In This Twilight || Closed

[I am so sorry I've been MIA, it has been absolutely hectic here!]

Her cheeks flooded with warmth, so hot it felt as though her skin could just melt from the bone. Toma ducked her head, laughing softly. Her chest felt a little wobbly, her whole being a little off-kilter. “I don’t know why you’d say that when it’s all your idea, Poe,” she said, finding it easier to continue as though they were talking about his ‘plan’ and not the fact that he’d called her sharp and said that he liked it. He kriffing liked it. Her stomach was in an uproar, twisting and turning and tying itself into knots. She pressed her lips together, somehow mustering the courage to glance over to him. He was smiling at her. Her heart was going to pound right out of her body, she knew it. It was going to happen. There was no doubt in her mind. Her heart would pound a hole right through her sternum and fly onto the controls all because a man smiled at her. Maker fucking wept.

“I try not to think about the fact that my childhood hero as faith in me,” she said, letting out a quiet chuckle. “It’s a little intimidating to think of.” She took in a deep breath, holding for a few seconds and then letting it go. Her pulse quieted (only a little, though) and she made her shoulders slump back into the seat. She needed to calm down, to be present with the mission. Because that’s what she was doing. She was working a mission, not mooning over some dark-haired boy like she was a youngling discovering attraction for the first time. The mission came first, everything second. And even if - if - she did find him attractive, so what? What would honestly happen between them? He was a pilot that went from mission to mission, never back on base long enough to really rest up. Most likely, nothing would happen beyond the mission, and that was okay. “I’m not sure about that. Poe sounds like a hell of a hot-shot pilot.” She glanced over in his direction and shot him a grin. “But Link sounds decent enough.”

Toma nodded her head as he spoke, the knots in her stomach loosening a little. She could handle mission talk. “That’s good,” she said, the corners of her mouth flicking up into a smile. She rolled her eyes when he started to speak. Not a good leader? The man was considered one of the best leaders in the Resistance. “You’re selling yourself short, Dameron,” she murmured, pursing her lips at the fact that she even had to disagree with him on this. “You’re more than just a good pilot. People like you, they trust you, they follow you. It’s because you’ve earned their trust, not because you can fly a kriffing X-Wing.” She made sure to keep herself from sounding too earnest, but it was hard to when he’d given her that grin and her heart was suddenly racing once more. “I know you won’t.” She was sure about that as she had been with anything else in her life.

Her eyes stayed on the viewport as they approached the surface. They were still small from the distance, but she could see various being bustling about, shady dealings going on right in plain view. “That could work,” she hummed, fingers gripping the arms of the chair a little tighter. This was it. This was it. This was a real life mission that she was going on - undercover - and suddenly it was as though she were out of her depth. She yearned for him to head out of the atmosphere where they could just sit and talk and everything would be fine. They’d be safe there. His laugh jarred her out of her head and she looked over to him, trying to wrack her brain for what he’d just said. Something about acting oblivious? Him acting oblivious, maybe? “I’m sure you’ll do fine,” she said, voice a little soft and unsure. Kriff, she hoped that that made sense.

It was muffled, but some voices could be heard outside the ship, the general low grumble of beings going about their daily business. In a way, it was comforting. Grounding, even. This was a mission, yes, but she’d been on plenty of jobs with her parents before. Her skills were a little rusty, but they weren’t nonexistent. They could handle themselves just fine. She glanced over to him, taking in a deep breath before she trusted herself to nod. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” she said. She hesitated for a moment before pushing herself to her feet, and heading to lower the ramp. She slowed down when she reached the panel, glancing back to wait for Poe. They’d be fine. They could handle this. They could. “You good to go…” She trailed off, pausing before a small grin spread across her lips. “… Link?”

---

Ren was having a hard time ignoring how the energy around her had shifted. That anger, that wrath was still there, but there was an undercurrent of something that was clouding his mind. It was similar to what he was feeling, that wanting, that yearning to press his body against hers, to have every inch of his skin touching every inch of hers, to - no. No. He wasn’t going to allow himself to think such things. Not then, when she was right in front of him and it’d be all too easy to reach up and trace her features with his ungloved hand. He regulated his breathing, taking in measured, slow breaths in an effort to calm his pulse. It wasn’t working. His glaze slid over her, allowing his thoughts to drift for just a second before forcing them into place.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” he said. His heart gave angry jerk at the sound of her voice. Kriff, he wouldn’t mind it sounding like that all the time. The raspiness got stuck in his mind, shrieking around because he wanted to be the one to make her sound like that. He wondered if that’s how she sounded about a being slept with her, raspy and maybe a little quiet. He forced himself to keep gazing at her. If he looked away, it’d be like he was admitting that he was weak, that he couldn’t stand to look at her. Which was ridiculous. He just needed to get his thoughts in order, to force himself to be mindful of the mission at hand. There were more important things at the moment; things that were more imperative than dragging her to the nearest bed and pressing up against her like teens discovering themselves for the first time.

He let out a hum, finally allowing himself to glance towards the controls for a moment. He’d let her wait a beat or two, wanting her to simmer in those thoughts. Needing him was a nice thought, but he wasn’t able to tell if she would go along with him helping her. “You will until you understand how to do it on your own.” He wasn’t even sure if beings that weren’t Force sensitive could do such a thing. The fact that it had even worked with her was impressive - and a little shocking. He’d taken a risk with it. What would have happened if it was another being, someone that didn’t have her intelligence or her spine? She was strong-willed and angry, but she was smart. It was the perfect combination for such a thing.

Kylo Ren watched her as she finally turned her attention away from him. He felt like it was a little easier to breathe, but he refused to give in to the desire of heaving in a deep breath. Something in him told him that she’d probably take a little too much joy in that. “How long until we arrive?” He asked her, needing to say something. He was having trouble hanging on to his control. He wasn’t sure if it was because he’d helped her, but he felt hyper-aware of her emotions, of the want that was rolling off of her in large waves. It was mingling with his own desire, and he couldn’t tell where his ended and hers began. He dropped his gloved hand to his side, out of her sight line, and dug his nails into his palm. The sharp edge stung despite the fabric between the nail and skin, and he got a brief moment of clarity. He was fine. He was fine.

“Watch it,” he snapped, shooting her a glare. He needed to keep some semblance of ranking here, and her tone grated against him. He felt like a dog, his hackles rising up to warn anyone who was around of his annoyance. There’d been a split second where he’d wanted to call her ‘princess’, just to watch that anger rise up once more. But if it did, there was a chance that any self-control that lay between them would be thrown out into space. He looked towards the viewport for a moment, thinking her words over. “What would you have me call you, then?” He asked her. He hadn’t seen the intimate details, but he’d seen enough, the way impressions of death and destruction and swirled around her.

The captain’s gaze slipped over to Toma, grinning to himself at how she’d reacted to what he’d said. He could see her duck her head, the surplus color painting her cheeks, and he found himself wanting to make her laugh again and again. Poe knew then he was pretty much in deep bantha shit in terms of his attraction toward her. He was professional enough to know how to put it aside, but if they were going to be cooped up in a room together—He stopped that train of thought right there before it got any further. “Sure, blame it all on me,” he told her with a crooked grin, shaking his head with faux disdain. His expression curled into a more genuine look as she mentioned General Organa having faith in her.

“It can be,” he told her honestly, remembering how he’d felt upon initially meeting General Organa and how her life’s story preceded her a bit. Though, after he got to become more familiar with her, he realized how the General seemed to shirk any sort of preconceived notions about her. She realized that beings could see her as something more, something greater than what she was, but she acted anything but human…if not particularly more in touch with the Force than others. He ran his tongue over his teeth as he settled back a bit into his chair, eyes slipping over to her. “That’s probably why my parents picked the name, honestly. With the hopes that I’d end up living up to it,” he murmured with a wry grin.

