Re: Womprat Squadon: Downtime

"It may be simple, but what are the risks we're facing here?" Lexa snapped, and folded her arms. "For all we know, you could be leading us into another trap." Her voice had dropped, and she cast a quick eye around the room.

"If we wanted all of you, we would have done it already," the Zabrak replied. "You want your friend back. We want that cache. Everything you need to get it will be provided." Jon'son dropped his stern gaze as the Zabrak's words sank in.

"Even if we were to agree to this," Jon'son said slowly, "we only have enough funds to pay for our lodging here and transport back to our ships."

Even as he threw up another excuse to dissuade the horned alien, he watched as one corner of his mouth curved upward. The Zabrak reached into his trouser pockets and pulled out handfuls of chips, which he promptly dumped onto the table. They lay there like a spotted rainbow.

"I think that will cover it," he said smugly.

The burly pilot rubbed his neck and knew he had lost. "Fine. You win. What's next?"

"Easy. I leave. You get out of here," the Zabrak instructed quietly. "Already there are too many eyes on us. There will be a shuttle waiting for you at docking bay nineteen at first light. Be there. The shuttle will take you to another part of Umgul where the cache is guarded. You acquire it. The shuttle will return you here in a day or so." He looked at Lexa. "You got all that?"

Jon'son nodded. "We got it."

"Good," the Zabrak grinned. "I'll find you in a day or so." He got up, and both watched as he disappeared into the crowd.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Lexa repeated slowly to herself, "a bad feeling."

<B>FIRST LIGHT….</b>

Jon'son led the way, keeping them close to the corridor walls of the spaceport. "I can see the shuttle from here. We're going to have to be careful. Who knows what other surprises will come up," he explained, and then a gentleness suddenly came over him. "Can you do this?"

Lexa was confused. His concern for her made her feel moved and angry at the same time.

"Yes, boss. Let's do this," she said.

"Let's go," he said, and they shuffled across the courtyard and entered the docking bay. Up the steps and past a throng of late travelers, they spotted the pilot waiting on them. In fact, the Trandoshan almost growled insults in his hurry for them to board.

They and the reptilian pilot were the last to board the shuttle. As Lexa sank wearily into a seat and strapped herself in, she looked about the cabin. It was a ragtag and motley group that shared the transport with them. With the exception of the Trandoshan and themselves, she thought most of the others looked like questionable sorts. Some carried weapons whose capabilities she couldn't even begin to guess at, and others appeared to be mere thugs. It dawned on her that she had no idea where they were going– but if the passengers were any indication, it was not a nice place. She resolved to ask the pilot about it as soon as they took off. She was just going to close her eyes for a moment first…

The next thing Lexa was aware of was someone insistently shaking her shoulder. She was so tired; she hardly slept last night. But the shaking only grew steadier the more she turned away from it.

"All right, Mom," she murmured and weakly waved one hand, "just give me a bit longer."

"We're here," Jon'son whispered, capturing her fluttering fingers in his grip.

Lexa's eyes flew open at the unexpected touch and the sound of the strange but increasingly familiar voice. She blinked her eyes to clear them and gazed around the ship. She saw that most of the passengers had disembarked. She and Jon'son were some of the last to leave.

"That was fast," she said.

He flashed her a genuine smile. "How would you know? You slept the whole time." He rose to his feet and offered her a hand up. "I understand, though," he added.

Lexa refused to accept his hand. She felt suddenly guilty for having rested at all. She thought that she should have maintained vigilant and awake all this time, but instead she had slept like a child the first moment she'd had a chance to. "I'm fine," she told him brusquely and moved past him.

"Stubborn woman," Jon'son muttered, following behind. "Reminds me of Misch."

Re: Womprat Squadon: Downtime

Lexa smelled the heat before she felt it. She climbed out of the ship and squinted against the morning sun. Without waiting for her burly partner, she moved away from the landing area and found herself a vantage point. From there, she shielded her eyes and quickly scanned the area. Dust filled her nose, and a warm breeze caressed her cheek.

The area where they had landed was mountainous, although she saw a valley to the south. The sun was just breaking above the range, and the sky was a yellow-pink. Directly in front of the shuttle was a bridge that led to a rather large outpost. The buildings, constructed mostly from sandstone and other local materials, almost faded into the harsh landscape. The bridge crossed a river with a thick layer of mist just rising above it. She put her hands on her hips and turned to Jon'son, who was watching her.

"Well? What's next?" she asked him.

He stepped over to her side. "Aren't you even curious where we are?"

"Another part of Umgul?" she replied, thick with sarcasm. "Obviously."

Jon'son raised his eyebrows. "Always have an answer, don't you?"

"It's in my nature when I am under situations like these," she admitted, pointing to the empty holster at her side.

Jon'son smiled broadly and Lexa thought he was going to make a joke. "What's so funny?"

Stone nodded. "I was smart enough to hide my comlink before we were searched. When you were asleep, I made a quick encoded message to Leto about our situation. Not to mention I have it on right now so the Rats can make a trace. If we're lucky," he added, "these thugs won't be able to detect it."

It was Lexa's turn to be surprised. "I'm impressed, boss."

"I know, Lexa," he replied.

"What about the range and battery power?"

Jon'son nodded again. "That's the catch. I have no idea if Leto will get it, but I transmitted it to our ship to forward it to space. If he does get it, I have no idea if my link will have enough power for him to trace us. At least he knows we're on Umgul."

Realization spread across her face after a moment. "So now it is just a race against time."

"Exactly," he replied, "I'm hoping they will be coming before or after we do our deed. If at all."

A hot breeze carried across the small plateau they were standing on, and some of Lexa's hair blew across her face. Gently, Jon'son reached over and pushed the offending strands away from her eyes. The gesture was almost a caress, and Lexa felt unsettled. "Doesn't matter," he said. "Everyone has a number to punch in, eventually– especially us Rats." And he gave her a sad smile.

"Don't say that, boss," she returned. "Just you wait… Misch, Leto, and the rest of the Rats will be coming for us soon. Just have hope. We're always underestimated when it comes to these things and we've come through."

Jon'son seemed to contemplate her words, weighing them carefully. He probably hadn't expected her to be serious, she thought. The silence between them was growing uncomfortable.

"You two! Time to get ready!" a gruff Nikto growled at them, a long blaster rifle held in his arms. "Follow me!"

He lead them away from the shuttleport.

Re: Womprat Squadon: Downtime

Corbin could smell the recycled air of the ship and immediately he realized that he was dreaming. The sweat was dripping from his body as he shoved himself up off of his bunk, staring up as he gasped, shaking his mind out of his dream. He wiped his eyes furiously removing the sleep from the corners of his eyeballs while still controlling his breath.  Blinking a few times as stood up the man looked over to the clock seeing that it was around 11.

A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he remembered how much he missed the busy schedule of flight combat, but the reprieve was nice enough as it was. Stretching, he moved to the refresher closing the door behind him.

When he came out Corbin was fully bathed smelling like food spices. The now clean man walked to his dresser starting looking through the very up to date clothes his father had sent him. For how soft-spoken and intelligent he was, he always smiled when he remembered his father had a very good fashion sense.  The Flight Officer pulled out a collared tee shirt with a matching sweater. He then donned a pair of khaki pants that went along great with a pair of dark brown shoes he carried, quickly tying the laces after he donned tan socks.

 Looking to mirror the man let out another sigh as he rubbed his chin, feeling the growing stubble. Shaking his head Corbin looked away from his reflection gathering up a pack of cigarras and his credit book before he took off towards the door. But, before he was able to leave the man caught sight of Jack’s bunk. He had been absent for the past day, saying he was going to see his father on Corsucant. ‘Probably staying with his parents’, Corbin thought, rubbing his eyes as he looked around the room again. He found it funny that even though it was a four-person room, there was only him and Jack, no one else.

He walked out of the room and into the hallway, adjusting the collars on his sweater before he took towards the end of the bulkheads. He had no idea what to do, but he knew he would figure something out once he made it to the lift’s controls. Yawning he shifted his feet before the doors opened, Corbin was standing in front of the lift, allowing him a clear view of the lift interior. One end near the doors was a blonde officer surrounded by a small group of newbies, while at the opposite wall was a redhead wearing sunglasses. There was a clear invisible line dividing the lift as the blonde and the redhead berating each other. In fact the redhead’s latest comment made the man chuckle. It seemed that he would be in for at least a semi-interesting lift ride to the mess hall. He entered the elevator before he pressed the button for the Mess Hall before anyone had a chance to walk off.

