move from the benchtop and even then she pauses beside her as she passes, one hand on her shoulder and her mouth lowered level with her ear. “You’re not getting Valkorion involved? I know you’d rather not dial out blind, but I thought I felt-”

“I’m not,” she murmurs in reply. “On either count. But if this goes bad I don’t want you in the room when it does.”  

“All right.” The sheer force of disapproval contained in Lana’s sigh might have leveled buildings; it isn’t all right and they both know it but it’s far too late to argue over it now. “Should I go and find Theron, then? I can think of some excuse to keep him with me until you’ve finished.”

They both startle at the sound of SCORPIO’s voice. “Unnecessary. He is-” her heart stops as the droid’s eyes flicker- “secure.”

“We can’t be certain of that. He still doesn’t know, does he? If there’s a second-”

“I see many things that you do not, Lord Beniko.” Five metallic fingers uncurl ceilingward (not toward the corner; her heart stutters, then resumes). “I am perfectly certain.”

Lips pressed together, nostrils flared, Lana grits her teeth against a retort before she simply continues toward the exit. “Then I will wait,” she says, a sparking halo of electricity coiling around her words as the door slides shut behind her, “until I am needed.” 

And then the room is quiet save the beeping monitors, the ‘pub’s ragged breathing and the sharp rattle of his restraints, and Nine glances sidelong at SCORPIO as she settles herself carefully in the blind spot on his right. “Be nice.”

“Error. Program file: nice not found.” 

She must have iterated again; the sarcasm’s new. Rolling her eyes, she glances down at her comm again. 

< Also, you are welcome.>

She flicks an ironic salute toward the droid and that too makes her wrist ache. More time in the tank, then, on the way to Voss. More time lost that she can’t afford and a favor owed that she probably can’t afford either- stars know SCORPIO’s kept secrets for her well enough through the years but she’s no particular fondness for Theron; the last time he’d cracked a joke about needing a processor update she’d signal-locked his implant to play That Slippery Little Hutt Of Mine on repeat for forty-three minutes straight until half his face was twitching and he’d finally apologized- but hopefully that can be negotiated. Ongoing access to the network, maybe. Lana will fuss and she’ll be right, but if that message had gone through unintercepted they all know what it might have meant. It’s a small enough price.

“If you’re done arguing-” the ‘pub’s slurring again. He’s burning through the serum faster than she’s ever seen- “either get this thing off me or-”

If he keeps that up she may as well not bother with the call. She ought to have known better than to think that he’d say much of anything useful but his ranting’s absolutely tedious; they’re going to need to gag him after all, aren’t they? It wasn’t supposed to be that sort of interrogation, but she also hadn’t particularly expected him to- oh, if he calls her that one more time she might just stab him after all. (Like he’s got any room to criticize- all her old sins could overfill an archive but at least she’s not a stars-damned corpsefucker.) “Shh.” When she tilts her head toward it SCORPIO picks up the spacer’s tape and tears a strip from the roll, pressing it firmly over his mouth until th+e noise quiets into muffled incomprehensibility. “That’s quite enough out of you, I think.“

Hm. That brings to mind a better idea, actually. 

“Do we have enough input for a voiceprint? Something like this?” Tapping a brief message into her commpad, she sends it through to SCORPIO. Only a few lines, but if it truly is Trant on the other end of the connection it should be enough to be certain.

It has to be enough.

She doesn’t look toward the corner. She mustn’t look toward the corner. 

“Way more than enough.” It’s near enough a perfect mimic. SCORPIO folds her arms smugly and the ‘pub goes grey. “Prepared for playback.”

“On my signal, then, but give me a twenty second delay on video.” Her fingers twitch despite themselves, tingling at the tips; she forces her breathing into rhythm. (Lana was right. She isn’t fine. 

Lana was always right. But she doesn’t have a choice.) 

Inhale. “And prep the package files for transmission on verbal command. No passcode.” Exhale.

A pause, a flash of scarlet. Inhale. “Yes, Commander.”

Exhale. 

Inhale. She smooths her hair back, adjusts her collar carefully under her chin, slaps both cheeks briskly with closed fingers to bring a little color into them and even that little jolt rattles her brain inside her skull. She considers, briefly, the backs of her eyelids. That seems to help. Exhale. 

The far corner remains quiet. 

She lifts the holo in line with the ‘pub’s eye once more as his pupil shimmers finely from side to side; they’d definitely pushed the dose too high but even so it’s far faster than it ought to be, chasing some other vice out of his system, and the camera struggles, beeping and chirping error after error until finally it locks on. 

Inhale. Exhale. 

She meets SCORPIO’s gaze, scrolls back to the end of the call log, and presses redial. 

Inhale.

“Connecting.” The tinny synthetic voice of the SIS operator sets her nerves on edge. “Connecting.” Come on, pick up-

The channel opens with a click and she nods, lets her breath out into the following silence before the voiceprint begins.

“It’s done. Shan and the Cipher. Wrong way ‘round, but-”

“Well-” the video delay goes both ways but she doesn’t need it, she’s heard Marcus Trant’s voice in so many briefings it’s burned into her brain; the last brittle shard of hope she’d clung to shatters and leaves her with nothing left but rage. How dare he- “it’s about fucking time.”

Oh, she is going to end him.

***

Nine’s body language shifts then, her spine rigid where she’d been starting to hunch forward in fatigue, her hands fisted, fingernails digging hard into her palms. Her stance settles, just a little wider, forward on her toes; her chin lifts. He can’t see her face, still angled toward the prisoner. 

“Send the photo confirmation, then execute extraction- and get your video on. Where are you?” Force, he’s going to throw up. Even when Jonas told him, even after hearing Marcus with his own ears he hadn’t wanted to believe it. He’d called it off. It had to be a mistake- or maybe Nine’s paranoia got the better of her (and he knows why and he doesn’t fault her, she can’t help Valkorion in her head and the poison he’s feeding her day after day after day) and this was just another shadow to peer into. Dragged into the light, it would have been nothing at all. A mistake. A mistake. 

She nods to the droid once again. “ Just a few more seconds. Bad connection but I’ve almost got it.” 

He shudders. The copywork’s uncanny and he knows for sure that’s not all readback. If SCORPIO gets it in her head to playact as one of them, starts giving orders in Lana’s voice or Koth’s or his own? He’s no reason to think she would, but whatever loyalty she seems to owe starts and ends with Nine. They’ve got to talk about it, at least.  

Nine angles away from their prisoner, raises the comm chest-high as the little hologram springs up in the hollow of her hand. He can see her better now, her face blank and beautiful and perfectly, utterly cold, and then she smiles and- 

(He has spent far more time than he’d ever admit to, from Rishi to Ziost to Zakuul to tonight, every hit and hurt and shattered bone and her bloody armor left in a pile again and again on the medbay floor, being scared for Nine. 

This might be the first time he’s honestly been scared of her.)

“Hello, Director,” she says. “We’ve really got to stop meeting like this.”

It’s only a little flinch, but it’s there. “Cipher. Still alive, I see.”

“Commander. You lied to me, Marcus. You know what happens now.”

“I think you’ll find that I didn’t.” 

