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Cinta doesn’t do gossip. She never has. Back on Aldhani, before Vel had even had the chance to, she had cut Skeen down to the quick for daring to ask about whether or not it was true she and Vel were – in his own words – sharing more than just stories during their watches together at night. He hadn’t ever asked anything about them again.
It’s knowing this about Cinta that made Vel all the more wary when, after a particularly gruelling day of training recruits who didn’t know their arse from their elbow, Cinta pulled back from their kiss goodnight and asked the following:
“Does your cousin like women?”
Vel blinked and then, after repeating the sentence aloud to herself, chuckled. “What?”
Cinta remained expressionless. “Does she like women?”
Another beat and, exhaustion seeping into her body so willingly that she blamed it for making her feel so floppy and delirious with humour, Vel laughed again. She propped her head up on her hand, a small smile on her face. “Should I be worried?”
Her lips widened into a grin at Cinta’s scoff and roll of her eyes. “You should be if you keep this up.” Then, as if to further prove that she was being deadly serious, Cinta swatted her hand so hard she fell face-first back onto her lumpy pillow.
When she looked back up, cheeks hurting now, her heart warmed at seeing Cinta’s beautiful brown eyes staring down at her. The downside was that they were completely serious and with a small huff, Vel tossed over onto her back and cushioned the back of her head with her hands. If they were going to have this talk, she might as well be comfortable.
“Why do you ask?”
“I…” Cinta hesitating wasn’t usually a good sign, but from the topic already established? Vel doubted there was anything to worry about. “Jax in comms said something when he came in for his shots. About Mon.”
Vel arched a brow. “What sort of things? Because he’s been a pain for weeks now – always complaining about something trivial.”
“Nothing like that. Well. A little like that.” When Vel opened her mouth to protest, Cinta pressed ahead. “He said that she was letting ‘a pretty young thing’ turn her head. Dictate her decisions. Clouding her judgment. Typical Jax stuff. I usually tune him out, but then he said a name.”
“And?”
“He said–”
Kleya Marki didn’t like being disturbed. In fact, she had managed to steal a piece of wood lying around in the barracks to carve the words ‘DO NOT DISTURB’ on and nail it to the wall next to the doorway. Draven had dressed her down for it, breaking some sort of ridiculous regulation that Luthen would have thought inane, before Mon had rescued her by suggesting it might be good to adapt something similar for all departments spread out across the base. After all, some things required delicacy and at least a semblance of quiet, even on a base as noisy as Yavin.
The point was that disturbing her was not something she recommended to anyone unless they wanted her to chew them up and spit them out.
Vel Sartha storming in on her during her check-up of the comms station connected to the Rebel Alliance’s ships was very much an instance of her being disturbed.
Worse still, there was a hardness in Vel’s eyes that she recognized. Odd to see it again so long after Aldhani, but Kleya hadn’t steered Luthen and the rest of the Axis Network by not paying attention. Luthen had described her as the light in the fog once, the one who helped others see, to give them the path to crawl their way back home.
The path she saw right now said one thing: Vel wanted to know something and she wasn’t going to leave until she got it.
“This better be good,” Kleya said at the same time as Vel, leaning dangerously close over the many wires and knobs of the console, whispered. “Are you fucking my cousin?”
Throughout her years with Luthen, showing what they felt was a luxury neither of them had been able to afford. Now, however, with what lingered in the air between the two of them?
Kleya blinked slowly, then looked Vel up and down. “Are you drunk?”
“Answer the question.”
“My answer was the question.” When Vel didn’t look as though she was going to budge a single inch, Kleya threw down the breakfast biscuit she had been chewing on onto the plastic slip it had come in. The crumbs she would have to clean up later, but it would be a far more pleasant distraction than whatever this conversation was. “I have to admit Vel, you didn’t strike me as someone who listened to rumours – particularly ones surrounding the sex life of your own family.”
Kleya took childish delight in how that made Vel’s nose crinkle in disgust. “You know dodging this makes it seem true, right?”
“It isn’t true. Happy?”
The tension that had Vel standing so straight flooded out of her with a relieved sigh. Kleya chose not to be offended. “Much. It was Jax, by the way.”
Kleya already planned to make the Aqualish look like a fool in the next meeting they had with Mon and the rest of the Rebel Alliance leaders. Still, she couldn’t deny she was a little curious. “Where did he get his delusions from?”