What had happened only moments earlier…

The dull, repetitive elevator music was pushing her closer and closer to the edge. No cigarra for at last 6 hours, the light, no time for drinking, and all the fraking shifting from shuttle to shuttle with all her belongs in an enormous overstuffed duffle bag was making the day very difficult for the heiress. But worst of all she had to spend all of this time traveling with Duffy, and the blonde nitwit’s posse. The two had been almost, well scratch that, they had been rivals at the academy. Duffy was small planet girl with big dreams, the typical sob story that made you puke, family destroyed by the Empire leaving the poor innocent hero with nothing, but the outdated clothes on her back. How the Imperial’s killed off the litter of Duffikins the girl didn’t know or care. She just assumed that it was all one big hoax. According to Duffy’s story she was now on her own, and worked her fingers to the bone in order to accomplish her big grand dream of being a minion for the New Republic Navy, or so she said. Really Morgan knew that the blonde was just as shallow as the rich girl was. Duffy was there to get a free boob job, the high scores, honors, and all that crap was just to hide the fact you could toss a credit at those suckers and nothing would bounce. Morgan knew what the real world was like.

But still for some reason people loved Duffy’s damn, whiney opera, and the fact she was an over achevier. Maybe Duffy was telling the truth, or some exaggerated version of it, but it didn’t matter to Morgan the girl wasn’t anything special. Heck, even for all those previous faults Morgan could have forgiven the blonde, but there was just something else far more irritating than deflated boobs.

Oh and there it was. One of the groupies cracked a joke, or said something that caused the blaring explosion of laughter to echo out Duffy’s mouth. The sound set Morgan’s nerves on fire as the girl swore she could feel the sound vibrations bounce between the walls of the lift. No joke is ever that fraking funny. If she wanted to hear a cow bellow out moans she would buy some species porn, but no she wasn’t that perverted. But, apparently her fellow graduates were because they swooned over the blonde as she continued her loud bellowing, her arms flailing around her uniform pointing at line of stupid medals that dotted her chest before a hand flipped back a clump of that annoying damn yellow hair. Morgan couldn’t take it anymore.

"By the gods Duffy go get fraking laid."

Instantly the laughter stopped as the group turned to look at Morgan, all them with a clear expression of disbelief on their faces. They all stood there in silence for a moment, before a loud ding echoed in the small chamber. The lift had reached their floor, and the doors whooshed open…

"Wh-wha…" Duffy had to stop to compose herself as her frail mind tried to comprehend the insult. "What did you say?"

Morgan merely tilted her head smiling at the girl before slowly repeating herself, "Go…get…fraking laid…"

The last comment had been the one Corbin had heard before he walked into the lift. As soon as the doors shut once again Duffy did a quick double take between the lift doors and Morgan, "Oh great Edge…your childish behavior just made us miss our floor."

Morgan rolled her eyes though they were hidden by a pair of dark shades, "I just said you needed to get laid. I wasn’t the dumbass that just stood there."

"Oh so now-…no you know what I’m not gonna play your little game. I’m better than that."

"And yet you’re still the one who needs gets to get laid, and the dumbass who didn’t walk off the lift. Maybe you can get a medal for that one."

"At least I didn’t give Commander to a lap dance to pass my final…"

The others in Duffy group giggled, and gasped thinking that that their leader had pulled a fast on her, but

Morgan just smirked. "Sweetie, if that’s really how I passed my classes…I’d have more medals on this pretty green dress than you do all over that hand me down uniform."

Corbin himself found the banter between the two butterbars funny. The flight officers no doubt were rivals of sort, Corbin mused as he looked up at the ceiling, chuckling at the redhead’s remarks to the blonde. Corbin shook his head, not able to resist a teeth-showing smirk as he stared straight ahead, not daring to make another sort of sound or movement that would turn the group onto him.

"You’re a bitch!"

"I’ve noticed…"

"No, I mean a real bitch. It’s people like you that give the Republic a bad name."

Morgan couldn’t help, but laugh at that one. "Sure Duffy, it’s me and not those traitors locked up in jail that you admired so much."

"Oh you take that back!" The blonde snapped instantly knowing the squadron that the other was referring to. They were known heroes of the Republic who were now accused of committing treason, it was all over the news.

“Wow, you really are deluded…”

Duffy narrowed her eyes at the girl trying to burrow a hole right into her former classmate’s soul, but unfortunately for her Morgan traded hers for a trust fund. About to make another cutting remark the girl stopped herself hearing the man in the corner. Sure he was older than all of them, but he was also outnumbered. "You think this funny?"

Their banter was becoming more annoying, and he immediately regretted groaning in annoyance after he was called out. “Of course I do.” He said, turning his face around to look at the blonde. “You’re worried about appearance and being popular, it seems. I’m more worried about my snubfighter’s turning radius matrix being repaired by the next mission so I don’t get vaped.” His smirk disappeared halfway through his sentence. “And don’t call me you. It’s Flight Officer Starlight to you. You can talk to me like you’re a pilot after you murdered a few ‘dirty Imperialists’.” He said, using his fingers like quotations. “Now do me a favor and shut up until I get to the Mess Hall.”

There was a loud ding and the doors opened. Before the blonde could even consider a comeback, or apologize Flight Officer Starlight had walked off the lift not giving the girl a chance. Everyone there had an idea of who he was with the whole Admiral incident, but none had known what squad he was with or even what ship he had been on until now (at least for the later).

As much as Morgan wanted to wipe the floor with Duffy’s stupid boobless face she couldn’t take another minute with her. Tossing the large duffle bag over her shoulder the girl started to move past Duffy’s posse. "I think I’ll take the stairs."

"In those heels? Really?"

"Yes, Duffy in heels. I happen to be just that talented. " Walking out she purposely let her duffle bag almost smack the blonde right in the head, but unfortunately one of posse members pulled Duffy out of the way. As the lift doors shut behind her Morgan could hear the blonde’s final cry.

"Might as well just strut off to your home in the brig Edge…"

Morgan gave Duffy and her group a middle finger salute as the lift doors shut behind her. Finally she was rid of those idiots. Adjusting the strap on her large duffle bag the girl looked up trying to catch sight of that Corbin starlight fellow.

He stood out of the entrance to the mess hall, the hour was during most of the crew’s shift, so very few officers and enlisted men were in the halls of the Mess Galley. Corbin stopped and yawned, trying to decipher in his mind what he wanted to eat before he made a look over to the sound of heavy footsteps. He took a look at the young pilot and scratched his head. “What are you doing on the galley deck? Shouldn’t you be at your bunk?” He asked, not really asking for her name, having no doubt she was being assigned to one of the X-Wing squadrons on the Pandora.

The girl shrugged, "A moment longer with Duffy and I would have ripped the fake blonde hair out of her skull with my bare hands. And I don’t feeling checking out the brig just yet." The girl tilted her head going to adjust her black leather jacket over her form fitting, bright green dress.

“I don’t blame you, she seems like a bitch.” He smirked, staring at her face, as if he was trying to recall where he’d seen her face before, but immediately he spoke, trying to find out more information. “What outfit you assigned to? I’ve been here for a year, I can point you in the right direction if you’re looking for Red or Saber Squadron.” He said, leaning against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Uhh….no it wasn’t that…" She smirked reaching in her jacket pocket to pull out her papers. "Its like…some creature name." Flipping open the folded the piece of paper with one hand the girl went to push up her sunglasses with the other so she had an easier time reading. "Yeah, Womprats…real classy huh?"

“You’re a ‘rat?” He asked, tilting his head. “I wasn’t aware of any new transfers, especially considering the squadron is on after-duty leave.” He said, leaning off of the wall and standing a little taller in front of her. “ You’re on Deck 5, Section F. You haven’t seen anyone else from the Womprats yet?”

