But I think you're so mean, I think we should try
I think I could need this in my life
And I think I'm scared, I think too much
I know it's wrong, it's a problem I'm dealing

If you're gone maybe it's time to come home
There's an awful lot of breathing room but I can hardly move
And if you're gone, baby, you need to come home
'Cause there's a little bit of something me in everything in you

- Matchbox Twenty, "If You're Gone"

-Chapter One-

Vohai
Outer Rim Territories
6 BBY

The young woman was alone in the back booth, nursing something blue in a glass and twirling the end of her long, brown braid absentmindedly as she stared down at the datapad on the table. Cassian had been watching her for a solid hour, but carefully, just as Draven had taught him.

She wasn't a target. She'd just caught the young man's eye, and he wondered what a girl like her was doing here. To anyone else, she'd seem like she fit right in: older, mended clothes, a blaster on her hip, a scrape across her right cheek that was mostly healed. But something about her was just… different.

It didn't help that the two men behind him were also watching her, discussing the things they thought she'd be good at doing, particularly with her mouth. It took all of his control not to turn around and shoot them. And he hadn't even spoken to her yet.

Finally, he picked up his drink and moved across the bar, sliding unceremoniously into the opposite side of her booth, setting his lomin ale down as he did.

She looked up, green eyes wide in surprise, her hand going for her blaster. Cassian held up his hands.

"Hey, no need for that. I just wanted to warn you that those two thugs by the exit have been watching you and planning to, ah, introduce themselves when you leave."

Her big, green eyes flicked towards the men, studied them for a moment, then back to him. This close, he could see they were flecked with gold. Her face was thin, as if she hadn't been getting enough to eat. He saw that her clothes were shabbier than he'd originally thought. That explained the one drink and why she had on gloves that were on the edge of falling apart. She clearly had little money. The only thing of value he'd say she had on were the stars that dangled from her ears, and even those were cheap metal earrings.

"Thanks," she said after a moment spent staring at him.

"I'm Jeron," he said, giving her his middle name instead of the alias he'd been using for this mission.

She hesitated, then allowed, "Tanith."

He'd bet his blaster that wasn't her real name, either. He didn't care. "What are you doing here by yourself, Tanith?"

She snorted softly and turned off the datapad. "You're not going to go away, are you?"

"Not until they do."

"I can take care of myself."

He smirked. "I'm sure."

Her eyes narrowed. He knew what she saw: long, straight, thin nose; sharp cheekbones and jaw, a narrow chin, almost feminine with his cheeks presently clean-shaven. He also looked younger than his twenty years, which made a lot of people underestimate him. It didn't help that he currently wore his hair nearly to his shoulders, part of his latest mission.

He didn't want to think about the mission. Not until he got back to base and gave his report.

Cassian didn't like killing people. He'd really rather spend the evening talking to a pretty girl, biding his time til his transport left for Corellia in the morning.

Tanith looked back to the men by the door, then shrugged. She looked weary. "Fine," she sighed.

He watched her for another few moments. "Are you hungry?" he asked.

She looked up sharply, warily. "Why?"

Cassian arched a brow. "We might be here a while," he said. "And I haven't seen you eat the whole time you've been here."

"You've been watching me?"

"I've been watching everyone. It's more interesting than staring into a glass all night." He signalled to the serving droid. "Besides, I haven't eaten since yesterday and I'm starving. It would be rude to eat in front of you."

Tanith hesitated. "I don't have enough credits."

"My treat," he said. Cassian wondered what it was about her that brought out a long-dormant urge to protect. He'd think about it later.

The droid came over and he ordered two bantha burgers and fried tuber strips. Belatedly, he asked Tanith, "You eat meat, right?"

This time, she did snort. "You ever eaten womp rat? I have. I'm not picky."

"No," he said slowly, "but I've eaten a few other things I'm pretty sure weren't intended for human digestive systems."

She flashed a quick smile, green eyes sparkling, and looked down at her datapad.

As the night progressed, they started to talk. A lot of it was vague; they both clearly had secrets. But it was nice to have a conversation with someone who wasn't an informant or a target or one of his fellow Rebels.

When Cassian realised that the men weren't leaving any time soon, and that he'd gotten a little more buzzed than intended, he offered to walk her back to her lodging. He didn't have anything with him besides the messenger bag across his lean body, and didn't have a room rented, so it didn't matter where she was staying. He could grab a speeder taxi and be at the spaceport from just about anywhere.

Tanith hesitated again, but this time with a shy, uncertain smile. He got the feeling she didn't talk to people much, and wondered what her real story was.

"Sure," she said at last. "That would be nice."

She had a bag of her own, a navy canvas rucksack, and she slipped her datapad and half of Cassian's burger, wrapped in flimsi, into it.