His gaze flickered over her features as she spoke, liking the way her mouth twitched up into a smile before she spoke. It filled him with a sort of feeling he typically only got while performing barrel rolls, when the g-forces of the maneuver pressed against his chest. His dark eyes darted between hers as she spoke, a slow grin curling his lips the more she spoke. Sure, this was something he’d heard plenty of times, but it sounded…different coming from her and caused his stomach to do flips and tie into knots all at the same time. He drew in a deep breath, mouth opening to speak, but he found that he couldn’t necessarily find the right words to describe how he was feeling. Poe looked away, the grin still curling his lips. “Thanks, Toma,” he finally got out, eyes flickering back over to her. “Sometimes I need to be reminded that I am who I am because of what I’ve done, not because of who my parents are.”

His heart was pounding awkwardly in his chest, like the first time he’d ever laid eyes upon an enemy ship. Poe barely even registered that she had said a few things as he eyed the beings that were carrying on outside of the viewport. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been on a planet or even landed somewhere that wasn’t a Resistance base. Drawing in a deep breath of air, he steeled himself, managing to remember that this was just a recon mission and that they should be fine as long as they didn’t attract any unwanted attention. His eyes shifted over to Toma as she replied to him and he pushed himself up to stand. His footsteps soon followed after her, gaze roaming the interior to be sure that nothing that would give them away to be part of the Resistance. Poe’s attention snapped back to Toma. “I am, Myri,” he replied without missing a beat, mirroring her grin.

Poe pressed a few buttons on the panel, hydraulics slowly lowering the ramp with a hiss as the sounds of the landing strip met them. Something that Poe immediately picked up on were the lack of humanoid beings that walked past their ramp. He counted a few Neimoidians and an Abednedo following up behind them, a couple of Twi’lek rummaging through a few cargo crates, and a Rodian barking orders at a few protocol droids. This wasn’t too far off from being on base, the flurry of activity, he told himself as he shot a look to Toma. It shouldn’t be too hard for them to find a hotel close to this landing strip. “Alright, lets find that room for the night,” he said, nodding his head toward the taller buildings that surrounded them. He stepped down the ramp and glanced around for a moment, noting the haze that hung in the air and how everything seemed to be bathed in a yellowish light.

---

Focus. Cirilla chided herself as she wrestled with the heated thoughts that were rushing through her mind. The single word only had her focusing on the wrong things, like if Ren’s lips were as soft as they looked or what he looked like beneath all that thick, roughly woven fabric. Repress and suppress, the pilot recounted all she had be told to do by the First Order when such urges emerged. She was now beginning to realize why so many resigned to trysts in dark, forgotten corners of the durasteel corridors, or maintenance closets, or even their barracks. Cirilla had once walked in one of the woman she roomed with during such an event and had flown hot at someone breaking the rules and in such a blatantly ignorant way. It’d be all too easy for her to lapse in her ways now, with no way for anyone to track them and the only other member of the First Order with her being Ren.

Cirilla nodded in reply to what Kylo had said, finding that his answer pleased her. Lying or not, it seemed him guiding her through channelling her anger was something he could get in trouble for as well—a bargaining chip for herself, should he turn on her. Her stomach gave an awkward little jump at the thought that she didn’t really want him in trouble. The realization was almost enough to have her snapping at him that he’d done something to her, filled her mind with all this nonsense that had her heart racing and body reacting in ways she never thought it could. She barely registered that he was speaking again, but somehow managed to catch what he said. Slowly, her gaze slipped over him as this feeling rose in her chest, one that hadn’t been present since before she’d sought out the First Order. “What will I have to give you to have you help me whenever I want?” She questioned.

There was no falter in her tone, nor in her gaze. It was a tone she’d use when she wanted others to know that she wasn’t used to being told ‘no’ when she asked for something. She’d imagined she looked quite like her mother now, when she’d put on her deliberating and diplomatic face. Cirilla was only slightly frightened by the thought that she’d do just about anything, if it meant she’d learn this on her own, to use it when she got a chance to exact her revenge. She eyed him for a few moments longer, her cool blue gaze locked on his before turning away. Reaching up to press a few buttons, she gauged a few of the readings. “We should arrive in about 8 parsecs.”

Her fingers gripped the yoke a bit tighter for a moment, a heady sort of emotion lingering in the back of her mind. She wondered vaguely if he felt the same way, if this was some sort of after-effect of him being in her mind. The two words he said and the glare he shot toward her, however, had her stomach flipping anxiously. Instead of cowering in fear, which she would have done were she not feeling so headstrong, she turned to meet his glare boldly. Something must have been wrong with her if she was finding his irritation, even towards her, attractive. She hurriedly turned away, swiping her tongue across her bottom lip as she shifted in her seat, making it seem like she was leaning forward to check a few of the gauges.

A quiet hum left her as she considered his question. He wasn’t asking to delve into her history, which she was very relieved for, but she hadn’t given a false name any though. Cirilla pulled her lips between her teeth as she sighed through her nose, sitting in thought for a few moments. “Gemma,” she finally got out, mind resting on the name of a friend she’d had growing up. “Calling me Gemma will be fine.” She ran her tongue over her lips to wet them before turning to look over at Kylo once more. “What about you? I don’t think I’ll be able to call you by your name without turning heads,” she told him. There was another pause before she spoke. “I should be able to alter what clothes I have to look…less regulation. Is there anything else I should know about this mission before we land?”

It was odd, settling back into the once-familiar mindset of smuggler. A memory of when she was a youngling, watching her mother argue with a merchant in some spaceport, had floated through her mind when they had landed on Nar Shadaa. She had spent so long trying to run away from it, trying to be as upstanding a being as she possibly could, that it was almost foreign. But of course, the second they had exited the ship, her shoulders had rolled back, straightening her posture as she plastered a half-cocksure smirk on her face as she’d approached the only being holding a datapad. Toma had said the right words, slid the being a couple of credit chips, and was told that they were good to go.

It concerned her that it was that easy to fall back into the swing of things. But she’d pushed that thought aside and in what seemed like no time at all, found herself sitting on the edge of a bed as she thrummed her fingers against her thigh. Their accommodations weren’t infested with bugs, which was a little surprising given the (rather small) number of credits the Resistance had given them to find a place to stay. She wasn’t complaining, though.

She stole a glance at Poe before redirecting her attention to the bag beside her. She dug through it, busying herself as the usual bout of nerves settled in her chest. However, they were accompanied by another feeling, one that she didn’t want to name. Toma couldn’t avoid it, though. It was attraction, which was the last thing she needed on this mission. She needed to focus, not distract herself with noticing just how attractive he may or may not have been. “So, what’s the game plan?” She asked, finding her datapad and pulling it out as she looked over to him. “We still need to—” She cut herself off to wave her hands, motioning that they still needed to check the room for bugs.

---

Ren was unsettled. The jittery energy that had invaded his nervous system from the moment he’d entered her mind had stayed with him. He felt as though it had flooded his limbs, making him both too energetic and lethargic at once. What truly unsettled him, though, was that he was unaware to place why he felt this way. Master Snoke had prided himself on ensuring that all Knights of Ren were constantly aware of their emotional state. It was vital in their training, vital to know how they were feeling in order best to harness those feelings to feed their power. There had been months of invasive uses of the Force, of their minds being ripped apart by other Knights so they could learn what truly made them tick.

