Post by Myri Antilles on Jan 1, 2016 17:48:04 GMT -8
44 ABY
Qel-Droma Estate, Onderon
Coronet, Corellia
Dramatis personae:
Myri Antilles
Jacen Qel-Droma
Poe Dameron
Wedge Antilles (mentioned only)
Iella Wessiri-Antilles (mentioned only)
Qel-Droma Estate, Onderon
Coronet, Corellia
Dramatis personae:
Myri Antilles
Jacen Qel-Droma
Poe Dameron
Wedge Antilles (mentioned only)
Iella Wessiri-Antilles (mentioned only)
She had remained in her place for several long hours. She could hear the sounds of the surf crashing away at the beach; they sounded so far away, though the doors behind her were wide open. The evening sun was setting, casting a warm glow on the piece of flimsi that had rested gently between her fingers from the moment she had settled into one of the comfortable, rustic chairs that surrounded the table belonging to the family with which she had shared so many meals. Her gaze shifted slowly to each empty seat at the table - where Derron had sat with a grin on his face, treating them all to the latest joke he'd learned from his grandfather. Where Rachel rolled her eyes at her brother while taking a sip of what had to have been her fifth glass of blue milk. Where Isabella smiled adoringly at her big brother, as was the case from the moment she'd learned how. Where Jiym beamed proudly, his eyes trained on his own son, taking in the love shining in Jacen's as he watched over his most cherished treasures. The sounds of the ocean, the glow of the sunset, they were all muted as Myri closed her eyes and tried to make sense of the words scribbled across the flimsi:
The sample taken from Isabella Qel-Droma does not match that of the sample taken from Jacen Qel-Droma.
She had read the words over and over again, shocked into submission by their simple, factual accusation. They echoed in her mind, softly, but persistently. She tried to feel them, but was left wondering why they didn't hurt, why they didn't wrack her heart with guilt. Perhaps she'd become used to the doubt that she'd been feeling each time she looked in Issy's piercing blue eyes. Though they'd always shone with the innocence of childhood, there had always been something deeper in there, something more intense that separated her personality from that of her older siblings. Myri had hoped that it was simply the consequence of having had less of a connection to Jacen than the twins did, or that she was just that much more of an Antilles than they were. She had nearly been convinced; it wasn't particularly difficult. Each day was quiet, predictable, safe in their home. It had become that way from each month that passed between her last communications with Solo or Joan. She had never worried that she'd made the right decision in staying on Onderon. The only way to ensure the security of her children was to give Jacen exactly what he needed - a family. A solid, indestructible unit far away from the noise of the galaxy's troubles. Now, with the words in her hands, those troubles had found their family once again. The peaceful times of her recent life hadn't dampened the razor sharp skills of memory, which had been trained and honed during her time with Galactic Intelligence. Eyes still closed, she dug into the portion of her mind where those skills resided, desperate to find the tiniest bit of evidence that could shed light on the mystery she held in her hands.
*****
In the days following her and Joan's acquisition, Myri had destroyed her personal comm, rendering her virtually untraceable though she remained nearly under Jacen Qel-Droma's nose. Each night, however, she hacked into the endless stream of messages that never reached it, using a burner device every single time so that they would vanish into the stars the same way that she and the twins had. Every message was the same. Ominous and determined, short but filled with a vitriol she'd never heard before from the mouth of her former lover. He'd find her, he vowed, and he would take the children so far away from her that she'd never be able to steal them again. Steal - he used that word every single time. It filled her with deep, angry paranoia that ate away at the cool composure she'd conned him with. Regardless of Joan's constant reassurance that she'd taken Derron and Rachel to a location so remote that he wouldn't know where to begin, she couldn't help the fear that gripped her heart. She didn't sleep. After listening to each message, she would react the same way. The need to move, to escape from her mind and the constant nagging feeling that she'd made a terrible mistake, one that she'd pay for in the end. It was a familiar mindset, one that she'd kept at bay from the day that she'd first laid eyes on Jacen and been tricked into the false sense of security his unquestioning love provided. She'd felt she had owed him that much, to ignore the quiet doubts in the back of her mind, and the desire to silence them, in the hopes of attaining stability. The most recent years had been anything but, and she had realized just how foolish she had been for thinking him capable of keeping her under control. She'd grown to resent him for it, along with nearly everything that he stood for. It was what had ultimately led her to the Alliance, to the undeniable fact that she needed to protect their children from his skewed and ever-so-narrow view of the galaxy. All of the thoughts led to anger, anger that needed to be fixed, requiring a taste of the past she'd given up.