"Else?" The girl paused looking him up and down, "Well I knew you got demoted but I didn’t realize how much if you’re serving with me." Morgan glanced around, "And, I don’t have any fraking idea honestly…I don’t really even remember who I’m serving under….some…" She paused looking down the paper. "Captain Tariq? "

“I’m not that famous, so I guess I should take that as a compliment then, Flight Officer Kane.” He said, holding out his hand to be shaken. “Lemme restart. Flight Officer Corbin Starlight, Womprat Squadron.” He said dryly, making clear eye contact as he gave her a very light smirk.

"You should, I’m a complete frak-up…" Morgan reached over to shake his hand keeping her gaze locked on his own, "Morgan." Really rank and all that was a pile of crap to her at least starting out. Maybe if she ever achieved anything higher than Flight Officer she’d rethink things. But for now the girl was wondering if he knew who she really was, or not. It would be better for her if he was just clueless she had gotten sick of people trying to use her as a contact to her sister.

“Well, let me fill you in on the squadron then. First though, you should take care of your luggage.” He said, motioning his head at her large military-spec duffel bag, folding his arms over his chest as he nodded. “By the way, I heard what happened with the limo. I thought that was funny as shit.” Corbin smiled, chuckling as he gave the woman credit for having balls as big as Corbin had.

Touche’ Mr. Starlight Morgan thought for a moment as he reminded her of her past stint with the ex that started this whole little mess she had found herself in. But from the look on his face and the tone of his voice she decided he was giving her a complement so she gave a him a genuine smile followed by a light laugh, "Ha, thanks. I do too honestly, good to know we have the same type of humor." With a teasing wink she motioned to her bag. "You sure you don’t want to eat first before I haul this thing back down stars, or is there somewhere else I can put it?"

"We're taking the lift, fuck the stairs." Corbin said, looking at her bag. "And no; butterbars like us only get to boss around spacemen unless they're busy. You're gonna have to haul that back yourself." He said, blinking a few times as he looked at her. "What room are you in, anyways?" He inquired, biting on the side of his lip absent-mindly

"Yeah, well maybe for Life Day I can ask grandma for a butler…" Morgan muttered a bit begrundingly at the idea she had to carry that bag herself. "And uh…let me look." She opened up the paper again, "Room 14B…"

"You're fraking me." He said dead-pannedly, taking the paper from her hand and looked at it to make sure. "Fraking Gods…" He hissed, now realizing he would have to share his and Jack's room with this girl, let alone a newbie pilot, and then what looked like an asshole on top of that. "You're fraking sharing the same space with me."

Morgan blinked several times at the man’s reaction before putting a hand on her slender hip, "Why, Flight Officer Starlight I thought we were getting along so well." There was a clear sarcastic tone in her voice with the words. "Don’t worry hot shot we can have a boys side and a girls side, draw a line on the floor and everything! I’m sure the things they say about cooties is just a myth after all."

"It’s not that you’re a woman, Flight Officer Kane, but it’s because now I have to babysit you.” He said, walking towards the lift as he looked over his shoulder. “Come on, let’s go. The sooner you drop your shit off, the sooner I can get to drinking.” He said, pressing down the keys to the lift’s access panel, activating the lift to go to Deck 5, Section F.


Morgan quickly turned on her heels running as best as she could to keep up with him. Babysit? "Really, Flight Officer Starlight you don’t have to do any babysitting at all I’m a big girl I can take care of myself." Soon as the lift doors opened the woman waltzed through almost tempted to shut them behind her, but he had said something about drinking so maybe he had a stash…

“Yeah, big girl my ass.” He said under his breath, tapping his foot to the bulkhead, staring at the doors after she walked in. “Look, I have three rules.” He said, looking at the new girl. “One, no sex in the room if I’m sleeping. Two, don’t touch the pictures or my datafiles on my desk. And thirdly, if you're going to steal something from my private collection, don't you dare drink all of it, and certainly put something there to replace what you took.” He said, staring at the wall again before he looked at her again. “And don’t put any cheap alcohol in there either.”

Morgan raised a brow looking right at the man. He had to be joking right? The thought was clear on her face, and after a moment of just staring at him she realized he wasn’t. "So there’s only sex in the room if you’re awake for the show?" She couldn’t help the devious smirk that appeared on her lips after that one. Leaning against the wall the woman’s almost aqua eyes stared up at the ceiling, "Fine, I’d adhere to the rules…except you should know that I don’t buy anything that's cheap." She was a Kane after all, cheap was a dirty word to them. "And I have rules too you know…"

“…if I’m not there.” He said, sounding as if even implying he would watch was stupid enough to warrant a slap or something. “And what sort of ‘rules’ do you have in ‘my’ room?”

“I’ll make you a list…” Morgan replied quickly going to follow the man out of the lift still unsure on if she would be able to tolerate the man or not. Or, vise versa…

Re: Womprat Squadon: Downtime

Leto didn’t believe that was the last he was going to hear about the subject, but he was being given a brief escape… for now.

“They’re back here,” he grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the bedroom.

“I thought we were going to look at paintings?” she joked with a wry smile.

Leto rolled his eyes while he switched on the light to the room.  “They’re back here in a closet, smartarse.”

“The closet?  Why the closet?” Mischa took a few steps into what amounted as his bedroom, doing a slow spin to capture the look of the room.  “I can see went with a ‘Sterile’ motif here, too.  Daring decision.”

“Okay, first of all,” Leto approached her, “the closet is the only open space I have.”

“That’s obviously a lie,” Mischa gave him a small scowl.  “You seem to have plenty of room to hang something up.”

Leto sighed.  “I thought you dropped this?”

“Not one painting,” Mischa put her arm around his and led him herself toward what she assumed was the closet.  “Is there something here you’re not telling me?”

“Nothing, Mi-Mi.” He leaned against the door frame.  “I don’t know why I keep them here.”

Mischa leaned against the opposite side of the frame, forcing him to meet her eyes.  “I’m sure you can guess.”

“Misch…”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he nodded.  “I just,” he bit his lip and had to think for a moment.  “I never knew her.  I knew stories, from my father when he decided to share, or what bare memories my brother had.  From people who knew her.  But my whole life she’s always been this big mystery to me, this blank spot where her persona was supposed to be.”

She touched his arm, sliding her hand upward to the side of his face.  “I’m sorry.”

“I’d seen her paintings before.  Dad kept them in a room separate from all of us, along with the rest of her belongings.  But when I was contacted about it, to come pick all of it up…” Leto shrugged.  “I didn’t really know what to do with them.  They’re my only link to her and the person she was, and I guess that’s why I’ve never felt comfortable with hanging them.  Because I’m worried I would start to see her in a way I come up with, instead of who she really was.”

“How did she die?” Misch asked.

“Postpartum Haemorrhage,” the words slid out of his mouth with the ease of his own name.  They should; he was familiar with the term for almost the same amount of time.  “Too much bleeding after the delivery, and I guess it wasn’t stopped quickly enough to stop her bleeding out.  At least that’s what I was told.”

“Leto,” Mischa whispered, her voice dripping with concern and none of the teasing tone from earlier.  She kept her hand against his face so he had to meet her gaze.  “That’s horrible.”

Leto shrugged, in the defeated way of someone who knew how pathetic that gesture was but couldn’t think of another way to respond.  “It is what it is.”

“You’re dodging,” she accused.

“I know,” he smiled mirthlessly.  “Something screwed up during the delivery, maybe it took too long.  Droid doctors instead of real ones.”

“Is that what you think it was?”

“I don’t know,” Leto said truthfully.  “A droid does diagnostics, considers the best possible result and course of action, and weighs that against its other findings.  Maths and calculations.  But a person, a real person, just makes a decision and acts.”

Mischa nodded.  “And that’s why you hate droids so much.”

“I don’t hate them,” Leto defended.  “A computer is great… for its purpose.  But I wouldn’t trust them with a life.”

“I get what you’re saying,” Mischa nodded.

Leto smirked.  “How about we look at those paintings now?”

“I would love to,” she smiled.  Leto thumbed the switch to open the closet door, but Mischa’s hand stopped him as he tried to pass through.  “But this has to be for more than just me.”

“It isn’t,” he said.  “It’s for me too.  I promise.”

Mischa smiled again, and pushed past him.  “Good.”