This, though. This was more difficult to place. Was it jealousy? Anger? Arousal? He internally balked at that last one. Jealousy, he could understand. The woman was powerful even without the Force. Being able to resist his mental invasion was almost unheard of. It signaled that the woman was stronger than himself in some way. Anger, too, made sense. She did not show her fear towards him in the same way that other soldiers within the First Order did. It was there, sure, but she overcame it. Stood almost toe-to-toe with him. She should respect him. Arousal? Maybe.

He refused to let himself explore that.

Sucking in a deep breath of air, he sighed softly as he avoided his gaze in the mirror. Ren had stepped into the 'fresher on the ship to collect himself. He knew that the both of them would need new clothes, ones that wouldn't draw attention to themselves. His all-black attire would do for the time being, but she was clearly First Order. He let out a quiet groan as eventually met his gaze in the mirror. He'd hated it, having to stare at his reflection. He needed a new helmet, but he had a sneaking suspicion that Master Snoke preferred him without one. It was a certain kind of cruelty, one that would make him stronger in the end. He blinked, swallowed, and stepped out, taking care to keep a neutral expression on his face. He'd felt them land not five minutes ago. It was time to move. He walked back to where he'd last seen Holt. "You'll need a change of clothes before stepping outside. We don't need to call attention to ourselves."

To say that Poe was surprised by Toma felt like a bit of an understatement. He’d known she was a bit concerned about this mission—even if it was passed to them by General Organa, most missions weren't this...risky. Never had something so simple as “you’re just going there to listen in for any transmissions and gain intel on Ren and whoever he was with about an artifact that was Darth Vader’s” been so anxiety-inducing. There were a multitude of things that could go wrong, especially on a planet like Nar Shadaa, but the moment Toma had stepped out into the pollution-ridden air, she looked like she was meant for this kind of work. Poe knew he couldn’t let this effort of hers go to waste, nor could he ultimately let General Organa down. It was downright commendable and he’d let the General know this girl had potential. Not to mention her newfound swagger was undeniably attractive to him.

The room they’d secured wasn’t too bad, considering the state of the city itself. Scrap rats, no doubt brought in by some cargo ship from some far off planet, scurried into junk heaps and unkempt loth cats gave them chase as shady-looking lifeforms sneered at the two humans. Toma took it all in stride, but Poe couldn’t help but let his hand sneak toward his blaster more often than a few times. Needless say, Poe was glad for the slight reprieve being behind a closed door gave him. Even though something about it felt like it’d only put him on edge in a different kind of way. The two sleepers were fairly close in the room and there was only one ‘fresher for the two of them. Privacy would be little for them until they got back to the Resistance base, Poe figured. It hadn't bothered him much before, so he wondered why it did now.

Dark chocolate-colored eyes flicked over to her as she spoke, watching her motions closely and nodding in understanding. Immediately, he darted over to the sleepers and began lifting the coverings, keyed into anything that looked out of place. Thankfully, the room lacked a lot of furnishings that would be an easy place to hide bugs. “The game plan is…” he started, sparing her a glance. “We take a load off—” Poe copied her motions for picking around for bugs. “—and then, maybe…crack open a window and get some air, listen to the city for a bit.” He sent a poignant look to their various devices and datapads for listening in to comms and systems. If Ren was already here, they may already be at a disadvantage in their mission, but it couldn't help to listen in to transmissions.

Did he feel a bit silly, still speaking in code? Sure, but they were still combing for bugs and it’d be better than their mission going awry less than a standard day since they’d gotten there. After he’d pulled back all the covers and tipped the mattress up on it’s side and took the pillow in his hands to feel around for anything, he stood back with his hands on his hips. “This sleeper looks clear,” he announced, before crouching down and trying to get a good view under the frame of the sleeper. Hopefully they wouldn’t find anything, because he didn’t know what they would do with any bugs they’d find. Destroying it would certainly ping back to whoever was listening in and give it away they’d been found out.

---

There was a certain unease that had settled into Cirilla’s being. It crackled like electricity and reminded her of how doubly deadly this whole mission Ren had roped her into. Though, it felt as though it wasn’t entirely her own emotion. Were they connected now, her and Kylo Ren, since she’d let him into her mind and teach her how to guide that blistering white-hot anger she’d bottled up for the majority of her life? Her gaze darted over to the ‘fresher he’d stolen off too not too long before they’d landed on Nar Shadda. With a sharp, heavy sigh, she began plucking off bits of her armor and placing them in the bag she’d brought with her.

By the time Ren rounded the corner to the cockpit, she’d gotten down to just her jumpsuit, feeling oddly naked without her armor. Something about the comment that she needed a change of clothes grated against her already sensitive nerves. She didn’t have clothes that weren’t First Order issued and he should know this. Minding her expression, she blinked at him for a few moments, tempted to snap back at him. “I’ll see what I can do, sir,” she responded neutrally. Cirilla stepped around him without a backwards glance, the soles of her boots thunking quietly across the durasteel flooring.

The woman stopped in front of the door she assumed lead to the General’s private quarters and she plucked in a generic override code into the control panel. It beeped in error back at her and she tutted her tongue against the back of her teeth with a sigh. Her fingers punched into another code, met with another series of beeps in error. She assumed Ren didn’t possess the access code to this room, or he’d probably have already gone into them by now. A quiet groan left her before she slammed her fist into a plate beneath it. The plate shifted under her blow and she deftly caught it before it fell. With little hesitation, she used the sharp edge of the metal plate to sever the hydraulic control line and the door slunk open with a hiss. Hopefully, she’d be able to find some clothes that looked relatively unsuspicious in this room, if not, she was at a loss of what to do. She also hoped that Ren wouldn't pay too much attention to the fact she's broken into the General's room,

“I’ll just be a moment,” she called over her shoulder to Ren before disappearing into the room she knew rarely got used from the overly sterile and new smell of it.

A few minutes passed and she’d luckily found some casual clothes in the room and changed into them. For a top, she’d found some sort of dove grey sleeveless men’s undershirt and a pair of tan colored trousers she’d tucked into her boots. The waist of the pants fit a bit too loose and the rear just a touch too snug, but they’d have to do. She’d threaded her utility belt through the loops to keep them up and keep her blaster at her side. Cirillia took her hair down from the regulation bun she’d had it in and pulled half of it back into a small ponytail, the other half falling just below her shoulder blades. She left the room the moment she was done and paused just in front of Ren, looking up at him blankly. “Inconspicuous enough for you, sir,” she asked, failing to keep the slight tinge of irritation in her tone out. She wasn't sure if she was irritated at the fact she was wearing the General's clothes or that she felt bare wearing something that wasn't her typical garb.

As Poe spoke, she was struck by how small the room was. Granted, it wasn’t as though it were the size of a closet, but did the beds need to be that close? And was the ‘fresher really that small? The thought of sharing a ‘fresher with Poe made her chest squeeze with nerves. She’d shared a ‘fresher and smaller quarters with much worse men in her time, this was fine. This was doable. Poe was respectable and she trusted him.

Toma blinked as she watched his hands land on his hips. Kriff, she should probably be checking her side of the room as well. She stood up and did as he’d done to his bed; despite the mattress being a little dirty and the sheets having some questionable discoloration, there was nothing there. The pillow was surprisingly soft – and free of any bugs (electronic or otherwise). She crouched down and checked under her own sleeper. “This one looks clear too,” she said, straightening back up. She stepped over to the ‘fresher and checked as best as she could, running her fingertips behind the mirror and looking in any corners, behind the toilet, anywhere that someone would plant a bug.

“Nothing in there, as far as I can tell,” she said as she stepped back into the room. “We should be safe, but I wouldn’t mind if you checked in there as well. There were some spots that I couldn’t reach.” A grimace flitted across her face at the annoyance. It wasn’t like she could do anything to fix her height. She wasn’t even that short, leaning much closer to average on the human height spectrum. But even asking for help felt like a minor annoyance, almost a reminder as to why she hadn’t been out in the field for the Resistance before.

