Chapter Text
Shit, shit, shit.
The alarm was coming from the cockpit. The siren was deafening, probably in order to wake up any crewmates trying to sleep in on a problem with the navigation. Theron looked back at his colleague. He needed his help, too. He'd just open up about the most fucked up thing Theron had ever heard in his life. He now felt awful about asking him to relive it again. It just didn't feel like it was worth the consequences anymore. And he felt even worse about the implications of it all.
He looked back at the corridor, then again at his disoriented colleague, before storming off the door through the small vessel, to reach the dashboard and witness the emergency first-hand. He couldn't hear if his colleague was following him or not, and didn't have the time to worry about it right at that moment. The helm was abnormally turned to the right, while the main panel was displaying all kinds of red warnings all piled on top of each other. He fell in the pilot seat, scrambling to understand any of what was happening.
He'd met with Kothe before his death. He had known the man before he did the unforgivable. Or maybe while- He didn't know. Theron still had trouble wrapping his head around it- They were supposed to be better than the Empire. Hadn't anyone kept tabs on what he was doing? Or had they known? Had people just thrown away their morals - the one thing they held against their enemy, the one thing that lead to so many atrocities on the other side - for a cheap shot at a temporary victory?
He kept his hands on the wheel, trying to straighten it back to its original position, while skimming through the tons of warning to find the source of the problem - the ship was still in hyperspace, so there was absolutely no visual external indication of what was happening. And finally, he saw the issue. The ship was getting caught in the gravity of a nearby star system. Gravity that would have been too little to suck in a bigger, and better equipped ship - the kind of ships they usually boarded when taking the unmarked route that Zakuul wasn't surveilling. Theron hit the dashboard in frustration.
"You damned piece of GARBAGE!"
Did his colleague, just, go back to the Empire after what had happened? He must have. Kothe's death preceded what Theron had been told of the ex-Imperial's work. But then again, how could he not? He couldn't go back to the SIS, which would have been his only protection against Intelligence. All he had to do to secure his position was ensure that there was no more proof that he'd betrayed the Empire. There was a high chance that he was the one to have killed Ardun Kothe. And Theron never thought he could feel himself agreeing with the thought process of an Imperial over his own side's. Yet here he was, channelling the frustration and anger that he felt taking over his body, through the strength he needed to pull the helm against the gravity of a whole system.
He let out another curse through gritted teeth, looking over the rest of the dashboard. The helm wasn't budging, so raw force clearly wasn't an option. His gaze scanned for anything else that could help; and the hyperdrive systems' commands cemented themselves as the only option left, assuming there wasn't a hard block on emergency stops to the hyperdrive. He wasn't sure if they had enough juice to make a third jump with how small their ship was, but their ship was almost totally out of the predetermined route and slowly diving towards certain death. He didn't have the time to consider the logistics right now- All he could was his best. He let go of the wheel to hurry around figuring out how to force the hyperdrive to deactivate.
A gloved hand suddenly reached for the same dashboard and he jumped back in surprise, before realising that it belonged to his colleague. He could hear him trying to shout something, but the alarm was drowning any noise in its wake. Theron figured that the other was asking what was going on, which was a very valid question that Theron just witnessed he couldn't answer at all. He grimaced, looking over the dashboard, then awkwardly showed the navigation screen hoping it would summarise the situation. The ex-Imperial started pushing buttons on the screen, and Theron resumed his attempts at halting the ship. There had to at least be an emergency stop of the hyperdrive on this dump: there were all of the buttons necessary to do it, it was just a matter of knowing how to deactivate the security measures. And the more time he wasn't looking for it, the more chance they had of crashing onto an uninhabited planet, either dying or losing all of their working technology in the process.
They couldn't die. Not now. He had people to go back to. A partner. Friends he never thought he could get attached to, while he now couldn't see his life without them - Or theirs without his. Did his colleague have anyone? It didn't matter: if he didn't, he'd find them. They both had a future to go back to, and a galaxy to save.
The push of a button from Theron opened a popup of the screen, and he saw his colleague raising their hands away from the dashboard.