Every syllable of her laughter’s a rifle shot, clear and piercing. “Yes, yes. You said you’d call, and you did.” By his posture he’s caught and he knows it, back straight, shoulders set. “But you know perfectly well that wasn’t our agreement. To go by the way Theron spoke of you I’d have thought you an honorable man, but-”

Marcus lifts one hand, a futile placation as Nine’s mocking smile fades back into hard-eyed silence. “I really am sorry about Theron, for what little it’s worth. He-”

“You’re sorry?” That wasn’t a laugh, not quite, halfway caught in her broken throat. “You’re certainly about to be, but Theron’s fine. This puppy was just as stupid as the last one- worse, actually, since he got himself caught in the bargain.” She turns her body, lets the camera capture the prisoner behind her straining against the chair straps in wide-eyed muffled fury. “He never got anywhere close to Theron.”

“He knows, then?” (He still can’t see Marcus’ face. He isn’t sure whether he wants to.)

She shrugs, noncommittal. “One thing at a time.” Her free hand gestures vaguely toward the instrument tray. “I’ve been a bit busy, I’m afraid, and now I’ve got all these dossiers to send off-”    

“I’d suggest some time in kolto first. You don’t look at all well, Cipher.”

“Commander.” When she blinks her eyes stay closed half a second too long and she sways back and forth and stars, she needs to sit down before she falls over but she’s too stubborn to let anyone see her hurting. He knows her tells now, though- her jaw clenches, her left hand curls and uncurls. “Five years in carbonite couldn’t kill me. You honestly thought a garotte would be enough?”

“No,” Marcus says softly. “Not really. But we make do with what we have, don’t we?”

“I suppose we do. SCORPIO, transmit file Eclipse . Full recipient list.”

One red flash, two green. “Transmission complete.”

(She really did it. Oh, fuck, she really, actually did it. 

He should never have gone home. He should never have gone-  

It isn’t home. Not any more.) 

Marcus sighs. “Where?”

“Everywhere.” Nine looks up abruptly as one of the monitors sounds yet again; she reaches up and simply shuts it off completely and at this angle he can finally see properly, both of their faces in profile. “Every reputable news service in the Core Worlds and about half of the disreputable ones, so you may want to warn your receptionist. I suspect your switchboard’s about to melt.”

“She’ll handle it, and Eclipse Squad was Elin’s mess. I’m afraid I can’t comment. Now, if we’re finished-”

“We are not. Transmit file Legate. Full list. Call it off. Now.”

One red flash, two green, and Marcus winces, his composure finally breaking. “Are you out of your fucking mind? No one came out of that clean, you least of all.”

“I might be.” A knock at the door- no, it’s there, not here, and a comm chiming. “But Legate died in a warehouse collapse on Quesh, poor thing, though with all those warheads going up at once confirming it was quite impossible. Pity.”

A single vein pulses across his forehead. 

“Call it off.”

Another knock. “Do you think Theron will believe that?”

“He doesn’t need to. He knows about the Castellan restraints- he’s known for years.” She glances, for the smallest fraction of a second, toward his corner. “I think he’ll understand if I blur the truth a little.” 

(He nods before he remembers she can’t see him. Of course he understands. He wishes she hadn’t done it, wishes she hadn’t needed to do any of this, but of course he understands.)

The room goes quiet, the stillness broken only by restraint buckles clinking against the chair frame. 

“Do you think he’ll believe this?” 

The angle of her head’s a wordless question. 

“What wouldn’t you do to bring down an enemy? The head of the SIS, no less.” The framing of the projection changes, the bottom edge of a screen coming into view as he stands up slowly from his desk. Marcus’d always lived at the office, one of so many bad habits he’d passed down to him over all the years they’d worked together (the work always comes first, he’d said. It always will. It will take everything you can give to it and then it will take more and you’ll swear and shout and threaten to quit. And then you won’t, because this is what we were made for. And that is how we win). “It’s everything you ever worked toward. So: a foiled assassination attempt in your own base- how terrible.” He clicks his tongue, a mocking little tsk. “You’d have to retaliate, and who would fault you?”

Nine’s eyes narrow. 

“But if it came out that you set it all up- a few intercepted messages, perhaps, shared by an old friend-”

Her lips draw back from her bared teeth. “Stay away from him.”

“I’m finished,” Marcus says. “I know that. But that doesn’t mean you get to win. Once a iiar, always a liar, Cipher Nine. Who do you think he’ll believe- you? Or me?”

No. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t . Not that it would have made a difference, but Marcus couldn’t have known that- Force, he really is going to throw up.

(When Theron joined the SIS he was seventeen years old and every adult he’d known for more than a galactic standard month had abandoned him, sold him out or simply sold him at the first sign he’d outgrown his usefulness. It took nearly a year on Coruscant, nearly a year of steady paychecks and a bed to sleep in every night, before he owned more clothes than he could fit into a go bag; it took almost two before he stopped apologizing for asking for equipment. But Marcus never gave up on him, even when he fucked up (which back then was more often than not), even when he bristled and snapped like a half-wild animal, even when he wanted to give up on himself. If Master Zho had been the nearest thing he’d known to a father- stars knows it wasn’t Jace, especially not now- Marcus had come close too, once.

Once.)

She takes a deep breath. She’s fading fast, now, hands tremulous even as she’s fighting to keep the holo steady. He can’t just sit here and watch this, he can’t, he can’t-    

“Her,” Theron says, letting the stealth field drop as he takes a step forward and she spins, startled, at the sound of his voice. It comes out as a gasp; he doesn’t even know how long he’s been holding his breath. ”Who do I believe? Her. Always.”

Marcus buckles like he’s been gut-shot, bracing himself against his desk. “You- you said you hadn’t told him yet. You said-”

“I think you’ll find that I didn’t.” Nine smiles, absolutely feral and absolutely beautiful, and he steadies her with one hand at the small of her back. “Though as you can see, I really have been busy.”

The last time he saw that look on his face was the day the blockade went up around Coruscant. “Hello, Theron.”

“Hello, Marcus.”

He sits back into his chair, heavy, elbows resting on the desktop. “This office would have been yours, you know. You were ready for it. But you’re on the wrong side of the war.”

“Which war?” Nine says it at the same time he does and then she dips her head, ever so slightly- you first. “We’re here fighting Zakuul. We’re here fighting Arcann,” he continues, “and we’re finally winning. I know you know that. I know Jace knows that, and I know you’re both still fighting the same fucking war against the Empire that you’ve been fighting since before I was born because for you that’s the only thing that matters. But I’m not.”

“You dare-”

“I made my choice,” he says softly.  “Now you make yours. Are you going to drag the whole SIS down with you?”

Marcus rests his head in his hands. For a moment it’s the day after the Ascendant Spear, the day after Ziost, the day after Tython, the weight of a thousand impossible choices and ten thousand lies pressing down on him, and then he looks up and shakes his head. “No.” He sighs. “No, I’m not. What happens now?”

“Resign,” Nine murmurs. “Retire. Disappear before the Senate comes for you, or let them scapegoat you: I don’t care what you do, but you will call this off. You will do it now, and if I ever have reason to doubt you- if anyone from the Republic so much as breathes harm in Theron’s direction- the Ralltiir file goes public.”

