Actions

Work Header

Rating:
Archive Warning:
Category:
Fandoms:
Relationship:
Characters:
Additional Tags:
Language:
English
Stats:
Published:
2017-05-20
Completed:
2017-05-24
Words:
1,434
Chapters:
2/2
Comments:
15
Kudos:
43
Bookmarks:
4
Hits:
585

Safety

Summary:

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Numa,” she said, voice low.

He turned slowly, looked at her with a blank expression. “And?”

“And she asked me if you were safe.”

“Safe,” he echoed, jaw tightening. “I see. And what did you say?”

“What would you?”

Notes:

--a masterful, gorgeous short fic. Read that one first! I am humbly attempting to continue that story, from Kallus's POV.

(And I had the heartbreaking middle of Ch. 4 of Waltz No. 14 in E Minor Op. Posth* by ibreathethroughwords in the back of my mind while writing the first section--though that's a very different Kallus in a very different relationship. :))

Maybe overselling the M. Like the original, this falls between T and M.
[I just opened a tumblr account. Come visit me at cozycozytauntaun!]

Chapter 1: Safety

Chapter Text

“Is no Tooka, Sir!”

“Are you quite sure, youngling?” Kallus responded, crossing his arms across his chest, his face as stern and serious as he could manage to make it. “You have to admit I’ve had rather more experience with the fauna of the galaxy than you have.”

The young Twi’lek girl scoffed at Kallus. Her upturned chin and fierce expression made him chuckle as he erased the drawing he had made with a stick in the dirt. The bravado of Twi’leks. He was drawn to it. He had experienced it before, of course, during his time in the Empire. Personally, in his interactions with the Ghost’s now-General Syndulla. And now, with his…lover, he supposed it was right to call her. Numa.

He smiled to himself at the thought of her, imagining her as a child like Ila, the youngling before him, one of the many who had been brought to Yavin IV, with nowhere else to go. He shook his head. Foolishness, having them here. But, as Numa said, these children were likely to survive them all. With that attitude, he chuckled again, he didn’t doubt it for a second.

He attempted a Tooka again with his makeshift stylus, approximating a feline form this time.

“Good, Sir. Good Tooka,” the child nodded.

“Ila, you don’t have to call me Sir.”

“What to call you, Sir?”

“Well, my name is Kallus.”

The child shook her head vehemently. He laughed.

“Fine, then. If you don’t like my actual name, Ila, pick one of your own.”

She looked at Kallus appraisingly with an expression beyond her years. He smiled, again imagining a young Numa. What would Numa have made of him as a boy? And would he have been drawn to her, before the Empire’s prejudices about aliens had corrupted him? He thought he would, yes. He was sure of it. Would she have teased him? Would he have tugged her lekku and run? Would she have followed?

He looked at Ila fondly.

Her next word, however, hit him like a blow to the stomach.

“Monster.”

She giggled and ran off as he stared after her.

“Chase me, Mister Monster.”

 

* * *

 

Hera approached him in the mess line as they were grabbing a midday meal.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Numa,” she said, voice low.

He turned slowly, looked at her with a blank expression. “And?”

“And she asked me if you were safe.”

“Safe,” he echoed, jaw tightening. “I see. And what did you say?”

“What would you?”

He paused, looked away. What would he indeed?

She put down her tray and placed a hand on her hip. “Listen. I have no idea what you think you know about Twi’leks.”

“Not much, I’m sure,” he smiled.

“I’m sure,” she agreed. “I just thought you should know that Twi’lek women are made of tougher stuff than some seem to think.”

He regarded her carefully, then nodded. “So I’ve come to understand, General. Are you telling me this because you think I’m not…safe for her? Because – “

“No, Kallus. I’m just telling you. I like her. I like you. And maybe there’s no safety to be had for anyone right now. That’s all.”

He watched, wondering, as she left with her meal.

 

* * *


In the warm light of the afternoon, her touch lingered on his face, his growing beard. It was unusual, she said, all of this hair. This red gold hair. Like sunlight. So exotic. She smirked, then carded her hands through the hair on his face, the hair on his head.

He held his breath.

She leaned in, whispered that she wanted to feel it on her lekku, her breasts, her thighs.

He didn’t argue.

After, when he rose to go to the fresher, she grabbed him by the wrist. Told him to stand so she could look at him. Ran her fingers across his stomach, smiled at his sharp gasp when they reached the thick patch of ginger hair between his legs.

“So exotic,” she whispered again.

* * *

She had, after all, made the first move, he reminded himself, watching her from across the hangar bay. Today she had seen him, given him a curt nod as she went to work on a ship, then proceeded to ignore him entirely.

Numa was a puzzle to him – hot one moment, cold the next. He told himself he didn’t care, that this was a temporary thing anyway. But he found himself seeking her out, trying to coax a smile from her.