Toma ran her fingers through her hair and pressed her lips into a thin line as she snagged a datapad from her bag. “You think our friend already made it?” She asked, referring to Ren. She was going to speak in code until he officially gave her the clear. The last thing she wanted to do was mess up the mission before they even got started.

---

He blinked, opening his mouth to clarify what he’d meant, that he would go out on his own to pick up clothes for her. But she was already stepping passed him and a flicker of annoyance shot through him. Ren had grown used to the ways in which the majority of First Order soldiers waited for an order, waited to be dismissed. But Holt, she didn’t possess the innate fear that resided in those soldiers. She was different.

Behind him, down the hall a ways, came the sound of a thunk against something metal. He kept his back to the noise, allowing himself the barest flick of a smirk to cross his lips. Hux would be livid if they returned his ship to him damaged. He’d take enjoyment out of that while he could, even if it was only for a temporary time. Master Snoke would thoroughly put him in his place after this, he could enjoy the barest hint of rebellion.

Something twisted in his gut at the word. Rebellion. Unbidden, images flashed through his head of something large and furry clamping down on his shoulder, the throaty laugh of a man’s voice, a woman’s whispered voice telling him to ”stay near me, so we don’t lose you.” Bile rose in his throat. He forced it back down.

Normally, he would have called something back to Holt, would have told her to hurry it up. But the images rendered him momentarily speechless. This was fine. It was fine. He rubbed his thumb against the worn bumps of his lightsaber hilt, the closest thing to a grounding technique that he’d taught himself. Focus. He was there to get what he wanted. Sentimentality would distract him. It was a weakness. He pressed his thumb into the bumps harder until it started to ache. There. That was better.

Too lost in his own thoughts, Ren didn’t realize that Holt was in front of him until she spoke. He blinked, once, twice, before looking her up and down. Externally, he was impassive. Internally, he was a mess. He couldn’t deny the attraction that jerked through him, zipping up and down his veins like lightning. “It’ll do.” If he were another man, he would make a comment about how she pulled off his clothes better than the general did. His father would make that comment. “You’re still going to go by the name Gemma, once we leave the ship?”

The room was decent enough, he’d decided, and he’d been in far more cramped conditions with far more people, but something about this struck him as different. He’d rarely gone on missions with the opposite gender—even more rare did he have to share a room with them. Still, Poe knew it wasn’t just that. He was attracted to Toma, as complicatedly simple as it was. But, of course, he was professional. They were on a mission. It was not the right time or place for these sorts of feelings—as rare as Poe felt them.

Despite resolving to keep his mind as far away from the spark he felt with Toma, he found himself splitting eyeing her and actually checking for bugs. It might have been because it was a long time since he’d studied a woman like this, but he found himself admiring the way she moved, the grace with which she leaned over or lifted her arms to check under sheets and pillows, and then righted herself. “Good,” he responded in a distracted sort of way when she noted her sleeper as being clear. “Good.” Carding a hard through his hair, he stared at the opposite wall as she checked the ‘fresher.

His eyes found hers as she spoke about how the ‘fresher seemed clear, smiling to himself at the face she pulled afterwards. “Sure. I mean, I’m not exactly the tallest human either, but I’ll try,” he responded. “Besides, two sets of eyes are always better than one…especially in cases like this.” He gave a shrug of his shoulders, shucking off his jacket and setting it down on his sleeper before walking into the ‘fresher. Poe lifted a brow at her question, glancing over his shoulder toward the sleeping area of the room.

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Poe responded as he checked behind the mirror to make sure that there was actually a wall there and now some two-sided shadiness going on. “We…we uh, should probably keep an ear and eye out for anything about his particular type of ship.” His eyes swooped over the room to the shower head and he moved to unscrew it from the pipe. “Wouldn’t want to miss him,” he added. The shower head fell into his hand and he checked the internals of it for a moment before screwing it back up.

“Looks like we’re clear,” he announced before leaving the ‘fresher. He grabbed his datapad before settling at the foot of his bed, tapping in his passcode and unlocking the screen. “Don’t know what would have happened if we’d found anything anyways. We couldn’t have destroyed it without giving ourselves away.” Poe glanced over the home screen for a moment before his eyes lifted to Toma. “This is your field of expertise now. You’ll have to probably help me out a bit here and make sure I don’t screw anything up or alert the whole planet that we’re spying on them.” He offered her a quiet laugh and a crooked grin. He’d keep this as lighthearted as possible. Their mission was simple enough that he didn’t need his own nerves complicating things.

---

If this foreign feeling of anxiousness didn’t leave the empty pit of Cirilla’s stomach, she didn’t know how easily the rest of this mission was going to go. At this point, it wasn’t fear of losing the position she had as squadron lead. It wasn’t even fear of having the General or even the Supreme Leader angry at her or kill her—yes, that was on the extreme spectrum of things, but definitely not out of the question. It was fear of disappointing Ren—of bunging up this quest to find this artifact he wanted enough to break about 100 rules to get.

Cirilla couldn’t fail. It was as simple as that. Even if it was the last thing she did. She needed to trust Commander Ren, steel herself, and exceed his expectations. The anxiety ended here. Or, at least she thought it did, until she’d noted that his hand was tucked away under the layers of black fabric that he wore, presumably at his lightsaber, as she had left the General's private quarters. She wasn’t sure if her swallow had been audible, but her eyes had widened a bit and if he was as perceptive as she knew he was, he’d know.

Trusting him meant not being scared of him, right? So, she tamped down the flicker of fear that had flipped around in her insides at the idea of him shredding her to bits like the durasteel walls she’d seen him massacre with his chosen weapon and leveled her chin with the floor proudly. She was no mere sf/pilot, and she was going to prove it to him. Then his gaze was traveling the length of her and she felt anxious for a completely different reason, even if she didn’t outwardly show it. It felt like he could somehow peer through her clothing and see the skin beneath and her cheeks flushed a bit at that thought. What if he could? She wasn’t familiar enough with the Force to know otherwise. “Thank you, sir,” she responded simply to the two words that left him. She almost made a comment about how she was certain General Hux would balk at the idea of a “lowly sf/pilot” marching around in his clothes but she held her tongue after he spoke again.

“Yes,” she answered. There was a beat before she added, a certain sort of pleading, yet strength to her tone, “You must not, under any circumstances, use my real name.” Her eyes bored into his, her posture stiff. “I promise you, if certain people were to find out who I really am and that I’m here…commandeering the General’s ship and breaking all these protocols? It would be for nothing.” Cirilla drew in a deep breath of air and looked away, her gaze distant. “No. If that were to happen, you best get off the planet and leave me. Save yourself the trouble.”

There was a moment or two of silence between the two of them before she blinked a few times and her eyes found his once more. “And what am I to call you, sir?” She questioned after some being speaking loud and angry Huttese could be heard waking outside the ship passed by. “I hope you’ll forgive me for dropping the formalities as well. I’m sure it’d turn heads if I referred to you as ‘sir’ all the time.”

She didn’t say anything when he sounded a little distracted. He was probably focused on double-checking to make sure that the room was absolutely clear of bugs and she didn’t want to distract him. He was easily more experienced at looking for them than she was. Back when she was working with her parents, they just worked around that as opposed to actually dealing with them. It was easier to develop their own lingo and hand signals when smuggling over taking the time to check out each individual place they were staying at.

