Chapter Text
Syril has just left the flat when his comlink finally beeps. He's been gripping it for the better part of an hour, anxiously waiting to hear from Dedra. He expected her home for dinner almost two hours ago but the minutes ticked by with no message or call.
"Dedra? Are you all right?" His concern gushes out like water through a hose. "I was just about to go to your office and check on you. I hadn't heard anything and I realized I don't have a way to contact Partagaz or Heert if something's happened to you and that got me thinking we should probably-"
"Syril." Dedra cuts him off. There's exhaustion in her voice and a twinge of embarrassment. "I...I need you to come get me. I'm at Lina Soh. I've... I've sustained a head injury and-"
His eyes go wide. "I'm on my way."
*
The stars have materialized by the time they return home. Syril is careful to turn on only one lamp so as not to overwhelm her senses. He moves to help her with her coat only to be shrugged off.
"I'm fine," Dedra insists.
He backs off, with the understanding that it was humbling enough for Dedra to ask him to get her from the hospital and help her home. He can at least give her the dignity of hanging her coat up herself. He sets off to retrieve her datapad. "They should've sent your discharge papers by now," he says, upon setting the device on the table. "Did you message Partagaz yet? They said you shouldn't work for at least a couple days."
Before Dedra can open her mouth to respond, Syril continues. "If you feel nauseous or want to vomit, we need to take you back immediately. You can take another dose of these when you wake up in the morning." He pulls out an amber bottle of painkillers, placing it next to the datapad.
"I know," she snaps.
Ignoring her retort, he walks over and gently brushes a rebellious strand of hair away from her face. Her face, still beautiful and radiant to him, in spite of the blooming bruise above her eye and swelling on her forehead. Syril's blood boils at the thought of some worthless criminal crashing into her while attempting to evade capture. Justice and order will come swiftly for this piece of scum, and nothing would satisfy him more than to carry out the punishment himself.
"I'm just glad you're okay," he whispers.
Half an hour later, Dedra slowly eases her way into bed, her head and body aching. She melts into the silk sheets that Syril brought home last month, going on ad nauseum about the importance of quality bedding when one spends nearly a third of a standard day sleeping. She won't admit to him now that he was right.
"I'll stay home tomorrow," Syril announces as he climbs into bed beside her.
"That won't be necessary. I'm only taking one day off. I can manage."
"Right. Like you said, it's just one day." The lights are out but she can feel him smirking.
She sighs. "This is making my head hurt."
Syril wraps his arm around her waist. "It's settled, then. Good night," he says upon planting a gentle kiss on her cheek.
Her breath hitches as he pulls away, then a pause. "Thank you. For earlier," she offers quietly.
"Anything for you," he breathes. For her, he would burn the galaxy.
*
Some tiny alien creature is hammering at Dedra's skull trying to crack it open. At least, that's what it feels like when she awakens to a throbbing pain in her forehead. With a groan, she cradles her head in her hands. Painkillers in the medicine cabinet, her mind tells her. She winces as she gets out of bed, her muscles protesting. Why does her body feel like she crash landed into Coruscant at light speed? Further confusion spreads across her face as the scent of caf and food wafts in, followed by the sound of clattering utensils on cookware. Quietly, she steps out of the bedroom and pads towards the kitchen.
She goes still, mouth gaped in horror at the sight of a strange man standing by her table.
"Oh good, you're up," the intruder says, spotting her. "Breakfast is just about ready." He sets a bowl of eggs and a plate of fruit down, before moving towards her. Alarmed, Dedra lunges for the metal vase by the living room window, the only makeshift weapon within reach.
"Don't move!" she snarls. She sinks into a defensive posture, keeping her elbows close and hands raised to protect her head. Muscle memory from growing up the way she did.
Syril freezes, dumbfounded. "Dedra, what? What are you doing?"
Heat fills her cheeks and her eyes narrow. Dedra examines the peculiar stranger in front of her: slim build, chestnut brown hair, piercing blue eyes. He looks foolish in that apron. She's never seen him before in her life and yet, he acts like he knows her.
Ice and steel coat her words. "Who. Are. You."