The men followed when they left, which didn't surprise Cassian. It didn't surprise him that they immediately attacked the young pair as soon as they were on the street.

What did shock the hells out of him was when Tanith whipped a truncheon out of nowhere and cracked one of the thugs across the face with it.

Cassian's surprise got him a fist in the face courtesy of the second thug. He felt his nose break with a sickening crunch, and for a moment, everything was blinding pain. He hit the ground on one knee, blood spraying from his face. Dazed, he blinked stupidly as Tanith knocked his assailant unconscious.

She crouched beside him. "You alright?"

"I thig so," he slurred, hands covering his nose. "Ow."

"So much for protecting me," she said wryly. "It was a nice gesture, though. Come on. Let's get that taken care of and get you cleaned up."

Cassian let her help him to his feet. Between the ale and the punch to the face, he was more than a little unsteady. Tanith took his arm and guided him to her rented room, just a few blocks away.

"I get it by the week," she told him as she unlocked the door. "It isn't the best, but I'm not here long."

It was one room, with a tiny refresher in what Cassian would have called a closet, and an alcove with a minuscule conservator and a hot plate. There was also a mattress on the floor, sized for one occupant. That was it.

She did, however, have a duffel bag with a basic medkit. It wouldn't fix his nose, but she had pain killers. He'd kept pressure on his nose, despite the pain, and it seemed the bleeding had stopped. His shirt was streaked red, and his hands were sticky with it.

Tanith pointed to the 'fresher. "Wash up. Cold water on the shirt. Hot water sets it. Not that I have hot water. Well, not for more than about five minutes every few hours."

"Danks." He tried to grimace at how he sounded but that hurt his nose and he groaned.

He saw her try to hide a smile. She was concerned, yes, but he understood the humour of it all.

Cassian stepped into the 'fresher. The shower was basically a pipe sticking out of the wall and a drain in the floor, separated from the toilet and sink by a curtain. The tile floor was chipped, and he had the thought he wouldn't be caught dead barefoot in here. There was no mirror, so he couldn't see the damage. Probably for the best, really.

He washed his face carefully, using a threadbare rag, then rinsed as much of the blood out of his shirt as he could. His whole face felt swollen.

"Good going, Andor," he told himself under his breath.

Leaving the shirt draped on the edge of the sink, he decided the black pants didn't show much in the way of blood. And he wasn't going to just take them off in Tanith's refresher.

She looked up from sorting through the medkit when he came out, winced at the sight of him. "Ouch. Come sit down. It won't do a lot, but a bacta patch might help."

He sat on the edge of the bed, stupidly aware that he was shirtless, and let her carefully apply the strip of bacta-soaked bandage across the bridge of his nose. Then she busied herself with getting him some water and putting the kit away.

Cassian swallowed the pain relievers and let out a pained chuckle. "I feel like an idiot."

Tanith shook her head. "It was sweet. But I did say I could take care of myself. I have been for a while."

"Who taught you to fight like that?" he asked. It came out more like, "Oo dodd you do fie lie dad?"

"My fa-" She stopped, cleared her throat. "My adopted father. But he's dead now. I'm on my own."

"I'm sorry."

Tanith shrugged her shoulders. "It is what it is."

She sat beside him, eyes flicking over his bare chest, then up to his face. "Thank you. I'm sorry you got punched, but thank you."

"I'm normally better at fighting," he told her. "But his fist was the size of a Star Destroyer."

She laughed. "It was."

Then she bit her lip, her gaze dropping to his mouth, bouncing back up. "But thank you. No one's stood up for me like that before."

"You're welcome."

He wanted to kiss her. She probably wasn't the least bit interested, especially with his face looking like he'd run into a durasteel wall. But he wanted to.

"Tanith," he began, but didn't get any further, because he couldn't speak with her mouth on his.

Okay, then.

The kiss was like a jolt of electricity straight to his toes. He'd kissed women before, but like her, something was just different about this.

She pulled back, gasped, "Sorry, I've just been thinking about doing that all night."

Cassian caught her braid in his hand, the other around the back of her neck, and kissed her. She made a pleased sound and her lips parted.

"I don't even know you," she said against his mouth. "But… Would you stay?"

"Kriff, yes."

He woke to sunlight through a thin curtain and a pounding headache. It took a horrendously long time to remember that he'd been punched in the nose, which was why his face throbbed the way it did. He groaned, shading his eyes as he sat up.

The bed beside him was empty. His pants were on the floor, bag beside them.

"Tanith?"

The 'fresher door was open. She wasn't there, though he could see his shirt where he'd left it. There weren't any other hiding places, with the bed directly on the floor.

One of her earrings lay on the bed, caught in the sheets. Her duffel and knapsack were gone.

So, he discovered, were his blaster and half his credits.

"I," he said aloud, "am an idiot."