If you're one of my normal readers... I'm sorry. My muse goes weird places.

The bar is seedy and loud, straddling the line between a mere shitty bar and a true dive. I'm not here by choice, oh no. My best friend had begged me for a week straight to go with her so she could practice picking up guys, with me being backup as needed. Her usual partner in crime, our other roommate, is out on vacation with her boyfriend for the next month, which leaves me to take her place.

I hate bars. But my best friend promised to cook all my meals for a week and said I could read in a corner to my heart's content.

Which, of course, is exactly what I'm doing, leaning up against the wall in a corner booth with just enough light for me to make out the words.

A brief glance up from my book tells me that she's having fun, but not much success with the handsome men that flock around the bar. We'll probably be there for a while longer.

I glance up again a few minutes later as a loud group of men, Ravagers, by their attire, enters the bar. A few of them stare at me, some curious and some speculative.

I hold the book up in front of my face, attempting in as many ways as possible to communicate leave me alone to the various bar-goers who take a moment to eye me up. Some people, unfortunately, just don't get the message.

"What's a pretty girl like you doing all alone over here?"

I look up with barely restrained irritation at the man that slides into the booth in front of me. He's arrogant, superior in a way that suggests he thinks far too much of himself based on far too few virtues. It's a stupid question, so I give him a stupid answer. "Reading," I say, and go back to doing just that.

The creep laughs as if I've just told a joke, and actually dares to put one finger on the top of my book and push it down. My eye twitches, and I curse the fact that I'm not strong enough to snap his fingers like twigs. "Why are you reading? You should be out dancing, having fun!"

I was having fun, I think mutinously, until you started bothering me. But it's not quite time to be that rude, so I say, "I'm only here to make sure my best friend gets home safely," and jerk my chin in her direction. I meet his hungry eyes and offer a saccharine sweet smile that's just a tad too wide to be anything but condescending. "I don't like to have fun. I'm very boring" So fuck off.

He leers—leers—at me and smirks suggestively. "I'm sure I could show you a fun time, baby."

Okay then, I think, snapping my book shut with an irritated huff. "I've tried to be nice," I say with an icy glare, "but you're just not getting it, so I'll put it clearly: Fuck. Off."

The creep's expression twists with anger and disgust at my blatant rejection of him. He stands, glaring down at me. "Fine, bitch," he says, slashing a hand through the air, "be miserable. You're ugly anyways."

He stomps off, and I roll my eyes at his juvenile departure before going back to my book. Unfortunately, it doesn't take more than a minute or two for someone else to come stand in front of me.

"That weren't too smart, miss," another man says. A very tall, skinny Xandarian in a red Ravager's jumpsuit looks down at me, frowning. That takes me by surprise, even though he was one of the ones staring at me earlier. Why's a Ravager talking to me?

"Wasn't smart?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"That was the second in command of the gang that runs this city," he warns, sitting down across from me in the space the creep just vacated. "He'll be after you for insultin' him."

A thrill of fear runs up my spine, and I nearly choke on my own tongue. "Shit," I breathe, closing the book and pressing a hand over my eyes. Shit, shit, shit. What the fuck. Why is it always me? I was in a corner reading, for fucks sake!

I gather myself after a moment, chucking mirthlessly as I drag my hand down my face. "Well, good thing I'm packing heat, then." The weight of the blaster on my hip seems to increase exponentially. I've never actually had to fire it at someone—the threat had always been enough—but now it seems I'll be using it for real. What a nightmare.

The Ravager seems a little surprised by that, and I laugh with more sincerity.

"What? Do I look like a sweet lil' girl who wouldn't hurt a fly?" I ask, fluttering my eyelashes dramatically.

He huffs a laugh, leaning back a little. "Yeah, I'd say so. You look like one of them fancy-pants intellectuals."

"Well good, because I am a fancy-pants intellectual," I grin, putting the book away in my satchel. I turn toward my friend, only to find that she's already gone, probably with the last man I saw her flirting with.

