The Roads We Travel is a collection of one-shots depicting significant moments in the shared lives of Vector Hyllus and the female Imperial Agent.

Disclaimer: Bioware owns everything.

Vector was nervous.

He'd been initially pleased when the agent had agreed to accompany him to the Killik celebration, but now he wondered if it was too much, too soon. Since he'd joined the agent's crew, she'd always exhibited a genuine curiosity about the nest, and he'd never sensed from her the acrid whiff of disgust and derision that he'd sometimes get from Kaliyo's direction. It was rare, and one of the reasons why he trusted her so fully, so quickly. But as they stepped into the tunnel that led to the Iesei nest dens, he found himself searching her scent and aura for signs of fear, discomfort, regret. She was completely his responsibility here.

She was looking around as they walked, as was her usual habit of taking complete inventory of her surroundings. The damp, dark tunnel was a relief after traveling through the unrelenting heat of the Tatooinian desert. The tunnel was kept alit by bioluminescent globules that would enable her to see where she went relatively well, despite the fact that her eyesight was inferior to all the others, both Killik and Joiner. They travelled together with the emissaries from Oroboro in a cloud around them, buzzing excitedly at the prospect of contact with the long-lost nest.

A little while in, they were greeted by a group of Iesei – several attendant Killiks flanked by four warriors and two female Joiners, the latter of whom stepped forward and gestured to the agent. Would the Dawn Herald's companion please wait in the side den? She glanced at him, amused – normally it was she who took the lead, and he the one being shuttled off to wait in side rooms while she made reports, seduced nobles, sliced computer terminals. "Of course," she replied to the Joiners, and they led her away. She looked back at him uncertainly once and he gave her a nod of reassurance.

Later, after returning from the initial ceremonial greetings and dances, his heart full with the joy of reuniting with long-lost kin, and the hive mind swelling noisily with exultation, he found her waiting in that same room, clothed in a silken garment, chatting with the two Joiners from before. As he moved into the room the Joiners bowed to him and departed. She turned to him.

"They asked me to put these on for the celebration," she explained. "A gift of goodwill from the nest. I didn't want to refuse."

He smiled at her in approval. "We're pleased that you accepted the gift, agent. Do you like it?"

She smiled, fingering the fine silk, and with an unexpected grin, twirled around so that the skirts swirled around her hips. The Joiners had clothed her in fine blue silk, with swirling patterns down the bodice. It was an honor, indeed, and a rare luxury – blue ink was generally exceedingly difficult to come by. On Alderaan the only suitable flowers bloomed in the very high mountaintops in just the first weeks of spring, and he had no idea where the Iesei nest found similar resources on Tatooine, which was all desert as far as he could see.

Freed from the constraints of her uniform, the agent looked girlish and ethereal, a far cry from the lithe, fearless warrior that had single-handedly defeated a Sith Lord. As she laughed, flushed and a little dizzy from her spin, he discovered that a line of fastenings had been left undone in the back. He wondered if the Joiners had left it that way purposefully, having undoubtedly sensed the courtship pheromones that he seemed unable to help exuding whenever around her. Sometimes Killiks had a strange sense of humor.

It hadn't escaped her notice either – and as she approached him, she got that coy little look that he'd come to expect when they were alone.

"You don't mind helping me finish up, would you?" she asked with a playful smirk, turning around and exposing the back of the garment.

That open sliver gave him a tantalizing view of the smooth line of her neck and back. All that spinning had stirred the cavern air, filling the space with her unique scent. He took that scent in, savoring it for a too-short moment, before reaching forward towards her garment. "Of course not, agent," he replied.

Slowly, he closed them for her, watching with regret as that sliver of exposed skin grew smaller with each closed fastening as he worked his way up. He could feel the flare of heat of her own skin in response to his breath upon her skin. And the scent of her body was changing too, in response to his own….

Suddenly unsteady, he stepped back. The task was complete, and he moved away, before turning to offer her his arm.

"Come with us," he said. "We'll escort you to the celebration."

The agent was drunk.