It led her to a dark, quiet corner of Corellia - a place that she had often been warned to stay out of by her father, time and time again, as a teenager. The place where one of Wedge Antilles' closest confidantes had found her and given her the final push she'd needed to sever ties with the perfect Antilles lineage. Wes Janson had inadvertently and accidentally ignited a passion in her heart that would never fully die, a hedonistic desire that enveloped her once again, as she found herself sitting on the same tattered barstool, elbows leaning on the grime-covered bartop where she and the former Rogue had become reacquainted. Whether it was the memory of their occasional tryst or the gentle buzz of glitterstim humming through her veins, Myri couldn't help but chuckle softly to herself. She'd been in this position before, paranoid that her decisions would bring destruction and shame. They hadn't - they had given her two powerful reasons to commit herself to the greater good of the galaxy. At least those were the reasons staring back at her from the bottom of her glass.
"Another," she demanded to the tender, who wasted no time dropping frozen cubes into the empty vessel and pouring smooth, amber liquid over the top. Myri nodded her thanks, lifting the glass to her lips and sipping longingly from it. The liquor tasted of sweet relief. She was safe in that moment, free from doubt or concern.
"So I gather that your meeting with Qel-Droma didn't turn out as fruitful as you'd hoped?"
She knew that it wasn't Wes' voice that shook her out of her thoughts, but the sentiment was so strongly similar to his mannerisms that she prepared herself to throw a snark-and-stim-slathered response at whomever had decided to ruin her personal pity party. When she turned her head, however, she'd found herself silenced by the patron who'd slid onto the barstool a few down from her own. It took a few moments, but she finally found her voice and her confidence again.
"Poe Dameron," she said, squinting her eyes in familiarity at the tall, dark man that she'd seen briefly out of the corner of her eye during her visit to Delta headquarters. He'd not been on the roster she'd obtained through reconnaissance on the days prior to her meeting with Han and Jacen. For that matter, it had been years since she'd seen the name of the pilot that her father had spoken so highly of. Of course, those high regards had been tarnished when Poe had gained the more base admirations of his older daughter when Syal had begun her tenure at the flight academy. Poor thing hadn't stood a chance; if it weren't for the marked differences in appearance, Myri could have sworn that he and Wes had been cut from the same talented yet dangerous cloth. Though Wedge disapproved of Syal and Poe's quick-burning relationship, at the time his attentions had been turned on the more rebellious daughter who now leaned towards the edge of her seat as she gazed over at him, "If I wasn't so sure that your appearance at headquarters had any meaning, I would think this was a cruel trick of fate."
Her tone brought a wry smile to his lips as he swirled his own drink back and forth in his hand. Poe kept his eyes on it for a moment, carefully collecting his thoughts on her observation, "You've got me Antilles. Han Solo came looking for a man to bring his squadron up to speed in terms of tactics and capability, and I just happened to be the right man for the job. The real mystery, though, is just what business you had poking your nose around in your past mistakes."
Utterly to the point and no apologies for his tone. She remembered now; that's what had doomed his relationship with her sister. Syal could never take the heat. She'd been far too focused. Myri, on the other hand, reveled in that burn. It was what gave her the edge to get away with whatever she desired with no consequence. She was feeling that edge at the moment, and was beginning to feel comfortable in its demanding need to fan the flames.
"So just how long were you eavesdropping, Dameron? Were we finished or could you just not take another moment of knowing that you'd chosen the wrong sister? It's not like you to concern yourself so much for the dramatics lurking beneath that sparkling Antilles facade."
