Chapter Text
Outside, the riot is still raging. The walls of this dusty warehouse are too thin to muffle the sounds from outside: strafing blaster fire and screams of terror. They don’t keep out the smoke, either, which leaks in through the gaps in the panelling. But Dedra doesn’t think there are any walls in the world which could clear the lingering feeling of hands on her legs: grasping and pulling and murderous . Dedra can barely breathe with the horror of it all, and the smokey air catching at her throat makes it worse. Blood pounds in her ears.
She stares at Syril- she’d known his name, even before he felt the need to give it yet again- as though his blue eyes can offer some semblance of safety, and somehow they do. The pounding of her heart in her ears begins to slow. She begins to believe that she might survive this.
The sounds of another explosion outside tear through their fragile peace, followed by the tinkling sound of shattering glass. Dedra lets out a strangled cry. The heartbeat in her ears returns, louder and more insistent than before. Her vision is tunnelling, she can’t see him anymore, everything is ending, and she can’t breath as she realises she’s going to die here-
Syril wraps her in skinny arms and pulls her against his chest. The heat of his body seeps through the multiple layers of clothing they both wear. And he doesn’t smell like smoke. He smells… clean , a mix of soap and laundry detergent. She’s close enough that she can hear the beat of his heart alongside the thudding of her own. It’s fast but not too fast, and the illusion of safety allows her own heart to fall into a calmer pace. The softness of his embrace slowly begins to overwrite the feeling of hands clutching her legs. Even the blaster fire seems quieter now that he’s holding her. Perhaps she won’t die, after all.
Eventually, she calms enough to realise that if she isn’t going to die, she needs some way to salvage her career. Still wrapped in Syril, she begins to work out her plan. She’ll blame it on Tigo and his constant insubordination. The man has done nothing but argue with her, and Corv will corroborate that. And she still has the woman- the thief- who can identify Axis.
Pulling away from Syril is far harder than it should be. He feels nice in a way she can neither understand nor explain. But the situation outside cannot wait any longer.
"I need to get back to the hotel," she tells him, and she's relieved that her voice sounds almost steady.
"I'll come with you," he says instantly.
Dedra wonders about that for a moment. She doesn’t particularly want to explain his presence on top of everything else, but perhaps it won't be so difficult. He's an Imperial employee who offered her assistance. And if he comes with her, she won't have to step outside alone. "Do you have ID?"
"Yes."
"Fine." She turns to leave, steeling herself to go outside. The noise of the crowd has quietened now, the blaster fire less frequent and the shouting almost over. Even so, she doesn't relish the thought of making her way down the street.
"Wait," he says.
Dedra turns and almost shivers at the intensity of his gaze.
"Your uniform is going to stand out." He pulls off his coat and holds it out. "Here. Put this over your clothes."
Dedra takes the coat, holding it at arm's length and noticing the weight of it compared to her own. Even though she's spent an uncertain amount of time pressed against his chest, wearing his coat feels wrong. It’s too intimate. But he's right- in the chaos outside, wearing an ISB uniform would be like putting a target on her back.
Tentatively, she pulls on the coat. It still holds the warmth and the scent of his body. Pulling it on is like stepping back into his embrace. She swallows. "Good idea. I'll find a way to get it back to you on Coruscant."
He brightens. "I'd like that."
She realises too late that he might be hoping to collect more than a coat, but the misunderstanding bothers her less than it should. She doesn’t correct him.
Together, they step out into the street.