Vector knew she must have been trained to withstand the effects of alcohol, that she could take Kaliyo in a drinking contest, that even after two dozen shots of the strongest Corellian rum she could still shoot a man's head off at three hundred paces. But membrosia was alien and strong, and after all else was said and done, she was still a small woman. Recognizing the membranous containers as the same pale orbs that he'd once given her in the Oroboro caverns, she'd trustingly accepted the offerings that the hundreds of drones seemed to continually provide. And as the Killiks gathering around them began to move in the first dance, arraying themselves in intricate, shifting patterns, she began to become rather giggly.

It was a strange side to the agent, and one he couldn't help but observe with amusement.

At one point, at some unspoken signal, the Killiks began to sing. It was something he was used to, of course, and he recognized a variation of an ancient welcoming song that was often sung at the Oroboro nest. He joined in, raising his voice to harmonize with the others. The agent's gaze snapped to him immediately and she listened, enthralled, her head swaying slightly to the uneven rhythm. As the music swelled, punctuated by the clicking mandibles of the drones and the pounding of the warriors' wooden staves, she let out a laugh of joy. He couldn't help but smile back at her; it was as if she understood the delight of the nest, as if she could hear and commune with all those around her, celebrating with them. And perhaps, he thought, she could. Her aura was sparkling with pleasure.

The song ended, and the caverns grew suddenly quiet. In the center, he saw Daizanna of the Iesei stepping atop a raised flat stone. "The membrosia runs in golden rivers," she said, gesturing around the room. "Let this be a night to remember forever, a night of celebration, when two long lost kin found one another once more."

There was a loud cry of celebration from the Iesei nest, answered by a call from the emissaries of his own. And then the formations of Killik bodies dissolved, as each of the Oroboro was approached and claimed by an Iesei for partner dances. Fewer in number, the members of his nest swiftly paired off, and he saw Daizanna approaching him with a Killik warrior beside her.

The agent straightened as Daizanna and the warrior bowed to them in respect. "Our nest would be honored if you would share in the dance," Daizanna told the agent, as the warrior inclined his head towards her.

She looked up at Vector. There was excitement in her eyes, and a question, and he gave a slight nod in response. "The honor is mine," she replied, bowing toward her would-be partner. And together they were off.

He knew Daizanna had initially come to him with the intention of claiming him for the dance, but instead the other Joiner took a seat next to him. Vector acknowledged her, but found that it was difficult to take his eyes off the silk-clad form of the agent. She looked hesitant initially, but as her partner demonstrated the steps, she caught on quickly, as she always did. Soon she was adding her own little flourishes – little spins here and there, a flutter of the hands, delicately pointed toes. Every so often, the skirt's movement revealed flashes of slim ankles and strong calves. She had clearly once been trained in dance, from the way she held herself and the fluid grace of her body. He wondered for a moment who she might have been, if she were not already who she was.

"She would make a good Joiner," Daizanna remarked.

A Joiner? The agent? For some reason the thought chilled him and he bit back a response that was sharper than intended. From what Daizanna knew of the agent, he could understand the conclusion. The agent was blatantly unafraid, and more importantly, accepting of them all. And there, as she danced among a hundred Killik drones, she looked like she belonged.

But then he thought of her at night on the ship recently, curled up asleep, her sheets tangled around her, her aura aching as she whimpered. After he'd found her unconscious that time, he'd monitored her often, and noticed that sometimes her electric aura would flash jagged crimson edges. She was constantly reassuring them all of her wellbeing, but he was never convinced because he could sense her fear. It put the whole crew on edge, this unspoken and unspeakable threat that dogged their leader. More than once he'd stood a midnight vigil outside her door, hearing her song being smothered by her panicked dreaming. He could not help her except to ensure that she awoke every time she sank into that troubled sleep to face the secrets she kept from them all.

Too many secrets. To surrender them all, and her mind along with it – no, not the agent. He would never force it upon her, and he knew she would never choose to Join.

"Perhaps," he replied diplomatically. "It would be her choice."

Daizanna chuckled quietly. "You care for her, and she is similarly protective of you."

