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The leader of Havoc Squad isn’t supposed to be afraid of anything. Major Veqivi, hero of Corellia, commander of the Republic’s most skilful team of black ops soldiers, isn’t supposed to be scared of speaking his mind.
And he’s not. Not really. Not scared, exactly.
More… apprehensive. It’s not fear, it’s more like… what if?
After Ziost, in the quietest hour of the night, he comes achingly close to telling Theron how he feels, but something, some little stitch at the back of his mind, holds him back. There isn’t much time for them here. Everything feels rushed, half-baked. A tryst in a rented room above a cantina, not as if they’ve never done this before, but after all this time, it seems an inappropriate moment. No matter how much he aches, no matter how right this relationship feels, there’s something missing. Something out of place.
The galaxy isn’t ready for them. Not quite yet.
But the moment is good. Midnight on the Republic Fleet, starlight filtering in through the thick window above the bed, and Theron two-thirds asleep, tangled in sheets and still flush and warm and freshly sated, curled up on his belly beside him. Sex is always good, and Theron is always pliant and needy and so, so sweet, but these are the moments Veqivi lives for. Quiet. Soft. Time seems almost suspended as they lie here in each other’s company, with no words needed. Veqivi’s fingers stroke Theron’s hair, and a sleepy smile tugs at Theron’s lips, which he presses against Veqivi’s ribs, the closest part of him he can reach with minimal effort. It’s in these moments that he wonders if the words are even needed. If they both simply know. It’s also in these moments that he mosts wants to say them, but that needling doubt is still there. Some nonspecific thing holding him back.
So he says them to himself as he watches Theron doze off beside him. Imagines saying them aloud. Maybe if neither of them had been hurt so bad, maybe if… He sighs as he settles down against the pillows, a memory arising of another room, another bed, another lover, a memory of Ava and lying next to her as she slept dreaming about what they had and what they could have and the things they would do together, and a memory of the first time he went back to Coruscant and she wasn’t there… A memory of Theron, half-drunk, finally, finally opening up and telling him of all the ways he’d been hurt by lovers, by those he thought had loved him, by those who were supposed to care for him and had let him down.
Change hasn’t always been good for either of them. Perhaps that’s the tug. If nothing has to change, nothing has to go bad. That’s not the only possibility, but the chance of something good is outweighed by the chance of something… less so. What if Theron doesn’t love him? What if this is all they could ever have, and what if they lose it, what if it’s broken by Veqivi asking for more? What if it’s as fragile as everything else either of them have dared to want?
What if the next mission is the one from which only one of them returns? What if there’s a choice, if he’s faced with that nightmare again, the person he cares for or three hundred innocent souls? Could he make the right choice again? Could he do that twice, could he do that to Theron, and does the doubt that he could do it mean that he didn’t care enough, didn’t love enough, before? Did he fail Ava by not loving her as much as she deserved, by not doubting the correct decision, by not hesitating in his choice? Would Theron hate him if he made the wrong choice, would Theron beg like Ava did, to be saved? If he had to choose – his sleep-deprived, exhausted mind begs him to consider – if he had to choose him or her, what would he do? Ava or Theron, Ava and Theron or three hundred people, could he do it, could he do it again? His choice killed her before. He killed her. Can he kill him, could he do it if he had to? Would he fail, if he had to do it again?
Beside him, Theron sighs. A deep, sleepy sigh, a comfortable and contented and safe sound, from a warm body pressed against his own, breathing slow and deep. Veqivi touches his hair again, shuts his eyes, matches his own breathing to Theron’s. In… out. Slow. Calm. Natural. He feels some of the anxiety dissipate, feels a heavy tiredness roll slowly into its place. If he woke Theron now and told him how he feels, what he wants, what would happen? What could change? Neither of them can walk away from their duties, both feel the same need to fight for the greater good, to defend those who can’t defend themselves. And there are no answers tonight, no resolution. But there is warmth and softness, there’s life and hope. And even if there’s fear, it’s cut with anticipation. What if, what if, what if he’s patient, what if he waits, what if one day, when they’re older, when it’s safer, when the work is done, what if…
Night rolls on. The fleet hums around them, dozens of ships, thousands of people, a hive of anxiety and laughter and hope and potential. The ambient lighting comes up slowly, an artificial dawn, and Theron Shan awakens with Veqivi pressed close against his back, his lover’s arms around him, and as he turns to kiss him awake he can’t help wondering, just for a crazy moment, if only they were brave enough and selfish enough, if only the time was right, if only, what if…?