Chapter Text
Kleya rubbed a hand over the back of her sore neck, her clipped nails still long enough to catch in her short, curly nape hairs. The humidity of Yavin brought the natural wave back in her long, dark locks. It was only fitting that it had. On Coruscant there was order; she knew what she was doing and where she was supposed to be and her slick, kempt hair reflected that. Now, it was as dishevelled and out of place as she was.
She tilted her head to the side, stretching out her neck as she stood in the middle of the base's signal box. It was a relatively small area, especially with its comms equipment taking up about three-quarters of it, leaving very little room for operators to move around the space.
Throwing down her soldering iron atop the table before her, she decided to take a much-needed caf break. She didn't bother telling Owen, on comms, where she was going. He was used to her doing her own thing. Despite her desire to work alone, she genuinely didn't mind being on shift with him because of their shared preference for not acknowledging each other.
She walked up the few steps which made their signal box into more of a pit and continued to the headquarters’ refectory.
After passing through two adjoining hallways to get to the refreshment area, she was greeted by a small smattering of people scattered about the tables there. Kleya instinctually scanned the place, never seeming to drop the habit. There were a few council members, someone from the maintenance crew, two security guards, and a couple of people with their backs turned to her. She assumed they were the new batch of recruits who were scheduled to come in that day since she recognised one of the transport pilots with them.
Going to the caf station, she poured herself a full cup, not leaving room to add anything else to it. She could never get over the idea of putting another species' secretions into her drink, like what was so commonly done around the galaxy.
She took note of the thermal jug’s now diminutive weight, swishing it around as she heard what little of its contents was left as it sloshed within its confines.
Sighing, she pushed the extractor button on the caf machine, sucking out the old grounds into the disposal below the counter. Scooping out fresh ones, she dumped them into the intake and pressed the auto water refill. Just as she flicked the brew toggle and shoved the thermal jug back in, she heard her name.
“Kleya?”
Turning, she was greeted with the warm smile of Mon Mothma approaching. She seemed to have just entered from the direction of the control floor.
The woman was so graceful that she almost floated as she walked towards her. If the legends of Diathims were true, she'd assume she was a descendant of the beautifully elegant Millius Prime angels themselves.
“I haven't seen you in a while,” Mon stilled herself before her as she understated their time apart. It had been nearly a month (when Kleya first arrived on the moon) since they last interacted. Mon stopped by, with Vel in tow, checking up on her before she was quickly called away. “I heard you're working in Signals these days.” She neatly folded her hands in front of her.
“More like, these nights,” Kleya griped like she hadn't personally requested those shifts. She liked them; they were quiet. “But yeah, someone has to optimise their system.” She suddenly found herself a little nervous for some reason as she couldn't help but elaborate, knowing the Senator probably wouldn't be able to follow, “I'm working on the beat-frequency oscillator right now. That circuit’s a mess.”
But, to Kleya’s surprise, Mon didn't look lost; she looked contemplative (or maybe it was concern?) before she forced a tight-lipped smile. “So, you're keeping yourself busy then?” She nodded but failed to conceal a sigh of relief as she said, “Good.”
Kleya eyed her, knowing exactly what she was thinking. When they saw each other last, she wasn't exactly in the healthiest frame of mind as she expressed her desire to go back… to go home.
“Yeah, so busy I haven't once attempted to steal a transport to fly back to Coruscant,” she said in a dry tone.
Mon's face fell as her eyes softened, now filled with regret. She shook her head as she insisted, “I didn't mean to—”
“It's okay,” Kleya cut her off, needing her to stop. She didn't want anyone's pity. “I promise; I'm holding up just as well as the Gopuram of Lehon,” she instinctively commented. This was something she'd say to Luthen when her head was just above water, not yet drowning. It was a reference only he would understand.
Mon smirked quizzically, tilting her head. “Before or after it was rumoured to have descended into the island, becoming the entry point for the Rakatan underground system?”
In complete shock, Kleya studied her in disbelief. “You know about that legend?”
Mon lightly chuckled as if she were pleased to have thrown her off. “I read about it in my youth, but it wasn't until my move to Coruscant I finally got my hands on the Skal'soa scrolls.” She referenced the Rakatan scholar who documented much of what they currently knew of the Rakatan home world and ancient species.
Kleya could only smile after discovering how deep the Senator’s knowledge of this subject of interest was, which they had both seemed to share. “I believe those were one of the first things I read too when I had access to the Senate District Archives.” Kleya already missed that place – that wealth of knowledge. She'd devoured so much information whenever she was there.
Mon tilted her head as she seemed to be studying her with a bitten-down smile. Her green eyes shone as she gazed upon her. How Kleya ever saw her as a security risk, a woman not to be trusted, those years ago, seemed absolutely asinine to her now while being the subject of her regard.
“Your love of history was never just an act you kept up for the shop.”
Kleya felt her cheeks grow warm, a sensation she wasn't familiar with, as she nearly laughed, “I never said that.”
