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“You don’t have to wear them,” Callie is saying. “Not if you don’t want to. I just felt it was important to recognize what you all have done for the Alliance.”
Theron suspected she was up to something. She and Ceetwo were awfully chummy in the days leading up to the party, to the point where he was starting to wonder if he’d wake to a base full of balloons and streamers. He wouldn’t have put it past the droid — or Callie, for that matter, who believes with startling conviction that she’s responsible for the mental well-being of every recruit that lands on Odessen.
In the end, it wasn’t decorations at all, but medals emblazoned with the Alliance symbol. It was Ceetwo’s idea, Callie explained once they were all in the war room. One for every Alliance founder. You believed in me, in the Alliance, even when you arguably shouldn’t have. That deserves recognition.
Lana was first. Callie pinned the medal to her chest, and though Theron could hardly believe it, there was a tremor in her voice when she said, Commander.
Koth expressed his gratitude for their support of Zakuul. Kaliyo looked murderous, but in a way that suggested her anger was self-directed. Jorgan saluted, Vette gasped, and Gault wondered, aloud, how much the medal might be worth.
Senya stood unnaturally still, as though the slightest movement might attract some unforeseen predator. I didn’t think this through, Callie said with a laugh. The sound made his heart swell with an emotion he didn’t care to name. Your armor… it’s just so…
Impenetrable?
There’s something to be said for being last. The others have lost interest, leaving him and Callie mostly to themselves. Theron tries to keep things professional, more for her sake than anything, but some opportunities are just impossible to turn down.
“I’ll try not to take it personally,” he says when she reaches for his lapel.
Callie fumbles with the pin. He would be lying if he said he didn’t love how flustered she gets — how quickly she blushes for him, like she hasn’t led armies into battle, toppled tyrants and traitors alike. His heart swells again, painfully this time.
“Personally?” She’s still fumbling with the pin. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t think I didn’t notice that I’m last.”
Her mouth forms a perfect o. His gaze settles there, then trails down, down her throat, to the tremor of her pulse, fluttering beneath the skin.
Any other night, Theron might feel a prickling of guilt. But tonight is a celebration — not only of Callie, but of the Alliance they built together. Later, once the party has lost some steam, and Kaliyo has taken Koth’s crew for everything they’re worth, he’ll commandeer one of the roomier maintenance closets and show Callie just what her mouth does to him.
“It wasn’t intentional,” Callie whispers. “I didn’t mean anything by it. You were the last to get here—”
“Callie.”
“—and I’m trying not to show favoritism—”
He covers her hand with his own. She jumps at the contact, fumbling the pin so thoroughly that it jabs him square in the palm.
Theron reels back, hissing through his teeth. “Okay, ow.”
Callie makes a sound that would have him stirring in any other situation. Forgetting their surroundings, or maybe just choosing to ignore them, she tugs his hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she says between peppered kisses. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay? I’m sorry.”
Theron thinks of the maintenance closet again, only this time he’s crowding her against the door, repaying her kisses with ones of his own. He blinks the image away. “I’m fine,” he says, but even that comes out labored. He wants her.
He wants her.
“Really,” he adds once he’s regained some composure. Any other night, Theron might feel he’d failed her in some way; she’s never given him any indication things might change on that front. But it’s been five years. The galaxy went to hell, and so did he. Somehow, against all reasoning, they’re here together.
Maybe, just for tonight, that can be enough.
“I’ve had worse.” Slowly, gently, he reaches for her hand, guiding it back to his lapel. “Together?”
Callie blinks. Her eyes are warm and wide and, in them, he sees a future he’ll never have. She’s a Jedi, and he’s not, and maybe in another life they could make it work, but—
She nods. Together they pin the medal to his jacket, right above his heart. He refuses to acknowledge the implications of that.
“Thank you,” she whispers, fingers curled against him. He’s not sure when that happened. They’re surrounded by people, all in various states of inebriation, Rhyss pawing at Lana’s shoulder like a Loth-cat left alone too long. Callie should be keeping her distance. But she’s not, and Theron is just wasted enough to be glad. He misses her when she’s gone. He always does, but especially in moments like this, when the only thing between them is a room full of fuck-ups.
Theron asks, “For what?” He touches her jaw, just once, just enough to sate the itch. He wants her. He wonders, stupidly, if Callie wants him, too.
“For being here,” Callie says, breathless, wanton. “With me.”
Later, when the party’s fizzled out, and all that’s left is to clean up the mess, Theron will think of this moment. He’ll think of her mouth, and her eyes, and the sound she makes when he kisses her in the maintenance closet, all tongue and teeth and need. He’ll lie awake in bed and wonder if they could have this. If, in lieu of another life, they might make it work in this one.
His palm stings where she pricked him. Theron rubs the mark with his thumb, thinking, a little deliriously, that she might as well have branded him.