Toma shrugged her shoulders as she huffed out a laugh. “You’re taller than me, though.” Granted, he wasn’t taller than her by a lot, but something was better than nothing. She watched as he took off his jacket, her eyes sliding across the expanse of his shoulders without meaning to. They were strong, nice shoulders. A second later, she realized what she was doing and looked away. Kriff. What was wrong with her? Was it the added stress of being out in the field? Is that why she wasn’t able to compartmentalize things as easily as she normally could? She mulled it over for a few moments before deciding that that had to be it.

“Right, right,” she murmured, tapping her passcode into the screen of her datapad before idly flipping through it. She couldn’t actually look anything up until she was absolutely positive that they were safe. “Can’t have him missing out on a welcome party.” She flipped from news article to news article, not that they mattered. Most of them were just propaganda pieces designed to keep people happy and unaware of what was really happening on occupied planets. There were a couple of local news clips, but nothing that really mattered. Anything that was really going on wouldn’t be reported on by any major news source.

“Thank Maker,” she said as she ran a hand over her face. “We either would’ve had to find a new place to stay or use whatever credits we had left to get someone to clean the place for us.” She grimaced at that thought. Only a certain kind of being was into that line of work, and the Resistance would probably frown on any association with them. She cracked a smile at his words. “It’d take a hell of a lot for you to alert the whole planet that we’re spying on them. Besides, it’s Nar Shaddaa. Everyone is spying on everyone.” She sat down on the bed, crossing one leg under another as she focused on the datapad. “We’ll check recent landing logs for ships, and any increase in Imp activity first, which is pretty straightforward. Honestly, it’s going to be pretty boring.”

Boring was good, though. Boring meant that things were going fine, that they were on the right track. She tapped at a couple of symbols on her screen and scrunched up her nose at what she was looking at. On other planets, the ship logs were occasionally public information. While that was always on smaller, backwater planets, she’d still held out a little bit of hope that Nar Shaddaa would make her life easier. But of course, it would be private information. People that hung around there weren’t known for being open with their information. She navigated from that page into some software she’d had at the ready and booted it up. Within a few seconds, she was in. Toma grinned to herself in triumph. “I’ve got the logs,” she said without looking up. “You know what kind of ship they may be coming in on? I doubt that they’ll announce themselves.”

---

He was struck with the sudden understanding as to why the First Order had designed the uniforms as they had. They fit well but were not form-fitting. They rendered beings as indistinguishable, not worthy enough of a second glance. A being’s hair was supposed to be kept in place at all times. The gray of their clothing was boring, nothing that would draw attention to them. But staring at Holt, his gaze once more sliding down the gray shirt and tan pants, Ren understood that the uniforms were designed to combat distraction. And Holt was… distracting.

Ren blinked at her, tilting his head. Ah, of course. Her background. The part of him that was still a raging young man wanted to snap that he wasn’t stupid, that he wouldn’t make a mistake like that. But then she was continuing on, telling him that he should save himself the trouble should things go wrong. While it was expected of First Order soldiers, it was somewhat different to hear it spoken aloud. “I understand,” he said, giving her a small nod. Gemma it was, then.

He thought for a moment, running through names he’d used in the past. The last time he had actually been on Nar Shaddaa had been years ago. He avoided thinking about the specifics of that trip and focused on the name he’d used then. Dash Lago, it had been. Would that old arms dealer still remember the name, if they came across him? It was difficult to tell. “Ran. Ran Vikorr.” They needed a reason for traveling together, he remembered. Thankfully, the general’s ship was nondescript enough, so they wouldn’t have to worry about coming up with a reason as to why they had it. Already thinking about what their cover should be, he was only half paying attention to what she was saying. “No one would pay it any heed, they’d just assume it was a different kind of formality,” he murmured.

After another moment, he settled on it. “If asked, we’re spice smugglers,” he said. Spice smugglers were common enough, and easy enough to fake. The clothes wouldn’t work, though. They were both still too formal, too clean for that to work. “We get the ship taken care of, and then we find a change of clothes.” Ren shoved back the thought of him in any clothes that weren’t his usual black attire. At some point, they had become a defining part of him. Knights of Ren did not go undercover. They did not do this.

Once more, he ignored the bile that was threatening to rise in his throat.

He blinked once and then looked back down to Holt. “Are you clear on the plan?”

The longer Poe really inspected the room, the smaller it seemed to get. Like the walls somehow shrunk with every passing glance. He hoped that this mission wouldn’t take too long. While it was nothing against Toma—definitely nothing against Toma, as in any other situation, on any other planet, rooming with her would be pleasant—he knew his limit for staying cooped up would be rather short. For a man who typically had the cosmos at his fingers, in a sense, the four walls of this hotel room felt stifling. He knew he’d be anxiously pacing here shortly enough.

“‘Welcome party’,” Poe repeated with a crooked grin and a shake of his head. “Wish someone would throw us a welcome party,” he murmured wryly. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d been able to let off steam. Not that he did that frequently, as often as he was behind the controls of his X-wing, he couldn’t afford a hangover from too much whiskey or other alcoholic substances the Resistance could get their hands on.

A bit of ease settled over him the more he thought about how there weren’t any bugs in their room. It meant that, at least topically, the owners of this establishment weren’t trying to dial in to any of the guests’ secrets. Which meant, for all Poe knew, they could be rooming next to Ren himself, and they would be none the wiser. That thought unsettled him quite a bit, so he turned his attention to Toma instead. Everyone spying on everyone, huh? “Well…that’s a relief…kinda,” he said with a smirk, watching her as she moved toward the bed and sat down on it. “And this sort of stuff can’t be traced back to the Resistance, right?” The last thing he needed was not only their cover to be blow, but the Resistance base locations broadcast for the First Order.

“Hey, I’ll take boring over getting shot at any standard day,” he supplied, navigating around some of the screens on his data pad. He wondered if he had anything on here a slicer could get and sell to the the First Order to trace them back to the Resistance. A short hum left him as he frustratedly wished he’d learned more about the technical side of things before going on a mission like this. Surely, the Resistance had their own slicers who would work to build programs and software to prevent that sort of stuff. When Toma announced she’d gotten into the logs, his attention was diverted from his own datapad to hers for a moment.

“Nice,” he said, shooting her a grin. His expression grew thoughtful as he pondered her next question. “Their ship,” he murmured, staring blankly ahead. “Definitely not anything that would scream the First Order.” He pushed his hair back from his face with a short hum, dark eyes narrowing slightly before he turned to look over at her. “If anything, it’d probably be an older, but not obsolete, model. Something that’s a well rounded ship, but not a ship that’ll grab attention. It would be a smaller ship too. I doubt Kylo Ren wouldn’t need that many personnel to accompany him, if any.” A thought struck him. “I don’t know if you’d find it in any of your logs, but I bet Kylo Ren and the First Order are trying to stay as undercover as we are. They’ll probably be recorded as…shadier, more suspicious than most that come to Nar Shadda. If that’s even possible.”

---

Cirilla felt Ren looking at her again. It felt a little like it had when he’d tried to enter her mind the first time, like cold had swept over her. She tamped down on the feelings that swept through her. Feeling a bit more noticed than she had in a long time, she drew in a deep breath of air, fighting the inclination to ask him what he found so interesting about her or her wardrobe. Instead, she pretended she was back in her black jumpsuit, pilot armor, and helmet over her head. It at least made her feel less exposed.

Two words. Those two words he spoke were both a relief and incredibly frustrating. She half expected to have him ask questions, to ask who would want to know where she was or who she once was. Maybe he already knew the moment she’d allowed him into her mind. Maybe he didn’t care enough to be worried about her, which was fair enough. They barely knew one another. “Thank you,” was all she could think to reply with, her voice quiet.

