“You’re staring.” 

Rass started, turning as Torian appeared beside him. “What?” he asked. 

Torian nodded his head towards the center of the command center, where Stasma was speaking animatedly—well, as animatedly as a Jedi could—to an auburn-haired man. Tharan Cedrax, if Rass remembered his name correctly, the galaxy’s foremost expert on exo-technology and a vital member of the team that’d built the Meridian Complex on Corellia. Apparently, he and the commander went waaaay back, to before she’d even been named the Barsen’thor of the Jedi Order. 

“You’re staring,” Torian repeated, amusement evident in his voice. “Should take a picture.” 

“Just,” Rass started, fumbling for an excuse as to why his gaze hadn’t left Stasma for the past fifteen minutes, “making sure the commander’s security detail is doing their job.” 

Torian snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. “That all?” 

Before Rass could reply, Stasma laughed at something Tharan said. Laughed. Not a quiet chuckle or even one of those exasperated huffs she gave when Rass made a sarcastic remark she couldn’t outright admit was funny—but a loud and unrestrained sound that filled the room with warmth. 

Rass clenched his jaw. Torian smirked. 

“Tharan Cedrax, huh?” he said. “Heard he and the commander are…you know.” 

Rass whipped his head around fast enough to snap his neck. “They’re what?” 

“Longtime friends.” 

Rass groaned, turning away. “You’re the worst,” he grumbled. 

Torian just chuckled, clapping a hand on the other man’s shoulder before walking away. “And you’re kriffed, vod.”

Larr’s lovely amber eyes widened. “How do you know I’m not a fun-hating teetotaler?”

“Well, I don’t know for a fact you’re not. Bartender, a Green Electric.”

“And a martini, dry as they come.” She smiled a soft, conspiratorial smile. Twi’leks were the sex symbols of the galaxy for a reason. She took her drink and sipped it with every indication of enjoyment. “So. Is Teb giving you all the action and adventure you wanted?”

“Well, I didn’t expect to be running around preventing planetary destruction quite this frequently.”

“You’re an asset. I don’t tell men that if I don’t mean it.” It wasn’t his superior brain she was eyeing when she said it. “You could re-engineer anything we’ve stopped so far, couldn’t you?”

“Given a little time. I confess Doctor Godera has a disturbingly wide imagination. But the implementations…his originality doesn’t trickle that far, most of the time.”

“Bastard deserves the worst our legal system can throw at him. These are entire planets he’s designing to murder. And then he just says ‘well I wasn’t going to use them’ and they let him off the hook.” She tossed back her drink. “He could use a fat dollop of serenity. Let’s not talk about it.”

“Of course. There are plenty of alternative topics available.”

“Martini, please. Do you ever want to go back to Nar Shaddaa?”

“Oh, at some point.” It would be nice to return Holiday to her old stomping grounds for a little while. Mentioning another woman over drinks would be idiotic. “But I sense Master Tebbith needs me.”

“You’re loyal,” Larr said softly. “You know the Jedi tried to stamp any hint of emotional connection out of us.”

“Did they fail?”

“Can I direct you to a discreet corner of this pleasantly twisty cantina?”

Tharan’s mind skipped a groove. Larr Gith had been generous with the admiring looks, and practically purred when he flirted with her, but he had never seen her move past that with anyone. Not that they’d known each other all that long. “Lead the way,” he said weakly, despite something in the back of his head frantically signaling for attention.

And then he was in a shadowy corner, making out with a competent woman who made every sound of enjoyment. He had her tongue, her waist, the back of her neck, and as he stroked her lekku he felt a buzz she must have been inducing. It was patently unethical. He wondered how it worked. But he had the most beautiful incarnate woman he had ever met in his arms, and that mustn’t be ignored.

The back-of-head signaling met a glow from his holo. “Tharan, I—Tharan!”

That. How could a mere superstar in the making with the lips of a fever dream distract him from connectivity?

“I need to resolve this,” he said in a strangled voice, reaching for his pocket.