Warning: you are about to activate the manual override of the hyperdrive. The dangers include-
Theron didn't even blink before confirming the override. He allowed himself one last breath of relief, before his hand went for the controls. But before he could reach the necessary buttons, his colleague gripped his wrist. The spy looked back, about to spew a few swears while asking what he thought he was doing, before he saw that the other agent was pointing with his free hand. Pointing at something he'd apparently just opened on the screen. Theron followed his index, and froze. The emergency shutdown wasn't the only thing that turned manual with the override. Just because the wheel wasn't turning, didn't mean that he couldn't control the direction of the ship anymore. The power at which the two engines were burning was a variable that the pilot could freely modify, separately from each other. It was the most beautiful thing Theron had ever seen all day, and he swore to never say anything bad about this ship again.
Before he could completely digest this new information, the ex-Imperial had already swung into action. Theron caught up quickly on his movements and his progression in the procedure, and noticed at the same time the agent's trembling hands and stiff gestures. Theron turned to him, and noticed the frantic rising of his chest, in what looked like deeper and faster breaths than he needed. He seemed to feel the spy's gaze on him, and turned to his helmet towards him as well.
They stared at each other for a second that stretched out longer than it should have.
The agent pulled his hands away from the dashboard.
Theron turned back to the commands of the ship without looking back, and his hands took the place his colleague's had occupied a moment before. He frantically gathered up all the knowledge he had about ship softwares while his fingers naturally curled up around the controls, and he got to work.
The ship didn't like that at all. One engine was forced to use more power than it was used to, while the other was barely working; and this was controlled independently from anything that was supposed to stabilise the ship and its flight. Theron wasn't seeing what had become of his colleague, and he couldn't worry about it now, through the ever-blaring alarm and the violent jerks of the ship in response to this forced manoeuvre. Theron checked the navigation screen. He and the ship would have to hold on for a couple of minutes to get out of the gravity of the star system, and hopefully back on a safe road.
And those minutes didn't pass by quickly.
He couldn't do anything more than hold the levers and buttons in the right place. Nothing was stopping his mind from wandering to what the emergency barely got him out of thinking about.
Kothe.
The first and last time he met him, he seemed like such a calm and composed man. Theron remembered thinking that it had been a loss for the Jedi Order. He was pragmatic, Theron had thought. But he apparently had been so a little too much.
How could anyone think that this was the right way to do anything?
Even if there was aggravating circumstances that his colleague omitted, even if his gut was right, he knew that the guy didn't lie about what had happened. That part was painfully real. Unless this guy was the most twisted and talented actor of an agent in the galaxy, but he doubts that Cyaka would allow him to go on a mission with someone like that. His partner could feel these things- Lies, deceit, that was his domain. And if anything, he seemed to like the guy.
He didn't see in the agent's story how anything could justify using such a device against anyone. He didn't even know that this was a technology that the Empire had developed at all. He figured that if it was, Lana would have used it by then, maybe even on him had it been before they knew each other so well. So, she either didn't know it existed either, or refused to go this low. And knowing her and her impressive web of informants, one option was more probable than the other.
His stomach turned. Lana, the one who threw him to the wolves without his consent, back on Rishi, had a higher moral boundary than a respected SIS agent. Lana, who never shied away from torture methods, from spying on her allies and lying to them, from- basically anything that would make her reach her goals, had been a better person than someone with a Jedi training. Better than someone who inspired trust, respect, and the hope of a better future for the Republic, enough for him to have been given a whole squad to direct. He knew that Lana had some things she did better than his previous colleagues, but this? A line that Lana didn't cross was crossed by someone responsible for the future of the Republic in the war? Someone responsible for the republic citizen's safety?
Even worse if the ex-Imperial hadn't lied about them being allies. His story didn't work on the premise that this had been a one off thing, if Theron was to trust how he got out of this mess, so he probably hadn't been a prisoner of any kind. Wether his colleague had been coerced into it or went willingly, they were supposed to work together. And Kothe didn't want to take a chance based on something like trust. Why?! Wasn't blackmail enough?! It wasn't perfect by any means, still not as gracious as choosing to put your trust in a former enemy hoping that it would work out, but at least it wasn't as needlessly cruel as this was.