And a laugh? Her laughter was a drug. He found himself acting in unexpected ways, forsaking his dry wit – hard to translate to a non-native speaker of Basic, after all – for increasingly silly behavior. Pratfalls. Silly faces.

“You are making an ass of yourself, mate,” Zeb chided him warmly one afternoon. Kallus had smiled widely at Numa when he knew she was watching him spar, and deliberately tripped over Zeb’s extended bo-rifle. He had relished the warm feeling that crept through him as he watched her shake her head and heard her laugh echo off the ancient stone walls.

“I never thought I’d see the day when you’d be acting the lovesick teenager, Kallus,” Zeb continued with a fond shake of the head.

Kallus snapped back to face Zeb. Lovesick?

He faced off against the Lasat again, a blush born of something – shame? anger? fear? – rising up his neck.

When they were done sparring, no one was laughing.

 

* * *

The morning of the last assault on Ryloth, he had hoped to waken early, enjoy a spare hour or two with her, see her off with a kiss, wish her safe travels.

When he awoke, she was already gone, her space in the bed gone cold.

It was probably for the best, he thought as he rose to prepare for the day, ignoring the tightness in his chest.

There was no safety to be had for anyone right now, after all.

Chapter 2: Translations

Summary:

A chapter for those of you who want a different ending.

“Passik vrima,” she laughed. Golden boy.

He cocked his head, smiled.

“Teach me.”

Notes:

STOP HERE if you like the sucker-punch ending of Chapter One. Or, if you can't resist reading this, you can consider this chapter a fantasy, or an AU.

If you wanted this story to end differently, though, here's one way it might have. Chronologically, it is interlaced with the last chapter. Back to Numa's POV. However, you are going to have to work for your feels.

Ryl/Twi’lek to Basic translation (and reverse) available at Coruscant Translator--set to Ryl to Basic. Note: the center section results are nsfw and definitely rated M/E. Kallus's untranslated sentence at the end is safe for all ages.

(Finally, small editorial note: I gave up trying to format the italicized intimate scene, to be consistent with the first chapter, because the interface kept adding unwanted formatting tags.)

This chapter's for @ibreathethroughwords .

Chapter Text

* * *

She couldn’t resist him, even though she hadn’t yet had her morning caf. He bounced eagerly like a child. A new place to see the sun rise.

They climbed up the side of one of the old temples to a high platform. The sun was climbing over the trees, painting the jungle a startling, vibrant green-gold. She found herself moved. He had found this, seen it, thought of her, brought her here. When he turned toward her, the sunlight hit his eyes.

“Passik vrima,” she laughed. Golden boy.

He cocked his head, smiled.

“Teach me.”

* * *

He stretched slowly, the damp heat making them both languid. The covers had long since been tossed aside. They had foregone their usual entwining of limbs; it was unpleasant in the late afternoon heat.

“What is the word for ‘humid’?”

“Si’hani.”

He tried the word out. His pronunciation was improving, she noted with unexpected pleasure. “What about sticky?”

“M’uirsui.”

He smiled mischievously. “Ah. Then you are sei hirani, m'uirsi deleo. Ohk dan si'hanehan toe san?”

She felt the heat rising from him again. It met her own.

“Ved san, sei passik vrima.” Kiss me, my golden boy.

He smiled, rolled toward her, then moaned as she whispered her next words into his ear.

“Vil kanhi'ihan san rao.”

He was learning quickly.

* * *

Fewer ships had returned than had left. Her exhaustion was bone deep. When they landed, however, every rebel at the base was on the landing platform, cheering.

All but one.

She ignored the empty, twisting feeling in her gut as she climbed from her ship, let herself be embraced by her comrades. She numbly allowed herself to follow the crowd back into the base to join the celebration of their safe return from Ryloth.

Then she saw him.

Standing alone, by a tree, near the edge of the hangar bay. Staring at her, face stony. Unreadable.

She approached, slowly, still trying to read his face. His eyes were shining.

“Qato nie dan nolee kao bee sahak chir?” he demanded, jaw clenched. Why did you leave without saying goodbye?

“Do ohk si'jovi'asi. Do fic rayao ar dan, sei passik vrima.” I am sorry. I have returned, my golden boy.

“Garei nolee rao,” he said with a fierceness that surprised her. Never go away again. “Garei nolee rao.” he whispered again, stepping toward her, arms outstretched. “Do tarhan cea Do anan dan.”

Maybe he didn’t know what those words truly meant, she thought as she stepped into his arms. Maybe they didn’t translate perfectly, she thought, as the tears rose to her own eyes. But for now, it didn’t matter.

“Do fic rayao ar dan, sei passik vrima,” she whispered again.