Chapter Text
Nirma reluctantly lifted her gaze from the datapad.
Scourge was standing in exactly the same pose Kira Carsen used to interrogate her former Master. Hands braced on the edge of the table, looming threateningly overhead. Except when he did it, it was… considerably more intimidating. For a split second, the Commander felt like a guilty Padawan again, who had very accidentally set Master Kaanti’s flowerbed on fire.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, pulling a pleasant smile onto her face. It made absolutely no impression on him.
“Your jealousy has crossed every possible line,” Scourge growled through clenched teeth. He clearly wanted the accusation to sound ten times louder, but he was making a concerted effort to restrain himself—and lately, he’d been showing remarkable progress.
“My… what?”
Nirma blinked in confusion, trying to remember when, where, and whom she might have pinned against a corridor wall while strongly advising them not to look in the direction of a two-meter-tall, unfriendly Sith with anger-management issues. That was how jealous people behaved, in her mind. But she had never noticed anything like that in herself.
Scourge gave her his signature you know exactly what I mean look. Then he realized that he was dealing with an actual Jedi who genuinely did not knew.
“Beniko said I’m no longer allowed to choose Lord Ozaran as a partner for any missions,” he began patiently. “My successor, so to speak. At your personal request. Does it bother you that I spend more time with the only sane being around here? That two Sith who both bore the title of Wrath might have something to talk about? Or should I sit at the foot of your desk and watch you shuffle reports like a damned senator?”
The sudden slap of his palm against the tabletop made the Commander jump in her chair. Some difficulties clearly still remained.
“That’s not the point,” Nirma said, ignoring the angry red embers burning holes through her. She carefully set the datapad aside and laced her fingers together, bracing herself for a difficult conversation. “It’s just that you’re… too effective.”
“Spare me your Jedi politeness!”
The Commander frowned, mentally tallying the number of sleepless nights she had spent cleaning up the aftermath of his joint operations with Ozaran. She had plenty of reasons to be unhappy herself—but she didn’t burst into other people’s offices to vent.
“Last week you were sent to Rion V to deal with raiders operating near a village we’re rebuilding. The locals complained about attacks.”
“That happened. And?”
“The settlers filed a request for evacuation to another planet!” Nirma exclaimed. “Because two red demons with burning eyes wiped out every unregistered settlement within a hundred-kilometer radius, burned down eight hectares of forest, and terrified the population half to death by showing up in the middle of the night covered in blood—then demanding service droids and food! The village head called the sector coordinator at four in the morning to ask whether the demons would accept children as a sacrifice, because if so, three of his sons were willing!”
“And who would dare to threaten Rion now?” Scourge asked sincerely. For some reason, that aspect of the situation didn’t seem to stir any particular emotion in him.
Tao covered her face with her hands for a moment. “That is not how the Alliance solves problems. And why did you even take a diplomatic mission to Parallin?”
“Oz said it would be fun,” he shrugged. “Three-meter-tall aliens who don't know what peace negotiations are.” Realizing the argument wasn’t convincing, Scourge added with the sincerest concern, “Your other emissaries could’ve been harmed.”
The Commander’s skeptical look made it abundantly clear she wasn’t buying it. A silent Jedi mantra about the absence of emotions flickered across her lips. Her indignation crept past what the Code considered acceptable limits. Niri even had the fleeting urge to contact the Grand Master and suggest adding administrative work to the list of things that led to the dark side.
“Scourge,” Nirma continued after taking a deep breath, “we needed to place a refueling station in their orbit. Executing half the council of chiefs in the main square and obtaining a signed act of accession to the Alliance was not the outcome we were aiming for.”
“Don’t be dramatic—it was only a fifth,” he scoffed. “How are you planning to expand otherwise? Ask politely until someone finally agrees?” His expression radiated contempt for their pacifist policies.
“We’re not—” Giving up, Tao let her head fall onto the desk with a dull thud. “Listen. I’m glad you’ve found a… friend who shares your passion for destruction and meaningless killing. But the Alliance has a reputation. Principles. We must adhere to them.”
“My killings are always meaningful,” Scourge said, offended. “But I get your point. Fine. Next time I’ll take that smuggler Hylo keeps trying to foist on me.”
The Commander coughed involuntarily. She suddenly remembered how that Twi’lek had left a whole cantina bare-assed after starting a sabacc tournament. Mostly because her opponents were looking anywhere but at their cards.
“Ryla is a solid partner. Reliable,” Niri nodded prudently, trying to convince either herself or Scourge. “And she won’t encourage unnecessary violence the way Lord Ozaran does.”
“Hexid could work too,” the Sith drawled slowly, watching her reaction second by second. “She seems to handle a blade well enough.”
“Whoever you think is best. I trust your judgment. But you’re not working with Ozaran again.”
The Commander’s impossibly calm smile made it clear the matter was closed.
Scourge’s protest amounted only to a faint twitch of his cheek tendrils. In his experience, waging war against the Jedi's stubbornness was a futile endeavor.
Nirma rose slightly, allowing Scourge—as usual—to give her a brief conciliatory kiss. The kiss, however, was of the sort that could have gotten him forced into marriage on some planets.
“Still no,” she quickly wiped the satisfied look off her face and picked up the datapad as if nothing had happened.
“Jedi,” he muttered with a disappointed sigh.