How had Kothe even gotten the information of the brainwashing existing in the first place if that had been a secret? Was that the part the other agent lied about? But it wouldn't make any sense for him to tell people about this. And if it hadn't been a secret, then other people in the SIS would have been aware of that information. And worse, how did he get the exact keyword to get it to work?
All of the explanations that spawned in Theron's mind, without exception, made him feel sick. No reason could have been good enough, not it if was to use it afterwards. The only thing that made him hang onto the respect he still had for the SIS was the belief that it couldn't have been an agency-wide operation. He'd have figured out if anything of the sort happened. This had to only have been Kothe. At least on that part.
When the ship touched the line on the navigation path again, the alarm came to an abrupt stop. Theron let out a breath he didn't realise he was holding in, his ears still ringing. Carefully, he readjusted the power in the engines, and held out his hands, watching over the orientation of the ship. But they were out of the gravity field. A grin imposed itself on his face, and he started laughing like an idiot when he felt the wheel react normally under his hands. He turned the ship back to its original destination, and stabilised anything that could be. He heard a mechanic laugh come out from behind him, weak, but just as stupidly relieved as he was. He checked one last time the state of the ship, filling his lungs with a little too much air, before he started laughing again once he saw the confirmation that everything was fine.
He turned the pilot's seat around, still laughing. The ex-Imperial was pressed against the back wall, limp, his muscles flinching under the laughter he was mirroring from Theron. Their gaze met.
They just couldn't stop laughing. The both of them lost the other from their sight, as they kept laughing harder and harder like they'd just been told the worst joke in the universe. The whole alarm might have only been on for what, five minutes? But to the two agents, it felt like an eternity fighting against gravity. And it rhymed! Wasn't that poetic. And now instead of the deafening alarm, the cockpit was filled with the chorus of their combined laughter.
Theron managed to calm down a little before his colleague followed suit. The other agent coughed under their helmet, before gasping for the air they'd just lost, and starting to laugh again. The spy got out of his seat, and offered a hand to help his colleague up, a smile still engraved on his face.
The ex-Imperial stopped laughing, looked him up and down, then exhaled another laugh.
"Oh yeah I'm uh-" He made a strange noise, Theron guessed with his throat "I can't get up."
Oh.
Theron's body got agitated by another few laughs, still accompanied by his colleague's, but his face began to crease in discreet worry. Of course his colleague's body was reaching its limits- A panic attack, recounting what was probably one of the worst time of his life, and then getting this close to getting sucked into another star system with uninhabited planets and probably almost dying?
This is. Probably why he let Theron take the wheel.
He felt sick, his heart raising in his chest realising this. Oh, he was about to throw up actually. That might not have been helped by his own reaction to the near-death experience nor the ship jerking them all around in the process.
He grimaced, trying to look away from his colleague for a second to control his stomach. He somehow managed to make it settle down before it made him puke his guts out, and he took a few more seconds. When he was sure it wouldn't make a fuss again, not anytime soon at least, he used his hands to help himself sit down next to the ex-Imperial.
The energy in the air, slowly but surely, settled down, along with the adrenaline in Theron's body. From where they were sitting, he could still see the navigation panel, that he watched from afar with a cautious eye from time to time. But the ship was okay. They were okay.
*
The ex-Cipher was still recovering from that adrenaline spike caused by the ship almost crashing into a desert star-system. Well- Maybe not desert, but at least very much not yet explored. That they knew of. Who had the time to catalogue the proprieties and possible life on planets of the Unknown Regions while all this shit was happening with Zakuul? Not the Alliance, that's for sure.
They still couldn't move, and Theron had apparently decided to join them in sweet, sweet lethargy. Their vision felt less focused than before, and their thoughts more sluggish. Not worsening especially, just a little worse than they were used to. But they were alive. Both of them.
It might have been because of their exhaustion, but they felt more at ease than they ever did on this tin can since the beginning of the expedition. But before they could fully sink into the feeling and let themselves rest, a voice rose next to them.