The playful mood vanishes abruptly as another icy jolt of fear shoots up my spine, pooling in my stomach like a physical weight. I take a deep, calming breath and slide out of the booth.

Time to fight my way home.

"Thank you for the warning," I say quietly, meeting the Ravager's inscrutable grey eyes with a terse nod. I get about half a step away before he blurts out "wait!" and catches my wrist. I blink in surprise and turn back to him, tilting my head curiously. The poor man's expression is a weird amalgam of determined and sheepish and uncertain.

"Listen," he says haltingly, "listen, I… if you came back to the ship with me, they'd probably leave you alone, thinkin' you was with us—the Ravagers, I mean."

I'm so surprised by his thinly-veiled offer that all I can do for a long moment is gape at him. A flush slowly creeps up his neck under my wide-eyed gaze; his ears turn red. He still hasn't let go of my wrist, and for a split second I'm distracted by how his hand is big enough to wrap all the way around my slender wrist and then some.

"I—ah, that—please. I mean, yes, absolutely," I say, internally smacking myself for such a stupid-sounding reply. It's probably not the best decision, since any yahoo that sees me come on or off the ship could accuse me of being an accessory to some crime or another, but it sure beats ending up dead—or worse.

His face breaks into a grin, revealing a sharp, asymmetrical smile that's oddly endearing. "Great, wait here for a second, okay?"

He releases my wrist and stands as I sit back down, perching on the very edge of the booth. I watch, mystified, as he trots over to the largest group of Ravagers and speaks with a large, gruff-looking Centaurian man. After a second the Centaurian glances over at me and grins lustily, slapping my Ravager on the back. The group of outlaws around them howl in approval, several repeating the Centaurian's hearty slap.

By the time he comes back over, I'm pretty sure I know what he said to them. The flush on his cheeks and the way he won't quite meet my eyes is a dead giveaway. I don't say anything as he offers me his arm and walks me out of the bar (like a true gentleman, it's adorable!), but I can't quite suppress my grin. The collective gazes of twenty or so outlaws burn into both our backs as we depart.

It doesn't take an empath to feel the jealousy and lust that follow us like tangible things.

"I'm guessing you told them you were taking me to bed?" I ask once there's no one around to hear.

"Yeah, sorry about that," he mumbles. I note that he doesn't unlink our arms as we walk into the darkened streets. I can practically feel the heat of his blush.

"Honey," I laugh, "if it keeps me alive, you can say whatever you want."

He glances down and offers me a relieved, lopsided smile.

Something moves in the corner of my eye. I stiffen, breath catching in my throat as I recognize the creep from earlier. I'm careful not to look directly at him, but I can sense the heat in his glare. More shapes flit around my peripheral.

I count at least five.

My hand clenches into the fabric of my Ravager's sleeve as terror chokes me. Don't attack, I pray, my free hand going to the holster attached to my pants. It's two against five, and that's only if my Ravager wants to help. Maybe, if I had the experience of the man next to me… but I'm just a civilian, and a young one at that.

His arm shifts, breaking my grip, and a solid weight settles over my shoulder. I glance up, automatically wrapping my newly-freed arm around his back. He looks straight forward, perfectly calm. His eyes flick to me briefly before turning forward again.

Relax, that glance says, don't give them an in.

I forcibly relax the tense line of my shoulders, leaning into his side a little as I sync our steps. He's warm against me, solid and reassuring. My breath evens out; my heart rate slows. Calm, I think to myself. Confident. They can't touch me.

It works.

After fifteen minutes of silent, tense walking, I'm on his ship, safe and sound. As soon as the hatch closes behind me I go limp with relief, sagging into my savior's side.

"Hold on a moment," I say, legs shaking at the adrenaline finally leaves me. His arm moves from resting on my shoulders to curled under my arms, supporting me.

"'s fine," he murmurs patiently. "You're fine."

