MireilleBlue

———

Vel had begged Han to give them a mission off base, and he’d sent them on a salvage run to Phorsa Gedd. The planet was at least nominally under Rebel control again, and there were assets to recover. They’d locate two power converters in Groro Landing, then pick up a stranded Rebel agent from the regional capital of Yai-Anan. Hardly exciting work, but it gave Dedra a break from Echo Base.

Dedra still refused to talk about the ordeal with Steergard, but she’d started shouting and thrashing in her sleep. Vel knew better than to wake her, but she’d squeeze her hand or stroke her forehead until she quieted. Vel never mentioned this in the morning, and neither did Dedra.

“Vel?” Dedra called out.

“What?” Vel shut the cabinet and made her way to the interior of the apartment.

Dedra stood in the bedroom, scowling into the mirror hung above the dresser. She was struggling to unclasp the new shoulder holster that had been issued to her. Vel knew she occasionally struggled with grip strength and dexterity in her left hand, given the extensive scarring and missing finger.

Dedra glanced at Vel, radiating frustration. “I can’t unclasp this. Would you mind?”

“Of course not.” Vel stepped closer and finished unclasping the holster, then lifted it from Dedra’s shoulders. Vel made sure the blaster was secured, then dropped the whole apparatus on the bedside table.

“Thank you.”

The room was large and decorated in cheap synthwood paneling. There was a bleached white bedspread, two small nightstands, and a rug that had seen better days. Vel could see a footlocker, a cracked pilot’s helmet, a pair of lost boots piled up in the closet— detritus of previous operatives who had used this safehouse.

Dedra had turned, leaning back against the dresser and crossing her arms. She wore a simple white tank and loose, belted trousers. Her lips pursed as she looked at Vel. “You have dust on your forehead,” she observed.

“Oh—” Vel glanced in the mirror. She reached up to brush it away, but Dedra was faster. Leaning close, Dedra retrieved a handkerchief from her pocket and swiped at the mark.

“There,” Dedra said, once she was satisfied. She didn’t move away, and neither did Vel.

Vel leaned in and kissed her, cradling her face with one hand. Dedra’s mouth was soft and wet under hers, and she kissed back, sucking lightly on Vel’s lower lip. Her arms had gone around Vel’s waist, pulling her close.

For @fajrbismuth — hope you like!

……

“What is this?" Syril asked softly, his voice muffled by the fabric of her pajamas. He’d buried his face between her shoulder blades, and his hand was tucked beneath her shirt. He’d found the irregular ridge of skin just above her navel, and he traced it curiously.

“Just a scar.” Her tone was meant to deter further questions.

“I didn’t know you had it,” he continued, unfazed.

Well, of course he didn’t know. They’d never been…intimate except in the dark, she didn’t change clothes in front of him, and she rarely tolerated the sort of groping he was engaged in now. Thinning her lips, she reached up to peel his hand away.

Syril didn't resist. He just sighed and turned onto his back, where he somehow managed to breathe petulantly.

Dedra stood up and marched to the ‘fresher, intending to take her sedatives and vitamins from the cabinet. That accomplished, she pulled up her top to inspect the scar.

It was ugly, there was no denying that. With bacta, perhaps it wouldn’t have healed so poorly. But Kinderblock 18B hadn't seen the need to issue bacta for cosmetic complaints. You’re destined for the infantry or the factory, the medic had shrugged. Why waste the creds?

Syril was suddenly in the doorway, scrubbing a hand over his sleepy face. “You okay?”

Dedra glowered and quickly let her shirt fall. “You don’t let up, do you?” She growled.

“Not when it comes to you,” he agreed. His milky blue eyes searched her face. “I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable. It wasn’t intentional.”

An unfamiliar feeling squeezed Dedra’s chest. “I’ll tell you, if you want.”

Syril didn't ask what; he simply nodded and waited for her to speak.

“When I was eleven, I informed a teacher that my dormmate had stolen a datapad from the supply closet. The girl’s friends cornered me and slashed my abdomen with a scrap of metal.”

Syril paled. “I’m sorry that happened. It sounds like you were doing what was right.”

She nodded slightly. She didn’t like the way her heart felt, sore and straining behind her ribs.

“Dedra, I think I would’ve liked you if we’d met as kids.”

She turned around to look at him directly, appreciating the change of topic. “What was little Syril like?”

“Fastidious,” Syril said immediately. “Imaginative.”

Those were interesting adjectives, but as Dedra inspected his face, she decided they still fit. “I think I would’ve found you tiresome.”

“What about now?” He risked a smile.

For @dedra11 — I’m so glad you enjoyed that other fic. I’m always so happy when people read my older stuff. I hope you enjoy this drabble!

……

Dedra keeps track of Krennic’s mistakes.

(Professional interest, she tells herself, nothing more. She’s disciplined enough to get through the interrogation without cheap distractions.)

She’s counted twenty-six mistakes by the time they announce the transfer.

