#I think jorgan turned out pretty good all things considered! hard to make a cathar in anything really but I did my best lol

[haledamage]

tagged by @risualto 🧡🧡🧡 loved the excuse to play around in this picrew some more

top left: Aric Jorgan/Vesiya Hallis Jorgan (swtor)

top right: Kurt/Nadia de Sardet (Greedfall)

bottom row: Kiki and her boys! Kai/Aloth, Kai/Eder, Kai/Rekke respectively (PoE)

and bonus because A) Risu tagged the Speaker blog (Az and Yoshiko are so cuuuute 😍😍) and B) why not, have some Speaker folks!

left is Sebastian/Li, since they're some of my actual canon characters that can get together (the Speaker is obviously the one taking this picture)

and on the right is Nellie and my test-Seer Cass 😊 because pink hair and also lesbians

open tagging for anyone who wants to do this, but also specifically I want to see Speakers :3 I might reblog this over there (or just put the last 2 in their own post), I just love seeing peoples Speakers so much

[queen-scribbles]

Taking Initiative

Sooooooo this was fun to write ;D Another technically sfw one. Technically.

...I think.

                                                      ---

It proved much easier than expected to get the time alone they wanted after Belsavis. All it took was what some might consider a tiny abuse of power on Jorgan’s part when they stopped on Nar Shaddaa to refuel. ‘Mandatory downtime’ he called it as he effectively kicked the rest of Havoc off the ship.

‘Ridiculously overdue’ is what Keme would have called it, and she bit back an expectant grin as she finished cleaning her blaster carbine and stowed it where it belonged. “Turning them loose on Nar Shaddaa? You sure that’s a good idea?”

Jorgan shrugged as he closed the various weapons racks. “Way I see it, the only real risk is Vik remembering what he liked about this place and not coming back. Some R and R will do them all some good.” He leaned against the nearest gun locker and smirked at her. “And I figured some time alone would do us some good.”

“You did, huh?” She let out that grin as she mirrored his pose in the doorway. “I like a man who takes initiative-”

The armory wasn’t big, and he crossed it in two strides to pin her against the wall with a kiss. His fingers dug into her hair, hers curled around the lapels of his vest, and both pulled in an instinctive gasping breath when they parted.

“How’s that for initiative?” Jorgan murmured, voice so low it was almost a growl.

“Very promising,” Keme breathed with an even wider grin, her hands creeping higher on his collar to yank him in for another.  This kiss likewise broke with a harsh breath, their chests heaving and hearts pounding mere centimeters from each other.  Much as she was enjoying their current position, the heat building in her chest galvanized her to maintain one hand’s grip on his collar and kiss him to pull along with her as she shifted off the door frame and backed toward her cabin.

This time the low sound rumbling in his throat was definitely a growl.

They skirted the holoterminal, his vest and her belt dropping to the floor in the process, but walking backwards had Keme’s aim off and she backed into the wall next to her door rather than through the doorway. She growled impatiently at finding it closed and groped for the door controls. Shucked her jacket as the door hissed open, tossing the garment away without a care where it landed. Pivoted around the edge of the doorway, pushed off it as Jorgan’s hands slid under her shirt.

His fingers settled over the scar just above her hip, and while she didn’t flinch, there was just the barest catch to her breath and movements as she tugged at the clasp for his belt, the thought pressing in. He’s going to see...

Faint as the reaction was, he still noticed, and huffed a laugh that ghosted past her ear.  “Told you you should’ve stayed in the bacta tank a little longer,” he murmured, shifting his hand away from her souvenir of Belsavis.

She shook her head and rested her temple against his jaw. “That one’s not a problem,” she whispered, which was mostly true. The ugly scar was still a little tender and was definitely not going to fade any more on its own, but it wasn’t enough to stop this. The other ones, though...

He started to ask, but his hand’s new position left it resting directly over one of the older scars, and he stilled. A moment passed before, “Already seen ‘em,” rumbled into her hair around a soft kiss.

Keme gave a small smile--slightly bitter, because he couldn’t see it--and pressed a light kiss to his jaw. “Not all of them.” Most, maybe, especially after that fight with the Gamorrean, but not all. Time to change that. She kissed his jawline again, then stepped back just enough to strip off her shirt.