The room in question was larger than Misch had expected when Leto had described it as a closet.  It had room enough to walk in, and even move around, if not comfortably.  A niche had been put into the far side wall, the result of the flat’s former tenant who had worked as a holofilm photographer.  It gave Leto the space to store his mother’s paintings; wooden frames decorated a handful of paintings, and they sat leaning carefully against the wall.  The rest sat in a corner of the niche, wrapped carefully in glassine paper and stacked on top of each other, boards placed between each.  Aside from a spare uniform, which hung on a rod in the back of the room, his clothes were placed in a wooden wardrobe in Leto’s bedroom.

Mischa switched on the light to the room, walking along the niche and stopping at the wrapped paintings.  “Are these more of them?”

“Yes,” Leto came over stand beside her.  He removed one of the boards and set it aside, unwrapping the painting carefully.  “The one you saw in the museum, her commissions that she sold, those had to receive most of her attention.  I guess it was a project of hers,  framing her personal work, but she never had the chance to get very far before she died.  I’ve been trying to finish the job for her, when I’m on leave,” he frowned. “I still have so much work to do, though.”

Mischa leaned her head against his shoulder, to get a better look at the painting he was holding. “So that’s the reason for your little obsession with wood, then?”

Leto smiled, “Part of it,  I guess.”  He let Mischa take the painting from him carefully, watching her face as she examined it.


Like the piece she had admired so much at the museum, this work was another landscape. This time of a broad field, the expanse of greenery broken by a scattering of patches of flowers in a multitude of colors, all leading the eye toward the tree line in the distance.  Mischa had read or heard somewhere over the years that the human eye was capable of discerning more shades of green than any other color. And the painting done by Leto’s mother that her son now held in his hands appeared to have been made up of most of them.

“Goddess I thought the seascape was spectacular but this…” She held it at straight out for a moment before bringing it up to her face for closer inspection.  “Your mother was so talented, love.”

“Landscapes were her specialty?” She asked, eyeing the other paintings still covered by their protective wrappings.

Leto walked over and picked up another painting, this one smaller than the landscape she held and uncovered it.  “I think she enjoyed capturing the beauty of places she had never seen in person, or rarely, having lived on Coruscant her entire life.”

“For having never been to any of these places she managed amazingly well. You really shouldn’t keep them hidden away from the Galaxy.  At the very least not from yourself.”  She held the painting up again at arms length, squinting a bit as she turned in a half circle as if imagining where it would look best on a wall, before turning her attention back to him and the small painting in his hands.

“Oh…” She gaped slightly, painting in her hands nearly forgotten at the sight of it. Unlike the vibrant landscape works she had seen of Ana Tariq’s this one was more subdued in both color and complexity, but the emotion in it overshadowed everything else.  A portrait this time.  Dark-haired beautiful woman with a small child of indeterminate sex on her knee with a head of black curls and eyes of nearly as deep a shade looking up at her.  The adoration on the face of the woman was obvious as she gazed back down at the toddler. Even though she’d only seen one image of her Mischa placed the face of the mother right away.

“Your mother really was so beautiful, Leto.” She placed the landscape down gently before taking the self-portrait of mother and child in her hands.  “Is that your brother?”

Leto smiled.  “That would be him.  She loved landscapes, but I don’t think she found much money in it until later in her career.  Her work was showing in galleries, only a few at first, but some no-name from the middle, almost lower levels of Coruscant?  Most of the art community didn’t pay her much attention.”  Leto paused to return the landscape painting he had shown her back to its wrapping.  Covering it carefully, he continued, “So she painted portraits.  Mostly for affluent Imperials who wanted something more substantial than a holopic.  She may not have received much recognition for her work, but she had enough friends in the community who could pass her name along to the right people.”

Leto glanced over to Mischa, watching her examine the portrait, her eyes darting over occasionally to him and comparing the features of the figures in the portrait with his own.  “That must have paid well,” she said when she caught him watching.

“Less than you think,” Leto replaced the covered painting back. “She had work.  Mostly people, most of them well off, who wanted portraits of their families, their loved ones, themselves.  Something they could hang on their wall and show people.  But they still tended to pay her based on her name, and not on her work.”

Mischa frowned.  “That’s not fair at all.”

“Excuse me,” Leto said as he pushed by her into the bedroom.  Mischa watched him with curiosity for the moment, but waited back in the closet.  He opened the wardrobe, pushing his clothes aside to reach a small container that sat at the bottom of it.  His came loudly from the bedroom as Mischa listened to him searching.  “It wasn’t all bad.  Not all of her commissions were like that.  I think it made her happy, regardless of how much she was being paid.  She smiled a lot when she was working.”

Leto came back into the bedroom holding an envelope in his hands.  Mischa set the portrait aside carefully as Leto handed it to her.  Misch gave him a questioning look, but only said, “You know a lot about her.”

“She ran with a circle of friends during that time, mostly people in the same business themselves, and stayed in contact with them after she married my father.  It would be many years and wouldn’t be until after the war that I would get the chance to meet any of them.”  Leto stood behind her, moving her hair to the side to see over her shoulder.  She leaned back against him, drawing a smile.  “Open it.”

Mischa did, carefully and slowly, removing the single sheet of flimsi that lay inside.

“A few of them contacted me after mum’s paintings came into my possession.  Most of them wanted to meet me, to talk.  Some of them enquired about borrowing one of her works, like the curator at the gallery.  I never had the chance to know much about her, so I had a lot of questions.  There were a lot of sides to her, a lot about her, that I never really knew.”

The material was thicker than others, and more so than flimsiplast, and was obviously taking from a sketchbook.  Mischa set the envelope aside and turned the piece around, staring at the drawing in her hands.  Three figures stared back at her, the one furthest left and tallest and seemed closer to completion than the other two.  The man wore an earlier Imperial pilot’s uniform, the insignia showing him to be an officer.  The smiling face, relaxed and almost carefree with a hint of pride, was a contrast to the way she had pictured the man from the stories Leto had told her of his childhood, but she still recognised him immediately.

She pointed the man out to Leto, her then reaching back to grab his.  “That’s your father?”

He nodded.  “I didn’t really get to know him like this.  He changed a lot after my mother died.  This,” he took his hand from hers and pointed to the second figure in the drawing.  This one was a child, of only a few years, and was almost as complete as the other.  It was a boy, the hair from the painting cut much shorter now the way only a military barber could.  His expression was uncertain, but he stood much the same way his father did, and Mischa realised most of this work was done from the artist’s own mind.  “Would be Adrian.”

Mischa turned her attention to the third figure in the drawing, shorter than the other two.  Unlike the others, this one was barely more than an outline, a faceless circle its only feature and expression.  “Who is that supposed to be?”

“That,” Leto said with a humourless laugh, “Is supposed to be me.”

“Leto,” was the only thing she said, squeezing his hand again, more tightly this time.

“I think she planned to paint this in the future, once I was a little older.  She was expecting at the time she started the sketch,” he frowned.  “Never had the chance to finish it, though.  As far as I know, this is one of the last works she did.”

Mischa reached out at the drawing, cautiously stopping until Leto nodded against her shoulder, then ran her fingers carefully down the third figure.  She halted at the face.  “You have his eyes,” she noted.

“You can’t see the colour,” Leto pointed out.

“No, but I can guess.”

“Yes,” he kissed the side of her neck.  “And I suppose I do.”

“The things that could have been different for us,” Mischa whispered to herself.  “She should have been allowed to see what you would look like.  To add you in.”

“Do you miss your father?” she asked of him suddenly.  It caught Leto off-guard.
 
“I don’t really know,” he admitted.  She gave him a curious look, and he shrugged in defense.  “It’s the truth.”

Leto stepped away from her, leaning against the wall of the closet while Mischa turned around to face him.  “I spent a long time, so long, being angry at him.  Being angry at a lot of things, especially after Adrian’s death.  But then there was war, the Rats, the losses.  And then we won, the war was over, we re-established the Republic, but nothing really changed.  More conflict came, more war,” He frowned.  “More losses, of more people I cared about.  I came close to becoming one of them myself more than enough times, and I don’t think I’ll ever understand how I didn’t.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Misch interrupted, setting the sketch down.  She shook her head to nothing in particular, “Not just because of my personal feelings.  I don’t know how my life, or Stone’s, would have turned out differently if someone else had been in your place.  Or how many other lives would have been different, would have been shorter, because of that.”