“Cinta heard him running his mouth about it in the infirmary a few days ago.” Vel shrugged. “Something about Mon favouring you, stupid shit like that.”
The moment Kleya heard ‘favouring’, she knew exactly what instance Vel was talking about. Though, as she recalled, it was less to do with favouring than Mon pestering her about how she was fitting in on Yavin, that if there were anything she could do to help, she would make herself available. It had been overwhelming and unnecessary to approach her while they were working and Kleya had said as much. Quietly.
If Mon Mothma had continued to favour her in other ways – ways outside of her knowledge – then Kleya had very little to do with that. Nor did she want anything to do with it.
She picked up her biscuit again with a weary shake of her head. “As enlightening as this was, I’ll be heading back to work.”
“Hey,” Vel said sharply. “Seriously. Don’t kriff my cousin.”
Kleya rolled her eyes. “I think I’ve more pressing matters to attend to, don’t you? We can’t all put interpersonal relationships before the cause.”
The cut was meant to be knife sharp, but to her dismay, Vel only let out a laugh and wagged a finger at her. “Changed my mind, maybe you should get laid. Might make you nicer.”
She turned her back on the other woman, hands already moving to the dials and switches on the console in front of her. “Goodbye Vel.”
As a rule, letting information bother her in any way outside of what it could do to help the Rebellion was something Kleya avoided. It distracted her from reality, made her lose focus.
It was why she was finding it so aggravating not to look over at Mon during this meeting. She felt as if she did, even for a mere moment, then that would all but confirm the rumours correct, and that was simply not an option she was willing to entertain.
That in itself made her feel as though a splinter had gotten under her skin. Why was something as ridiculous as gossip bothering her? Did it truly matter what others thought about her relationship with Mon if she knew that it wasn’t remotely true?
She tapped her nails against her hips. Beside her, the ongoing hum of conversation surrounding the whereabouts of Saw Gerrara.
It wasn’t as if Mon was hideous. Far from it, actually. While attraction had never been useful to her during her time with Luthen, it hadn’t exactly been something that she knew nothing about. Men, women, neither and more – all had been attracted to her once upon a time. She had been seen as Luthen’s pretty assistant, and she was young too. Had people seen Mon staring at her and thought that the senator was exactly like all the others who had stared at Kleya? The thought made her stomach churn. She was the leader of the Rebel Alliance, a senator who had given up so much of herself for the cause, not some lecher.
“Kleya, do you have anything to add?”
She looked to the right. Mon Mothma stared back at her, her gaze somehow managing to be open and light within the poor lighting provided by Yavin’s base. Had she been zoning out? Luthen would have given her that familiar shake of the head if he were here, his mouth a grim line. But he wasn’t, and so really, who cared what he thought?
She ignored the throb in her chest. There was no room for it here, nor anywhere else.
“Nothing.” The words felt sterile on her tongue, but they were the truth. Beside her, she could hear Jax’s pincers click, as if he wanted to say something but held back from actually doing so. “Jax might. He’s well-known for coming to conclusions from things seemingly picked out of thin air.” She turned to him, her lips pulled into an expression as serious as a plague. A smile would only tip the rest off that it was far from being authentic. "It’s saved lives before.”
Palmo dug into him then, and Jax, stuttering through an explanation about his theories on where they should look next, did so with the grace of a bumbling idiot Kleya had set him up to be. She trained her eyes on him throughout the whole interaction, nodding encouragingly whenever he looked up at her for help. It was only after, when the burning sensation of Mon Mothma’s eyes on her dragged her back into her orbit, that she gave him peace by sacrificing her own.
She refused to look away, back straight, chin held high.
Surprisingly, she felt that she had lost all the same when Mon looked away first.
“You don’t have an appointment,” Cinta said from her desk in the far corner of the med-bay.
“I do now.” Kleya responded and sat at the nearest chair across from Cinta to close off the other woman’s protests. Not that she needed to have bothered: it was quiet in the infirmary this late at night and Cinta had the same bedside table manner as she did. As in, she didn’t possess one at all.
It was what had made them kindred spirits, long before a rich girl from Chandrila had crash-landed into the picture. Neither of them pretended that their feelings for one another were anything but relieving tension. There had been no love, no passion.
It didn’t make Cinta falling in love with Vel Sartha any easier, but Kleya also found that she couldn’t blame her. In the end, she and Cinta were two broken shards, and the more they tried to put themselves together, the more they had ended up cutting one another.