"It was hard not to notice your dissatisfaction with Qel-Droma's company. Having only spent a few hours running dogfight scenarios with the man, he seemed at least capable. I guess I was surprised by his lackluster performance outside of a cockpit. You'll have to forgive me; I've spent too many years being familiar with the hand-in-hand relationship, myself."
The statement garnered a laugh from Myri. She enjoyed the way he spoke to her. Brash, unapologetic. Challenging. It was a fun game. It was the release she needed. She lubricated her words once more before their delivery, "Now there it is, the true reason why wedding bells weren't ringing for Syal. Gods, you two couldn't be less alike. What did you even see in her? We're you blinded by the hair?"
She slid across the barstools between the two of them, and found herself nearly overtaken by the woody, warm scent emanating from Poe's drink of choice. Or just himself; things had begun to get a little blurry in her mind, "I can assure you, it wasn't real."
His smile was mischievous, disarming, "I'm aware. Carpet didn't match the drapes, so on and so forth."
They both laughed openly then. It seemed for the moment that each were feeling relieved of their own duties and concerns, simply enjoying the absurdity of alcohol laced banter. Myri was sure that they were surrounded by a smattering of seedy, low types of patron. She ignored it. She didn't care. Her attentions were focused solely on the way that Poe's mouth curled into a suggestive smile, the way that his deep brown eyes glittered with a mixture of mirth and methanol. Suddenly Wes and Jacen were so, so far away. Their distance was multiplied by the hours she and Poe spent laughing, trading barbs and drinks, stealing off from their barstools every now and then to escape once she'd convinced him that something stronger than a drink would be worth his while. It was the last time that they huddled together in the darkness of the saniroom, the final hit of stim, when he kissed her. Hard.
Myri shouldn't have been surprised, then, when several hours later she woke once again to the worldy fragrance she'd smelled at the bar. It hadn't been the drink, she concluded, as she found herself tangled completely in bedsheets and Poe's extremeties. She'd not have minded her current location, had she not recognized through a hazy glance the insignia of Delta Squadron on the doorway of his guest chambers. At the very least, Solo had sprung for respectable quarters for visitors instead of slumming it with the rest of the squadron - image was indeed everything in the current climate of the galaxy. Hoping that the Force was real and mystically smiling upon her, Myri reached for Poe's chronometer, dangling from the edge of the pillow just beyond his messy, disheveled mop of dark hair.
Nearly dawn and not a stitch of subversion technology in sight. She hedged her bets on escaping quietly, thankful that Poe had been intoxicated to the point of blacking out as she struggled to release herself from his strong embrace. It was only once she was free that she realized how comforting it had felt to be in it only moments before. Recognizing that this was not the time for sentimentality, she dressed herself quickly, stopping only to unstrap his holdout blaster from the inside of his flight jacket that had been haphazardly tossed to the ground upon their passion-filled return to his quarters.
*****
"Poe..."
Her eyes opened and the paper fell from her fingertips onto the table in front of her. Her head dropped into her hands as she stared at the words once again:
The sample taken from Isabella Qel-Droma does not match that of the sample taken from Jacen Qel-Droma.
"Dameron? What about him?"
She was nearly knocked out of her chair by the sound of Jacen's voice. She scrambled quickly to compose herself, refusing to look into his eyes. She didn't need to, she could feel them burning with curiosity into her from where he stood across the table. Myri folded the piece of flimsi as he closed the gap between the two of them, fumbling it as he reached out his hand for it. Suddenly, he was unfolding it.
"Haven't seen him since I was back with Delta, wonder what he coul..."
Myri closed her eyes once again as his voice trailed off. When she opened them again, his pale blue eyes were piercing into hers. It was difficult to hold his gaze, but she had to try.
"What is this."
His voice was soft, but it wasn't a question. A long silence stretched between them after that. She heard the waves now, crashing harder than before. There must have been a storm coming. Myri stood up from the table, her quick movement knocking over the chair she'd been sitting in as she shuffled to close the open doors behind her. She stared through the transparisteel as droplets of rain began to splash against the window. Behind her, Jacen stood holding the flimsi in one hand, as if beckoning her to turn and give attention to it. He repeated himself.
