Chapter Text
Mon had been in bed for hours, enjoying a rare and blissful early night, when the Embassy's visitor bell started ringing.
When it stopped after a short interval she decided to ignore it, assuming it was part of a lingering, half-remembered dream.
Then it began again, insistent and non stop. Someone must be holding the button down.
Mon groaned and looked at the time. It was 2am. She would have to answer the door herself. Perrin was on a trip with his awful friends and Leida was on a religious retreat. Not that she would expect her teenage daughter to answer the door to a strange caller in the middle of the night. But her husband might have been useful as a human shield. Since it was just her in the Embassy Mon had given the domestic staff the night off.
Still the bell persisted.
Well at least it couldn't be a break-in. Only the most foolish of intruders would announce their presence first...
She threw on a robe and cautiously treaded to the entranceway.
She peeked through the viewing camera and started.
There was a hooded figure slumped against the door. She couldn't make out their face properly but she caught a pale cheek and a flash of dark eyes.
Mon knew that face.
Quickly she pressed the unlock code and the door slid open.
"Oh, good. I was starting to think you were out," Kleya mumbled as she pitched forward into Mon's arms.
The senator caught her, just, before she could hit the floor.
"Kleya?"
The shorter woman was almost a dead weight.
Mon shook her carefully, trying to get her attention.
"Kleya? What's wrong?"
That was when Mon realized her hands were wet. Looking closer she could see they were stained red.
"Are you bleeding?" she could feel herself beginning to panic. "I need to call the medics."
That got the spy's attention. "No. No medics, no hospital."
"You're seriously hurt," Mon knew her voice was too high, anxiety was clawing at her throat.
"Do you have a first aid kit?" Kleya, with effort, lifted her head.
"What - yes, I do, but you can't be serious!"
"Deadly." Kleya wasn't kidding.
Helpless to come up with a viable alternative, Mon slung one of the spy's arms over her shoulders and slowly dragged the younger woman to the master refresher.
The brunette winced in the bright light but it gave Mon her first real look at her.
Kleya's face was a riot of bruises, one eye was swollen shut and her lip was split. More concerning she was holding one arm oddly and seemed to be having trouble catching her breath.
And then there was the blood.
It was everywhere.
"What the hells happened to you?" Mon gasped.
Kleya made a valiant effort to roll her eyes. "Someone we thought had been taken care of hadn't been. They spotted me. It...became messy."
It was Rebellion business. Mon should have guessed.
She grabbed the large first aid kit from one of the cabinets. One of the bonuses of living in an official residence was that the facilities were top notch.
Mon's hands visibly shook as she laid its contents out on the counter. Kleya had slumped on the rim of the bathtub. She was trying, unsuccessfully, to remove her cloak.
"Here, let me," Mon moved to help her.
Carefully they managed to shrug it off Kleya's shoulders. Her outfit underneath was dark blue and gray, plain to blend in with Coruscant's anonymous crowds. She hadn't been in her museum persona tonight.
Mon could see the spreading stains.
"I don't, I don't know where to start," she confessed.
"I'll talk you through it," the spy sounded exhausted. "First, do you have any whiskey?"
"I don't think now is a good time for drinking!" Mon objected indignantly.
Kleya huffed. "It's to disinfect the cuts and dull the pain."
"I'm sure I have painkillers?"
"Mon, please."
Kleya rarely used her first name. And she never pleaded.
Mon dashed to one of the reception rooms where they kept a fully stocked drinks cabinet. She quickly selected a likely looking bottle then darted back to the refresher.
Kleya had tried to remove her long sleeved top. She had only managed to tangle one of her arms. She was swearing softly under her breath.
"Here," Mon handed the bottle over.
Kleya glanced at the label, pulled the cork out with her teeth then knocked back what Mon considered an unhealthy amount for someone undoubtedly suffering from blood loss.
Kleya made a surprised sound of approval.
"Mmm, smooth. Your husband has good taste in liquor if nothing else."
"I'll be sure to let him know," Mon snapped.
Kleya looked steadily back at her. "I am sorry for this. And for what you'll have to do next."
"Please let me call a medic?" Mon begged.
Kleya shook her head firmly. "You can't. They might ask questions. I had to...take care of the person who did this. I can't be connected to it."
Mon felt a chill run down her spine. Kleya had killed someone, nearly been killed herself and was now sitting on her bathtub, bleeding and drinking Perrin's whiskey.
Kleya placed the bottle gently onto the floor.
"Can I at least call Luthen?" Mon suggested desperately.
"He's off planet."
Of course he was, why else would Kleya be here?
"Mon? Will you help me?"
Mon mentally shook herself out of her reverie. "Of course I will. Tell me what to do."
"This needs to come off," Kleya pulled at her top.
Mon nodded and, just as she had with the cloak, slowly helped peel away the blue material.
The spy winced as the dried blood pulled at her skin.
There was a tinkling sound and Mon watched as shards of glass fell to the floor.
"Sorry," the brunette mumbled.
Mon, remembering she was barefoot, retrieved some slippers from her bedroom. It was better than nothing.
She swept the glass to one side for now. One problem at a time.
She was diligently ignoring the fact that there was a beautiful spy topless in her refresher. Now was not the time to admire Kleya's toned torso and unexpectedly lacy underwear.
"What happened? Exactly?" she asked instead.