Now they were equals.
Cinta sighed, but as Kleya had predicted, she slowly made her way over to take the seat next to her, her knee propped up against her jaw. Exhaustion was plain on her face, which was its own relief for Kleya. It meant that her next words wouldn’t be so sharp.
“How many people have mentioned Mon and I to you?”
Cinta’s brow furrowed. “Vel told you.”
“Miracle of miracles she did. Now, how many?”
“By name? Not many. But there are always rumours about Mon. Mostly it’s about Draven or Organa, but that stopped when you arrived.”
Kleya let out an amused hum. “For someone who doesn’t listen to gossip, you sure know a lot about it.”
“I don’t listen to gossip. Doesn’t mean I don’t hear about it.”
Cinta hadn’t had a scalpel in her hand last time Kleya checked, but when she leaned back against her chair and spun something in her hand, there it was, sharp as anything, without looking even a little out of place. The life of an assassin truly was like a second skin for this woman.
“Besides. Heard that Mon wasn’t exactly alone in staring.”
Kleya had been about to make her exit – there was no need for any sort of passing farewell with Cinta, the other woman barely cared to say hello when they passed each other in the base – but found Cinta’s last words had worked well enough to glue her to her seat.
She rolled her eyes, scoffed. “If there’s one thing you and I know, it’s this: there’s no point getting attached. Not now. Not while the Empire is still here.”
To her surprise, Cinta pulled a face that looked so foreign to Kleya that she found herself speechless. “Less about attachment. More about…” Cinta glanced around the room, ensured nobody else was there, and said. “Love. And care. For the people that’s still around to love and care about.”
The smell of smoked paprika powder and garlic salt as her mother, her face sanded down by time, baked bread and roasted meat. Coarse hands on her shoulder, pushing her along, under tables, behind pillars, hiding her sometimes in plain sight. Taste of her own tears as she pressed a kiss to a weathered forehead.
Kleya inhaled sharply and used it to sharpen her smile.
“Love advice from Cinta Kaz? Vel truly has changed you into something unrecognizable.”
“Laugh all you want, you’re here for a reason aren’t you?”
Kleya bit her tongue to prevent herself from stirring up trouble by suggesting she wanted to catch up like they had during the earlier years, when she and Luthen had first recruited Cinta from Saw’s Partisans. She didn’t get much pleasure, but the little she had did revolve around being a thorn in the side of Vel. They were reluctant friends, after all.
Besides, it wasn’t like Vel was here to enjoy the dig.
She looked at Cinta sidelong. A few years ago she and Luthen had watched her struggling to breathe, strapped to a hospital gurney with barely enough strength to stay awake. Still she had typed away at her comm, letters upon letters, all to craft a goodbye to Vel in case things took a turn for the worse. Back then this herculean effort had perplexed her: why bother wasting so much strength that she could be saving to fight another day?
Kleya wondered if Vel had ever received those messages in the end. Was it one of the things that had drawn them back together, powerless against their feelings like they were against the weight of gravity?
The thought of loving like that was uncomfortable.
But not unbearable.
It was rare to find Mon Mothma by herself. She was often found either staring at the maps scattered along the command center or deep in discussion with the various agents who came and went. Only last week she had accidentally walked in during a heated conversation between Mon and General Syndulla. It was easy to assume that, no matter the hour, Mon Mothma would be hard at work or in deep discussion.
Now, sitting at one of the six tables outside of Yavin’s main base and in the recreational area, utterly alone, was Mon Mothma.
Kleya hadn’t been trying to find Mon. At least, that’s what she told herself. But she had had time to kill, and there was only so much fun to be had by needling Vel. Now she was outside, looking at the Mother of the Rebel Alliance with an odd sort of feeling in her chest. It took her a while to understand what it was: the anticipation of intruding on someone who you could tell got very little time and solitude to themself.
If this were Coruscant, if Luthen was still alive and they needed Mon Mothma’s attention and time now, Kleya knew she wouldn’t have hesitated. Yavin had made her soft and she didn’t know what to do about it.
So she let her feet carry her until, with the clearing of her throat, she took the seat opposite and busied herself with rearranging the steaming mug of caf she had brought with her. The look of surprise on Mon’s face quickly melted away into relief, the other woman’s shoulders slumping and a soft chuckle escaping her.
“It’s just you.”