"I'm sorry."
The agent turned their head to their left. Theron was looking down at the ground, between his knees, a concerned frown darkening his expression.
They stayed silent. His mouth straightened as he seemed to struggle to find his words.
"I-" he sighed. "I'm sorry I made you relive that, this is- This is fucked up."
He marked a short pause, blankly staring at nothing, before continuing:
"I know, sharing it was what's best for our mission, but-"
His words hanged in the air as he looked for a way to end his sentence, seemingly never finding it. We could have turned back, they finished for him, in thoughts. They knew that they didn't have to go this far. They could have endured harder, stars know this wouldn't have been the first time. But they knew why he wasn't saying any of it. The ex-Cipher had made a choice. They prioritised the mission. The information that they could get in that ball, the potential allies they could locate, were invaluable in their current predicament. Both of them knew it enough not to question the agent's decision to share their past.
Theron closed his mouth, sighing through his nostrils. He turned his head towards the ex-Cipher. They froze as his green gaze locked in theirs. They didn't like how genuine he looked. How tired and devastated his face made him out to be. Granted- they were both exhausted, after what had just happened, but…
"I'm…" he continued, staggering a little on his words. "For what it's worth, I…"
He frowned further and looked a little to the left, like he just stopped himself from saying something. The ratattaki felt their expression distort from unease, as they realised, he wasn't just tired.
He felt sorry for them.
They cringed at the thought, looking down, avoiding Theron's gaze just as he looked back at them.
"Nevermind." He shot them a timid grin. "You wanna hit the hay before we, uh, have to discuss the specifics?" He grimaced. "Of the, uh, mission."
Right. What they hadn't had the time to get into: how to navigate that mission considering the ex-Cipher's little problem in mind. Right?
"Hey, you with me?"
They blinked, suddenly noticing that Theron had gotten closer, eyebrows creased, seemingly trying to analyse their reaction through the mask - and thoroughly failing, judging from his expression. Had it been that long since he asked his question? What were the specifics of it again? Right, specifics. Of the mission. They really didn't have the energy to get into it, but it had to be done eventually-
"Okay nevermind," Theron said, interrupting their train of thought. "Can you get up?"
The ex-Cipher looked down at their own legs, moving anything other than their eyes for the first time since the other spy had started talking. They looked back at him.
"Uh… No."
"Oookay," he sighed, scratching his neck while he, too, was looking at their legs. "I could, uh…"
He looked back up at their helmet, then down at their torso, and winced.
"We…"
"I could lean on you."
Theron looked a little taken aback.
"You sure?" the spy asked.
Were they? The ratattaki realised what they'd actually proposed. They tilted their head to the side to think it over. But the only thing they were feeling were tired, and how practical it would be to be helped in these circumstances.
"Yes."
Theron nodded, before delicately sliding his arm under their shoulders. A discomfort and a tension spread in their muscles, like their body suddenly remembered who he was, and where he came from. They felt his arm stop just then, and he looked at them, waiting.
They suddenly were made aware of the air trapped in their lungs, and slowly, but surely exhaled, feeling the stress quietly evacuating through the same means. They didn't know if he was displaying that carefulness to avoid getting pounded to the ground again, or if he was asking for permission to continue, but the pause allowed them to breathe nonetheless.
Despite their muscles relaxing slightly, he didn't go any further, yet. It was their call. They felt their breathing become yet a little easier. They nodded to him as a confirmation, bracing themselves for the rest of the contact. He locked his hands around their body, and pushed himself on his feet to help them lift themselves. It took them a second to find their footing on their wobbly legs, as Theron, again, waited for any sign of confirmation on their end, still holding them from under the arms.
They replaced their arms to better grip the fabric around his torso and secure their balance, leaning a little closer to him. His touch and his smell were foreign to them, but less heart-sinking than they were expecting it to be. It wasn't comforting per say, but they weren't connecting it to a threat, either. Despite the helmet, they could smell the leather of his jacket, and how much of his body odour was intertwined with it. They pointed at it with a motion from their chin:
"When's the last time that you washed this thing?"
"Uh- What?"