"What is this."
Myri drew in a deep breath, feeling it shake in her chest as she turned around to face him.
"It was here when I got home."
He moved a step closer and she backed against the door.
"I didn't ask when it got here," he stated, "I want to know what this is. What this means."
Each word gained emotion and intensity. Jacen Qel-Droma wasn't known for losing his temper. He made up for it in the calm accusation of his tone. Myri felt trapped once again, and found her resentment taking aim at the man she'd convinced herself that she could love. She would not allow herself to be tricked by the notion again. Their love was a farce; it protected neither of them.
"I don't think there's a better way to put it than what it says," her tone was calm, collected. Her hands were shaking as she balled them into fists.
"Don't tell me that. Don't just sit there and hide whatever it is that you know behind some simple truth and think that I'll-"
He stopped abruptly. A clap of thunder roared in the near distance. The sound rattled lightly through their quiet home. Recognition flitted across Jacen's confused expression.
"He was there. He was at headquarters when you showed up," he begin, closing the gap between the two of them and taking a firm grasp of Myri's wrist. He lifted it, shoving the sheet of flimsi into her hand, crumpling it between her fingertips, "He was there and you were there. That is not my child. That is not my child because it's his child. Is that what you're not telling me?"
"Jacen, get your hands off of me, you're hurt-"
The door behind connected roughly with Myri's back as Jacen shook her several times, his face not even inches from hers as he asked again, voice filled with the same vitriol as the messages she'd hacked into years ago, "Is that what you're not telling me?"
Myri's jaw set, resentment boiling throughout her entire body as she looked him directly in the eyes that had once looked at her with such love, such adoration. Foolish adoration. There was nothing there now. His eyes were empty. Cold, hard and empty. Her voice was soft, but resolute when she spoke.
"That is exactly what I am not telling you."
In a heartbeat of silence, Myri shoved back against him, freeing herself from being pinned to the door and yanking her wrist from his grasp. The piece of flimsi fell to the floor. Neither of them needed it for what was next.
"Get out of my home. Take her and get out of my home."
Myri began moving without another word to her former lover. Away, up the stairs, she moved into the small room where Isabella napped peacefully, even as the rumbling of thunder drew closer to the house that was meant to hold so much promise for their future. Myri went toward the closet, kneeling down and moving aside a few boxes of clothing that had never been unpacked. Her hand fell upon the cool fabric of her bug-out bag, a piece of equipment reminiscent of her time as an Intelligence agent. She'd never unpacked it. Drawing the bag in front of her, Myri unzipped it and began rifling through its contents until her hand found what it was looking for. Withdrawing her hand from the bag, she held the blaster up for a moment in the dim light of the room. Poe's holdout blaster. The sun was gone now.
*****
The rain followed to Corellia. It followed her all the way to her parents' estate. Myri mentioned nothing of why she was there, of what had happened on Onderon. Wedge and Iella would find out soon enough. And they, as her real family, would stand beside her regardless of the truth of the matter. She sat behind her father's personal computer terminal, alone in his office, her face bathed in the bright glow of the screen in front of her. Her Intelligence credentials had not been wiped from the system; she knew then that Jacen and Joan still stood with her, too. Mere minutes ticked by before she'd located the information that she needed - those flyboys never planned on staying, but Coronet always got her way.
Myri stood in the rain, the cool droplets running down her face, as her hand wavered over the doorchime. She stared at it for what felt like an eternity, and was only brought out of her daze by the woosh of air produced when the door in front of her opened. Tall, dark and handsome. He hadn't changed. Eyes the color of the ocean met eyes the color of the world.
"Hi..."
*****
"I didn't even see him when I left. I don't even know if he was still there. It didn't stop me from holding on to that thing like our lives depended on it."
The small blaster sat on the low caf-table between them. Poe was leaning forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees and his chin on his folded hands as he listened. Myri leaned back in her chair, hands folded neatly in front of her, hair still damp from the rain.