I start to laugh, shutting my eyes as they prickle hotly. "This," I gasp, "this is why I don't go out unless someone forces me," and laugh and laugh and laugh until suddenly I'm bawling my eyes out.

It's too much. I didn't even want to go out, but I just came close to death and probably would have died or been raped or something worse if a Ravager with some semblance of a heart hadn't been there to take pity on me.

It's too much.

"Aw shit," I hear him whisper in panic, his free hand hovering uncertainly over my shoulder. Awkwardly, he pulls me into a hug, smushing my face into the front of his jumpsuit. The part of my mind that's not freaking out notes that he smells like plasma and metal and something musky.

"I'm s—I'm sorry," I gasp out between sobs, locking my arms tightly around his chest. "I'm not built for this."

"'s fine," he says again, less panicked. "But we prob'ly shouldn' stay out here in the open."

I nod but make no effort to move—half because I'm still crying and my face is probably pretty ugly, and half because damn, it feels good to have a man to hug again. He makes a sound that's a mix between a huff and a laugh; it rumbles pleasantly through his chest.

Suddenly my legs are knocked out from under me. I yelp in surprise as I'm swept up instead of falling down. It's startling enough to stop the crying outright as I find myself being carried, princess-style, down the corridor.

Shit, I think, dazed. He's strong. I'm not exactly a skinny little twig, but here he is, carrying me like I weigh nothing. No one's ever done that before. A wave of heat sweeps from my toes to my nose, and I can't help but blush crimson.

From the tiny, smug smirk on his face, he knows exactly what he's doing.

"You know, I never told you my name," I realize, wrapping my arms around his neck. "I'm Vanessa."

He smiles a little when I tell him. "That's a pretty name. Not Xandarian?"

"Nah," I say, "I'm Terran."

That gets his attention, if the way he nearly drops me is any indication.

"Hey!" I complain, clinging to his shoulders as he readjusts his grip. "What was that for?"

"Sorry," he says, finally setting me down as we reach our destination: a small, bare room with a single cot, a table, and two chairs. "Oh, um, my name is Kraglin."

"Kraglin," I repeat thoughtfully as he gestures to a chair, taking the other for himself. "I like that name. It's very… strong. Makes me think of sedimentary rock."

Kraglin shoots me a look of mild confusion. "What?"

My face heats up again. "Sorry. I don't—um, sorry."

"What's sediment'ry rock?" he asks curiously, then shakes his head. "Wait, no, not important. How'd a Terran get out here?"

"Oh." I gnaw absently on the knuckle of my thumb, remembering the bizarre series of events that got me off Earth in the first place. "That's a long, convoluted story that doesn't make much sense to anyone, even me—and I lived through it. Suffice to say, I was temporarily a slave."

"Slavers?" Kraglin suddenly sounds angry. I look up in surprise to find him focused entirely on me, leaning halfway over the table as he searches my face.

I quickly turn back to inspecting the red teeth marks on my knuckle. "Uh, yeah. Like I said, it was weird. But it's ok, I was freed after like, two hours at most."

"Oh." He settles back down. We're both silent for a long, awkward moment.

"So, uh," I start, staring down at my hand as if it holds the secrets of the universe, "why'd everyone seem so excited when you told them you were—um, taking me home? I'd have thought you guys do that all the time."

Kraglin laughs awkwardly, and I glance up to see him rubbing at the back of his neck. "Nah, not when we go out in groups, and not at places that nice." He sees my raised eyebrow and adds "well, it was nicer 'n normal for us."

"Wait," I say, perking up. "Does that make me respectable?" I grin. "Do they think you seduced a respectable girl in under five minutes?" His face turns tomato-red and I cackle at his embarrassment. "Oh my god, they do!"

"I'll have to make up some stories, for sure," he admits, staring determinedly off to the side.

"Ha! Well, make sure you tell them you seduced a respectable virgin, because you won't even have to lie about that!"