Leto opened his mouth to disagree, but Mischa stepped closer and placed her fingers against his lips.  “No,” she said.  “I know what you’re going to say, and I know we’ve had losses, but I’m certain there could have been many, many more.  I know this doesn’t mean the same to you as saving everyone, but you’ve kept us from breaking.  You’ve held us together, Leto.”

Leto took her hand from his mouth and smiled, but it never reached his eyes.  “You’re certain, huh?”

Mischa brushed her lips against his, holding her hand against the side of his face.  Her palm felt warm, and smelled of the paper and canvas she had been holding.  “I feel it,” she whispered, kissing him again.  She held him like that, gently exploring him in a way she only could in private like this.

“So your personal feelings aren’t a part of that at all?” he asked when they parted, her forehead resting against his.

“Well, they might play a part,” she smiled.  Mischa opened her eyes, the close proximity giving Leto the opportunity to marvel at their colour.  “Your father?”

“I guess I just don’t how I feel about him anymore,” Leto said.  “It feels so long ago, and so much has happened, it’s hard not to feel detached from it.  Not the anger, not the feelings from my childhood.  I don’t even know if he survived the war or if he did, if he’s still alive, but if he walked through my door, right now, I wouldn’t even know what to say to him.  I wouldn’t even know if I would recognise him.  I can’t say those feelings wouldn’t be brought back to the surface the moment I saw his face again, but right now, it’s hard to feel anything more about it than as a memory.”

“Funny,” Misch smirked.  “I never knew my father, and you never knew your mother, and then we both lost our other parent and here we are, now, talking about it.”

“I guess that is a little funny,” Leto kissed her forehead.  “Come.  Let’s look at the other paintings.”

Misch handed him the sketch to put back in its envelope while she moved to look at the row of framed paintings, each leaning back gently against the wall in their own small space.

There was another landscape, this one done in a different media that rendered the image softer and less defined, but Mischa recognized the setting right away If only from holo images she had seen of it years before and somehow committed to memory.  “Hey, those are the plains outside of Kor Vella” She smiled, taking in the contours of the many shades of brown pigments that came together to form the images of a broad flat land ringed by mountains and plateaus. The latter studded with the paler shapes of centuries-old dwellings atop them.  The location carrying a stark, almost wild beauty in spite of what some might consider a monotony of color.  “Did your mother ever visit Corellia?”

Leto gave a slight shrug, studying the painting. “I don’t really know, Misch.  She may have, or it could have been based on an image she saw elsewhere. Have you been there yourself?”

“Only virtually” She replied, smiling at the questioning look he gave her in return. “When I was a little girl my mother let it slip out once that she wasn’t originally from Nubia as I’d been told all my life, but had come there from Corellia.  It’s one of the only things I really knew about her past. She didn’t talk about it much at all.” She gave a shrug of her own.  “I had seen a few images of her supposed homeworld after getting the idea when I was on the Starr to see if she was telling the truth and if she had family left behind there.”

“Did you find anything?” He asked

“Not a trace.” She sighed, “I figured it was just another of her drunken ramblings so I let it go.” She placed the painting back down. “Still, I wouldn’t mind visiting the planet one day though just to check out some of the sites from the holonet in person at least.”

“Sounds like a plan for next leave then?”  His smile widening at the one she gave in return at the idea.  “Maybe even check out those beaches the place is famous for. Good way to make up for the time we missed on Borleais?”

Scanning the works lined along the wall, other landscapes, a framed still life or two, portraits of unfamiliar faces in various stages of completion, she barely heard the last thing he said as one work caught Mischa’s attention and drew her in.

Like the sketch of Leto’s father, brother, and his future self, this was an incomplete work.  But even unfinished it held her interest more than almost any of the other pieces she had seen already.  The two figures, obviously female, resemblance marking them as likely mother and daughter. Obvious lines crinkling the skin around the eyes of the older one as she looked at the girl beside her, whose own smile was just as radiant.

“She’d have been the same age as this woman.”  Mischa traced the path of a red-gold curl on the woman’s head down to her shoulder. “What’s that Misch?” He came up behind her, looking at the painting over her shoulder.

“I guess with all the talk about mothers I was letting my head trick my eyes into seeing my own in this piece.” She gave a small smirk that didn’t do much to hide the sadness in her eyes.

Leto looked back and forth between the painting and her face.  “Now that you mention it.” He smiled in surprise at making the connection. “There is a bit of resemblance there.” He twined a loose curl of hers along one finger. “I think it’s the hair.”

“I don’t think we ever looked like this around each other though.” Mischa said softly as she touched the face of the older figure. “I wonder what their story was.”

“I’m not sure.” Leto replied, “I don’t think it was one of the commissioned portraits my mother did, likely just an idea she had for something to create.  I’ve been told she often liked to do just that.”

“Well it’s a beautiful piece regardless of the reason.”  She started to hand it to him.

“Keep it.” He told her, wrapping her fingers in his own.

“Oh, Leto I couldn’t. It’s one of the connections to your mother. You -”

 “Please,” He told her. “I can see your attachment to it.  It’s important for me that you have it.  I’m sure it would have been for her as well.  You’re right that these shouldn’t sit here like this, so do this for me.”

She smiled and gave a look of stubborn questioning over her shoulder “Does that mean you will consider putting the others up?”

Re: Womprat Squadon: Downtime

“We’ll talk about it later,” he squeezed her fingers gently, careful of the painting.  “But take this as a gift, Mi-Mi.  Even if I have to make it an order.”

“Okay, okay!”  She rolled her eyes and started to give him one of her usual smirks, but instead kissed him lightly as he let go of her hands, “Thank you. There’s just something about it.” She hesitated, looking at the piece again. “She'd look similar if she wasn't so happy.  I don't remember mom ever looking at me like that."

"There wasn't a happy moment at all?" He asked

"I don't know.  I want to think there was.  I try so hard to remember, but there are so many bad memories I can't trust any of the possibly good ones. Sure there had to be some though, right?"  Her tone was light, trying to shrug it off smiling a little too brightly as he placed a hand gently on her arm.

“I’m sorry you had to deal with all of that on your own,” he said as he squeezed her arm gently.  Firm enough to reassure her he was there.  “What about a favourite memory?  Anything that made you happy.”

She was silent for a few minutes and Leto wondered if he'd been too intrusive, but then a small smile broke out on her face, "It wasn't all horrible." She replied, "When she was in a good mood we actually had good times. She took me to the little park near our home at times on the rare day off she had.  And she had the most beautiful voice when I’d catch her singing to herself.  We had great neighbors too, who just knew…"

She grinned then at some drawn up memory, "The family that owned the little tapcafe on the corner would take me along with their own kids when they went on holidays to the countryside." She grinned at him, "I think that's where I first learned to love the water.  And that cleaning of bluefish is best left to someone who knows what they are doing."

Leto smiled at the story, laughing in her ear.  When she turned to give him a questioning look, he explained, “Just picturing you when you were smaller.  I guess I’ve always had this mental image of you being a tomboy when you were younger.”

Mischa smirked at him.  “You already know I was a tomboy.”

“I know.  I can still smile when I hear that thought reaffirmed,” he kissed her cheek, leaning his head against her shoulder while he looked down at the painting again and thought about her story.  “You know I never saw a live fish until I went off-planet?”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” she said teasingly.  “City-boy.”

“Like your home was any different.”

She nodded.  “But Nubia is a lot different than Coruscant.”

“Yes, it is,” he agreed.  “I’ve seen fish before, after they were already dead, and we have aquariums here but I’ve never been to one.  Most of those were for the upper classes and politicians anyway.”

She frowned. “They limited that?”

“Welcome to life on Imperial Centre,” he said with a humourless smile.  “I didn’t see an actual living fish until my first time on Mon Calamari.”

“So you never learned how to catch one?” she asked.

“I asked one of our squadron-mates, but…” Leto winced.  “The Quarren way of fishing is a little too complex for beginners.”

Mischa smiled.  “Maybe I’ll have to teach you one day, if I can still remember how.  Never know when we might crash on some deserted planet and need it.”