"It certainly felt like they did," she said softly, looking down at her hands, examining them for a moment before glancing up once again. He was still looking at her when she did.
"And she's-"
"With my parents. Safe. They don't know the sordid details yet, but it won't make a difference to them," she explained, pushing a few wet strands of hair back from her face. She was surprised when he moved from the chair, coming to rest on one knee in front of her. Poe reached out for her hands, taking them in his. They were warm, strong. They matched the look in his dark eyes. He hadn't changed.
"And it won't make a difference to me," he told her, gently shaking her hands as he spoke, "No matter what a test says."
There the smallest hint of a smile turning up the corner of his lips, but the tears that finally welled up blurred her vision as he said, "You both are home now."
The sample taken from Isabella Qel-Droma does not match that of the sample taken from Jacen Qel-Droma.
She had read the words over and over again, shocked into submission by their simple, factual accusation. They echoed in her mind, softly, but persistently. She tried to feel them, but was left wondering why they didn't hurt, why they didn't wrack her heart with guilt. Perhaps she'd become used to the doubt that she'd been feeling each time she looked in Issy's piercing blue eyes. Though they'd always shone with the innocence of childhood, there had always been something deeper in there, something more intense that separated her personality from that of her older siblings. Myri had hoped that it was simply the consequence of having had less of a connection to Jacen than the twins did, or that she was just that much more of an Antilles than they were. She had nearly been convinced; it wasn't particularly difficult. Each day was quiet, predictable, safe in their home. It had become that way from each month that passed between her last communications with Solo or Joan. She had never worried that she'd made the right decision in staying on Onderon. The only way to ensure the security of her children was to give Jacen exactly what he needed - a family. A solid, indestructible unit far away from the noise of the galaxy's troubles. Now, with the words in her hands, those troubles had found their family once again. The peaceful times of her recent life hadn't dampened the razor sharp skills of memory, which had been trained and honed during her time with Galactic Intelligence. Eyes still closed, she dug into the portion of her mind where those skills resided, desperate to find the tiniest bit of evidence that could shed light on the mystery she held in her hands.
*****
In the days following her and Joan's acquisition, Myri had destroyed her personal comm, rendering her virtually untraceable though she remained nearly under Jacen Qel-Droma's nose. Each night, however, she hacked into the endless stream of messages that never reached it, using a burner device every single time so that they would vanish into the stars the same way that she and the twins had. Every message was the same. Ominous and determined, short but filled with a vitriol she'd never heard before from the mouth of her former lover. He'd find her, he vowed, and he would take the children so far away from her that she'd never be able to steal them again. Steal - he used that word every single time. It filled her with deep, angry paranoia that ate away at the cool composure she'd conned him with. Regardless of Joan's constant reassurance that she'd taken Derron and Rachel to a location so remote that he wouldn't know where to begin, she couldn't help the fear that gripped her heart. She didn't sleep. After listening to each message, she would react the same way. The need to move, to escape from her mind and the constant nagging feeling that she'd made a terrible mistake, one that she'd pay for in the end. It was a familiar mindset, one that she'd kept at bay from the day that she'd first laid eyes on Jacen and been tricked into the false sense of security his unquestioning love provided. She'd felt she had owed him that much, to ignore the quiet doubts in the back of her mind, and the desire to silence them, in the hopes of attaining stability. The most recent years had been anything but, and she had realized just how foolish she had been for thinking him capable of keeping her under control. She'd grown to resent him for it, along with nearly everything that he stood for. It was what had ultimately led her to the Alliance, to the undeniable fact that she needed to protect their children from his skewed and ever-so-narrow view of the galaxy. All of the thoughts led to anger, anger that needed to be fixed, requiring a taste of the past she'd given up.