“You did, though,” Mon grinned while insisting, “with that twinkle you always get in your eyes whenever you talk about artefacts and their connections to cultures of the past.”
Mon was correct, but that wasn't the point. She was doing her job; the interest came second to that. Duty was always before pleasure… no, not before, it was instead of. Pleasure was a distraction, she had to remind herself. She knew this, but this place kept her all out of sorts. She didn't know who she was here and feared she would turn into the agents she used to manage, the ones who couldn't balance the mission with their personal lives, the ones who worked day shifts, made deep connections, and lost their way.
“Senator.” The operations manager approached them.
Mon turned her attention to him. “Yes, yes, I'll be right there.”
He bowed his head and left.
Mon looked back at her with a smile which seemed to hold mostly annoyance. Kleya knew this expression of hers from when she worked the room at parties, placating the undesirable guests. “In the Senate, we had recesses that would pick up on the following day. Here,” – she shook her head with an exhausted chuckle – “there seems to be no such thing.” She then reached for the thermal jug in the caf machine.
“Oh, it's still brewing.” Kleya picked up her mug, offering it to her. The poor woman needed it more than she did. “Here, take mine, I haven't touched it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course. I have time to wait.” She raised it closer to her. “It's just black, though.”
“That's okay; at this time of night, I'm not drinking it for the taste.”
She slid her hands around the mug, ever so slightly overlapping her fingers with Kleya’s. Her touch was so soft and somehow warmer than the cup itself. It was… pleasant. Normally, touches hurt Kleya; they felt like a burn, but this was anything but.
“Thank you.” Mon warmly smiled at her as she slipped the mug out of her grasp, fingers sliding apart.
Then she was off, leaving Kleya with tingling fingertips and a smirk on her face.
“Kleya Marki, as I live and breathe.”
A shiver ran up her spine, instantly dropping her light demeanour, as she recognised the voice and its particular resonance that could only be achieved by a Clawdite’s vocal cords.
Spinning around, she came face to face with a migraine from her past, standing before her with a tray of dirty dishes in their hands. She cursed herself for not taking a more scrupulous look at that table of recruits because she clearly didn't clock the back of this nerfherder’s head. She'd seen their green skin and stupidly mistook them for a random Mirialan.
“Catex Wesell.” She crossed her arms as she felt her blood pressure go up. “What the kriff are you doing here?” she asked through a locked jaw.
Catex flashed a pretentious smile on their sunken face. “I'm part of the rebellion.” They cocked their head. “Turns out, I’m exactly what they're looking for.” Those were the precise opposite words Kleya had said to them six years ago after their fatal actions on a mission, leaving their entire squad dead. “They were practically begging me to join them.” Kleya hated how true that probably was. Luthen and she were in that position before – wanting to recruit a changeling spy of their own.
“Who exactly?”
“Clearly, not you.” They shifted their weight to one side. “From what I just overheard, you’re nothing more than a signal operator here.”
Kleya tilted her head to the side in disgusted shock. She was aware of their boldness, but was always surprised by their level of audacity.
Catex took a step towards her. “Funny how your’s and Luthen’s project evolved past you, leaving you two in the dust.” They then theatrically gasped before amending their statement, "Sorry, correction, one of you is under the dust.” They removed a hand from their tray to kiss their fingers and lift them up, looking to the sky. “Rest in peace, Luthen Rael,” they said in a way that could only be interpreted as sarcasm.
Kleya ground her teeth and balled her hands into fists. Despite her complicated feelings towards Luthen, he was everything that this pathetic waste of a life could ever be. She turned around, a cup of caf now a distant thought, and started walking away before she punched them in the face.
“Going to your senator?” Their words stopped Kleya dead in her tracks. First, they went after Luthen, and now they're dragging in Mon? “I don't think she'll get rid of me even if you flash your big, lovey-eyes at her again.” How dare they imply anything about Kleya regarding her. “I'm an asset this rebellion needs. The only one who doesn't seem to get this, is you.”
Kleya took a calming breath. She wasn't going to let this useless excuse of an agent break her. She was better than that. She then slowly turned and took a couple of purposeful steps to close the gap between them, ready to lay the truth bare. “I get that you're a loose end,” she kept her voice low and steady, “and like all loose ends, they eventually get caught and start to unravel.” She was furious that she didn't put a plasma blast between their eyes those years back when she had a chance. “You wouldn't want that happening in front of the wrong company. So, if you have any sense of self-preservation, I'd make myself scarce if I were you.”
Catex chuckled. Bringing attention to the fact that she no longer ran the show, they mocked her, “Says the comms girl.” They twisted their thin lips into a satisfied smirk before casually walking past her. They dumped their tray on the dish cart and then headed towards the exit. "Goodbye, Kleya.” They called over their shoulder as they walked out, “As always, it's not been a pleasure.”
Kleya growled, turning back to the caf machine. She poured herself a cup she knew would be too strong because it wasn't done brewing yet. She then also left the refectory, going back to work because that was the only thing she knew. Comms equipment had a logic, a system, an order – all of which she desperately needed to find again.