Jorgan’s hands tightened fractionally on her hips as his ice-blue gaze ran over the full extent of the narrow ridges interspersed with the dark stripes that already patterned her fur. Shoulders to waist, front and back, deliberately cut to end slightly further in than the actual stripes. He gave her a wordless look and pressed a lingering kiss to the highest scar on her right shoulder.

Keme backed into the door frame for support again, eyes sliding closed as she let out a groan that bordered on a purr and her hands curled into fists so tight she could feel her nails indenting her palms.

Jorgan caught her eye when he straightened. “They don’t bother-”

“I didn’t think they would,” she cut him off, the words hitching as he mirrored the kiss on her left shoulder. “I’m not so much self-conscious about them as I hate the reactions from most people when they learn where they came from.”

He met her gaze, head tilted in curiosity, but didn’t push. Clearly, initiative for how much--if any--she shared was hers for the taking--or leaving.

It made her love him even more.

Drawing a deep breath, still uneven from their nearness, Keme gently rested her hands at his elbows and steered them to sit on the edge of her bed. She left her hands where they were, thumbs rubbing light circles against his arms as she dove in.

“I grew up a slave.” For most people that would be enough, and all they got. But Aric Jorgan was not most people. Not to her. “Born into it, actually. My parents were owned by Seven Brothers, a Rattataki-run syndicate almost no one’s heard of because they propped up the Hutt they used to work for as a figurehead so they could operate in the shadows. Name a vice, they deal in it. My parents worked in one of the mine processing centers for their front business; hard work, but not brutal enough to prevent starting... starting a family.”

Jorgan shifted when her voice caught and Keme slid her hands down to clasp with his as she continued.

“They had me. Then twins, girl and a boy, little over a year later. ‘Nother boy few years after that. Chronic runaways, the lot of us.” She snorted. “Dunno what they expected from Cathar slaves, really. My first real try was when I was nine, with my dad on his fourth. We got caught before we even made it off-planet, I got these” --she freed a hand to run her thumb along one of the scars that hooked back from the corners of her mouth--”and he got sold. Second time I was fourteen and it was with my sister. She went down fighting when they caught us, took one of the founding Brothers with her. Me... They decided there were better ways to make an example of me than as a corpse. Put the dead brother’s wife in charge of punishing me, and she made sure I knew how much she enjoyed herself as she killed my mother and brothers.”

He pulled a sharp breath, but she squeezed his hands before he could say anything. 

“That was just the start; the payment for her husband. For running away... she made a show of informing me I was a troublemaker, always had been. Some might think I always would be; there’s that saying about nexu not being able to change their stripes. However, she'd never believed that saying was true.”

This time Jorgan slipped a hand free, running it down from her shoulder through the curve of her hip, his thumb brushing over the meticulous scarred ‘stripes’ between the natural ones. A shiver rippled down her spine as if following his touch.

“My third try was two years later, from the cage where they kept me, first chance I got. Actually made it this time. The Republic picked me up after the ship I’d stolen ran out of fuel, and well,” she gestured at the cabin. “Here I am.” It hadn’t been as easy as all that, but she didn’t want to spend more time on her past than she had to. Especially when they had the ship to themselves and the intensity in Jorgan’s eyes was doing things to her. 

His hand lingered on her hip, thumb rubbing back and forth along one of her actual stripes, and he was quiet for a long moment. “Exactly what reaction do you usually get that makes you flinch at the thought?”

“Pity,” Keme said with a sigh. “People see the scars, and whether or not they hear I was a slave I get pitying looks and their body language screams ‘oh you poor thing’. I hate it.”

“I would, too,” Jorgan muttered. He withdrew his hand to curl around hers again.  “For the record, that’s not what I think.”

She cocked her head and waited for him to elaborate.

“They don’t say ‘poor thing’ to me. They say you made it through a hell doing its best to crush the fire out of you. That you survived. And that’s incredible and admirable more than anything els-”

She kissed him, leaning so far into it she started to push up on her knees, let it linger until her lungs burned before resting her forehead against his as a breathless “Thank you,” whisked past her lips.

Jorgan chuckled, ran his thumbs over her knuckles before letting go of her hands to brace against the bed. “I aim to please, boss.” The mirth faded into sincerity. “And I meant it, Keme.”

He’d never used her name before, and her breath caught sharp at the way he said it, gentle and warm and strong, and she cupped his jaw with both hands to kiss him again.

They almost toppled backwards, but he shifted to keep them upright. She scooted forward to straddle his lap, and his arm curled around her waist to pull her close as this kiss kept going, repeatedly half-broken for air, but never fully interrupted until Jorgan leaned back to pull his shirt off.