It led her to a dark, quiet corner of Corellia - a place that she had often been warned to stay out of by her father, time and time again, as a teenager. The place where one of Wedge Antilles' closest confidantes had found her and given her the final push she'd needed to sever ties with the perfect Antilles lineage. Wes Janson had inadvertently and accidentally ignited a passion in her heart that would never fully die, a hedonistic desire that enveloped her once again, as she found herself sitting on the same tattered barstool, elbows leaning on the grime-covered bartop where she and the former Rogue had become reacquainted. Whether it was the memory of their occasional tryst or the gentle buzz of glitterstim humming through her veins, Myri couldn't help but chuckle softly to herself. She'd been in this position before, paranoid that her decisions would bring destruction and shame. They hadn't - they had given her two powerful reasons to commit herself to the greater good of the galaxy. At least those were the reasons staring back at her from the bottom of her glass.
"Another," she demanded to the tender, who wasted no time dropping frozen cubes into the empty vessel and pouring smooth, amber liquid over the top. Myri nodded her thanks, lifting the glass to her lips and sipping longingly from it. The liquor tasted of sweet relief. She was safe in that moment, free from doubt or concern.
"So I gather that your meeting with Qel-Droma didn't turn out as fruitful as you'd hoped?"
She knew that it wasn't Wes' voice that shook her out of her thoughts, but the sentiment was so strongly similar to his mannerisms that she prepared herself to throw a snark-and-stim-slathered response at whomever had decided to ruin her personal pity party. When she turned her head, however, she'd found herself silenced by the patron who'd slid onto the barstool a few down from her own. It took a few moments, but she finally found her voice and her confidence again.
"Poe Dameron," she said, squinting her eyes in familiarity at the tall, dark man that she'd seen briefly out of the corner of her eye during her visit to Delta headquarters. He'd not been on the roster she'd obtained through reconnaissance on the days prior to her meeting with Han and Jacen. For that matter, it had been years since she'd seen the name of the pilot that her father had spoken so highly of. Of course, those high regards had been tarnished when Poe had gained the more base admirations of his older daughter when Syal had begun her tenure at the flight academy. Poor thing hadn't stood a chance; if it weren't for the marked differences in appearance, Myri could have sworn that he and Wes had been cut from the same talented yet dangerous cloth. Though Wedge disapproved of Syal and Poe's quick-burning relationship, at the time his attentions had been turned on the more rebellious daughter who now leaned towards the edge of her seat as she gazed over at him, "If I wasn't so sure that your appearance at headquarters had any meaning, I would think this was a cruel trick of fate."
Her tone brought a wry smile to his lips as he swirled his own drink back and forth in his hand. Poe kept his eyes on it for a moment, carefully collecting his thoughts on her observation, "You've got me Antilles. Han Solo came looking for a man to bring his squadron up to speed in terms of tactics and capability, and I just happened to be the right man for the job. The real mystery, though, is just what business you had poking your nose around in your past mistakes."
Utterly to the point and no apologies for his tone. She remembered now; that's what had doomed his relationship with her sister. Syal could never take the heat. She'd been far too focused. Myri, on the other hand, reveled in that burn. It was what gave her the edge to get away with whatever she desired with no consequence. She was feeling that edge at the moment, and was beginning to feel comfortable in its demanding need to fan the flames.
"So just how long were you eavesdropping, Dameron? Were we finished or could you just not take another moment of knowing that you'd chosen the wrong sister? It's not like you to concern yourself so much for the dramatics lurking beneath that sparkling Antilles facade."
"It was hard not to notice your dissatisfaction with Qel-Droma's company. Having only spent a few hours running dogfight scenarios with the man, he seemed at least capable. I guess I was surprised by his lackluster performance outside of a cockpit. You'll have to forgive me; I've spent too many years being familiar with the hand-in-hand relationship, myself."
The statement garnered a laugh from Myri. She enjoyed the way he spoke to her. Brash, unapologetic. Challenging. It was a fun game. It was the release she needed. She lubricated her words once more before their delivery, "Now there it is, the true reason why wedding bells weren't ringing for Syal. Gods, you two couldn't be less alike. What did you even see in her? We're you blinded by the hair?"