“I’d much rather hear this singing voice you talked about.” He’d caught her humming while working on her fighter, and the look he’d received when she caught him staring had been enough to keep him from asking.

She laughed, “I was talking about my mother’s singing voice.”

He nodded, “I know.  But I have a feeling yours isn’t that different.”

She smiled, which faded.  “I guess I am like her in a lot of ways.”

He squeezed her arm a little more tightly again.  “Only in the good ways.  The rest is purely you.”

“There are some, well more than a few actually who’d argue it was the opposite.”  She turned her face to the side and kissed him again. “That’s for not ever being one of them.  As for the rest, they can all frak off.” Mischa added with the go to the nine hells smirking grin he loved.

“That’s my girl,” Leto’s arms slid around her waist and he hugged her, laughing.  “Just make sure you always remember that.”

“Damn right I will,” her lips curving into that same smirk again, turning around while being careful with the image in her hands.

He smiled back and leaned his forehead against hers.  “I was being serious, you know.”

“I was, too,” she frowned.  “I promise I’ll remember.  Does that make it better?”

He nodded, smiling at her.  She had an entire history of doubts she’d have to fight through to keep that promise, and he hoped that she could do it.  When her own smile broke, the grin she gave him was infectious.  He felt if she would still be able to do that, he wouldn’t have need to hope.

She took a step back from him, mindful of the niche and paintings behind her.  “You wouldn’t have anything to drink in this place?”

“There’s water from the tap,” Leto answered with an awkward smile.

“So very fancy, Leto,” she said with a smirk.

“Tea,” Leto offered.  “Maybe coffee.  I think.”

“Maybe coffee?”  Mischa laughed.  “Mr. Tariq, are you trying to woo me?”

He returned the laugh, looking away in embarrassment.  “I haven’t lived in here since… our last posting, I think. Before that, actually.”

“We don’t get many breaks, do we?”

“No,” Leto shook his head.  “It’s hard to remember what I keep in this place, since most of everything will likely have spoiled before I get the chance to see it again.”

He looked pointedly at her, his mouth curving into a small smile.  “Back then, I wasn’t expecting to have company the next time I was home, either.”

“Well,” Mischa said with a grin.  “Consider yourself pleasantly surprised.”

“Very pleasantly,” Leto leaned forward to kiss her.

“See what you can find in the kitchen while I put these away,” he whispered.  His fingers closed over her own, so that she held the painting in her hands a little more firmly.  “And please take this.”

“I will,” she smiled.  “Should I get anything for you?”

“Depends on if I’m drinking it with you,” he said, a question hidden behind that sentence.

She laughed.  “I assume you would, since I’m not going anywhere.”  She looked at him to affirm this.  “I promise.

“Good,” he smiled.  “You take care of that, while I take care of these.”

She squeezed his hand before she left, holding his eyes with hers as she stepped backward through the doorway.  She left from his sight, and Leto turned his attention to the task of cleaning up again.

After rummaging through the various storage spaces in Leto’s small, tidy kitchen Mischa managed to find the necessary items to prepare a small pot of tea.  She passed over the open pack of biscuits she found in one of the cupboards though after spotting the expiration date, only a bit over eight months back. Opting to toss them in the disposal unit instead.  

While waiting for Leto to finish she carried her tea into the small living room, setting the painting carefully on one of the mostly empty shelves he had built on the wall next to the large window.  Once again she looked around the room, mentally placing the many works of art Leto had shown her in their likely best possible places for display.

Until the flash of blue and red lights drew her attention away to the scene of the Coruscant Police speeder in the traffic lanes outside of the window. The officers interceding in an argument between the drivers of  two customized speeders, the gleaming machines both bearing evidence of damage.  She shook her head briefly at the all too common scene on a weekend night, not just here, but almost any world with a law enforcement entity and fools with too much to drink and too little common sense.

Goddess knows she’d been almost on a first name basis with a few members of the constabulary back on Nubia as a kid for various reasons.  Why her mother hadn’t ended up with more than the occasional citation and small fines here and there, usually relating to being drunk and disorderly, what would later become Mischa’s own specialty when it came to run ins with both military and planetary based coppers, she never did know. What was that old saying about the fruit not falling far from the tree?  The thought made her look in the direction of the painting with a resigned sigh.  Wondering to herself if she could live up to the resolutions she had made not only to the man in the other room, but herself as well about not following that destructive path anymore.

She was still standing there, head down and her mind several years and countless kilometres away when he walked into the room.  Leto so quiet and she so wrapped up in her thoughts of the past that she didn’t even register his presence until she felt his arms slip around her waist and she leaned back against him, smiling at the sound of him breathing in the scent of her hair.  And how safe he seemed to make her feel just when she most needed it.

"Hmmmm" She gave a long contented sigh.

"What?" He asked.
"Just enjoying the moment."

He kissed the side of her neck "Fair enough. I wasn't sure whether I should disturb you."

"You haven't," She smiled at his reflection in the window "I was just thinking."

"About what?"

“How things were.” She glanced briefly in the direction of the painting almost subconsciously, "How I wish they had been.  How it's going to affect the future.  How it already does."

"Do you want to talk to me about it?" His arms tightened around her reassuringly and Mischa entwined the fingers of her free hand in one of his own.  

“Not much to say really. You already know what it was like for me back then.” She replied.

She could feel him nodding his head slightly, but he didn’t say anything, just waited for her to continue after she’d taken a sip from the tea cup in her hand.

“But,” She turned her head to look at him. “That was then.  I can’t rewrite the past but I can make a better future.  The one I want and not one that other people think they can determine for me.  I have people who love me and that I love back and I get to earn a living doing my second favorite thing in the entire universe.”

He smiled at that.  The kind of wide beautiful grin she was usually the lucky recipient of, “Oh? And what would your first favorite thing be, Misch?”

She set the cup down on the window sill in front of them, turning around in his arms and hanging her own on his shoulders.  “I think you know what that would be already,” she replied with a smirk, her head tilted to the side as she looked up at him.  Turning to laughter at the dull thumping coming from the floor under their feet, Leto joining her as she buried her head in his chest.

“Sorry,” Leto apologized, “I forgot about them.”

“Noisy neighbors?” Mischa asked, leaning against him and letting her weight hang.  She felt Leto’s hands rest against her waist.

“Sometimes.  Wannabe music stars,” he said as he kissed the top of her head. “I’ve always been alone here, so I’ve never minded when they played.”

“My Leto, so tolerant and patient.”

“You’ve given me practice.”  She looked up again at him, her smile surprisingly warm and affectionate at that.

The dull music thumping under the floor continued, not quite out of tune or in it, broken up by pauses in the melody that could as much been deliberate as have been caused by softer sounds that couldn’t pass through the floor.  Leto staring down at her as she hung lazily, happily against him.  Hands on her hips as he swayed her back and forth with him, her face breaking out in immediate laughter.  Smiling as he led her in steps around the room, completely out of sync with the music, but that didn’t matter.




A bright light flashed past his vision.  His fingers tensed on the datapad in his hands, his eyes darted not to follow the light but to find its source.  Here in the dark, alone, a passing speeder light almost seemed like a laser bolt.  There was no shooter, though, no enemy ship or explosion of light in the corner of his eye.  This was not his fighter, and this wasn’t in space.  A second speeder flashed past, as if to emphasise the point.  He was jumping at imaginary ghosts.  Leto’s reaction frustrated him; the sound should have given it away.  There was no sound to the flashes in the black.

He set the datapad down as silently as he could.  She was still sleeping in the other room, and probably would have taken a louder crash than he could manage to wake someone used to Dethrider’s snoring, but he found himself being cautious anyway.  It felt important to him to do so, and pretending he was somehow protecting her rest satisfied him.  It felt natural, normal at least, and that made him happy.

Trying to adjust the blinds proved fruitless.  They always needed to be replaced, as did the dampeners on the windows, but there was never time for it.  Maybe this time, but there was a pit in his stomach that felt it was a bad idea to even be hoping.  As if doing so was insurance for bad luck.  Gods knew they had a gift of attracting it.