Feeling the tension shift in his muscles, they turned their head to look at him correctly. Their faces were suddenly closer than they'd ever been. His eyes were already wide from the question, and he hurriedly turned his head away.
Oh, right- Faces aren't supposed to get close, even when the bodies are. Not in these circumstances. With how tired they were, they were starting to slip up on these little details. Slip up. They were slowly slipping out of their persona. Even their last question wasn't something that they would usually be asking while they kept the mask up. That was atypical of them. Was it because of how personal what they shared with him was? Was it just because of the exhaustion?
"Sorry," they offered, looking back in front of them.
"It's fine," he answered, before huffing a laugh. "I mean if I stink, you could just say that."
"You don't stink, you smell." they clarified. "I'm not insulting you."
"Good to know that I just smell," he said with an audible smile.
"It wouldn't be surprising that you do, if it turns out that you haven't washed your clothes in weeks."
"Okay, okay, fine, it's been a few months, is it really that bad?"
"It's not bad, you just smell."
He chuckled.
"Man, you really have a way with words, don't you."
They understood the sarcasm before realising that it was a joke. Not just any joke, playful banter, even. They were both engaging in a more relaxed manner than they had been in the entire rest of this trip. Huh. They felt a shy smile bloom on their face.
Theron slightly shifted his posture to reaffirm his grip on their torso.
"So, uh… Do you wanna, go rest up?"
Right, they'd completely forgotten about that part.
"…That would be best." They held a pause, weighting their words before speaking again. "You watch the flight, we switch when I'm up?"
He chuckled again, this time a little more uncomfortable.
"Right, yeah, have to sleep before the big day."
They raised an eyebrow under their helmet.
"You weren't intending to get into this sleep-deprived, were you?"
"Wha-? I wouldn't dare. I'll have you know, I have the best sleep schedule of the Alliance Council."
"You do know how low the bar is?"
"Okay, I was hoping you wouldn't pick up on that."
"You were hoping a spy wouldn't pick up on it?"
"I'm optimistic."
"I would have said naive, maybe."
"Well now you're just mean."
"The truth hurts."
They laughed, and the ex-cipher felt like a little kid snickering with their friends after a bad joke. They took a second to feel Theron's warmth spread through the fabric of both their outfits.
"Okay," they said. "Let's get this over with before the ship throws another fit."
"Don't jinx it!"
Theron slowly helped them turn towards the corridor of the ship, and just as carefully accompanied each of their steps towards it. They willingly leaned in his touch for help, without feeling the discomfort spread further than it was manageable. This was nice. Better than they expected things to go. Maybe, then, the mission could go just as smoothly. Not that this was a matter to think about right away, but the thought crossed their mind nonetheless. Things could work out without fracturing their damaged little psyche even more.
They had ten hours left before landing, and thirteen before the ball they had to infiltrate would start; plenty of time for a reinvigorating nap each, an efficient debrief, and leeway for any more surprises the road might have in store for them. And, the ex-Cipher hoped, it was largely enough time for the both of them to figure everything out.
They lifted their head just enough for Theron to enter their field of view, pondering for a second as he helped them through the door of the cockpit.
"By the way," they spoke up again. "If we succeed on that mission, I'm buying you a drink."
Theron looked at them in turn, unable to hide both his surprise and curiosity at the sudden proposal. There was a little silence, only broken by the reassuring whir of the ship's engines echoing through its shell. The two spies were bathing in the soft light of hyperspace, whose rays were flowing through the transparisteel of the cockpit at incredible speed, and ran through the corridor behind it.
As the agent looked to Theron, they were suddenly reminded of the sensation of floating under the water. Where one was cut off from the noise, from the outside world, only faintly disturbed by distant ripples of light piercing the surface; and where, through the body screaming to come back up for air, there was a strange sense of peace. Where you found yourself wishing for the moment to last longer, despite the risk of drowning in it.
And as they thought about the reassuring pressure of the depths, Theron's face melted into an honest smile. His attitude betrayed how casual he was trying to be, but his words only came out in a mix of relief and warmth, as he finally answered:
"I'd like that."