She slid across the barstools between the two of them, and found herself nearly overtaken by the woody, warm scent emanating from Poe's drink of choice. Or just himself; things had begun to get a little blurry in her mind, "I can assure you, it wasn't real."
His smile was mischievous, disarming, "I'm aware. Carpet didn't match the drapes, so on and so forth."
They both laughed openly then. It seemed for the moment that each were feeling relieved of their own duties and concerns, simply enjoying the absurdity of alcohol laced banter. Myri was sure that they were surrounded by a smattering of seedy, low types of patron. She ignored it. She didn't care. Her attentions were focused solely on the way that Poe's mouth curled into a suggestive smile, the way that his deep brown eyes glittered with a mixture of mirth and methanol. Suddenly Wes and Jacen were so, so far away. Their distance was multiplied by the hours she and Poe spent laughing, trading barbs and drinks, stealing off from their barstools every now and then to escape once she'd convinced him that something stronger than a drink would be worth his while. It was the last time that they huddled together in the darkness of the saniroom, the final hit of stim, when he kissed her. Hard.
Myri shouldn't have been surprised, then, when several hours later she woke once again to the worldy fragrance she'd smelled at the bar. It hadn't been the drink, she concluded, as she found herself tangled completely in bedsheets and Poe's extremeties. She'd not have minded her current location, had she not recognized through a hazy glance the insignia of Delta Squadron on the doorway of his guest chambers. At the very least, Solo had sprung for respectable quarters for visitors instead of slumming it with the rest of the squadron - image was indeed everything in the current climate of the galaxy. Hoping that the Force was real and mystically smiling upon her, Myri reached for Poe's chronometer, dangling from the edge of the pillow just beyond his messy, disheveled mop of dark hair.
Nearly dawn and not a stitch of subversion technology in sight. She hedged her bets on escaping quietly, thankful that Poe had been intoxicated to the point of blacking out as she struggled to release herself from his strong embrace. It was only once she was free that she realized how comforting it had felt to be in it only moments before. Recognizing that this was not the time for sentimentality, she dressed herself quickly, stopping only to unstrap his holdout blaster from the inside of his flight jacket that had been haphazardly tossed to the ground upon their passion-filled return to his quarters.
*****
"Poe..."
Her eyes opened and the paper fell from her fingertips onto the table in front of her. Her head dropped into her hands as she stared at the words once again:
The sample taken from Isabella Qel-Droma does not match that of the sample taken from Jacen Qel-Droma.
"Dameron? What about him?"
She was nearly knocked out of her chair by the sound of Jacen's voice. She scrambled quickly to compose herself, refusing to look into his eyes. She didn't need to, she could feel them burning with curiosity into her from where he stood across the table. Myri folded the piece of flimsi as he closed the gap between the two of them, fumbling it as he reached out his hand for it. Suddenly, he was unfolding it.
"Haven't seen him since I was back with Delta, wonder what he coul..."
Myri closed her eyes once again as his voice trailed off. When she opened them again, his pale blue eyes were piercing into hers. It was difficult to hold his gaze, but she had to try.
"What is this."
His voice was soft, but it wasn't a question. A long silence stretched between them after that. She heard the waves now, crashing harder than before. There must have been a storm coming. Myri stood up from the table, her quick movement knocking over the chair she'd been sitting in as she shuffled to close the open doors behind her. She stared through the transparisteel as droplets of rain began to splash against the window. Behind her, Jacen stood holding the flimsi in one hand, as if beckoning her to turn and give attention to it. He repeated himself.
"What is this."
Myri drew in a deep breath, feeling it shake in her chest as she turned around to face him.
"It was here when I got home."
He moved a step closer and she backed against the door.
"I didn't ask when it got here," he stated, "I want to know what this is. What this means."
Each word gained emotion and intensity. Jacen Qel-Droma wasn't known for losing his temper. He made up for it in the calm accusation of his tone. Myri felt trapped once again, and found her resentment taking aim at the man she'd convinced herself that she could love. She would not allow herself to be tricked by the notion again. Their love was a farce; it protected neither of them.