Kleya hummed and sipped at her mug. “Yes. Sorry to disappoint.” Not knowing where else to look, she took in the supple skin of Mon’s hands and came to the realization that she had walked over here with no purpose but curiosity – and she hadn’t even had the decency to pretend otherwise by bringing Mon her own mug of whatever hot beverage the canteen was serving that day.
Mon shook her head, her smile wry. “Disappointment wasn’t what I’d call it. I’m… shocked.”
“Why? We’re old acquaintances. Besides, you and Vel are always telling me to be more sociable.”
“Even further reason why I’m surprised you’re here.” Mon shot back.
“I can leave if I’m bothering you–”
Mon’s hands moved out towards her so fast that Kleya flinched. There was a brush of a finger, just on her knuckle for the smallest of moments, before the other woman’s hand retreated, and she tucked them against one another. The look she shot Kleya’s way was apologetic.
“You’re not bothering. Far from it, actually. I was about to come looking for you.”
“Oh?”
“I usually spend the evening with Vel and Cinta, but they’ve cancelled – a stomach bug, I think – so I’ll be by myself. I was wondering if you’d like to take their place.”
“And further antagonize the rumour mill?” The moment it slipped past her mouth, Kleya regretted it. She had already told Vel that she wasn’t interested in causing any trouble for Mon, but here she was, actively stirring the pot on something that maybe Mon herself hadn’t even been aware of.
Or so she had thought right up until she saw Mon’s face drop and a hand come to her nose to pinch at its bridge.
“So you’ve heard.”
Mon’s pained tone made her chest feel tight. “I hadn’t at first. Your cousin soon clarified it for me.”
“Kleya, I–”
“Save your breath. I know it isn’t true.” Kleya sipped at her drink and, seeing that Mon looked as though she was struggling to know what to say next, decided to blaze on ahead. “I shut down the rumours as soon as I’d heard. And, if it makes you feel better, reminded those spreading it that this isn’t a playground. You have a reputation to uphold, and two-bit gossip isn’t something you need right now, or ever.”
When she glanced up from her drink again, she was perplexed to find that Mon’s smile had worn down into something smaller than before. It was a victory, however, to see it still present. “You seem more upset about what this gossip will do to me than yourself.”
Kleya scoffed and shook her head. “I shouldn’t have to tell you why perspective is important for you in particular, should I?”
“No. I’m aware.” Mon met her gaze. She had a silent strength to her that Kleya found had only grown over the years they had known one another. As loathe as she was to admit it to herself, the warmth of admiration washed over her in the pit of Mon’s green eyes.
There was a pregnant pause, a lapse of conversation that Kleya would have relished any other time. She preferred silence over noise, had done so ever since Luthen’s coarse fingers had dragged her from that ship and marched her through a wasteland of bodies that had no strength left to scream.
Now, sitting opposite to Mon Mothma, the only noise she could hear was the traitorous tremor of her heart in her ears. She couldn’t remember if she had ever felt like this – this feeling of hot skin and nerves that made her feel as though she’d spilled something cold on her front.
Finally, Mon spoke. Kleya hadn’t even been aware she had been waiting for it. “Is that what you think? That it isn’t true?”
Kleya put her caf down. It sounded like the crash of waves against the shore. Mon stared back, the only sign of nerves being the way she looked down at her hands, her long fingers curling into a fist for a moment before she spread them wide again, examined them like they held all the answers she needed, before looking back up, her brow furrowed with concern.
Understanding filled her. It was not comforting. Kleya hadn’t felt comfortable on Yavin IV ever, but this feeling was something different. She couldn’t tackle this feeling with a knife, she couldn’t spill blood in order to get rid of it.
Silence clogged her throat like water. There was nothing else to say or do but sit with the confirmation that Mon Mothma had been looking at her with clear eyes, had soaked in the sight of her, and had, what? Enjoyed what she saw? Felt hunger?
It seemed ridiculous. Mon Mothma… Nobody was untouchable. Not truly. But outside of Luthen, Mon was possibly the closest Kleya could imagine to being just that.
Mon let out a slow exhale that brought Kleya back to the present. “Forgive me. I’ve made you uncomfortable. It wasn’t, what I mean is…” She sighed, her forehead pinched and pained. “This isn’t something I’m used to.”
“I can tell.” Kleya said. She was just grateful that words were coming out of her mouth at all.