As frightening a monster as Coruscant was during the day, it was an entirely different beast at night.  Even through the rain, which itself was controlled through the planet’s WeatherNet, the lights and sounds and movement could be overwhelming.  This was his home, but so much time dealing with ship corridors and closed spaces made the scene feel entirely alien.  After so many years serving the Rebellion, the Republic, it almost was.  It occurred to him that for all the time he had spent fighting for it, his home felt almost foreign now.  He didn’t know how to feel about that.

“Leto?” someone asked in the dark.  Misch rubbed her eyes with her hand, while the other bundled his uniform jacket closer to her.

“Did I wake you?” he asked, with guilt.  Maybe that caution was more necessary than he realised…

“No,” Misch shook her head, stopped, and nodded.  “Yes.  You were gone.  Woke me.”

“Sorry,” he apologised.

“S’okay.”  She rubbed her face and blinked a few times, resting her body tiredly in the doorway.  The darkness seemed to be giving her difficulty… or maybe it was the light.  “Was hoping it would be better once we were off the ship.”

“What would be?”

“Your sleeping.” She smiled weakly, “It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologised again.  “I wish I hadn’t woken you.”

“It’s fine,” she said with a look that said she was too tired to think otherwise.  “So long as you’re all right.  Are you?”

Leto nodded, and she smiled.  Mischa edged closer, crossing her arms together over her chest.  Her eyes caught his datapad, and she asked only, “Working?”

“No.  Yes.  Sort of.”  He fumbled his answer, looking away in embarrassment.

Mischa laughed.  “I’m not really surprised.”

“Not really,” Leto tried again.  “Just reading.  Messages, reports.”

Mischa nodded and took a seat on the couch.  “Right.  CO stuff.”

“Yeah,” Leto said with a small smile.  He sat next to her, and she crossed the immediate space and leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Anything we should know?” she said tiredly.  She coiled an arm around his, her fingers clasping their hands together.

“Tate’s under investigation.  Turns out the Navy does not like it when Admirals take fleets off on independent action of their own.”

“That’s too bad,” Mischa yawned.  “Anything going to happen?”

“Probably not.”  He added, “Not publicly, anyway.  Rescue was a success, Admiral Nerys is alive, and a sudden reappearing of an Imperial fleet from the Unknown Regions was defeated before they could mount another invasion.  The Navy has claimed it was all sanctioned, and Tate’s a hero in the media.  Which they will likely have him comfortably remain to be… and away from any command or chance to do this again.”

“And us?” Mischa asked.

“We’re us.”  Leto shrugged, slightly, trying not to disturb her.  “Someone will be angry, but nothing’s going to change.  We’re going to be moved from the Pandora, though.”

“And I was just getting comfortable,” Mischa said, unsurprised.

“It’s our lot,” he squeezed her hand.  “We have a new addition as well.  Attitude problem.  Took a glance at her file; it’s… lengthy.”

“I’m shocked.”

“Hey,” he kissed the top of her head.  “You did ask me what was going on.”

“I know,” she stretched and shifted more comfortably against him.  “Let’s talk about… work… in the morning.”

“Okay, Mi-Mi.”  He paused for a moment, then ran his free hand through her hair.  One of her own raised to grab his arm, squeezing gently but not stopping him.

“Misch?” he asked.

“Mm-hmm?”

“About that painting earlier.”

“What about it?”

“Why that one?”

Mischa shifted beside him, and Leto realised it probably wasn’t the best time for the subject.  Still, she answered, “I don’t know.  It reminded me of her, and it also didn’t.  It’s too happy, but for a moment I could almost pretend.”

“Pretend?” he asked.  “You mean that it’s her in the painting?”

“Yeah.  But it’s just fantasy.  A nice fantasy, though.”  She raised her eyes to look at him.  “Is that bad of me?”

“No,” Leto shook his head.  “I think you’re allowed that.”

“Thank you,” she said.  Her eyes shut a little, but she still seemed awake.

“What about you?” he asked.

“Hmm?”

“Do you see yourself happy in that painting, too?”

“As what?” Mischa asked.  “The mother or the daughter.”

“Either,” Leto said, after a moment of thought.

Mischa laughed.  “That’s the last thing I’d want to see myself as.”

“Because of your mother?”

“Yes,” she answered plainly.  “Hard to delude yourself after you’ve been through that.”

“But that was her,” he pointed out.  “Not you, and not your fault.”

“No,” Mischa admitted.  “But to her, it was my fault.  And at the time, that was all that mattered.”

“I don’t honestly see you able to do that to someone.  Not a child.”

“Maybe you’re not looking hard enough,” Mischa countered.

“Or you’re not.”  He shifted to move his arm around her and bring her closer.  “After everything we’ve been through together, could you trust that I have some insight into you?”

“Yes,” she sighed.  “Okay.  What?”

“You’re a caring woman.  You hide it really well, behind your smirk and drinking and ‘frak’ and your fists, but I don’t think you could have continued doing this job for so long without changing into something horrible, unless you had that strength inside you to resist it.  I don’t think I could have loved you as much as I do if you didn’t have that heart, either.”

“That doesn’t mean I would make a good mother.”

“No,” Leto reluctantly agreed.  “But it does mean you’re not pre-determined to be a bad one.  And you are certainly not your mother.”

She squeezed his hand.  “As long as I keep giving you reason to think that.”

“Always,” he kissed her hair.  “I promise.”

“Thank you.”  Mischa nestled her head against him, shutting her eyes.  Leto opened his mouth to say something, but after a moment’s hesitation closed it again.  He watched her, her form in the dark disturbed only by slits of light from the blinds, watching her breathing as it slowed, steadied.  He rested his head against hers, carefully, and shut his eyes as well.  The rain sounded monotonous with her breathing, and even though he felt her thumb brush against his, he was already slipping.

Re: Womprat Squadon: Downtime

The freighter roared into Coruscant's atmosphere. It carried a load of Tibanna gas bound for one of the New Republic's military depots. The freighter creaked as it streaked into the atmosphere. Adok knew that he shouldn't have hitched a ride on board, but he'd needed a ride back to Coruscant. The freighter captain had agreed after Adok flashed his military identification. It figured that he'd hitch a ride on some creaky beat-up hauler that deserved to be scrapped.

He shrugged. It beats trying to walk. His ears popped as the freighter descended into the atmosphere. With the passing of the new year, anything coming out Bespin way had been impossible to find, so he'd had to take the– well, what passed for a ship—off of Bespin.

The ship landed with a heavy thud on the platform, and the hull creaked as its metal warmed in the atmosphere of Coruscant. Adok slung his ruck over his shoulder and waited for the hatch to open. It slid open and he stepped out into Coruscant. He sighed. He didn't really miss Bespin. Not after this time, getting corraled for his gambling debts. He's been forced into a race, and then fled the planet before they could make him participate.

He'd lucked out at the arrival of some of the notoriously corrupt wing guards, turned the guy over to them who'd been trying to force him to race, and then walked out of the hangar. He sighed and rubbed his forehead with his thumb and forefinger. He was not ready to go back to squadron. He still had a few hours left in his shore leave.

Maybe he'd slip over and catch one of the celebrations for the planet making another cycle around the sun. He'd never seen the point before, but now, he thought he might. At some point he needed to check back in with the squadron as well.

Adok sighed. He'd done some serious thinking about his actions of late. He'd been applauded as a war hero, the medals had lost their shine. At least the gambling debts were paid off. Maybe he could scavenge some better equipment for the 'Rats in the future.

At least he'd made it off of Bespin with his skin intact. Of course, he'd probably have a price on his he next time that he went there, so, he'd kind of ruined his future as a Tibanna gas miner, so back to the 'Rats it was.

Re: Womprat Squadon: Downtime

The differences a few days can make in so many ways.

<center>~*~</center>

It was the darkness combined with the familiar, somehow comforting sounds of snoring coming from somewhere nearby that made her confuse the events that had transpired in that time as being just a long and exceptionally lucid dream.  One she was just waking up from aboard the Pandora or whatever bloody ship it was they were assigned to these days in the billet she shared with the source of that snoring.  

But the surface she slept on was far too comfortable and the very audible nocturnal breathing patterns of her best friend and wingman farther away than usual.  Coming from the chair in the corner and not the bunk beneath her own, she could see when her eyes adjusted to the dim light.  