Kleya's lips twisted into a crooked smile. "We went through a window. I was in a bar tailing someone. I hadn't spotted the other man. I didn't react in time. He tackled me, we fought," she gestured to her face, "it started a bar brawl and then we went through the glass. I recovered first, stabbed him, then ran."
She said it so matter of factly, it made Mon's head spin.
"Are you sure he's dead?" she heard herself ask.
"Unlike our previous agent, I was thorough. My blade is poisoned too. Even if I missed his heart, and I didn't, he wouldn't recover."
Mon felt her stomach heave.
She must have turned green. Kleya's good hand grasped her arm. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said all that."
"No, I'm alright. Let's see to you."
She refocused her attention on the spy's battered body. She needed to figure out where the blood was coming from.
She made her turn slightly then found the source of the problem.
"Kleya, there's glass sticking out of your back," Mon's voice was strained.
It was too deeply embedded to have fallen out when the top had been pulled free. Mon couldn't believe the spy wasn't screaming in pain.
Kleya nodded. "That's good."
Mon gaped at her. "It is?!"
"Yes. It explains why I can't move my arm."
She met Mon's eyes. "You'll need to remove it."
Mon blanched. "I don't think I can," she whispered.
Kleya sighed. "I know you can do this, Mon. You've had first aid training."
"This isn't a smashball injury! This probably needs stitches!"
"If it does we'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Kleya seemed remarkably calm. Maybe it was the whiskey.
"Why did you come here?"
Kleya hesitated then looked away. "I needed a pair of steady hands."
"Do these look steady to you?"
Mon's hands were fluttering where she held them out.
Kleya grasped one wrist with her bruised fingers.
"Mon, I need you to focus for me. I'm probably going to pass out soon, you need to listen and do exactly as I say."
Mon clenched her hands into fists. She could do this. She could.
"Tell me."
Kleya smiled proudly at her. Mon tried to ignore the way it made her heart swoop.
"We've got plenty of towels. Wrap one around your hand so you don't cut yourself. That first aid kit has bacta. If you soak another towel you can pull the glass free then use the second one to stop the bleeding. In theory."
"In theory? That's what we're working on?" Mon found indignation easier to deal with than panic.
Kleya shrugged with one shoulder. "If I die, call Vel. She'll know what to do with my body."
"No!" Mon barked.
Kleya looked up, startled.
Mon's eyes were fierce. "You are not dying in my refresher. I have no idea how I'd explain that to my housekeeper."
Kleya blinked then started laughing.
"It's not funny! She's been with me for years!"
Mon's objections just made the spy laugh harder.
Suddenly she winced then groaned.
Mon hurried to ready the towels.
"Are you ready?"
"One moment." Kleya took another swig from the bottle then swung her leg to straddle the bath.
She nodded. "Just do - argh!"
She whimpered as Mon pulled the glass free. As expected blood immediately started to pour free.
"Kriff," Mon pressed down with the bacta soaked towel. Kleya gasped.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Mon reached for her hand.
She couldn't believe how composed the younger woman was. Mon was sure she would have fainted by now. The only outward sign of Kleya's pain was the way she gripped Mon's hand tightly.
After a few tense minutes the senator risked looking under the towel. The bleeding had slowed to a trickle.
"Ok, that doesn't look terrible. Let's leave it just a little longer."
Kleya didn't object, just pulled Mon's hand until her arm was curled around her middle. She was using it to lean on. It left Mon standing awkwardly bent over her but she'd risk her back being a little sore if it gave the other woman some comfort.
"Don't fall asleep, you probably have a concussion," Mon cautioned her.
Kleya nodded silently, her bruised face rubbing against Mon's bicep.
"Ok, let's see... You've stopped bleeding," Mon said with relief.
"Is it deep?" Kleya tried to look over her shoulder but couldn't get the angle right.
"Stop wriggling," Mon admonished. "Wait here."
She fetched her datapad and took a few pictures to show the spy.
Kleya raised an eyebrow. "If you wanted topless pictures of me you only had to ask."
Mon nearly dropped the pad before she realized the other woman was teasing her.
"Very funny. Look," she waved the device.
Kleya swiped through them and made a face.
"Two options. One - you cauterize it."
"Are you out of your mind? That's barbaric!" Mon hissed.
Kleya rolled her eyes and rather than comment turned so Mon could see her front.
Mon's eyes modestly shot to the ceiling and resolutely stayed there.
"Stop being ridiculous. Look."
Kleya was pointing at various spots on her torso. Shiny pink scars stood out against her pale skin.
Mon traced one near her waist with her fingertips without thinking. The skin was smooth and raised. It was a burn on top of a cut.
Mon swallowed. "You've done that before then."
Kleya's stomach flexed as she spoke. "Not much access to bacta when you're constantly on the run. We made do."
Mon's fingers shook. "Luthen did this to you," her voice was hard, her disapproval clear.
"Some. A few I did myself. There's a very impressive one on my thigh. A rod went right through it. Shall I show you?" Kleya was grinning.
If she took her pants off Mon was sure she'd faint dead away. "I'll take your word for it."
She cleared her throat. "On the off chance I don't fancy branding you like you're cattle, what was option two?"
"How are your sewing skills?"
Mon swore explosively.
When Kleya pointed out she would need help removing her bra she seriously considered walking out the front door and into the nighttime traffic.