Mon laughed then, the bitterness hard to mistake for anything else. “My fumbling aside… It truly would be lovely of you to join me for tea later on. That is, if I’ve not spoiled the invitation.”
“Don’t be absurd.” Strange. She found that the heat behind her words was genuine. Still, her mind was racing. How long had this gone on? Had she truly not noticed, or had she simply pretended not to?
She got up from the table so quickly that Mon jumped as if scalded. Kleya didn’t have the time to unpack the emotions that flooded through her system at the thought. “I’ll see you tonight.”
If Mon had anything else to say after that, Kleya didn’t stick around long enough to hear it.
Years ago, when the word ‘move’ had meant something more than it did now, Kleya had thought herself an island. To get to her, there was but one small, dingy-looking boat. It bobbed and swayed terribly, from frantic storms and unyielding winds. One wrong move and it would tip over, spilling any who had dared to venture towards her into poisonous waters filled with all manner of beasts. There was only one way to her, and one way out. One exit.
Stood directly outside of Mon Mothma’s hut on Yavin, a bottle of revnog in her hand, her best blue shirt and jacket on, Kleya felt that she was on the boat herself, sailing away towards a violet-coloured horizon that held nothing but uncertainty.
Worse. There really was only one exit: the front door. If she had to leave, she would need to do so slowly and not show Mon her back.
She swallowed hard, her throat like sandpaper. She had never felt more unmoored in her life.
When she took the first step into the hut, hand curled to knock her knuckles against the wooden shelf beside the entrance, she found Mon Mothma was already waiting for her, sat with her elbows on her knees and her index fingers pointed upwards to press at her forehead. It was the same look that crossed Mon’s face whenever she thought nobody else was watching. Kleya felt wrong about knowing that this time? She was the cause of it.
The guilt in her stomach quickly turned into something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. It felt like anger, which was a relief. She could do well with anger.
“How long have you felt this way about me?”
Mon looked up, alarmed. She really must have been lost in her thoughts, not to have noticed Kleya. Kleya didn’t move a single inch from the entrance, her feet rooted to the spot.
“Kleya…” That sigh again. Last time she had heard it directed at her by Mon, it had been full of relief. Now? There was nothing but pain.
“If you’re going to treat me like something delicate, I’d rather you didn’t.”
Mon’s eyes met hers. A thrill ran down her spine at seeing the surprise there. Good. She hoped that Mon didn’t know what to do with her. It would make her next words sting. “Do you think you’re the first person to find me attractive? I was fighting. I wasn’t blind.”
Mon’s face fell. “No, of course not. Kleya, come and sit.”
“I’d rather stand.” The revnog felt cool in her palm. When had everything become so warm? “You’re the leader of the Rebellion. Everyone looks to you for guidance. You are this whole operation’s heart and soul.” The anger was rising. Mon’s continued look of bewilderment only made it rise more. “What were you thinking?”
Mon shook her head and sighed. “Kleya, you’ve every right to be angry at me. I’ve made you uncomfortable–”
“Uncomfortable?” Kleya spat. A cool breeze – rare in Yavin’s humid environment – touched the back of her neck. She gripped the revnog tighter.
“I’m fifteen years your senior and–”
Kleya couldn’t help herself. She laughed, mocking and low. “Your age doesn’t bother me. I’m questioning your judgment. We've come so far Mon.”
Mon’s gaze didn’t waver once. “Do you consider yourself a risk?”
“Yes!” She hadn’t meant to snap, but it seemed so obvious. Of course she was a risk. This whole place was a risk. It was all imperfect. One touch of dissent and the whole glass frame would shatter. “I do my job. I eat. I sleep. The Empire is a machine, one that constantly turns. To defeat it, we need to give it all, sacrifice it all. There’s no room for… attachment.”
“I’m not sure who you’re trying to convince,” Mon said, her voice nary above a whisper. “If you’d prefer we keep it professional, then I respect that and agree.” Kleya barely had room to let the struggling, intertwined emotions of relief and despair into her system before she was sharply reminded that there was a reason why Luthen had scolded her about underestimating the woman in front of her.
Mon stood. Even in the dingy surroundings of this ramshackle hut, she looked as regal and as empowering as she had all those years ago in the Senate.
“Do not think, for a single moment, that I’m not intimately aware of my role here. I know what people see when they look at me.” There was something so clear about her gaze then, something that told Kleya she had been seen. “I thought this was about me, but it isn’t, is it?”
“What?”
