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According to defectors, Imperial Intelligence had had an entire training module dedicated to interfactional disputes under the terms of the now-dissolved Treaty. The SIS had a handbook updated every decade. Theron had read it halfway once, skimmed the whole thing once, and could only recall the illustrative diagram of double-agents in a triple-way standoff.
A day had passed since the Howling Tempest Gang's reunion with their benefactors. Predictable awkwardness aside, it was nice to see allies, though the Gang members' familiarity with each other meant that Lana and Theron had become outsiders in what had previously been their own territory. At least it wasn't boring.
He found Thrisc working alone, at the big table in the main room of the safe house. ‘Found’, as in, stumbled upon him. He hadn't been searching. Actively. That much. A blaster rifle lay at one end of the table, next to an abandoned mug of caf; Theron crossed his arms and leaned against the edge, mindful not to bump either.
“Hey,” Theron said.
Thrisc's head snapped up, his slowly spreading smile slicing into Theron’s better judgment like a shiv. Like a dagger poised to be buried in a back. Like a multitude of other ominous pointy objects, which was bad and definitely not exciting.
“Hello, Theron,” he replied, and laughed lightly. “I was just wondering where you were. Any news?”
Chiss’ emotions were supposed to be difficult to decipher; Chiss agents’, doubly so. It was the eyes, people complained, plus the frosty demeanor, the inscrutable facial expressions. Apparently conventional wisdom hadn't accounted for a wide range of verbal tone, or eyelash-batting, or barrages of cryptic smiles.
Still, Theron didn't consider Thrisc's behaviour predatory or leering. It was only...smiling. Close-lipped and playful. Threatening. His charm could be fatally corrosive, provided he actually remembered to turn it on. That was surely cause for professional concern.
“Jakarro says hi, I think,” Theron said. “I told him he's going to meet with the Captain and the Wrath.”
“And Vette?” Thrisc prompted.
“And Vette,” he confirmed, cheeks heating slightly. The group had walked away in the wrong direction, arguing about pirate hats. He reasoned that he was still a bit stunned.
“Niayes and Lana are investigating a lead,” Thrisc said, lips quirked. “You should've seen it - Niayes practically skipped out of the room. They'll call when I'm needed.”
So Theron could expect an indeterminate amount of time monitoring Nova Blade activity in Thrisc’s company. The prospect seemed less like a form of torture, and more like living a stress dream his brain hadn't been cruel enough to generate yet.
“I'll be in the back room,” Theron blurted, very casually, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “Taking inventory.”
What the hell? Inventory of what? They were in a glorified communications hub, not a cantina. That made no sense, and anyone could tell, especially a former Watcher -
Thrisc scooted his chair back. “I can help.”
Oh. Perfect.
Theron nodded curtly then brisk-walked to the back room, putting sizable distance between himself and Thrisc. If that was too obvious, too bad.
He reflected that he'd been in tighter spots. He'd killed a Dark Councillor in close combat on two separate occasions, for Force’s sake. But every second in Thrisc’s presence poisoned a well of principles already compromised after months on the run from the Republic. Shielding his mind from Lana had been easy. Staying aloof was proving exceptionally difficult.
To his dismay, he discovered that their ‘inventory’ consisted of a few empty crates and an abandoned medkit. And there wasn't a window to escape through. Now he had two options: admit his impulsive lie, or improvise. Either way, an Imperial operative might realise how gravely Theron's caution had weakened and flaunt his superiority. Or start planning to undermine Theron's loyalty, or to physically attack. Footsteps grew louder, nearer. How was this even a problem that was happening?
All right. Focus. Deep breath -
Thrisc entered the room, and was confronted by Theron’s blaster aimed straight at him.
“Hi,” Theron said. “Can we talk?”
That smile again; that stab of...something, again. His brief chuckle heightened Theron's suspicion. “Of course.”
“I’m basically the only Republic representative here.”
“I've noticed,” Thrisc said, affable as ever. “It must be tough.”
“I can get along fine with smugglers,” Theron claimed. “But it's a little weird working with Imperials. Fact is, I know Lana, barely. I don't know the Emperor’s Scowl, or Cipher Sunshine, or you.”
“Do I have a nickname?”
“I usually refer to you as ‘the second biggest problem’ in my head.”
“I like the sound of that.” Wait. Did he just say Thrisc was the second biggest problem in his head? “So, are you planning to do this to the others, too?” Theron held the blaster level with a steady hand, watching warily as Thrisc ambled a single step forward. “Or am I special?”
“You're the Imperial trying to imbalance me,” Theron retorted, caught off-guard by his own burst of anger.
“Imbalance,” Thrisc repeated, breathless in a mock gasp. “Agent Shan, what could I possibly stand to gain from your blushing?” The allusion to Manaan triggered an instant repeat; good thing Theron was far enough for his flush to be faint. “Strategically, that is.”
“Best guess?” Theron narrowed his eyes. “You're trying to screw with me. You're trying to put me in my place, wherever you think that is.”
“Where do you want us to be?”
“I want to make one thing clear: I'm as dangerous as you. Maybe more.”
Thrisc huffed in amusement. “Okay.”
Their conversation was dragging too long to be effectively intimidating - and Theron’s arm would start to ache soon - but Thrisc’s calmness egged him on. Admittedly, he was beginning to understand why Marcus Trant found his irreverence so annoying.