Keme barely registered when the black tank top tangled and pooled around his wrist as that hand braced against the bed again. Her attention was caught by the scar across his chest, lower left ribs to right armpit, ugly and ragged-edged, especially in the middle. She couldn’t stop the soft gasp, or instinctive brush of her fingertips along the edges until she was halfway down. “What...?”

“Too close to an artillery misfire,” Jorgan said, covering her hand with his. “Not as bad as it looks, I got treated by a medic who was barely more than an intern, so it scarred worse than it might’ve.”  He smirked and shifted their hands slightly to the side so she could feel his heart pounding under her palm. “ Way I see it, I didn’t wind up dead, so who cares if it’s not pretty.” 

Keme laughed softly. “The things we suffer in the line of duty...”

He snorted a chuckle in response. “And yet, somehow, the permanent reminder some idiot on my own side didn’t know how to calculate a damn targeting algorithm counts as a mark of bravery.” He pressed his hand closer over hers.  “Which means yours should, too. Even more than this does.”

Her fingers curled slightly. “Why?”

“This was friendly fire, wrong place, wrong time, an accident. These” --He shook his hand free of his shirt and cupped her cheek, thumb tracing along the scar.  “All of them, aren’t cause for pity. They say you’re tough as hell for surviving what you did, Keme.”

Her heart did a somersault, and she felt his speed up under her hand as she pressed closer to whisper, “Say it again.”

He chuckled and kissed the hollow of her throat. “You’re tough as hell.”

“No.” She paused a moment, bit her lip as she reached back to nudge off her boots. “The other part.”

She could feel his grin against the curve of her neck. “Keme?”

Heat flared in the pit of her stomach and she gave a soft growl as she tipped his chin up for an insistent, greedy kiss. “Again, Aric,” she mumbled against his lips.

His growl was louder, verging on a purr, as his hand slid up the back of her head to tangle in her hair. “Keme.”

She exhaled a shaky breath and scraped her teeth over his lower lip before claiming another kiss that finally unbalanced them to fall back on the bed with a laugh.

-o-

They traded off kissing each others’ scars--there were plenty to choose from on both parts-- which led eventually to kissing everywhere. Jorgan didn’t even flinch when he found the brand on her hip; seven-point star over a chevron burned into her skin. (It took a few tries, but Keme managed not to flinch when her toes brushed the cold metal that was his left calf now; a forever reminder she’d almost lost him.) 

It was, by the end of it, a thoroughly good use of their time. After all, there was no telling how long the alone-ness would last. And once gone, it would likely be a very long while before they got more, given the state of the galaxy.

“Well,” Keme laughed, grinning contentedly up at the ceiling as she tried to catch her breath. “That was...”

“Productive?” Stars, he sounded smug. She rolled her eyes and lazily swung her closer arm to smack his chest. He caught it and kissed the back of her hand.

“I was gonna go with relaxing,” she retorted as her toes curled. “But we can use your word.”

He chuckled and kissed the back of her wrist. “Both are good, I think.” Kissed just below her elbow. “Fun works, too.”

She snorted a shaky laugh. “Oh, there’s a lot of words for how good that was, Aric.” The next kiss fell halfway up her bicep and she bit her lip. “Mmh... despite my near-derailment via summarized tragic backstory.”

“Hey.” He kissed her shoulder. “I wanted time for the two of us. While this was what I had in mind--and worth it, by the way--if we’d wound up talking, that would have been good, too.” Kissed the juncture of shoulder and neck. “It’s you I wanted, whatever form that took.”

She turned her head and met him for the kiss she knew was coming, rolled with him when he pulled back so her chin rested on his chest. “Mm, good answer.” She kissed the center of his chest and lightly ran her fingers along the lower half of the scar. “You’ll have to abuse your authority to empty the ship so we can do this again sometime, Captain.”

He smirked in response to her teasing tone. “Oh, no, no, no.” He sat up, pulling her with him, and cupped one hand around the back of her head for another kiss. “Next time’s your turn, Major.”

She giggled against his mouth and kissed him again. “Deal.”

Jorgan leaned fractionally into the kiss before pulling away and sliding out of bed.

“Hey.” Keme grabbed his wrist to halt his progress. “Where’re you going?”

He shot her an amused look. “I need my clothes,Keme.”