Ran would be easy enough for her to remember, but close enough to Ren that she’d have to be careful not to mix the two. At his murmured words, a flicker of irritation licked up her spine, causing her to straighten her posture a bit. “We’re on a planet run by Hutts and populated with the scum of the galaxy,” she told him plainly, a lifted brow the only indication she was peeved, “how often do you think these beings hear formalities at all?” Yes, her words sounded a bit elitist, but she held quite a bit of disdain for most beings, not just Hutts, smugglers, and bounty hunters.

Spice smugglers. Maker help her. She almost rolled her eyes at their chosen profession for however long she was on Nar Shadda. Cirilla knew of spice, but not nearly enough to speak confidently about it. This was going to prove to be even more challenging than she thought. The flicker of irritation grew even more at him saying she’d need to find a change of clothes…again. But, her mind was pleasantly diverted to being able to see Ren in something other than the thick clothing he normally wore. Would she even recognize him without it? Her eyes openly skimmed over him head-to-toe then back up as she pondered what he’d look like in any other color than black.

“Yes, sir, I’m clear,” she replied, staring him in the eyes for a few moments before turning and marching over to the gangplank controls and pressed the sequence to lower. She didn’t need anything from the ship. All the clothes in her bag had been First Order issued. “I’ll pay whatever parking fee they have while you get what you need from the ship.” The gangplank began lowering with a hiss of hydraulics and the smells of the moon bombarded Cirilla. She was used to the sterile clean smells of the First Order. Nar Shaddaa reeked of decay, rotting garbage, and exhaust fumes and everything was colored in various shades of brown, spare the neon lights that cut through haze.

There was already a male Twi’lek waiting as the gangplank lowered completely, watching Cirilla with a bored expression and a datapad in hand. The woman glanced over her shoulder at Ren before stepping out of the ship. It was the first time she’d had her feet on solid ground in ages.

“How much for parking?” She questioned in Huttese, sounding equally as bored.

[I'm going off of descriptions of Hutta Town for this, just an FYI. And I tried to look up anything about parking or fees on planets, but I imagine there would be on a planet/moon run by Hutts. Just let me know if you wanted me to change it and I will. ]

She raised a brow at Poe. “I don’t know if you’d want that kind of welcome party,” she said, biting back a grin. A welcome party back on base, though, was a different story. Even though she was new and hadn’t really formed as tight of bonds as she assumed he had with other Resistance soldiers, she was consistently drawn into any opportunity that they had for celebrations. Granted, the celebrations were all kept under the radar so as not to get into trouble with their superiors. Drinking heavily with a shift in the morning was frowned upon among the lower-ranked recruits.

A flicker of annoyance coursed through her at his words. “Trust me, it can’t be traced back.” She knew that it wasn’t a dig at her, but really, if it could be traced back to them, she wouldn’t have been the one that was sent on the mission. She had to dismiss the annoyance. Her special of expertise was different from his, and she would probably ask a similar question were she in his position. He most likely didn’t get to where he was by blindly trusting the abilities of everyone around him. And that was smart of him. “It’d take a whole tech team to trace this back to us. And that was if they knew we were here.” She looked up to him and grinned a little. “And considering that no one knows we’re here, we should be safe.”

She hummed a little in response. “I want to say that I wouldn’t mind a little excitement, but I feel like that’s just asking for it,” she murmured. Not that she would ever admit it to him, but she had daydreamed about the excitement of being a member of the Resistance, of sneaking into secret bases and having to fight off Stormtroopers before returning back to base, hailed as a hero. The longer she’d been in the Resistance, the less she’d had those fantasies, but there was still something about the allure of being in the field that called to her.

Toma nodded her head as he spoke, making a mental note of what he was saying. Essentially, something that would hopefully go under the radar. It made sense, but it also made it just a little harder for her to figure out if they were even there yet. She skimmed through the lists of ships that were already listed in the logs, but didn’t see anything that struck her as a possibility. That wasn’t too much of a concern, though. Tabbing over to another window on her datapad, she pressed a few buttons and then set it down. She yawned a little and rolled her shoulders back. “I set it up to scan for any Imperial transmissions, so it’ll alert us and automatically start recording if it picks up anything.” Which meant that, for the time being, it was just a waiting game.

---

It wasn’t a lack of curiosity that kept his questions at bay. The curiosity burned at him, low and deep, but pushing it aside wasn’t difficult. That was for another time, after they acquired the relic and were back in hyperspace. The anxious feeling in his gut ate at him, reminding him that this had better be worth it. Beyond Master Snoke’s rage, this was treading dangerously on ground that he had not visited in years, not since before. The odds of any old contacts recognizing him for who he had once been was slim, but it could still happen.

He blinked, his brow creasing. His mind was still half focused on something else, so it took him a few moments to realize that she genuinely didn’t understand what he’d accidentally referred to. Without realizing it, the barest hint of a smirk crossed his lips, so slight one could wonder as to whether it had even been there at all. “Formalities, honorifics, it…” He tilted his head, his gaze sliding over her slowly, top to bottom to top once more. “It indicates a more sexual dynamic between two beings, one that isn’t uncommon on a planet like this.”

Ren gave her a short nod. It was good that she would take care of parking. “Haggle the being down a little when they tell you the price. It’s expected.” He took in a deep breath as the gangplank lowered, hesitating a moment before walking down the hall and into the ‘fresher. He unclipped the black cape that normally hung from his shoulders and hung it up on a hook that protruded from the wall. Looking at himself in the mirror, he heaved a sigh and ruffled up his hair so it wasn’t as neat as it had been. His gaze flickered over himself. He still looked too clean, too put together for Nar Shaddaa. Rolled up sleeves, though, that’d do something. He frowned as he did so, more so because he realized that his lightsaber was just hanging there, exposed for any being in the galaxy to see. Kriff.

He left the ‘fresher and poked around for a few seconds before finding a small duffel bag shoved in a corner. He opened it up, noting that there were a couple of extra credit chips in there as well as some bacta gels. That was something. He tugged off his gloves and threw them in there before he unclipped his lightsaber from his belt. Hesitating, he pressed his lips together before placing it in the duffel bag and zipping it up. He didn’t like not having it accessible, but the last thing he needed was someone blowing their cover. He heaved the bag over his shoulder and headed towards the gangplank. The smell of Nar Shaddaa had made its way down the hall. He grimaced. Ren slapped his hand against the gangplank controls so it’d close once it detected that his weight was off the gangplank. He walked down, not liking the feeling of being so open, of having to channel just a little of his – of him. Fucking smuggler.

He quirked a brow at Holt and the Twi’lek as he approached them, listening for the hiss and hum of the gangplank closing behind him. “You get parking squared away?” He asked, allowing his face to relax just a little. Smugglers weren’t so stressed out. Smugglers knew how to hide their stress. He could do this. “I’m kriffing starving.”

[That’s fine! I’m a little iffy on how I’m portraying Ren in this one/going to portray him because I don’t want him too uncharacteristically out there, but also… undercover acting like a smuggler?]

Poe couldn’t help the crooked grin that graced his features at Toma’s words. “Well…of course not here. Maybe back on base though,” he offered with a slight shrug. “If all were going to be doing is sitting here in this room, spying, we may need a little excitement when we get back.” He could have sworn at the mention of the room itself, the walls closed in just a bit more, Toma and their gear seeming ever nearer. Maker, was he going to need strong alcohol after this mission. For someone who was used to the cockpit of an X-wing and how cramped that could be, this room seemed stifling for him. Poe refused to believe it was something tied to how pretty he thought Toma was or how, if he started flirting with her, it may lead to an entirely different situation.

