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Commander CC-5052 Bly of the 327th Star Corps knew that he was going to die. Not by blaster-fire in the heat of battle like his brothers, no, he was going to die via Lightsaber decapitation right there in the Command tent when General Vos found out. General Secura on the other hand, seemed largely unconcerned about the man who was, for all intents and purposes, her father, reacting badly to their relationship when it inevitably came to light. After all, he was the man defiling the Kiffar Jedi’s little girl, how could it not end badly.
“Aayla, I really don’t think you’re taking this seriously enough.” Bly huffed into her bare shoulder as he petted a callused hand over the vibrant dark blue of the newest scar on her side, voice muffled as Aayla reached up behind her to play with the short buzzed hair at the back of his head, still endlessly fascinated by the texture as it played through her fingers.
Aayla hummed, pressing herself back tighter into his embrace.
“Stop worrying so much, Commander,” she teased, “he likes you.”
“I’m fairly certain he doesn’t.”
“Really, that’s just Quin’s face, he always looks like that.”
“If you say so; but if he kills me, I get to say ‘I told you so’!”
Aayla laughed, high and clear like a chime, and Bly suddenly found that he didn’t mind his impending doom so much.
He tipped her chin to kiss her.
“Watch yourself, Clone. Hurt her and I’ll tear you limb from limb.” Quinlan growled lowly into Bly’s ear from behind his shoulder, gold stripe reflecting light sinisterly into the Jedi’s hooded eyes. Bly suppressed a shudder as a chill snaked down his spine.
“Yes, sir.”
Bly watched as the Jedi stalked out of the Pre-Fab Mess hall with a full tray. Suddenly not feeling as hungry anymore, Bly dropped his utensil onto his full plate, elbow propped up on the table, and leaned his cheek against his fist with a deep sigh. Picking up his fork again, he stirred the mess listlessly before scooping up an unappetizing blob of mash and stuffed it in his mouth, chewing morosely. This was hardly the first time his appetite had been ruined by Vos’ threats of violence and his own nerves, but he still needed to eat.
“Quin, this has gone on long enough, can you please stop harassing Bly? I get that you don’t like him, but honestly, driving him into a nervous breakdown won’t be doing anyone any favours!” Aayla demanded, cornering the older Jedi inside Republic Troop Transport or RTT, fists planted on her hips obdurately. It had been weeks now of scowls and aggressive comments and gestures, sneak attacks and feints, and she was thoroughly sick of it.
“I will when I’m certain that he’s worthy of you, and so far, I’m still unconvinced.” The massive Kiffar huffed, crossing his arms over his chest stubbornly. “He’s far too jumpy and unstable, and he’s paranoid!”
“Bly’s jumpy because you keep attacking him every time I’m not there to referee you two, and he’s ‘paranoid’ because you keep threatening him with dismemberment and lurking in dark corners.” Aayla made finger quotations, “He’s quite convinced that you’re going to kill him one day, you know.”
Quinlan grinned toothily, shaking his thick mane of long black dreadlocks out of his face, copper bands clinking against each other.
“Good.”
“No Quin, not ‘good’, that is very much not ‘good’. Can’t you just accept that he makes me happy?” Aayla stomped her boot against the metal floor, lekku twisting in agitated frustration.
“No.”
“No? ‘No’ he says. ‘No’! For the love of the Force, why not!?”
“Master’s prerogative.”
“There’s no such thing!”
“Yes there is, its in the handbook every Master gets when they Choose a padawan. It’s called the ‘The Master’s Handbook: A Complete guide to Raising A Padawan’.” He leaned back against the shuttle wall, smug.
“You’re making that up! There’s no such thing as a ‘Master’s Handbook’.”
“Well, you’ll just have to get a padawan and find out, now won’t you.”
“Aargh! Why do you have to be like this? It’s so frustrating!” she bit back a screech of agitation behind gritted teeth, breathing harshly through her nose as she struggled for calm. “Just, please. Go easy on Bly, okay? For me?”
Heaving a deep sigh, Quinlan made a show of sulking, “Fi-ine! I’ll stop threatening your boyfriend. Happy now?”
“Immeasurably!” Aayla grinned in delight over her victory, leaning up on her toes she pressed a kiss to his scratchy cheek and happily bounded off to help some clones unload cargo from a nearby transport.
Before stepping into his transport shuttle, Quinlan looked back over his shoulder to lock eyes with the Clone Bly and made the ubiquitous ‘I’ve got my eye on you’ gesture, grinning nastily as the Clone Commander shifted ever so slightly behind Aayla’s right shoulder.
Quinlan Vos boarded his shuttle, whistling cheerfully.
His work here was done.