Someone’s pounding on his office door, a woman’s voice shouting something incomprehensible as he reaches out of frame, and then a few moments later a series of four tones in a cadence burned into his own memory- send message; subnet selected; confirm?-

Message sent. 

The holotransmitter in Nine’s hand chimes. 

“Done. Now, if there’s nothing else?”

Nine turns once more (and he turns with her, careful) to put their prisoner back into frame. “What do you want me to do with him? I’d put him back on Belsavis if I was you, but-”

Marcus stands up abruptly, even as he makes a face as she says Belsavis, at the unmistakable sound of a single round of blaster fire and the hiss of a door sliding open. “Elin,” he snaps, “not now -”

“Yes, now.” General Garza’s got a blaster pistol in one hand and a commpad in the other when she crosses into camera view. “I just got a fucking call from the fucking- oh.” She cranes her neck toward the projector. “Well, we can fix that problem, at least-”

The call disconnects abruptly.

Nine sags against him, exhausted. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I know I promised-” 

“Commander.” He’d nearly forgotten SCORPIO was still at the console until she speaks, and he’s never heard that tone from her before; he looks sharply up at her and follows her sightline. The prisoner’s sitting bolt-straight, back rigid, eyes wide, and a high-pitched whine like a drill through durasteel shrills warning from somewhere that isn’t his mouth- “Commander, get down!”

All Theron can do is drop where they’re standing, his body a shield over Nine’s, before there’s an awful wet noise and the smell of blood and something else familiar in his nose, hot and metallic and not his and not hers and even though he knows he shouldn’t he looks up again and oh, fuck-

The lab door slides open and Doctor Lokin comes running into the room, Lana just behind with her lightsaber blazing, and they both stop short at the sight of it, at the ‘pub still strapped into the chair with half his head just gone and at him and Nine on the blood-spattered floor.

“What- who-” Lana covers her mouth with her free hand. “What in the Void happened?”

Nine’s shaking so hard she can barely move; he curls her close against him to keep her upright. “Not me,” she whispers. “Not me.”

#inyri writes #equivalent exchange #swtor #swtor fanfiction #imperial agent/theron shan #nine/theron #cipher nine #thank you all for your patience #as i wrote this one fought me for a very long time #so i hope it was worth the wait #and the next chapter is kinder to them i promise

[queen-scribbles]

Touch prompts: giving them a piggy-back ride

Have some SPY NERDS for Theron Thursday! :D

---

It was a testament to how tired Jaaide was that she didn’t notice the hole in time to avoid it. Normally she would have been paying better attention. Normally she would have caught herself. But as it stood, she was already in motion to step where there wasn’t ground by the time the absence registered. Too late to check herself or redirect her stride or anything other than step--heavily--in the hole. It was deep enough to send her pitching sideways with a yelp.

“Jaaide-!” Theron’s fingers brushed her sleeve, just a hair too slow to avert disaster.

She hit the ground hard, her shoulder and her pride both stinging when she regained her feet. “I’m alright,” she said reflexively, even as her ankle twinged hard at standing.

“You sure?” Theron asked, brow furrowing as he looked her over, picked dead grass out of her hair.

“Only thing bruised was my dignity.” She brushed dirt off, smoothed her hair, and resumed course--

Only to almost eat dirt again as her ankle nearly buckled at the weight.

Theron was fast enough to catch her this time. “Okay, you’re not fine.”

Jaaide tugged her arm free. She didn’t feel charitable toward coddling right now. “I’m fine enough to reach the ship. Not like it’s that much further.”

“Maybe not, but the terrain’s not exactly pleasant, either,” he said with a snort.

“I can manage,” she insisted grumpily, resuming course and doing her best to minimize the limp in her stride. Theron muttered something as he fell in behind her, but Jaaide ignored it. Her ankle wasn’t broken--she knew what that felt like--at worst a sprain, and she could tolerate that long enough to get to the ship. She’d toughed out much worse and didn’t need him fussing--

A sharp ache shot up her leg and Jaaide let out a quiet growl as she tried to keep her balance without being obvious about it. Alright, maybe it was a bad sprain. Still nothing she couldn’t handle until they reached the ship.

“Jaaide.” Theron’s tone was more neutral, his hand gentle as it rested on her arm. “You don’t have to tough things out, y’know.” A teasing glint flickered in his eyes. “I’ve already fallen for you, stubbornness and all, there’s no need to further impress me.”

She snorted. He was one to talk about stubbornness, anyway. “It really isn’t that bad,” she said, patting his hand even as she subtly leaned into the support. “Just a sprain, most likely.”

“You say that like I’m not familiar with how much they can screw things up if you let ‘em go,” Theron countered. He caught her eye with a meaningful look. “Or the body language of someone who’s in more pain than they’re admitting.”

“Yes, I suppose you would be intimately, personally familiar with that, wouldn’t you?” Jaaide needled lightly. 

“You say that like it doesn’t come in handy with making sure my girlfriend takes care of herself,” he drawled. “Let me help you, sweetheart. There’s no one you need to impress, no need to save face. Just me.”

She sighed, too tired to argue. “Alright, fine. What form did you see this help taking? Plan to carry me to the ship piggyback?”

“Actually, yeah,” Theron chuckled. “Figured that would be smartest with the terrain. Got a better idea?”

“Not even an iota. No objections, either, just curious.” Jaaide raked hair out of her face and slid her arms around Theron’s neck when he crouched. This would be better than farther injuring herself for the sake of pride. She couldn’t resist teasing as she settled in, “Good thing we had to dress for stealth; I dunno how comfortable this would be with your usual jacket.”

“On second thought, maybe I’ll just leave you here,” Theron groused, but given he still hauled her up, hands under her thighs for support, there wasn’t much weight to the threat.

“Good luck explaining that to Lana,” Jaaide said with a grin. “Sure you’ll be alright with the extra weight?” He’d been the one to point out the troublesome terrain.

“I’ll manage.” Still, his attention was more than half on his steps as they started off.

Jaaide did her best to support her own weight so he wouldn’t feel a need to hold her up. Let him have his hands free for balance. But the last few days had been a drain on her energy, topped off with this mission, and between the rolling cadence of footsteps and Theron’s warmth soaking though her jacket, she was getting drowsy. 

She jolted fully awake as he shifted her, realized she’d been sliding.  “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. Was trying not to wake you, actually.” A pause as he skirted another hole like the one she’d stepped in. “If you’re this tired, maybe after you patch up your ankle you should nap for the flight back?”

“Worried about my sleep habits, Agent Shan?” Jaaide asked with a light chuckle.

“Rich, I know,” he deadpanned. “But yeah. Considering you’re the boss, you should probably be well-rested. For your sake as well as the Alliance. Not to mention mine,” he muttered under his breath, but at her proximity she still caught it.

“Lingering occupational habit,” she said, shifting her grip. “Which I suspect you know.”

Theron snorted. “All too well. Which is part of why I feel like I need to help you break it.”