“No sudden moves,” Theron said, flicking the blaster. “Now that you mention it, I've got you exactly where I want you. Let's keep it that way.”
“You must be aware that I'm not carrying any weapons,” Thrisc mused. “Blaster rifle in the locker, vibroknife by the front door. Is it typical for SIS agents to threaten unarmed allies?”
Theron frowned. “You left your rifle on the table.”
“Mmm, so you have been paying attention. Good. You didn't answer my question.”
"Sure, you seem defenceless,” Theron conceded, "but it’d be typically Imperial for you to carry a holdout pistol, right?”
“I'm not - call it foolishness.” Thrisc's laugh was quiet and short, ending in another shiv-strike of a small smile. “I’d hoped our working relationship was mutually disarming.”
The handbook probably hadn’t covered this. Theron’s racing heart couldn’t cover this, how to outmaneuver an Imperial and his...wordplay all the while his smile stretched warm and languid like a sunbathing manka cat. How would such a predicament be classified? Dangerous liaisons? Or would it fall under preparing for impending disaster?
“Does that blaster give you a sense of security?” asked Thrisc, sounding genuinely curious.
“Kinda. It helps being on the right side,” Theron said, pointedly.
“I don't mind the view.”
“Yeah, if I were you I'd watch it. Watch your attitude,” Theron scrambled to clarify before Thrisc’s lasciviousness could reach a lethal level. “Not the view. Because if you really don’t have a holdout blaster, I'm pretty sure this - ” he thumbed the trigger idly, “ - means I'm in control here.”
Amiability whittled into wryness. “It means you're the one who feels so trapped for some reason, you need to shove it in my face to convince yourself otherwise.”
“Oooh, big talk from the unarmed guy backed into a corner.”
“And that's an awfully evasive response from a man who thinks he’s taking the direct approach.”
Shit. Maybe Thrisc did have a hidden pistol, and was merely biding his time. Theron could pull the trigger to see how he'd react. Then he'd have to react to Thrisc’s reaction. Assuming they survived the ensuing scuffle, it’d be a pain to explain to the rest.
“Not that this isn't a thrilling discussion,” Thrisc added, “but I'm expecting a call, remember. What's your endgame?”
“Just figuring out where we stand,” Theron replied coolly. In hindsight, that was a perfectly credible goal; it might even be true.
“Here, for minutes, in the dark and humidity.” Somehow, the mildest smile and the softest laugh struck sharper than any reproach. “There are better ways to learn about each other, you know.”
“This is the safest. And I learn fast whenever I'm in charge of my education.”
“That's a useful skill to have.” Thrisc tilted his head towards the blaster's barrel. “Now, if you're quite done...”
Theron allowed himself a self-congratulatory smirk. “Relax, it's not loaded.”
To prove it, he aimed away from Thrisc and pulled the trigger - both agents jumped, startled, when a plasma bolt hit the wall with an ear-splitting bang.
They stared at the new singe mark in stunned silence. Theron belatedly lowered his blaster.
“You could've shot me,” Thrisc stated, blinking rapidly.
“Uh. Sorry about that.” So much for paranoid defensiveness. “I really thought it wasn't loaded. Guess that was my other blaster.”
Even in exile, there were certain things Theron could never forget about his personality, his career, or the point where the two became indistinguishable. He knew he excelled as a field agent because he accepted that it was impossible to prepare for every eventuality. Quick action was key; he didn't have a chance to falter if he didn't waste time dwelling. Fluidity of motion aided fluidity of thought and so on.
Faced with Thrisc's mounting giggle fit, he froze like a fucking Womp rat dumped on Hoth.
“You were going on your spiel, as if our alliance is so tense and scary, and if your finger had slipped you could've shot me.” Nonstop giggling escalated to peals of laughter; Thrisc doubled over from the force of his chortling, hands braced on his knees. “In the face.”
“I don't see what's so funny,” Theron snapped. And began chuckling as well.
“The SIS has spent a decade trying to neutralize me,” Thrisc wheezed, between small gasps. “The closest they've come to succeeding was a disavowed agent waving his blaster for dramatic flair.”
Theron caught his breath, held it. “You're not mad?”
Thrisc bit his bottom lip. “That made my day.”
“Oh. Well. Good.” Good? “Bad,” Theron hastily amended, fresh alarm spiking through his relief. “That I almost - could've shot you. If I wasn't careful. If I'd been more careless. Uh.”
Thrisc's holocom beeped. Because the universe was evidently determined to remind Theron that it hated him more than it usually did.
The holocom was pocketed with a final snicker. “The next time we're alone, maybe we can swap the guns for something more fun,” Thrisc suggested. “Say, caf and datapads open to bi-hourly reports on the Revanites?”
Theron eyed his traitorous blaster and slid it into its holster. “That's probably for the best.”
“I look forward to working with you, Agent Shan.”
“Yeah,” Theron said, returning his earnest smile before he could catch himself. “I'm sure it'll be...interesting.”
Crisis averted. Or mitigated. Theron was tempted to imagine his resolve being destroyed in a violent way, but truthfully it had been laid to rest as gently as was possible in a situation involving light teasing, a loaded blaster, and heavy questions. Flashing one last smile - with a hint of teeth - Thrisc sauntered off, humming an old tune Theron liked to whistle.
...He was so fucked.