Larr Gith looked disappointed. “I didn’t think you were…taken, on that level? Go, talk to her. I don’t much like the idea of being a homewrecker.”

“You, wrecking anything other than obstacles. Impossible.”

“Tharan!”

Larr, he noticed, paid and tipped on her way out. A class act to the hilt.

Anyway, that was the last time they kissed.

*

Weeks later

Actually this is set about a week after the events at the end of Act 1

But this contains no spoilers

The planet fell away. For a while, things were peaceful.

Larr Gith had traveled on the Gnost-Dural with Tebbith. Tharan’s presence on that ship just made it complicated. Holiday had not attempted any kind of interference, and Tharan told her she had not made good on her threat to electrify his bunk at unpredictable intervals, so maybe Larr was out of those particular woods.

“Teb?” she said. “Can we talk in private?”

“Of course.” He led her into his quarters without a trace of self-consciousness. The place was not just neat and clean, it was beautiful, with screens and shelves of an unfussy, high-contrast aesthetic placed all around a bare, narrow slat bed.

“Do you even have a blanket?” she said, staring.

“Sure, when I need it.” He pointed to a folded textile on one of the shelves near the bed. “Now, please, sit.” He settled on the bed and twisted so he could face her when she sat. “What did you want to talk about?”

“I have a confession to make.”

This wasn’t normal territory for her, so she could understand his confusion. “What? What about?”

“It's from before. Kind of small now, I guess.”

“If it's bothering you, then tell me.”

“Okay. On Alderaan? After the peace summit I spent a little time making out with Tharan.”

Tebbith’s entire dear brown tattooed face went slack. “You What?”

“I, me, Larr Gith, made out with Tharan, your friend, Cedrax.”

He visibly flailed. “...Why?”

“I think we were both drunk on saving the peace process and swearing not to rebuild the superweapon. And he's cute, and I was buzzed.”

“Cute??”

“Yeah.”

He hesitated, clearly transfixed over a point of protocol. “I don’t have to tell you that that's not the Jedi way.”

“Did you hear me? Our Jedi business was done. I earned some time off.”

“But...Tharan?”

The fugue state didn't seem to be improving. “Teb... you may go through life never being tempted. Never feeling that pull, that craving to be with someone. You're a good Jedi. And that's valid. But someday, maybe, you could meet someone who charges through your vows like a runner at the finish line. And bestowing a medal on him wouldn't be wrong.”

Tebbith followed along. He was good at following along. He said, seriously, “Is Tharan that significant to you?”

“Oh, no, he was just fun. Arguably that's more Jedi-ish than a serious relationship would be.”

He blinked very hard. “It didn't go terribly far, did it?”

“I did not have sex with your friend.”

“Okay. Okay.” He reached up and touched his Zabrak horns, two four six eight ten, like he did when he was flustered. “Is it over?”

“Yes. Turns out Holiday didn’t like it, and she disabled patching when Tharan tried to make her polyamorous. They're working that out. I just want you to understand. You're my friend. I consider Tharan a friend. Holiday, too, I kinda misjudged her reaction. I won't do that twice. If there's a vibe, this is why.”

“I thought maybe you had quarreled.”

“Oh, just the opposite. Juuust the opposite. Sometimes it's just a sprint.”

“I never thought, back on Tython. You do this a lot?”

“When I want to. Several times on Tython, while you were studying. Technically nobody's crossed my finish line.” She smiled. “But I do like running.”

“Be careful,” he said weightily. “One attachment could ruin everything you've worked for.”

“I'm not afraid.”

“No. You never are.” Tebbith gathered himself and sighed. “This is going to be weird until I get used to it. I don’t want to interfere with you. I just have to get used to it.”

“I don’t want to sneak around you. Anyway, possible moot point. What are the odds we run into another single guy who’s one-tenth as interesting as you?”

“It’s a big galaxy.”

What a dreamy statement. “Mm. Yeah, that’s right.”

*