“I don’t recall saying you could leave,” she commented, the faux-reprimand undermined by a snicker as she playfully tugged his arm.

Jorgan chuckled and braced one knee against the edge of the bed as he leaned back in. “Apologies, sir,” he drawled, tucking her hair behind her ear. He leaned his forehead against hers. “Permission to locate my clothes, sir? I don’t imagine we have too much longer before Dorne, at least, has had her fill of ‘relaxing’ and we’re not alone anymore. Sir.”

“Permission granted,” Keme sighed with only partially faked reluctance as she let him go. “Though if I know Elara half as well as I think I do--if she knows me half as well as I think she does--she’s well aware the likely motivation behind their ‘mandatory downtime’ and she’ll take her sweet time getting back.” She tented her knees and rested her chin atop them as she watched him crisscross her cabin for various pieces of his wardrobe. “Don’t think she’s the one we need to worry about.”

“Yeah?” He shimmied into his pants, dropped hers--and her bra--on the foot of the bed. “Who is the one to worry about? And where the blazes is my shirt?”

Keme laughed and dug the shirt out from the tangled sheets. “Here.” She tossed it to him. “And my credits are on Vik running into someone who wants to kill him and figuring the ship is safe turf.” She reached for the clothes he’d found and followed his example getting dressed. There, at least, he had a point. They had to be reaching the final dregs of their time alone. “Next time we’ll have to figure a way to guarantee a nice long stretch of privacy that’ll end on our terms,” she sighed as she stood up, toes curling against the cold metal floor. “Maybe somewhere with a real bed. And carpet.”

He tugged her back by her hips until she hit his chest and kissed her shoulder. “I like the way you think. Keme.”

She bit her lip and tilted her head back for a kiss despite the awkward angle.  “Glad you approve. Aric. Can’t make you take all the initiative when it comes to dates.”

He chuckled and kissed the top of her head before letting her go. “Seems fair.”

They finished putting themselves back together and had just moved in the direction of finding menial and innocuous things to do when the holo beeped an alert the hanger elevator was in use.  They paused en route to the armory to check.

“Looks like we had good timing,” Jorgan deadpanned.

Keme snorted a laugh as she tapped on the camera feed. “And like we were both wrong. Though I can’t really say I’m surprised,” she conceded, watching Forex trundle across the hanger toward the ship ramp. “Can’t be much to entertain him when he’s not allowed to shoot Imps.”

She heard the snicker Jorgan tried to bite off as he looked over her head. “True.” He squeezed her shoulder and ducked into the armory. Keme tapped off the cameras and followed suit. At least Forex was the least likely to get nosy about how they’d spent their downtime.

By the time the Thunderclap’s door slid open to admit the droid, Jorgan was busy with ammo inventory and Keme was perched cross-legged atop one of the shorter gun lockers working on her datapad.

“Hey, Forex,” she called at the first clanging steps toward the main cabin.

“Greetings, Major, Captain,” Forex replied enthusiastically, making his way toward his usual spot in the briefing room. “I hope you found the downtime as enjoyable as the rest of us, despite remaining shipboard.”

Keme cleared her throat, shared an amused look with Jorgan. “Yeah, it was, um, productive.”

“And relaxing,” Jorgan chipped in. She nudged his shoulder with her foot and got a smirk in reply.

“Excellent!” the droid effused, completely missing everything outside the words.  “It only benefits the Republic for its top soldiers to be better prepared for action.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” Keme called after him, shooting a wink at Jorgan. “We’ll have to make sure we do it again sometime.”

And they would, she promised herself as her company distracted her from her datawork approximately every ten seconds, whatever initiative she had to take to make it happen.

Preferably soon.

[meanbihexual]

Unintended

Chapter 1/13

Read on AO3

Aric Jorgan was not a sentimental man. He didn’t dwell on his emotions—hell, half the time he didn’t even acknowledge them. He was also not indecisive; he believed in taking action, taking responsibility, and getting results. And so it was doubly incredulous, not to mention galling, that here he was, coming up on an hour of sitting on his bunk with his fists clenched, trying to decide what to do and feeling as anxious as he ever had in his entire life.