“I will when you will.” Jaaide’s fingers curled into the leather of his jacket. “My authority might be higher, but you’re just as vital to the Alliance. And moreso to me.”

“...Thanks, sweetheart.”

She silently arched a brow in surprise when he didn’t further argue the point.

They arrived at the ship shortly after, Jaaide once again nodding off against Theron’s shoulder. He nudged her, jostling one leg a little so she’d rouse as he headed for the medbay.

“I’ll get the ship warmed up,” he said, letting her down on the bed and brushing a kiss to her forehead before he left the room. “You take care of you.”

Jaaide nodded and started working off her boot. She retrieved the diagnostic scanner and quickly confirmed her suspicions. Middling serious sprain, but nothing was broken, which was a relief. She reached for painkillers--deliberately bypassing the adrenals that would take care of her exhaustion, just not in the way Theron was advocating. She’d been planning to do datawork on the way home, maybe get ahead of the pile for once.

But Theron had a point. She needed sleep. Real sleep, not dozing over an after-action report or fleet patrol roster. Jaaide let out a small sigh of relief as the painkillers kicked in, then checked the rest of herself for any other injuries. There was nothing worse than bruises--even the shoulder that took the brunt of impact didn’t have anything lingering.

Theron returned just as she finished.

“Excellent timing,” Jaaide said. “Pass me an ankle brace? So I don’t have to hobble across the room.”

He chuckled. “Sure.” Rather than simply hand it to her, he stepped close and gently tugged the brace on her leg. “So, just a sprain, huh?”

“A decent one, but yes. Thank you.” She caught his hand and tugged him in for a kiss. “For everything.”

“Welcome.” Theron’s fingers slid into her hair and he briefly deepened the kiss. “For everything. How decent is decent?”

“Few weeks’ recovery,” Jaaide said with a shrug. “Not bedrest, but taking it easy on what I try to do.”

“This a way of hinting I need to carry you to your cabin...?”

She smirked. “I wouldn’t be opposed,” she murmured. No sooner had she uttered the words than Theron scooped her up and headed for her quarters.

“I got the coordinates punched in and all, by the way,” he commented as they went. “So you can sleep and let the autopilot get us home.”

“If you’ve done all that, you can nap with me,” Jaaide pointed out, tracing a zigzag between his jacket clasps.

“You don’t think one of us should keep an eye on things?” he asked, bumping the cabin door controls with his elbow.

“We’re both light sleepers,” she countered. “Anything serious to be a problem would wake us anyway.”

“Good point.” Theron set her on the bed, then joined her he started undoing his jacket clasps.

Jaaide arched a brow. “Though I’d have to twist your arm a little more.”

He smirked and shucked the jacket, letting it fall on the floor. “Maybe I just want an excuse to cuddle.”

She rolled her eyes, tossing her own jacket toward the desk chair.  “You don’t need an excuse for that.” Bet you he doesn’t actually go to sleep.

“Good to know,” Theron said with a grin as they both kicked off their boots and settled back against the pillows. (One of hers was still in the medbay, she remembered. She'd have to get it later.)

“Thank you again. For everything,” Jaaide murmured as she tucked herself close.

Theron wrapped an arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. “Always,” he promised, and Jaaide smiled against his shirt as she settled in to rest.

----

Timeline wise this is in that gap between KotET and War for Iokath sooooo crazy reckless Idiot Spy Boyfriend has indeed started trying to figure a way to stop the Order of Zildrog. :3

#queens fic #touch prompts #jaaide arien #theron shan #jaaide/theron #otp: straight up truth #spy nerds #swtor #imperial agent/theron shan

[riachuelowii]

I want to imagine Lana turns around for a split second when your imperial character went to speak with Theron at the end of Shadow of Revan in Yavin 4 and it's just both of them making out

#star wars #swtor #chiss #theron shan #lana beniko #swtor imperial agent #its extra spicy if they kissed back in Rishi #Cus they now know how the other kiss #haha #i love these gays so much #some of my drawings

[zephhhhh]

but you bet your life, every night while you're chasing the morning light you're not the only spy out there

#art #digital art #fanart #star wars #swtor #imperial agent #theron shan #theron shan/imperial agent #ship: terrible liar #lyyran [oc] #this is the product of looking at pulp covers and letting lyyran's bond girl inspo out in full force #i cracked myself up w/ this one #and cracked myself up further by imagining it as their wedding photoshoot #lyyran is probably too serious for that but cmon lyyran. it would be funny

[zhakyria]

Look at this absolutely amazing piece of Kahl and Theron relaxing that @sbeep drew for me! It is just so perfect! It brings a smile to my face. :D

#swtor #star wars: the old republic #my oc #not my art #kahl'ryn #imperial agent #theron shan #sbeep #art #disaster spies #god i love them #kahl's smile is so perfect #it's now canon that kahl enjoys relaxing with a drink #considering three artists have drawn him with a drink in hand

[makode-name]

SWTOR Tarot pt. 2

ok ok guys ahah yeah, I haven't forget about it and yeah I know that some time passed after the 1st one was published finally making second part of the swtor tarot cards xDD if you missed pt. 1 make sure to check it out! <- by clicking on this line a lot happened in this two years, I sadly lost all cards I've already posted, so they are only left as pngs, including first two from this set so cannot edit them :(((( but for sure can remake them as better versions as what I was thinking to do anyway

by counting all the major arcana I can say for sure that the whole thing will contain 5 parts, so it is already 2 out of 5 done

thank you guys for all support you show toward this idea and my scribbles in general, 💙💙💙 I do really appreciate every note I get and every reblog you do, I was going through a very hard period of time when I made the 1st part, still struggle but it's alright seeing you guys enjoying what I do makes me happy and confident in what I make thank you so much and may the Force be with you and serve you well!

#swtor #swtor art #star wars the old republic #swtor oc #chiss #imperial agent #oc: baastb'ru'kao/bruk #vaylin #theron shan #senya tirall #swtor tarot #my swtor

[teacakes1799]

cuddly commission for @stratataisen of their blueberry and theron!

#artists on tumblr #art commissions #sketch #star wars #imperial agent #theron shan #fanart #romance #couple #chiss art #swtor art

[lanabenikosdoormat]

space husbands

#swtor #swtor art #they’re so silly i love them to death #jed solaris #theron shan #solarian #cipher nine #imperial agent #my art

[bluezeri]

behold. some memes now that I'm getting back into swtor

#swtor #star wars #star wars the old republic #swtor oc #theron shan #oc: jaiisan #oc: kahsii #jedi #jedi knight #sith pureblood #sith pureblood jedi #chiss #imperial agent #imp agent #trans theron shan #<- not technically important to the post but important to me #pls ignore that ive been gone from the swtor fandom for months #and take the memes #star wars oc

[vagabond-art]

happy May the Fourth Be With You with a collection of SWTOR art

3rd belongs to @hunnybadgerv 6th belongs to @biwabiwa 7th belongs to @jukkariart 10th belongs to @queen-scribbles collab with @chocolatepyrusart