He felt a bit bad for asking her so many questions, but he genuinely was just curious and a bit concerned. It’d be all-too easy for them to be cornered in this room with zero chances for an escape. Poe openly met her gaze, offering her a smile. “Okay, I trust you,” he told her with a nod of his head. A whole tech team to get into their systems. That settled him a bit. Maybe it was the simplicity of this mission that had him on edge. Yeah. That had to have been it. “Right. And we’ve got the advantage there being that they probably don’t even know we intercepted the message that led us here in the first place. I just…I want to make sure this mission is air tight. For the both of us and the General.”

Something about the small hum she let out flipped his stomach, to which he gave himself a mental berating. This was a mission and the more he thought like that, the more he’d be distracted by her. As if he wasn’t distracted by her already. Her words caused him to furrow his brow, studied her for a few quiet moments. “There’s no doubt you’re good at what you do for the Res-“He paused, he didn’t want to even speak the word Resistance out loud…even if they were sure the room wasn’t bugged. All it took was for someone with exquisite hearing to walk by their room and it’d give them away. “-for the Old Lady.” He grinned to himself, proud he remembered at least some smuggler cant. “But…I get the feeling you’d like to do more,” he finished, watching her closely.

The captain watched as Toma worked, fascinated by how familiar she was with the datapad in her grasp and how quickly she navigated it. Though, he probably made others feel that way with how comfortable and familiar he was with ships and flying. It was all about perspective and what one was familiar with. As she set the datapad down, he glanced back up to her, nodding as she spoke. “Nice work,” he offered. It only took another moment or two for him to busy himself with studying the bland wall in front of him in favor of potentially creeping Toma out by watching her.

A heavy sigh left him and he fell back on the sleeper with a bounce, staring up at the ceiling for a moment or two with his hands on his abdomen. His gaze narrowed as a thought crossed his mind…and his stomach gave a soft rumble that he hoped Toma couldn’t hear. He’d had a decent-sized breakfast before he’d been given their mission. Had it really been that long since that meal? “You know, I didn’t really think about it much until now. But how are we going to get any food or caf without leaving the room?” He questioned, brow furrowing slightly. He turned his head to look over at her. “I could always run out and get something, if you wanted to stay.”

---

Cirilla desperately tried to push the way the words ”sexual dynamic” had sounded leaving Ren’s mouth and how her whole body had burned at the thoughts twisting through her mind. If she’d not said anything about formalities, would he have just allowed her to continue calling him ‘sir’ and let the beings of the planet thing they were more than just smugglers? Perhaps it’s what he wanted. It would give them a depth of character, make them more believable as spice smugglers. Then again, maybe she wanted to get back at him for how uncomfortable those long up-and-down glances of his has made her and see if saying it made him uncomfortable. Maybe he really could see beneath her clothes.

Still, the woman pushed all thoughts of Ren to the side as the Twi’lek plucked away at the datapad in their hands. “200 credits,” he replied in Huttese with a flash of pointed teeth. Kylo had told her to haggle, so haggle she would. She just didn’t know how successful she’d be at it. Brow pinching and hands finding their way to her hips, she cocked her head to the side and studied the Twi’lek for a moment.

“I’ll give you 100,” she shot back, eyes set on his as if she dared for him to fight her on this. He rolled his eyes and murmured something under his breath that sounded like ‘smugglers were all the same’, but it’d truthfully been a while since Cirilla had spoke any language different than basic and it was quite loud on the parking pad.

“150,” the Twi’lek replied in the same bored tone. Cirilla noted his eyes darting down to her chest, studying the cleavage there openly. She decided, instead of being insulted, she’d use this to her advantage and crossed her arms under her chest, emphasizing the cleavage even more.

“125. This parking pad’s not worth more than that,” she offered, knowing she had him when a lecherous sort of grin curled his mouth. His gaze met hers and he held his palm out for credits. Credits. Kriff, she’d not brought any with her. Her hands dug into the General’s pockets her pockets and, by the grace of the Maker or the Force or just sheer, dumb luck, fished out a few chips. Thank you General Hux, she thought with a smirk as she counted them out and handed them to the Twi’lek. He took the credits, pocketed them, and typed a few notes into the datapad.

In a flash, he’d wrapped an a cool, clammy hand around her forearm, yanking Cirilla toward him. “What do you say after I’m done here and you’re done peddling your goods, you come with me to Club Ufora down in the Red Sector?” The grin he wore widened to a toothy, threatening smile. Cirilla’s stomach gave an uneasy flip and she yanked her arm from his hand, glowering up at him.

”Why don’t I cut off your lekku and shove them down your throat instead?” Cirilla was just about to turn and re-enter the ship, but noted Ren’s footsteps and the hiss of the gangplank lifting once more. Gritting her teeth as she glared at the Twi’lek, who seemed even more excited by her words and was completely ignoring Ren in favor of looking her slowly over. At Ren’s question, she turned to face him. “I have, sir,” she said, emphasizing the last word with a smug little smirk and a fire in her gaze. It’d hopefully get the Twi’lek off her back, if what Ren said about honorifics were true, and it’d be entertaining to see Kylo’s reaction if it didn’t. There was a beat or two before she glanced over her shoulder to the Twi’lek, who was glancing between the two of them with a bit of stymied expression. “Run along, sleemo,” she taunted and the Twi’lek was quick to move on to the next ship.

Her hackles lowered slowly as she watched the Twi’lek walk away before glancing back to Ren and giving him the same, slow once over he’d given to her. He was still fucking massive, even without the thick cloak he wore. Lifting a brow, she asked, “So, is it food or clothes first, then?”

[Oh no, it’s perfect. I totally put Ren as the kind of person who does what he needs to get what he wants. I also feel like I got carried away with this, but I’m feeling creative this evening.]

“Do you attend them, back on base?” She asked, quirking a brow at him. Toma couldn’t recall seeing him at any of them. Then again, that may because she was too inebriated to notice. She swallowed at the mention of the two of them just sitting there in the room. She hadn’t really thought about the specific logistics back when General Organa had been briefing them. It would be the two of them, alone in that room for Maker knew how long. Sitting together. Eating together. Sleeping together – not in that sense, of course. The image flickered across her imagination, unbidden, and she shoved it aside. Keep it together, Toma.

She felt her shoulders relax when he said that he trusted her. She returned his smile and gave him a nod in response. “We’ll be fine,” she said, her voice soft. When she spoke next, her voice was stronger, matching his. “I doubt that they even anticipate us being here. And guaranteed they don’t have the latest tracing tech with them.” Her finger ran across the side of the datapad. “I promise that this is airtight. We’re good on our end.”

Her eyes were trained on the datapad, but lifted to meet his gaze when he broke out the smuggler’s cant. She grinned. A flicker of warmth settled in her chest, something in between being proud that he’d used it properly and some unnamed thing that she couldn’t place. She liked hearing him use it, even if it was just a phrase. In another life, he’d make a great smuggler. She stilled as he continued on. “I…” She trailed off as she tried to search for the right words. “I think almost anyone would like to do more for the Old Lady,” she said, speaking carefully. Toma wanted to avoid speaking out of turn, or to sound like she was complaining, especially as she suddenly remembered that he ranked higher than she did.

She smiled and hoped that he didn’t notice the way her cheeks warmed. “Thanks,” she replied. Keep it together, she told herself. She wasn’t some youngling with a crush. She was an adult. She was a soldier in the Resistance. She was… sharing a small room with a very attractive man that happened to be both her superior and the literal poster-boy of the Resistance. It was normal to be attracted, right? Biologically, it made sense. This was normal. This was fine. Probably.