Kraglin's startled, disbelieving look is nearly enough to send me into convulsions. "Pretty girl like you, a virgin? No, how old are you?" he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

It takes a moment, but I reign in my laughter enough to answer. "Twenty-five, honey." The disbelieving look intensifies, and I end up hunched over in the chair, hiding my face in my hands. "Oh, oh," I gasp, finally able to sit back up and wipe the moisture from my eyes. "Oh, you don't understand. Kraglin, I scare boys. I literally just open my mouth to talk to them and they run off."

"You scare 'em off on purpose?" The Ravager's expression abruptly becomes thoughtful, probably remembering the man I ran off earlier.

"No, I'm not even talking about that," I say. "I mean—look, I'm a fancypants intellectual, right? And not to be self-aggrandizing, but I'm pretty damn smart. It takes a certain kind of man not to be scared off by a smart woman, and those men don't tend to go to dive bars."

Understanding lights up his blue-grey eyes, followed by something like glee. "A respectable, intellectual, beautiful virgin, who was packin' heat 'n ready to dive into a firefight," he says, grinning like the cat who caught the canary. "I sure do know how to pick 'em. The boys 're gonna be jealous for weeks."

His offhand compliment takes me completely by surprise. Something awkward and nervous flutters in my stomach at the word 'beautiful.' I look away from his face with a faint blush, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Heh," Kraglin chuckles softly, noticing my rosy cheeks. "Sorry. Too forward?"

His tone has changed suddenly, taking me by surprise. He's looking at me with half-lidded eyes, a lazy smile on his face. It's an unexpected switch from the awkward, shy man that I was teasing a few minutes ago. Has knowledge of my inexperience given him more confidence in himself?

I can't help but squirm awkwardly under his gaze, hiding my face behind a loose curtain of hair. "Yeah, a little," I mutter, blushing harder.

Shit, he's hot.

"Hey, don't hide from me," he chides, reaching out and pushing my hair behind my ear.

I think I might actually explode from the blood that's rushing to my face. "Ok, um, confession" I say, screaming internally. "I maybe might also panic when the people I don't scare off flirt with me."

Kraglin's expression is oddly satisfied. "Don't worry 'bout it," he says with a soft kind of heat. "'s cute."

I swear, my whole body is on fire.

"Oh my god," I mutter, putting my face in my hands because I don't know what else to do.

I can hear the smile in his voice as he speaks. "You're gonna have to be here for a while, y'know, to be sure those assholes 'v run off. You're not gonna have much fun if you hide every time I say somethin'."

"Then—then stop flirting!" I squeak accusingly, peeking over my fingers at him.

"I can't," he says with a chuckle. "You're too cute for your own good, darlin.'"

I'm very, very tempted to crawl under the table and curl into a little ball, but I have just enough dignity to restrain myself. So instead, I take a deep breath and run a hand through my hair. Accept compliments gracefully the voices of about twenty different (highly exasperated) friends say in my head.

"Thank you," I say with dignity. "You're also adorable."

I immediately bury my face in my hands. The internal screaming intensifies.

Kraglin bursts into laughter; he's wheezing on the table by the time he manages to calm down. "Oh darlin'," he gasps. "If I needed any proof that you haven't flirted a day in your life… there it is." He dissolves into breathless guffaws again, and this time I have the good grace to join him.

"I do so flirt," I protest, looking up. "I just… flirt by explaining word etymology and comparing people to rocks."

The comment elicits another howl of laughter. Kraglin looks up and meets my eyes, red-faced. "You're hopeless," he gets out, collapsing back onto the table.

"Oh, laugh it up," I huff. Then, slyly, "it was good enough to get me into your room."

The Ravager chokes—really chokes—and topples to the floor.

"Kraglin!" I cry in alarm, leaning over in my chair. He's lying on the floor, a stupid grin and a slightly dazed expression on his face.

"Alright," he concedes, turning his head to meet my eyes with a much more suggestive look. "Maybe there's hope for you yet."