#star wars #may the 4th be with you #may the fourth be with you #swtor #star wars the old republic #sw #art #artists on tumblr #chiss #twi'lek #sith #togruta #nautolan #theron shan #imperial agent #smuggler #swtor smuggler #jedi knight #jedi consular #swtor jedi knight #swtor jedi consular #sith pureblood #sith inquisitor

[miraluking-respectfully]

Theron: How did you build your career around Imperial secrets and come out not knowing when to shut your mouth. Lyde: How are you adopted and somehow still a nepo baby. Marr: Enough

#i don't even yet know if i want Lyde to have been on Rishi #but taking her through never stops being fun #oc: lyde aniteon #theron shan #imperial agent #swtor #screenies

[inyri]

Equivalent Exchange (a SWTOR story): Chapter 40: Swords of Damocles

Equivalent Exchange by inyri

Fandom: Star Wars: The Old Republic Characters: Female Imperial Agent (Cipher Nine)/Theron Shan Rating: E (this chapter: M. Trigger warning: graphic violence.) Summary: If one wishes to gain something, one must offer something of equal value. In spycraft, it’s easy. Applying it to a relationship is another matter entirely. F!Agent/Theron Shan. (Spoilers for Shadow of Revan and Knights of the Fallen Empire/Knights of the Eternal Throne.)

*

Comments are always appreciated! Visit me at:

Archive of Our Own

Fanfiction Dot Net

*

(Two moves- India and now the Middle East, COVID, work, COVID at work, toddler parenthood and a partridge in a pear tree. I forgot how to word for a while, I think.

And then, one day, they came back.)

*

Chapter Forty: Swords of Damocles

Void, she’s tired. 

Only tired, she tells herself as she lowers herself to the floor to sit beside the now-snoring ‘Pub. Only tired. She’ll be fine. It isn’t that much blood, really. She’s had worse.

The door slides open and SCORPIO stands silhouetted in the dim light from the corridor, eyes glowing yellow and a sturdy black canvas bag dangling from one metallic hand. “Commander. As requested.” 

“You’re certain this is the only attacker, SCORPIO?” Lana’s still half-hidden behind the doorframe. “I know you’re still monitoring but-” she peers around the droid and must be able to see her now, the way her eyebrow just disappeared somewhere between her hairline and the stratosphere- “oh, for fuck’s sake, Nine-”

“Blame him.” Head tilted toward her assailant as they surround her, Lana at her right hand and Doctor Lokin at her left, she makes a face at Lana even as they’re all pulling supplies out of Lokin’s bag. “He started it.”

(She’s hoarser than she’d thought, or perhaps she can hear better as the echo of the flashbang fades from her ears. 

She’s had worse.)

Lana crouches down beside her, easing her down to lie flat on the debris-studded ground. “And you finished it, I see. I’m surprised he’s still breathing. Do we know who he is?”

“Best guess? Trying to call in the death mark. And of course he’s still breathing- he can’t answer questions if he’s dead. Now stop fussing over me and get those restraints on him. I don’t know-” she clears her throat, hissing as Lokin shifts position and something sharp pricks the side of her neck- “I don’t know how long the sedatives will hold him. If he gets loose again he’ll go straight for the target and he clearly doesn’t care about collateral damage. He could-”

SCORPIO drops the duffel bag and draws out a set of stun cuffs. “You may wish to see to this, Doctor, or he may not survive long enough to question.” The droid prods at the wound in the man’s thigh even as she snaps one cuff closed around his wrist, pulls his other arm roughly behind his back and fastens the other cuff; he groans, head lolling to one side. “That would be a shame. I do so enjoy interrogations.”

Lana wrinkles her nose when she thinks no one is looking, quickly shifting back into neutrality when Nine glances in her direction. “With all of this, you don’t think you were his target?”

“SCORPIO didn’t brief you?” 

“Too many ears in the corridor,” the droid murmurs, “including Agent Shan. Brevity was required.” 

She tries and fails to sit upright, one of Lokin’s hands on her forehead holding her down against the floor. “I told you to keep him occupied. If there’s a second agent-”

SCORPIO’s eyes flicker briefly; if she didn’t know better she’d swear that was an approximation of an eyeroll. “He is with Doctor Oggurobb now-” another flicker, this time almost certainly hooking into the surveillance mainframe. She’s lost track of the number of times she’s told her not to do that but it does have its uses- “discussing requisitions requests. He is well-guarded.” 

“Theron clearly wasn’t the only target.” Lana frowns, tracing the curve of her neck with one careful fingertip. “Any other wounds we should know about?” 

“Not for lack of trying. He’s armored-”

“I meant on you, you- Nine.” Lana catches herself just in time. “Or is all that blood from him?”

Bacta gel now, cool and viscous and sharp-smelling as Lokin clicks his tongue and readies another injector. “Nearly all hers, I think. Quite unlike you to end up on the wrong side of a knife, Commander.”

“He got the drop on me,” she murmurs, closing her eyes, “and it was a garotte. ‘s different.” 

Only silence for a moment, punctuated by another, sharper groan from her assailant- she smiles a bit at that despite herself; she’s never had any particular illusion that SCORPIO saw her as anything other than an ally of convenience, but that might be the closest the droid will ever come to sentiment- before Lana clears her throat. “Yes. Of course.” Another pause, and then- “Where are we going to put him? We aren’t equipped to maintain prisoners.”

“I don’t plan on keeping him here long-term. As soon as he’s fit to talk, he talks and we get rid of him.”

“In a technical sense, or a literal sense?”

She shrugs. “That depends on him. And his employer. SCORPIO, search him and get access to any communications devices he has. If he’s anywhere near as sloppy as his counterpart I may not need him to talk at all.”

“I’ll allow the use of my laboratory, in the short term,” Lokin murmurs. “He does require some degree of medical care, and the room itself is quite secure. And well soundproofed.” For a moment she thinks of Alderaan and she can feel the memory of his growl in her bones, imagines the sharp tips of claws like so many needles in her wire-bitten skin. “Not precisely the eventuality it was planned for, but it would serve as a temporary prison.”

“Fine.” Lana’s hand rests against her forehead. “We can move the Commander to-”

“I can move myself, thank you very much. My legs are perfectly functional-” she wiggles her feet by way of proof- “no assistance required. Just point me toward a ‘fresher to rinse this mess off and I’ll meet you in the lab.”

Lokin chuckles as he starts to shift away from her. “I think not. Run program six on your shipboard tank for two hours and I’ll be by to check on you. That should be sufficient to-”

Oh, she is so tired of that Force-damned tank. 

“Absolutely not.” Forcing herself to sit up (the room spins as her eyes open, but only for a moment; she can work with that for now), she shakes her head irritably. “There’s already far too much to do before we leave for Voss without this idiot added to the mix. I don’t have two hours to spare.”

This time the claws are decidedly unimaginary, a clenched hand holding her still. “That wasn’t a suggestion, Commander. You requested my skills-” for him, she protests half-heartedly until he grips hard enough to pierce flesh- “and that is my assessment. More to the point, you’re going to have some significant explaining to do unless you plan to conduct the remainder of your meetings today from stealth.”

All right. Perhaps he has a point.

She scowls. “One hour.”

