Work Text:
The Republic agent is remarkably fond of stimcaf. Vex never really liked it herself - bad memories, and besides, it brings her heartsrate up too much. She prefers to keep herself awake the old-fashioned way: anxiety and sheer force of will. But Mr. Republic doesn't share her capabilities, despite his willingness to take the weight of the galaxy on his own shoulders. His thoughts are hidden well, but even the best technology has its imperfections, lapses in performance.
She picks up Theron's cup, feeling the mental traces left behind like fingerprints. Clever plans, sleepless nights, a carelessly scalded tongue - nothing of substance except the backwards familiarity of feeling emotions that are not her own. He didn't even do himself the favor of adulterating his drink with something more pleasant, the Sith realizes. It's darker than the Force on Korriban. Her long-ago masters liked to have their caf in the form of sickly-sweet concoctions, all too easy to slip something lethal into.
The cup has a stain on it where his mouth was, where the drink cooling at the bottom left residue on the side. She brings it to her own mouth, placing her lips exactly where the Republic agent's were perhaps an hour ago. The bitter flavor of artificial alertness washes over her tongue as she steals the last lukewarm sips of his stimcaf. It tastes, Vex thinks, like a good man on the wrong side of a war. Far better than the sweetness of slavemasters and snake venom.