“You’re aware of what people see when they look at you, aren’t you?”
The revnog slipped in her hands, so suddenly that she had to catch the glass neck of the bottle and clutch it to her with all the strength she possessed. If she dropped it, if it rolled away… She would be left wide open.
She wanted to deny Mon’s words. In truth, she cared very little what others thought when they saw her. Or at least she hadn’t, up until Vel’s revelation a few days before.
“I won’t be your undoing, Mon.”
There was a sigh of relief that washed through Mon then. It made something inside of Kleya twitch in revulsion, but she wasn’t sure if it was at herself or the approaching Rebel leader. Her cardigan practically dwarfed her, covered her hands, and yet Kleya felt that she had nowhere else to run to in her presence. It made very little sense.
She swallowed around the grit in her throat. Things had not made sense to her for days now, not since Vel had cornered her in comms.
By the time Mon had crossed the room to her, Kleya felt smaller than ever. “My undoing.” Kleya watched as she touched the pale ring of skin around her finger before her hands fell back to her side. “Would it truly be the end of the world if everyone saw how deeply I admired you?”
“Admire me. Like I’m some sort of charity project for you.”
“Charity?” The level of absurdity in Mon’s tone couldn’t be faked. “As if you would accept that.”
“You don’t even know who I am. What I’ve done. What I’ve experienced.” She bit back. She needed to be glass-sharp again. It was the only way to protect herself from whatever this was. “If Luthen had told me you needed to be silent for good, do you think I’d have hesitated?”
Mon didn’t answer at first. She stepped closer and, with a gentleness Kleya hadn’t felt against her skin for years, took the revnog from her and brought it to her chest.
“Yes.” Mon murmured. “Briefly, maybe, but yes, I do.”
Her words were as welcome as a vibroblade to the gut. Kleya could practically feel herself snarl at how ridiculous the sentiment was. “Brief wouldn’t have saved you.”
“No. But I think I’d have forgiven you all the same.”
The fire that had sat in her stomach quickly diminished as if Mon had thrown a bucket of water over the flames.
Mon gestured to the threadbare sofa she had been sitting on. “Do you feel comfortable sitting now? Or shall I stand with you?”
Words were lost on her and so Kleya answered by side-stepping Mon, sitting a few inches away from where she could feel the leftover heat of her body. When Mon joined her a moment later, the edge of her cardigan brushed against Kleya’s ankles. She shivered.
It was as if she were on autopilot. So much was rushing around inside of her, but what reigned above the noise was the thought that perhaps she could trust the woman in front of her with something as overwhelming as her feelings. If only she could trust herself with them.
She hadn’t even registered that Mon was talking until the other woman touched her wrist, jolting her attention.
“What?”
“I asked what you would prefer: tea or revnog?”
Kleya couldn’t have cared less. “I have thought about it. Us.”
Mon’s hand wavered over the kettle set up in the middle of the table. If it weren’t for the fact that Kleya’s heart hadn’t stopped racing ever since she stepped inside, she would have thought her unwillingness to answer a single one of Mon’s questions amusing.
Now it was taking everything within her not to shove her foot into her mouth. She doubted she was doing a good job at it.
Mon’s hand wrapped around the kettle and, without saying anything else on the matter, began to pour them tea. The moment steam touched the tip of her nose, desperation crept up on her like a hand in the dark.
“I’d weighed it all out before I came here. The pros, the cons – everything in between.”
Still Mon was silent. She wordlessly handed Kleya her mug of tea and, when she leaned back against the lumpy sofa her expression held nothing that she could decipher. For all her interest in archaeology, trying to read what was etched onto Mon’s face was akin to translating a tablet without the key.
Kleya prided herself on knowing. It was what she was good at, it was why, despite being as much Luthen as she was Kleya to the majority of those on Yavin, her work wasn’t questioned as much as she had thought it would be.
Here, in Mon Mothma’s hut on Yavin, there was nothing to know outside of the woman who sat beside her. And, as it turned out, she happened to be more terrifying than the beasts that had once inhabited this jungle.
“Say something, Mon.”
“We’ve decided on professionalism, haven’t we?” Mon’s immediate answer drew relief through her bloodstream. Then, like the way of a flower when it wilted when tossed into flame, the feeling was gone, and all that remained was disquiet.
“Yes. No. I’ve…”
She reached over to the revnog, popped it open, and immediately took a swig from the bottle. It scorched on the way down.