“Ninety minutes.” He relaxes his hold. “Lord Beniko, please see that she reaches her ship without incident. I will need SCORPIO to transport our guest.” 

Lana nods. 

A thud, next, followed by a very loud grunt, a second thud and the sound of a zipper being fastened: when she turns to look SCORPIO’s already standing with an overladen and faintly snoring duffel bag held over one shoulder. “Cargo secured. After you.”

When they are alone Lana sits down heavily beside her, legs bent and elbows resting on knees and head in hands. “You could have waited for me, you know. No one’s asking you to do everything on your own, and if he’d managed to-”

“No,” she sighs. “I couldn’t. Any longer and he’d have assumed Theron wasn’t taking the bait and either gone to ground or done something particularly reckless-” her shirt’s going sticky now, clinging and uncomfortable and too warm and she pulls at the collar of her armor peevishly- “and it very likely would have been the latter. And now it’s handled.”

“Why are you so certain he wasn’t after you? You’re still alive, but not for apparent lack of trying on his part. Or did Valk-”

The words come out unbidden, hissed through gritted teeth. “Don’t say it, he’ll hear you.” Lana winces and covers her mouth as Nine braces herself, waits for him to push his way forward again but it’s quiet; if Valkorion heard his name spoken, for once he doesn’t seem to care. “No, nothing like that this time. SCORPIO was ignoring orders and intercepted a message in mid-transmission that-”

“I thought we’d agreed she isn’t supposed to have that level of network access.”

“She isn’t, but you know she does as she pleases. I’ll see to it. In any case,” she continues, “it was good luck that she did. It was exactly the sort of thing that would have had Theron running right down here to investigate, and I don’t know if-” she swallows. She doesn’t want to think about that and-

(-and there it is, image after image after image like flashbulbs going off inside her head of Theron on the floor of the storeroom, still and silent, throat laid open and the bright spark gone from his eyes. 

She knows how it would have gone. She knows. But there is knowing and there is seeing it.)

When she comes back to herself Lana’s a little nearer, one hand just next to hers on a clean patch on the floor and the angle of her head a silent question. 

She nods, and shudders. “I don’t know if he’d have walked back out. Trant trains his people well.”

“Not well enough.” Lana’s lips pull back from her teeth. “You’re certain he’s Republic?”

“It’s not as though they wear insignias. So no, I can’t be absolutely certain. But he called me Cipher, and he- frankly, I can’t think of anyone else Theron would have pissed off badly enough to risk infiltrating our base to kill him, can you?”

“He made enemies on Zakuul, but no more than any of the rest of us did, and I’ve yet to see Arcann send a Force-blind assassin. He relies almost entirely on his skytroopers and his Knights, and they’ve all the subtlety of a boulder to the face.” With a sigh, she shifts her weight to one hip. “Come on, Nine. Let’s get you into kolto and I’ll fetch you a change of clothes.”

She briefly considers, as Lana rises once more and extends a hand to help her to her feet, simply refusing to move. She’s probably too heavy for her to carry unless she- 

“You aren’t,” Lana murmurs. “Ask Koth. Now turn your generator on.”

***

When she opens her eyes and spits out a mouthful of kolto the medbay’s empty. 

That isn’t a surprise. The folded pile of clothing on the examination table means Lana’s gone and returned and probably gone again to take over the meeting that she’s missing- not one that included Theron, thank fuck, there’d have been no way to talk around that. The one after’s meant for all of them, though, and she’ll need to be on time.

Or better early- she can intercept him that way. If their intel failed this badly once it very well might have failed a second time: they might have another mole and-

Her mind races as she exits the tank, gathers up the clothes and makes her way to the ‘fresher. Even beneath the kolto she can still smell blood on her skin and when she looks down at her chest it’s smeared dark red along one collarbone and the strap line from her undershirt. Out of the corner of her eye she catches a sliver of her reflection in the cabinet mirror, skin chalk-white and hair tangled, face smeared with the remnants of makeup and ribs bruised and neck and chest like an abattoir floor.

Stars, what a fucking mess. 

Deliberately she lets the water heat up until the mirror’s completely fogged over and, cleaning-cloth in hand, steps into the shower cubicle. Better not to look too closely now. Better to get clean first. It only looks worse than it is, doesn’t it, with all the blood? 

(And what was it you said about vanity, my dear?

She sticks her head under the water until the roar drowns out his voice.)

The blood smears are gone and her skin’s scrubbed pink by the time he’s stopped his prattling and when she calls out to the ship for a time check another ten minutes have passed and- oh, damn it all, her commpad’s chiming from where she left it in the infirmary. Grabbing garments from the pile in both hands, she pulls on underclothes and trousers (definitely hers, from the drawer in the captain’s quarters) and a high-necked sweater (definitely not hers and snug in the bust- probably one of Lana’s own if she had to hazard a guess). It was a good thought on Lana’s part but she doubts she needs it, really; an hour and a half in kolto should have been more than enough to fade the wire line around her neck. She pulls at the fabric, exposing her throat as she turns to the cabinet, checking her reflection more carefully in its mirrored door. 

That-

That’s definitely a problem. 

There’s a tube of bacta gel in here, or ought to be; her hand closes around it, behind her hairbrush and pushed to the back of the middle shelf, and she slathers a generous coat onto the faint but still clearly-visible gouge before she tugs the neck of the sweater up beneath her chin. A few more hours in kolto would fade it into nothing but she doesn’t have a few more hours to waste, not with a mission to finish planning and an erstwhile assassin to break and bag (metaphorically speaking. Probably. She makes a mental note to see if Renzi and Xessa are still hanging around the Core. They were always good for deliveries on ‘special cargo.’) She’ll have to hope the bacta works more quickly and figure out a way to keep Theron distracted until it’s properly gone. If she wears her jacket too, maybe he won’t notice- but then she needs to clean it now and still have to find a way to sneak into the tank while they’re in transit. Her wrist is a viable excuse, of course, but-

The brush catches on a knot in her hair. She pulls harder, peevish, until it tears free and a dozen strands of hair pull away with it and she almost misses the soft chime of the external door alert beneath a half-stifled hiss of pain. But no, there it is again. 

“Lana?” She calls out softly as her fingers brush over the panel behind the sink, searching for the edge and prying it loose with one fingernail. “Lana, is that you?”

It oughtn’t be Lana. Lana ought to be in a meeting now, and no one else but Eckard and SCORPIO should know to find her here. The panel comes open; her hand closes around the little knife in the hidden compartment. 

“Hello?” She steps out of the ‘fresher, blade raised at throat height, edge out. Not a mistake she’ll make twice. Not a mistake she’d survive twice.

Her quarters are empty, the door between room and corridor still closed. With back to the wall and knife hand leading she moves toward the corridor, a pause after each step but the only sound the soft brush of her own bare footfalls on the cool durasteel floor. Closer to the opening- closer- closer- the door slides open and she looks right-left-up-down and then left again, a flicker at the furthest edge of her peripheral vision but it’s only the little cleaning droid sweeping a few fragments of leaves near the conference room door.

Ah. Another messy one, then. Tsk, tsk.