Her traitorous heart started to beat in double time as he fell back on to the sleeper. Her eyes slid along his torso, resting on where his hands were, across his abdomen. Kriff. Kriff. Kriff. Was the room suddenly smaller? She jerked her focus back to the datapad on her lap and blindly tapped at a few random buttons to look like she was doing something. Procrastinating, she waited a few seconds before looking up as he spoke. “I think running out and getting something would be good, but should I be the one to go?” Toma swore to herself it was because of more than just wanting to selfishly explore. “I’m just worried if someone would run into you and speak in the cant, I’m not sure how well that’d go?” She thought for a second before adding, “I can set it up so it’ll ping my comm if it gets a hit.”

---

f

Sir. Kriff. He blinked, pressing his lips together into a small, thin line before a somewhat suggestive smirk spread across his features. Not only did he have to act like this was a normal part of their dynamic, Holt couldn’t have the upper hand in this. One sign of weakness, one moment of hesitation and he risked losing her respect and whatever amount of fear she held towards him. His gaze slid from her to the Twi’lek and he quirked a brow at him, his smirk settling into something more neutral. The universal expression of fuck off.

Ren huffed out a quiet chuckle – more of an exhale than a chuckle, really – at the insult. He hadn’t heard a being call someone else a sleemo in a long time. Long enough that he couldn’t remember the exact time, only that it had been a handful of years at the very least. He watched as the Twi’lek headed off, keeping his eyes on him until he was well enough away. Looking back, his gaze rested on Holt just in time to catch her looking him over.

“Clothes. These are too clean,” he said, all traces of any smirks or brief amusement gone as he motioned to his outfit. It was difficult to keep up the charade of smuggler, not when it had been close to a decade since he’d had to do it last. He had gotten too used to the helmet masking his facial expressions, to the freedom that it had provided. Without it, he’d had to adapt quickly, schooling his features when he let his emotions get the best of him. It was easiest to remain neutral most of the time.

He looked at Holt, really looked at her for a handful of moments, trying to wrap his mind around the image before him. It was strange to see her in the harsh sunlight, the muddy colors of Nar Shaddaa providing a backdrop to which she starkly stood out against. No longer was she clad in the Imperial grays, standing in front of even more gray. She looked alive in a way that she hadn’t on the ship, merely because of her clothes and a location change. Ren blinked, choosing to ignore that train of thought and glanced around the rest of the area.

Ships were coming in and out steadily, nothing too out of the ordinary. He looked from ship to ship before reaching out with the Force to get a better read on things. He could feel the beings in the general area moving and picked up on the general direction that the majority of them intended to go towards. Reaching out a little further confirmed his suspicions. The sheer amount of life, of beings buzzing around in their day-to-day activities raised significantly in that direction. “That way,” he said, not even bothering to motion in what direction before he started forward. “There’s a market just ahead.”

[That’s how I felt too, but it’s difficult for me to imagine him fully sinking into the smuggler role, so I didn’t want to get too into it. And it was great!!]

Poe let out a quiet hum and shook his head in response to Toma’s question. “Not very often. I typically have too much to do and I’d rather not do it nursing a hangover,” he murmured, looking away in favor of staring at nothing as he dragged his tongue over his lips. “I don’t really get the opportunity to decompress. I’m typically always on to the next thing.” He gave a shrug of his shoulders, one of those charming grins finding its way onto his mouth as he looked back over at her. “I guess I really can’t complain too much about a mission where all we have to do physically is sit in a room and listen, then.”

It was pretty rare for Poe to be sent on a mission with just one other person. Typically, he was either all alone or with his squadron. It was a bit of uncharted territory for him, but this wasn’t terrible. No, it was far from it. Maybe, if this mission was successful, he could pester General Organa for more missions like this. Especially if they meant more time with Toma. He could tell by Toma’s body language that what he said had assuaged her disdain for his earlier questions, but it was the truth. The Resistance, especially Poe, didn’t have time to lie about who they did or didn’t trust. “We will be,” he shot back, gaze warming a bit. He nodded resolutely as she continued to talk. “Good to hear.” He gave a pause before adding, “Now it’s just Nar Shaddaa we have to be worried about.”

Time seemed to stop for Poe when Toma looked at him and grinned after he’d properly used cant. It was then that he knew he was in some serious trouble. He’d do just about anything it took to get her to look at him like that again and again. He thought he managed to do a good job of hiding how thickly he swallowed and covered the sudden bout of uncharacteristic nervousness with a smile. “I think that’s any one with the Old Lady’s best interests at heart,” he offered. “But if you could do something other than what you do now, what would it be? This stays between you and me. Promise”

Part of being a pilot, a good one, meant being able to easily spot things without the aid of navigation guides and head’s-up displays. He could tell the exact moment his complement caused Toma’s tanned skin to flush a bit with color. Poe couldn’t help but to grin a bit crookedly at that. It seems he wasn’t alone in these feelings of attraction, since Toma didn’t really seem the type to be flattered by commendations. What this meant, he didn’t know. They certainly weren’t in any position to do anything about it, being that they were on a mission.

He’s felt a bit of the tension he seemed to carry in his shoulders ease away before it cranked back up at her suggestion that she be the one to run out and grab food and whatever else they needed. It made sense, but something didn’t sit right about it. Poe sat up slowly, resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned over to study her for a moment or two. “If you can set it to ping your comm, why don’t we both go?” He offered. “You’d do all the talking. I’d just…feel better if we stuck together.” He pulled his lips in and bit them for a moment before adding, “It’s not that I’m not sure you couldn’t protect yourself. I just don’t trust the people who conduct business on Nar Shaddaa.”

---

The micro-expressions that Ren had were fascinating…for a moment or two. Then, he smirked. Cirilla really underestimated what she’d gotten herself into. There was a glint in his eye that had that brave feeling she’d had in calling him “sir” settle into the pit of her stomach like molten metal that felt like she might melt along with it. Cirilla’s gaze flickered over his features, cheeks tinged with color—though that could easily be explained away by how angry she’d been at the Twi’lek. Regaining her wits about her, and not thinking about just how attractive she found this persona that Ren had put on she leveled her chin to the ground.

It was that single look he’d given the Twi’lek that had her realizing something. She felt safe around Kylo Ren. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been able to say that about any one being. Whether or not he’d go through the trouble of protecting her was neither here or there. She didn’t need him to protect her anyways, but he was undoubtedly strong. Perhaps the most powerful being she’d ever encountered. And, maker, she was enthralled by that.

Cirilla followed the motion he made toward his clothes with her gaze. She was about to make a comment about how they looked fine to her, but it seemed a bit too familiar. She studied her own clothes, frowning a bit at them at the fact that she’d have to wear clothes that Kylo deemed “dirty” and that she was currently wearing clothes that the General had once worn. A sigh left her as she looked up at him. She wanted her uniform back “I spent the only chips I had for parking,” she told him with a shrug.

Her attention darted to a ship that was departing two spots over, a rush of hot air washing over her from the thrusters. She drew in a deep breath of air, the smell of Nar Shaddaa sticking uncomfortably in the back of her throat. Her gaze roamed the area around the parking pad, noting just how dirty and decrepit everything seemed and how shady everyone here seemed. It was such a sharp departure from the order and cleanliness she was used to. Cirilla turned back to Kylo just in time to see him look away from her to study the city around them.

The continuous buzzing and movement of this place was going to end up giving her a headache at some point. She was going to need to ground herself at some point, to find some focal point to direct her attention to or a quiet space to just breathe…even if the air seemed putrid. There was a low hum that was growing in noise as her anxiety began to rise. What if she fucked this all up and got the two of them killed? What if they had to bail because she was so out of her element and Kylo Ren had to forgo the artifact he sought? Her thoughts were diverted when Ren spoke and started walking in some unspecified direction. She eyed him for a moment, wondering to herself if he’d been here before or this was part of his connection with the Force. “Yes sir,” she murmured, following behind him as she took everything in.

[You’re doing a really fantastic job at writing this struggle, for sure!]