She knows it’s Narkina by the context clues. You’re in for the shock of your life, Krennic says with a droll wink. Or perhaps not. Perhaps it’ll be just like a kinderblock.

Three mistakes later, Dedra is hauled out of her cell and into the turbolift. The dim yellow light reveals new bruises on her arms. She decides there’s no reason to look at them. She refuses to notice that they are hand shaped.

For the past few hours, her eyes have been streaming water, disconnected from any particular emotion. Dedra finds this strange and wonders if she’s sustained a head injury.

When the shuttle takes off, Dedra doesn’t look back. The ex-ISB officer who was tortured to the edge of her sanity will stay here. Dedra has no use for that version of herself.

For @fandom-fantasy-fuel — hope you like!

……

Dedra hadn’t expected him to notice her hair immediately. The dubiously-named Ghorman twist had taken her nearly an hour and three holonet tutorials. The pins tugged at her scalp in an unfamiliar way, the weight of her hair distributed more evenly than with the bun.

She’d been ordered to attend a Vesty Week reception — civilian dress only. She’d dug an old dress from the back of her wardrobe, where it had sat in a garment bag for at least two years. Its chief virtue was the modest cut that hid a pocket for her comlink.

Syril stood in the kitchen, where he was preparing some kind of vegetable stock. He fretted over the pot, lifting the lid every few minutes to peer inside. A towel was tossed over his shoulder.

“Dedra,” he greeted, hearing her footsteps. “Is it time?”

She nodded curtly and stuck a stray pin back into her updo. “I will return very late. Do not wait up.”

Syril looked crestfallen, but he said nothing.

“Duty calls,” Dedra justified.

“I know that. It’s just that you spent all afternoon shut in the bedroom. I’m not criticizing,” he clarified quickly, “I know your work is vital and often sensitive. But—”

“—It wasn’t all afternoon,” Dedra corrected. “And I wasn’t working.”

“What?”

“I was attempting to style my hair.”

Syril abandoned the pot to take a closer look. She watched him take in the smooth roll of hair and the ends tucked neatly underneath. She knew Syril had a particular fascination with her hair, and treasured the rare occasions when she’d let him touch it. He circled behind her, and she felt his breath tickle her neck.

“It looks wonderful,” he declared, and Dedra knew he meant the compliment. He leaned forward to kiss the top of her shoulder. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice.”

Dedra extricated herself and went to the entryway to put on her shoes. For the hundredth time, she wished Senator Organa’s soirée had permitted dress uniforms. All of this fuss was taking valuable time from her Axis investigation. Stars, even visiting Syril’s mother would be a better use of her time.

“Apology accepted, provided you help me take it down when I return.”

……

Vel finally ended up with kitchen duty two weeks after landing. Mon had added her own name to the rotation, and she stood beside Vel, elbow-deep in a sink of cold sanitizing solution. She’d removed her intricate rings, and Vel noticed that her nails were short and uncolored.

Vel sat a tray on the drying rack, shivering as the cold air hit the wet skin of her arms.

Mon looked at her sidelong. “I’ll need Meero for a few hours tomorrow. Will that be a problem?”

“I’m not her secretary, Mon.” Vel moved to the next pan in the stack. “You’ll have to ask her directly.”

“We’re having trouble narrowing down the list of grave sites.” Mon pursed her lips, reaching for the scrubber she’d left by the sink.

“And you think she can help?”

“Yes.” Mon was still staring at her, eyes sharp and narrowed. “Meero was in command, after all.”

Vel stared into the middle distance. She tried to avoid thinking about what Dedra had done on Ghorman. It turned her stomach and made her pulse tick up in panic. She glanced around and found the kitchen empty.

She took a deep breath. “Do you remember that summer you showed me how to lighten my hair?”

Mon blinked. “I…yes. I haven’t thought about that in years. We used citrella juice, if I recall correctly.”

“You asked if I was trying to impress a boy. I told you the truth, and you didn’t even flinch.”

“You wanted to look like you’d spent the summer on Niamos.” Mon’s lips twitched as she scrubbed at a serving tray.

“I thought Lyddi Getha wouldn’t be able to resist my sun-kissed locks.”

They shared a smile, and then Vel took another breath. “I idolized you when we were kids. I could come to you for anything, and you wouldn’t judge me.”

“I hope you still feel that’s the case.”

Vel chewed her lip. Outside, a snowstorm was brewing, rattling the transparisteel windows on the opposite wall. Vel’s comlink was blinking from its place on her belt, but she ignored it. “Mon, what is wrong with me?”

“What do you mean?” Mon’s brow furrowed.

“I lost people on Ghorman. Hells, I lost Cinta.”

“Yes. I lost people, too. I imagine it’s still painful for you, as it is for me.”

Vel nodded in confirmation. Her eyes stung, and she blinked hard, unwilling to cry. “I understand that Dedra’s…involvement should be a dealbreaker for me.”