The war terminal was locked down properly when she’d left it last. That might not hold for too long against an SIS slicer, though, and the last thing she needs with the timeline on Voss already tight is a compromised agenda or worse, more of Trant’s hounds on their scent. 

(They used to joke, back in the days where it was easy to joke about the people that would likely as not be the ones who’d kill you someday when the alternative was actually considering your own mortality, and call them puppies : half-blind, toothless, barely trained little things that couldn’t hunt worth a damn, held back by their master by the scruff of their necks until given a scent to follow-

But this last pup had fangs.)

Nine crosses the common room swiftly, muting the noise of her movement in the whirr of the droid’s spinning brush. Most likely the intruder’s still at the terminal, back to the door and at an angle that should hide her behind the table if she comes in low. Should. If she’s wrong, she’ll have perhaps a second to land a hit or two. 

Long enough. 

Crouched at the door, she touches the panel and the moment the door’s open to shoulder width she’s in, a diving roll putting her behind the long table as she readies her knife for one good punch to the kidney, maybe, or if he turns- he, yes, a man’s boots and frame in her peripheral vision, not at the terminal but at the near side of the table- fuck, wrong way wrong way wrong WAY and the only option’s to launch herself up and over the top of the table, blade out and-

She pulls her strike short by a finger’s breadth as Theron blinks and tips his head, convor-like, to one side. 

“I know I said I needed some combat practice,” he says slowly, leaning backward from the blade ever-so-slightly with a faintly amused smile, “but if I don’t make this call before we leave I’m pretty sure Hylo’s going to confiscate our entire next shipment of caf and whiskey so, um-” 

All her coiled-spring tension releases in a single breath and she falls out of stance, sitting down heavy on the tabletop with what feels like a datapad under her right thigh. “You-” turning the little knife in her hand, she tucks it away behind her back- “Theron, what are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be-”

“The secure holo in the War Room’s down for repairs, so I thought I’d-” he starts to reach for the datapad and then his head tilts, ever so slowly, in the opposite direction. “I know you don’t like anyone poking around the ‘shrike, but you gave me the external security codes last week, remember?”

“That’s not what I meant. SCORPIO promised you’d be safe in-” Fuck. Too much. 

“I didn’t realize she cared.” 

He looks at her then, really properly looks at her, at her too-pale scrubbed-clean face and still-damp hair and borrowed sweater and the smell of bacta heavy in the air; she doesn’t move, doesn’t blink but she sees it in his face at the exact moment he figures it halfway out, eyes narrowed and smile gone and the subtle shift of his jaw as his back teeth clench.

“Zakuul?”

“No.” A noise at the door- just the cleaning droid again, but- “Theron, did you reset the locks behind you when you came in?” 

He shakes his head. “I wasn’t planning to stay more than a few minutes, so I didn’t-”

She misses the last part of the sentence, off the table and out the door again and back down the corridor to the security panel. It only takes a few seconds to lock the ship down again and oh, she could strangle Theron except that’d be counterproductive- he’d promised to follow protocol when she gave him the codes but they’ve all become a little sloppy on Odessen, the one place where they thought they were safe. She ought to have known better than that, of course. They were never truly safe anywhere, not with the Republic and Empire still with their teeth in each other’s throats and Arcann always hunting, a step closer each day, and now this-

Her commpad chimes again.

“That isn’t me,” he says from somewhere behind her. “Should I grab it for you, or-” oh, no- “oh, for fuck’s sake, Nine, what-”

(Oh, Cipher. Valkorion clicks his tongue and for a moment his voice, malice wrapped in mirth, sounds just like Hunter’s and she sees herself back in the safehouse on Nar Shaddaa, black and blue and bleeding and down on hands and knees, scrub brush scraping the floor. You really must learn to clean up your messes.)

Theron had probably meant to follow her. But now when she comes back around the corner he’s standing halfway inside the medbay and she follows his sightline: the kolto tank due for cycling, her knife- Lana must have found it in the storeroom during cleanup- next to her belt on the exam table, her armor in a bloody pile on the floor.   

“Tell me that’s someone else’s blood.” 

She inhales, considering her next words cautiously, but he doesn’t bother to wait for her to lie. Instead he reaches out quicker than she dodges and hooks two fingers into the high collar of her sweater, pulling it down abruptly before she can twist away out of reach.  

There’s no point in moving now. She keeps still instead as his fingertips trace the wire’s path from one side to the other and for a moment she can’t tell if the subtle tremor in the movement is his hand shaking or her pulse gone haywire or maybe it’s both, she thinks- 

“Tell me,” he says again, quieter, “that’s someone else’s blood, Nine. Tell me whose.”

“Some of it, yes. But I don’t know-“ at that he opens his mouth in disbelief as she makes a face to silence him- “I don’t know his name , I mean. He didn’t exactly introduce himself. He-“

Better to just say it.

“I got in his way. I put myself in his way deliberately and yes, I know I should have been more careful and yes, I fully admit I fucked it up. I don’t know who he is. But I think,” she swallows hard, her voice turned hoarse again, “that maybe you might.”

That’s definitely his hand shaking now. His fingers curl into a fist, tight enough she hears his knuckles crack, and he turns away from her abruptly to walk further into the medbay. Opening one of the upper cabinets, he pulls out a bottle of sanitizing spray and a packet of cleaning-cloths and before she can stop him he bends down, lifting her jacket by its collar onto the examination table and tearing open the packet.

“Don’t worry about that now. I’ll clean it later,” she says, crossing the room toward him even as he starts to scrub and the first cloth turns pink. “It needs to-“

He pulls out a second cloth. 

“Theron, stop.” She reaches out, locks her fingers around his wrist to hold him still.

“No.” 

He twists his hand abruptly and pulls away, breaking her grip as she staggers off-balance. She reaches out for him with her other hand, then, trying to brace herself and rein him back all at once. “Yes.”

“No,” he says again. “No. I asked you- I told you not to do this, Nine. I told you not to go and fight my battles for me and then literally the next thing you do-“ he’s facing her again now and oh, Void, he’s furious, his mouth a pale thin line - “is almost get yourself killed?” He drops the cleaning-cloth and grabs her by both shoulders. “What if you’d died?”

“But I didn’t. I’m fine.”

He glances down at the armor again, at the smears on the floor where it had lain, at the pink-stained kolto in the tank. “You’re not fine, and you’re avoiding the question. What if you’d died?”

She squirms a little in his grip; he’s holding her tighter than she thinks he means to. “I didn’t-“

“Would you just listen to me?“ Theron’s voice wavers and then breaks, his breath ragged. “If he’d killed you, I don’t know what I- I asked you not to do this.” Another break, the word caught in his throat. “And you did it anyway.”

Nine lifts her chin, baring a strip of skin above the top edge of her collar. “I told you I’d do what I had to, Theron, and I meant it. I sprang a trap meant for you and got this-“ another half-centimeter higher, for emphasis- “for my trouble. If I had died, which I didn’t, he’d have come after you next. Most likely we’d both be dead.”