When she glanced back, Mon’s eyebrows had drawn together in amusement.
“I’ve not done this before.”
Mon spared her from clarifying. “Neither have I. The benefits of Chandrilan marriage are very few, but not having to understand your feelings to do your duty was one of them.”
Kleya snorted. “Must have been lonely.”
“Excruciatingly so,” Mon whispered.
They sat there, hands cradling drinkware like shields. Unsurprisingly, Mon lowered hers first. “I was content to look from afar. For all your worries, I know how important my feelings are in comparison to what we're fighting for.”
“You could have denied it. When I mentioned it.”
“I didn't want you to think it impossible.”
“That you were attracted to me? Again, I'm not some–”
“That my caring for you was impossible.” Mon cut across.
Kleya didn't look away and neither did Mon. There was a level of shrewdness in her gaze that arrested her completely. It turns out she had been right after all: Mon Mothma had seen her.
Kleya's jaw clenched. “That's just the sort of woman you are, I suppose.”
Mon leaned back then, her leg crossed over the other at the knee, a flicker of warmth in those evergreen eyes of hers. “I’m a woman who, if I’m being honest, enjoys the way blue looks on you.”
Seduction was part and parcel of every spy and agent; there was no use in pretending otherwise. This was less of seduction and more of a genuine flirtation, confident with an underlying tension that struck fear and longing into Kleya like a bolt to the breast.
She worked her tongue across her teeth, buying time to find the right words. “Is that your professional opinion?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.”
A laugh burst past her lips before she could stop it. When Mon echoed it, a soft chuckle that was as comforting as a stroke of the hand during her fuzzy earlier years, Kleya bit her lip to stop herself from commenting further. She felt as though she had been submerged in a pleasantly warm bath.
She reached for Mon’s mug, checked that it was empty, then poured them both a finger of revnog. When she handed it back, the brush of fingers made her entire body tingle.
Not for the first time that night, Kleya had very little idea of what she should say next. Thankfully, she didn’t need to even bother thinking about what that could be because Mon’s hand moved towards her and, with the hesitation of someone afraid to spook an alley Tooka, trailed her nails against the sun-weathered skin of her cheek.
“Is this alright?”
“Yes.” She said and found that it wasn’t a lie. Something was stirring within her chest like a ship’s motor just before take-off, and it only grew louder, more insistent, when Mon drew closer, the rich smell of revnog mixed with peppermint on her breath.
“Is this?”
Ah. That was what the feeling was. Frustration. Still, she didn’t move closer, but nor did she back away.
“Yes.”
Kleya had been kissed before; she had even been the one to initiate it. A mark had commented that she hadn’t been the greatest at it, and, embarrassingly, this was what flickered to the front of her mind when Mon’s lips found hers. As if to make up for that humiliation that sat inside the coldest parts of her, she pushed forward, stroked her tongue against the bottom of Mon’s lip, and silently delighted in the intake of breath she stole from the other woman in response.
When they broke apart, Kleya could see galaxies within Mon’s tempered gaze.
“This can’t affect our work.” She said and meant it even as her stomach coiled and curled over itself, delirious with an emotion that she imagined Vel Sartha must feel every time she stared at Cinta Kaz.
To think that she could feel it too, that it could be catching, was dangerous. And intoxicating.
Mon’s thumb stroked her cheek. “I don’t think either of us would ever allow for that.”
Kleya pressed their lips together again, tasted the bitterness of the revnog on Mon’s tongue. “It was Jax.”
“I’m aware.”
“Vel told me.”
“Yes, she told me too.”
“She also said I couldn’t…” Kleya trailed off. “Have designs with you.”
The breathless laugh that left Mon’s mouth reworked her circuits as though she were a droid. She wondered what it would feel like against her bare skin, the hot push of breath against her.
“Vel’s had her fair share of disappointments in life.” There was a teasing edge to Mon’s voice. “I’m sure she’ll be able to live with one more.”
The next day, the message from Vel appeared on her com-link before she had finished her morning caf.
V.Sartha: Heard about you and Mon.
V.Sartha: Be good to her, yeah?
Kleya let her stew for 7 minutes exactly before, a lightness to her chest that she hadn’t rightly experienced before, she finally answered back.
K.Marki: I’m surprised. We weren’t that loud.
She turned off her com-link. If Draven wanted to dress her down for it later on, she would allow it without a single complaint.