"I don't think there's a better way to put it than what it says," her tone was calm, collected. Her hands were shaking as she balled them into fists.
"Don't tell me that. Don't just sit there and hide whatever it is that you know behind some simple truth and think that I'll-"
He stopped abruptly. A clap of thunder roared in the near distance. The sound rattled lightly through their quiet home. Recognition flitted across Jacen's confused expression.
"He was there. He was at headquarters when you showed up," he begin, closing the gap between the two of them and taking a firm grasp of Myri's wrist. He lifted it, shoving the sheet of flimsi into her hand, crumpling it between her fingertips, "He was there and you were there. That is not my child. That is not my child because it's his child. Is that what you're not telling me?"
"Jacen, get your hands off of me, you're hurt-"
The door behind connected roughly with Myri's back as Jacen shook her several times, his face not even inches from hers as he asked again, voice filled with the same vitriol as the messages she'd hacked into years ago, "Is that what you're not telling me?"
Myri's jaw set, resentment boiling throughout her entire body as she looked him directly in the eyes that had once looked at her with such love, such adoration. Foolish adoration. There was nothing there now. His eyes were empty. Cold, hard and empty. Her voice was soft, but resolute when she spoke.
"That is exactly what I am not telling you."
In a heartbeat of silence, Myri shoved back against him, freeing herself from being pinned to the door and yanking her wrist from his grasp. The piece of flimsi fell to the floor. Neither of them needed it for what was next.
"Get out of my home. Take her and get out of my home."
Myri began moving without another word to her former lover. Away, up the stairs, she moved into the small room where Isabella napped peacefully, even as the rumbling of thunder drew closer to the house that was meant to hold so much promise for their future. Myri went toward the closet, kneeling down and moving aside a few boxes of clothing that had never been unpacked. Her hand fell upon the cool fabric of her bug-out bag, a piece of equipment reminiscent of her time as an Intelligence agent. She'd never unpacked it. Drawing the bag in front of her, Myri unzipped it and began rifling through its contents until her hand found what it was looking for. Withdrawing her hand from the bag, she held the blaster up for a moment in the dim light of the room. Poe's holdout blaster. The sun was gone now.
*****
The rain followed to Corellia. It followed her all the way to her parents' estate. Myri mentioned nothing of why she was there, of what had happened on Onderon. Wedge and Iella would find out soon enough. And they, as her real family, would stand beside her regardless of the truth of the matter. She sat behind her father's personal computer terminal, alone in his office, her face bathed in the bright glow of the screen in front of her. Her Intelligence credentials had not been wiped from the system; she knew then that Jacen and Joan still stood with her, too. Mere minutes ticked by before she'd located the information that she needed - those flyboys never planned on staying, but Coronet always got her way.
Myri stood in the rain, the cool droplets running down her face, as her hand wavered over the doorchime. She stared at it for what felt like an eternity, and was only brought out of her daze by the woosh of air produced when the door in front of her opened. Tall, dark and handsome. He hadn't changed. Eyes the color of the ocean met eyes the color of the world.
"Hi..."
*****
"I didn't even see him when I left. I don't even know if he was still there. It didn't stop me from holding on to that thing like our lives depended on it."
The small blaster sat on the low caf-table between them. Poe was leaning forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees and his chin on his folded hands as he listened. Myri leaned back in her chair, hands folded neatly in front of her, hair still damp from the rain.
"It certainly felt like they did," she said softly, looking down at her hands, examining them for a moment before glancing up once again. He was still looking at her when she did.
"And she's-"
"With my parents. Safe. They don't know the sordid details yet, but it won't make a difference to them," she explained, pushing a few wet strands of hair back from her face. She was surprised when he moved from the chair, coming to rest on one knee in front of her. Poe reached out for her hands, taking them in his. They were warm, strong. They matched the look in his dark eyes. He hadn't changed.
"And it won't make a difference to me," he told her, gently shaking her hands as he spoke, "No matter what a test says."
There the smallest hint of a smile turning up the corner of his lips, but the tears that finally welled up blurred her vision as he said, "You both are home now."