“That’s not what I-“ he sighs. “And I can handle myself! Do you really think I couldn’t have-“

“Don’t be absurd. I know perfectly well what you’re capable of, and I’m telling you that this time-“

His teeth sink into his lip as he cuts her off, hand pressed over her mouth (how dare he, she’s got a half a mind to bite him)- “Do you? I don’t even know what happened - were you even going to tell me? Or were you just going to scrub this place clean, throw the body in a canyon somewhere and pretend everything’s fine?”

That-

-is a good question. 

“I don’t know,” she mutters against his fingers after a moment. “I hadn’t quite gotten that far, to be honest. And there isn’t a body.”

Theron closes his eyes and lowers his hand. “But you’re sure I was the target. And he got away. Force-”

“He didn’t get away. You know me better than that.”

“Then where-”

Her commpad sounds a third time, its message still unread, and she reaches across the table for it. “Unconscious in a sack, last I saw him, but-” what do you mean, in a sack, Theron says as she scans the screen- “oh. Good. That solves that problem.”

“I’m not following.” 

“SCORPIO sliced his holo- everything but the retinal scan. Between Eckard, Lana and I we’d probably have gotten him talking eventually, but all I need now is his eyeball and-”

He blanches. “You’re not seriously suggesting we just-” two fingers moving in the air, open and shut, open and shut. “I know he tried to kill you- us- but that’s- I feel like that’s crossing a line.”

Nine sighs. “You have entirely too many scruples. But no, for Void’s sake, I'm not going to cut his eye out. I’m not a sadist.” She shoves the commpad into her pocket. “What I am going to do is find out whether this idiot ignored the call to stand down or if Marcus Trant’s a fucking liar.” Her voice gives out on the last word and she snarls and even that is silent, nearly slamming her fists down on the tabletop before she thinks better of it and pulls back short; the last thing she needs is to hurt that wrist again. Instead she exhales and lets her spine curl, lets her head fall forward until her cheek rests against its surface. 

“Or maybe I’ve just got more enemies than we thought? It’s been a long few wars.” He means it as a joke, she thinks, but there’s no humor in his voice. “Here. Sit down before you fall over, okay?” His hands rest on her hips, guiding her back toward the chair that’s suddenly behind her. 

“I need to deal with this first.” She pushes the chair away with her foot. “And quickly. If we’re late getting to Voss, the whole damned plan falls apart.”

The seat edge hits the back of her knee as Theron slides it back again. “So what if it does? The last Exarch almost killed you-” ( a broken wrist, she mutters as he lifts her off her feet entirely and sets her in the chair, and a little concussion, hardly almost killed)- “ and you weren’t running on half your blood volume then. You need to rest, Nine. You can’t keep doing this. We’ll get another chance at it.”

“No, we won’t. The Gormak’s visions-”

“What a coincidence,” Theron snaps, “that they suddenly need you right away when the news about Nar Shaddaa hits the ‘net. Maybe Lana and I can handle an Exarch or two on our own, but Arcann? Vaylin? How do they think this war ever ends if you die?”

( An interesting question. Valkorion smiles over steepled fingers. Rhetorically speaking.)

“You say that as if I stand a chance against Arcann.”

He blinks. “Of course you-”

“Do I?” She grabs the edge of the table once more, pulling herself upright. “All of you got me out of carbonite and made me commander in a war I have no hope of winning without far more allies than we currently have, against a maniac who’d have killed me at least twice already except for the delightful coincidence of having his immortal father burrowed into my brain like some sort of metaphysical fucking tapeworm. But if I die- assuming I can die- he will burn everyone and everything I’ve ever touched to the ground from here to the Core and back.” Chin up. Shoulders back. Don’t let them see you bleed. “So I fight. What other choice do I have?”

“So you just- what? Push through it and try not to die? Nine, please. I’m serious.”

She shrugs, twisting her hair into a knot at the nape of her neck, jamming a stray pen through to hold it in place. “It worked for you on Rishi, didn’t it?” 

“No. You saved me on Rishi, but you know that.” Theron adjusts her collar, very carefully not touching the marks beneath. Out of sight, out of mind. “And here, again, but you know that too.”

“Only halfway.” Belt on next and then- damn it, where are her boots? She can’t walk across the base with bare feet, and they aren’t- ah, there, next to the kolto tank. Slipping out of his grasp again even as he huffs in frustration, trying and failing to keep her still, she retrieves them and stoops to pull them on. “Stay here until I can send someone for you. He might not have been the only one after you, and-”

“Absolutely not. If you’re going anywhere,” he says sharply, “I’m going with you.”

She closes the top buckle of her boot shut so hard it nearly snaps in two. “No. You’re staying here where it’s safe. That’s an order.”

“Noted.” Theron closes the gap between them in two swift steps, unclips her backup stealth generator and hooks it next to his holster before she can swat his hand away. “Write me up for insubordination when we’re done, then, Commander -” a dare if she ever heard one because of course he knows she never would, damn him to all the hells and back- “because I think I deserve to hear what happens next with my own ears. I deserve to know if I can ever breathe again without worrying where the next shot’s coming from. Don’t I?”

She sighs.

He isn’t wrong. 

One finger over the generator’s switch, he waits. 

“I will only ask this once, Theron Shan.” She has to look up to meet his eyes; he tilts his head a fraction of a degree. Whatever he expected her to say, it clearly wasn’t that. “If Trant truly is behind this, you are not going to like what I am about to do. Are you going to try to stop me?”

(On Manaan he would have said yes, she thinks. On Rishi and on Yavin IV and probably even a month ago he would have said yes because she saw the way he looked at his father at that last meeting on Coruscant, a lost little boy so desperate for approval he would have done anything- no, almost anything, anything but that- for the smallest scraps of praise- 

-and Marcus Trant might have been more of a father to him than Jace ever was. 

But that was before, and there are few things that cut deeper than watching your heroes fall.)

“No,” he says. 

“Do you promise?”

“Yes.” 

She thumbs the switch of her own generator. “Then follow me. Three, two, one-”

#equivalent exchange #swtor fanfiction #cipher nine #theron shan #imperial agent/theron shan #inyri writes #i had to rewrite the last part a dozen times #because they kept trying to fuck their way out of the argument #and we need to use our words this time

[yarpell]

POV your boyfriend woke up before you and stole your clothes :/

#swtor #swtor oc #imperial agent #chiss #chiss oc #Theron Shan #Star Wars The Old Republic #swtor art #my art #his belly is showing cause he's a bit taller than theron 😳

[riachuelowii]

SHES OK DO NOT WORRY, SHE FOUND HER HUSBAND RECENTLY

#star wars #chiss #chiss oc #swtor oc #imperial agent #lana beniko #theron shan #vector hyllus #tho hes only mentioned aiaiaia #swtor #some of my drawings

[zephhhhh]

idiot spyhusbands redraw

#art #digital art #fanart #star wars #swtor #imperial agent #theron shan #theron shan/imperial agent #ship: terrible liar #lyyran [oc] #finally did the dates and man #'there wouldnt be anything left for me' rlly came for the throat

[tiredassmage]

when two spies attempt to pretend they're not the galaxy's biggest workaholics-

#swtor #swtor screenshots #swtor date nights #date night spoilers #theron shan #theron shan x imperial agent #ch: tyr