This had seemed like a good idea at first. It was entirely reasonable to want to congratulate the captain on her promotion, and a gift seemed like the sort of thing one ought to do for a friend. And they were friends, he had realized, after all the time they’d spent together, all the missions they’d completed. It was almost impossible to rely on someone as completely as they did in the field and not become something more than acquaintances, but it had surprised him nonetheless. The circumstances of their first meeting, his subsequent demotion while she was made his CO—all of that had stung, and at first he didn’t think he’d ever feel anything other than a seething dislike for her.

But Lieutenant—now Captain—Phila Evander was not the entitled, arrogant brat that he had thought she was, and she had proven it many times over in the hunt for Tavus and the other former members of Havoc Squad. Jorgan had come to admire and respect her over the months they’d been a team, and more than that, he even liked her.

Back to the problem at hand—a gift was a good idea, he was sure of that still, but why did he have to go and pick this particular gift? He hadn’t been able to think of anything that seemed right, until one day he was digging through his locker in search of something—he couldn’t remember what—when he found a box of assorted junk that he had accumulated over the years. Inside was a jewel he had bought from a trader on a whim years ago and had then thrown into the bottom of his pack, having no use for gems.

He wondered, now, if he’d had some sort of premonition, because it was the exact same blue as Phila’s eyes.

Before he could really think it through, he had found a Theelin jeweler on Nar Shaddaa and sent her the gem, commissioning a setting for it. It had arrived via courier while they were taking leave on Coruscant, and Jorgan had to admit that the jeweler had outdone herself.

The deep blue stone was now the centerpiece of a lovely bronzium pendant. It was shaped like an elongated diamond with thin strands of the metal woven in intricate designs that reached up to enfold the gem. It looked amazing, and in his mind he could clearly see it hung around Phila’s neck, even though he’d never seen her wear jewelry before.

The problem, though, the thing that kept him holding onto it even now, more than a month after receiving it, was that the more he looked at it, the more it felt like—well, like a lover’s token.

That was definitely not the message he wanted to send. Was it?

It was true that he was attracted to her, had been for quite some time, truth be told, but lately it had been getting worse. He couldn’t stop thinking about her, and everything reminded him of her—the Balmorran sunsets were the same deep red as her hair, a smooth sip of Corellian whiskey was her voice. And the dreams—it was a miracle that he could meet her eyes after the dreams he’d had, and thank the stars Cathar didn’t blush noticeably or he would have been in real trouble. He didn’t know what was wrong with him, but either way, Phila—he had to start thinking of her as Captain Evander again if he was going to get through this—could not find out. What would she think if he gave her jewelry?

Jorgan sighed and shifted his weight, pressing a hand to the sore spot on his lower back. That’s what he got for sitting in the same position for so long, along with a raging headache that he was pretty sure was going to require finding Elara to give him some painkillers.

Finally, with a disgusted snarl he pulled himself up and retrieved the pendant from its spot at the bottom of his locker. He had never been a coward and he wasn’t about to start now—if she got the wrong idea (or, more accurately, the right but absolutely not ever admitted idea), he would just make it perfectly clear that it was a congratulatory gift from a friend, nothing more.

 Phila was pretty sure military datawork was a clever ploy by the Sith to keep soldiers from having time to come after them. She ran a hand through her hair as she finished one report and flicked it off the screen before pulling up another, wishing that this was something she could delegate.

That wasn’t fair of her, not really—Elara already did all of the datawork she could; the crazy woman enjoyed it, which was something Phila was eternally grateful for. But there were some reports that only a CO could file, which was why Phila was wasting an evening onboard the Thunderclap instead of continuing the hunt for the elusive Tanno Vik.

Technically, she could have done the work at the base in Bugtown, but she hated that place. She always felt like colicoids were going to burst through the walls at any moment—even after she and Jorgan had helped to cull the population, they were still crawling all over the place. It wasn’t like it was a big deal for her to get to the ship anyway; the shuttle ran back and forth to the orbital station several times a day, so it was just a matter of catching a ride. Besides, it would be nice to sleep in her own bed again.

Taking a big gulp from the mug of caf beside her, she was mentally fortifying herself to dive into the next report when she heard footsteps behind her. Turning her head, she saw Jorgan enter the room, clutching something in his hand.

“Hey, Jorgan,” she greeted him, turning back to the work in front of her.

“Captain. Do you have a minute?”

“Of course. Anything to get out of this datawork,” she answered with a small laugh, shoving the datapad out of the way as he pulled out the seat across from her.

The corners of his mouth twitched up, about as close as Jorgan ever got to a smile. She noticed that his hand was still curled tightly around something as he sat, but she couldn’t tell what it was.