He’d found some spare blankets and put them over her windows to keep the light from antagonizing her head when she’d awake with the expected hangover.  Stone’s thoughtfulness made her smile briefly…until she remembered the night before when he’d half-carried her sorry ass home from the cantina he’d tracked her down to.  And the events that preceded it.

The angry exchange with their former CO and her now ex-lover.  Something about calling him a coward for choosing to take the retirement way out.  And that was likely the nicest thing she’d said to him that night. Not to mention the things Tariq had said in reply.  That’d teach her to stick to her old, well proven belief that relationships were a bad idea from now on.  Some advice she vaguely remembered drunkenly trying to pass on to the big man passed out in the corner of her room at some point last night.  

He was leaving her too, but not through his own choice. Unlike Tariq.  And at least he’d still be in the service. Hell in charge of his own bomber squadron even, so they’d be able to somewhat keep up with each other.  Still it was going to be tough not having her “Big Brother” about for the first time since she’d joined Starfighter Command.  

And even harder when she thought about her new assignment.  Goddess she’d had one hell of a time keeping her mouth shut as the entire squadron, as well as the Pandora’s command staff, stood before some karkhead with more medals on his chest than brains in his head read out their fate.  

Admiral Tate would be allowed to retire as would his XO and others under his command including, surprisingly, many of her squadron mates who’d put their time in.  Those choosing not to leave of their “own” so called free will would be assigned wherever Command saw fit and in her case, as well as that Starlight and, of all bloody people, Dock, it was to Rogue Squadron.  The look the Colonel had given her as he announced her new assignment held more than a hint of a smirk.  As if expecting her to change her mind about accepting the retirement option.  

But as she had told Leto more often than she’d cared to count since that moment, there was no way in the nine hells she was giving them the satisfaction of getting rid of her so easily. No way she would quit.  Flying was her life and all she knew and if he couldn’t understand that any more than they could then he could frak right off along with them.

She had reiterated that feeling last night as well.  In fact it was one of the last things she coherently remembered saying when he got up from the table and walked out as she just glared at his retreating back before ordering another drink.  Might as well keep all the old habits going, eh?

After a few more refills she probably would have picked back up on another old one of snagging some almost as equally drunken member of the New Republic Military’s finest for a quick fling to get the thought of Tariq out of her head at least temporarily if Stone hadn’t found her first.

“Let’s go, Misch.” He’d picked her up from her chair as easily as he would a child before setting her on her feet as Mischa dug clumsily in her pocket, pulling out a handful of creds to drop on the table and cover her tab.

“ ‘kay, Big Man. Just let me…” She reached for the remains of her drink, but Stone had gently guided her away from the table and out of the cantina instead.

She rambled all the way back to her apartment while Jon’son gave the expected sympathetic interjection now and then in the patient, slightly amused while trying not to be tone of the completely sober friend accompanying the utterly blasted one.

He’d made sure she got home safely, intending to go back to his own place until she asked him to just stick around until she fell asleep.  She should have known he’d stay to watch over her.  That’s what best friends did.  

The least she could do in return was make him breakfast.

As quietly as possible she got out of bed, pausing long enough to get her less hungover than expected bearings before stepping over the still snoring man’s seemingly impossibly long legs.  How in the nine hells he managed to sleep so soundly in the chair was beyond Mischa’s comprehension.

 
First things first…water and a dose of her most trusted headache remedy.  If they did end up getting called in to report today after all it wouldn’t do her any good getting things off to an even worse start than expected with her new command.  Especially one led by someone who shared the same last name as one of her less than favorite people in the galaxy.  Still with the recent events she had plenty of fodder for jokes at his expense, particularly having to do with being as familiar with the inside of a brig as many of the former ‘Rats now under his command.   Although she would very much like to forget one instance…

“Ah frak!” She swore as she spilled half of the ground caf beans intended for the brewing machine across the surface of her kitchen counter.

“Hey! Language!” The slightly bleary voice came from the doorway behind her and Mischa grinned at Jon’son over her shoulder.

“Awwww I’m sorry. Did I offend your delicate sensibilities, Big Man?” She asked, grin still evident.

Stone stretched, working the kink out of his neck, “Yeah, I’m not used to such language.” He replied with a roll of his eyes.

Mischa stuck her tongue out at him before turning her attention back to the task of making a pot of strong caf.  That finished she opened the food storage cooler and started pulling out ingredients to prepare breakfast.  “Grab a couple of mugs and plates would you, please?” She nodded toward the cabinet near his head.

“What’s for breakfast?” He asked.

“Can’t promise you anything as fancy as from that casino on Umgul, but I don’t think you’ll complain.”   She replied.

“Misch, please don’t bring that place up again any time soon.” Jon’son frowned, setting the plates down on the counter next to him before helping himself to the freshly brewed caf.  “But thanks again for helping get us out of there.”

“You know you don’t have to thank me or anyone else for that.” She told him, dropping sliced vegetables into the heated cooking pan in front of her.  “You are our friend. My best friend.  And besides, I think I saw Starlight look happier than I have seen the guy since he was transferred into this bunch.  Shooting piratey scum does that to some people. Hells you know even Dock came through in a way that I never expected. ”

“Yeah well, still.” Stone sat down at the small table nearby, still working out the effects of the less than comfortable sleeping quarters from the previous night. “It really wasn’t fair for your first real leave in ages to be interrupted.”

“You know it ended up being cut short anyway, although for reasons less important than rescuing your behind and the newbs’.” She deftly flipped the omelet in the pan before setting back on the cooktop’s surface.  “Speaking of newbs, you and Lexa have been pretty tight since this whole incident.” She teased him, “I’m surprised she wasn’t with you last night.  Much better company I’d think.”  

She could have sworn he blushed as he replied, “We’re…uh…meeting for dinner later.”  

“Alright, Big Guy!” She smiled, sliding a plate toward him as she sat down with her own across the table.  

“We’re just friends, Misch.” He said, before digging into the food in front of him.

“Uh, huh.” She nodded, her eyes regarding him over the rim of her mug were dancing with mirth.  “In all the time I have know you I have never seen you blush at the mere mention of someone’s name.”

He gave her a half-hearted glare then speared another forkful of his breakfast. “Damn, Leto was right. You aren’t half bad at this cooking thing.”

“Please don’t bring his name up.” She sighed. “He’s made his choices and I have made mine.”

“Come on, Misch….” He started before she cut him off with that stubborn look on her face he had become all too familiar with over the years of their friendship.

“It’s over.  Okay?” She turned her attention to her own plate, but now was just pushing the food around it. Appetite suddenly evaporating along with her good mood. “And I have more important things to think about. Like how the hells I am going to deal with this transfer situation without making another disciplinary board appearance in the near future.”

Jon’son put his fork down and placed on large hand gently over hers. “It won’t be that bad, Misch.”

“Easy for you to say.” She looked up over at him, blinking back the tears of frustration, among other things, she’d been holding in. “I’m used to changes dammit, but I always had my best friend along for the ride and now I don’t have that.  I don’t have anyone.  Frak. Sorry I just…I just don’t know how I am going to handle being part of a new squadron, especially <i>that</i> squadron.”  

“Corran Antilles isn’t bad you know.  For an Antilles.”  He smiled gently at his friend, “At least that’s what I hear from a lot of people. And besides, if he gets on your nerves you can always tell him to meet you in the gym…or ask him how being in the brig was?” He grinned, “And you aren’t alone, you have Corbin and Adok along to keep those Rogues in line and you have me.  And always will, whether I am in the same space or not.  Got it?”  

She smiled, slipping her fingers through his and giving a light squeeze.  “That’s my big bro, always finding a way to make me smile.”  

“And always will, Mi-Mi.”  He smiled as he said it, but the sincerity in his voice was apparent as always.  “Now, I want to finish this fantastic breakfast my little sister made me and then we can see what kind of trouble we can get into before I have to meet up with Lexa and you report for your new posting.”  

“Sounds like a plan, Big Man.”  She picked up her mug and raised it in a toasting gesture, “And I promise no real trouble will be involved, although next time we can manage shore leave in the same place…”

Stone touched his own cup of caf to hers, “I would expect nothing less than one hell of an interesting time when that happens.”


(Bye-bye old squadron, you will be missed…and bring it, Rogues! :p)