Well guys itās been 10 years since I first started playing SWTOR and in that time my love for the game and Aric Jorgan has not diminished in the slightest. Iāve written some dribbles off and on for the game, but I figured Iām going to start organizing what I have for my trooper and Aric into a mostly chronological fic. Itāll be mostly some in between scenes and delving into the thoughts/feelings of the characters because Aric is seriously one of the best romanced BioWare has ever written.
Close Enough to Feel it, Never Close Enough to Fall
Chapter 1
First Impressions
(Ord Mantell)
Aric leans against the edge of the command centerās holotable, arms crossed, eyes scanning the incoming mission briefings as if they could reveal some hidden truth about the new recruit before she even arrives.
Heās read her file twice, maybe three times, trying to make sense of it. Havoc Squadās roster is growing for the first time in months. Naābria Alarai: Parents both decorated soldiers (KIA) glowing remarks from the academy, ranked first in forward assault, search and destroy, and advance recon. A few years in the field, recommendations from a few COās.
He isnāt impressed. Not yet.
Experience, not pedigree. Thatās what counts out here. Heās seen āperfectā recruits wash out in the first week, and he has no reason to think sheāll be any different. Experience has taught him to trust instinct over rankings. And something about her record makes his gut tighten with skepticism. Maybe itās the brass giving her a pass because of her parentsā names. Heās seen it before. Too many times
Heās quick to judge, but he shoves his reservations aside until he can evaluate her character in person.
Thatās what really sets his opinion.
Itās something in her overly confident posture, the way she pulls off her first few missions on Ord Mantell with such a ridiculous sort of reckless flair that he canāt tell whether her success is due to any actual skill, or - and it seems just as likely - dumb luck. Heās never let confidence fool him before in his eleven years of military service, and heāll be damned if he starts now.
āāāāāāāā
The day the news breaks about Havoc Squadās defection, Aric doesnāt believe it at first. He refuses to. He stands there in the command center, listening to the report with a growing, ice-cold sickness in his gut. Names heās fought beside, trusted, bled withāheroes, legendsāturning their backs on the Republic and joining the Empire like it was nothing more than switching uniforms.
A betrayal with the force of a punch to the ribs.
For a long moment he canāt move. He can barely think. Just watches the holo-feed flicker with mission footage, casualty assessments, the kind of aftermath Havoc was trained to preventānow caused by them.
And worst of all? Naābria Alarai is the only one left. And not because of some outstanding heroics, not some display of loyalty, but because she wasnāt even there yet. She walked into the wake of destruction and got handed the keys to the squad like it was some prize.
Lazy, arrogant, brat. Used to getting what she wants, and hereās Havoc Squad, plopped right into her lap like a present all wrapped up with him as her new subordinate for the bow while heās left demoted and dealing with the backlash.
Just his blasted luck.
He watches her as Generall Vorne delivers the news to herāshoulders square, chin lifted, Havoc patch bright on her armorāand he feels something boiling under his sternum. Something sharp, unpleasant, almost childish in its rawness.
Jealousy isnāt the right word. Neither is resentment.
Itās betrayal wearing a different uniform.
She must catch something in his expression. "Is that going to be a problem, Sergeant?" Her tone is snappy, and he doesn't miss the way she emphasizes that last word. It's hard not to flinch. Salt on a fresh wound.
"No," he snaps, and immediately regrets how immature it sounds. Get a grip, Jorgan.
āGuess youāre stuck with me then,ā she drawls, looking entirely too satisfied with the whole situation.
"Donāt get used to it." He growls. Donāt get used to it, sir, he reminds himself, but some stubborn part of his brain that's nursing a good deal of injured pride won't let the words out of his mouth.
Notes: Iāll eventually be moving this to Ao3 but several years ago in a moment of self doubt about my writing skills I deleted my account and now apparently you have to wait for an invite to be sent out to create a new one and that will take several weeks š Why do I do this to myself
Next Chapter:
š¬ 0Ā Ā š 0Ā Ā ā¤ļø 0Ā Ā·Ā Post by @kaylerinartsĀ Ā·Ā Close Enough to Feel it, Never Close Enough to Fall
Chapter 2
A Test of Merit
(Ord Mantell)
Sum
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