“What’s up?”

Jorgan cleared his throat before he spoke.

“I never properly congratulated you on your promotion. You’ve come a long way since Ord Mantell.”

He paused, and she opened her mouth to say thank you, but he continued before she had the chance.

“We—we should celebrate.”

He looked vaguely sick as he said the last part, as if he had said it only because it was expected of him but actually found the prospect rather nauseating. It wouldn’t surprise her if that was the case—her XO wasn’t exactly a social flutterplume—but it meant a lot to her that he would make the effort.

Her response was designed to tease, to perhaps loosen him up a little. She couldn’t forget that day she’d come back to his inquiry about weapons malfunctions with a flirty little quip about going through her things—how his voice had dropped lower than usual when he asked if she had something to hide, the almost feral way his lips had curved in a rare smile.

It was impossible to deny she was hoping for a repeat performance when she said, “You could make me dinner.”

“You wouldn’t enjoy that. I’ve spent the last ten years living off field rations.”

His eyes danced, just a little, and told her that he was enjoying their exchange. Her smile widened—it was nice to see him joke for a change, even if it wasn’t that husky, mind-melting tone she’d been hoping for.

“Well, I guess it’s ration bars and caf again tonight,” she sighed in only half mock sorrow.

“Sorry, Captain,” he said. His voice turned serious. “But, uh, I got you a little something…”

She really had to stop smiling at him. He couldn’t think when she looked at him like that, all bright-eyed and positively glowing. It was hard enough to resist the pull of her lips normally, but when she smiled the battle tripled in intensity.

She was looking at him expectantly now, curiosity shining in her brilliant blue eyes, and since his brain was being decidedly unhelpful he simply held out the hand that clutched the necklace, waiting for Phila to mirror the gesture before he dropped the gift into her palm.

Phila gasped and immediately drew the piece closer to her face for inspection. The pendant was quite possibly the most beautiful piece of jewelry she’d ever seen, and she’d seen a lot. Even though she didn’t own much of it, Phila had always admired the pretty pieces she saw other women wear. It was too bad it wasn’t really practical in her line of work.

And Jorgan was just full of surprises tonight—not only had he given her a gift, something she never would have believed if she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, but he apparently had fantastic taste in jewelry as well.

She became vaguely aware of Jorgan talking in the background, and she forced her mind to focus on him.

“Bought the stone off a trader a few years back. Had a Theelin jeweler fit it for me. Thought it’d look nice on you.”

He sounded slightly awkward again. Phila didn’t know if he wasn’t sure if she liked it or was just uncomfortable giving gifts in general, but she hastened to reassure him.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, raising her eyes from the pendant to meet his. “I love it. Thank you.”

He held her gaze for a moment in silence, and Phila felt a shiver run up her spine at the intensity in his eyes. She found that she couldn’t look away, and the pendant felt warm in her hand.

Finally Jorgan broke the silence. “Anytime.”

The moment faded, and Phila found herself wrapping her fingers around her gift, trying to recapture the warmth.

She really shouldn’t say it, she thought, about two nanoseconds before she opened her mouth.

“Will you put it on for me?” He looked slightly startled, like he’d never considered that as a possible scenario, and she continued. “I’m hopeless at clasps.”

That wasn’t strictly true, but she would have to go cross-eyed to do it on her own without a mirror. Close enough, right?

It took him a moment, but Jorgan finally nodded and pushed up from the table, walking around to stand behind her. Phila swung her ponytail to the side so it didn’t get in his way and held up the chain over each shoulder so that he could take it.

When he had the ends of the chain in his hands she lowered her own, trying (and mostly succeeding) to suppress the shiver that ran through her at the soft brush of his fingers against the sensitive skin of her neck. It was probably her imagination, but it felt like his touch lingered there, just a second longer than necessary, before he released the necklace and stepped back. She missed him instantly.

Jorgan cleared his throat again. “Anyway, I should get back to my duties, and let you get your reports done. Congratulations again, sir.”

Phila shook her head and twisted in her seat to look at him. “You know you don’t have to call me sir when we’re off duty, Jorgan.”

He gave what passed as a smile and simply said, “I know, sir.”

Phila laughed softly as he walked out. “Stubborn man,” she said to herself as she pulled the datapad back in front of her. She glanced down at the necklace lying against the front of her t-shirt.

“Sweet man,” she whispered, and then got back to work.