He knew she was referring to that little scene on the ship, when the agent had immediately objected to Daizanna's invitation. You're getting a little familiar with Vector for my comfort, she'd warned testily, with a little indignant spike of energy in her aura. It always touched him when she was that way, so protective. She was always snapping at anyone who insulted him or expressed disgust at their friendship; he'd even overheard some rare terse words between the agent and Kaliyo once. Vector knew how unnerving he could be, and he never took the judgments of strangers personally, but sometimes it was nice to have a champion. "The agent is protective of all that she considers her own," he said.

Daizanna looked at him pointedly but said nothing further, and Vector knew that the other Joiner was not fooled.

Soon it was the end of the dance, and the warrior was bowing to the agent, expressing esteem to a worthy partner. She bowed right back and looked back at Vector for approval. In that moment, as he raised his hand in a casual wave, Vector was captivated by the look of her: the dim lights painting her in soft colors, her own joy glowing in her expression. Her gaze did not leave him as she walked back, the Killik warrior a silent escort. He barely noticed Daizanna respectfully taking her leave.

And then the agent held out her hand. "I think you owe me a dance now, Vector," she laughed, that lovely voice sending a thrill up his spine. "You've been spending enough time peeping at me from the shadows."

With her hand came that scent again. He closed his eyes for a moment. He could always discern her so easily, as if she were a single ray of light in the darkness, as if he were not surrounded by hundreds of bodies and it was only the two of them standing in the cargo bay of the ship. She smelled so alluring, so sweet. Dancing would undoubtedly make it worse.

He took her hand and looked up at her, a hint of mischief warming his gaze. He heard her sharp intake of breath as he bent down to brush the back of her hand with his lips. It was a courtly gesture reminiscent of Alderaan. If he had to admit it to himself, it was also somewhat selfish, as now he had the taste of her on his lips to savor throughout the night. With some pleasure he noted the slight flush of her cheeks, and discerned that lovely heat again. He stood then, her hand held firmly in his.

"As you wish."

It was nearly too much.

He'd expected dancing with her to be a delightful torment to his senses, as she moved elusively in and out of his proximity as required by the steps. But he hadn't anticipated the reaction.

As her body and scent and aura wove around him, he was devastatingly aware of the taste of her on his lips. Suddenly he felt his mind begin to cloud with an unfamiliar fever. Here in the cavern, surrounded by Killik hormones, it was becoming difficult to distinguish between his individual attraction to her and the universal directive of the nest to reproduce. The hive mind studied and approved of the curve of her waist, the swell of her hips. His senses were inflamed – her heartbeat had quickened and her breathing had become shallow with the exertion of the dance, a shining bead of perspiration was making its way down the curve of her neck, and there it was again – that intoxicating shift in her scent. Her body was unconsciously reacting to his own pheromones, and he experienced a thrill of anticipation – underscored by the nest.

It was the first time he'd experienced this. He'd never courted or shown remote interest in another female since Joining the nest and becoming Dawn Herald. There were no memories of this from the other, typical Joiners in Oroboro; with them, those impulses had been more or less eliminated once their consciousnesses had been subsumed by the hive mind. And normally, when he and the agent traveled together, the proximity wasn't an issue; they were always on the move, often fighting to survive, and Vector had always been able to focus on the task at hand. The time he'd spent physically away from the nest had allowed him to better discern the difference between the hive mind and his own – and exercise judgment about what to prioritize. But here, he was reunited with hundreds of his kind. And caught within the frenzy of the dance, the essence and flavor of her body teased him relentlessly, and it was maddening. He was aflame – it was nearly too much.

But attuned to her as he was, he gradually began to notice that every so often, there was something flickering in her aura – something he finally identified as a fleeting sense of confusion. That slight tone of discord in her song sent clarity washing over him like a cold shower. He focused on her aura and frowned with concern – she seemed to be hazily aware of her unnaturally heightened reaction to him, and her mind was beginning to emit warning signals. Over time he'd learned to read the subtle hints in her aura. She was becoming slightly discomfited, but the cheerful haze of membrosia seemed to be dampening her worries, keeping her from expressing her concerns.

The membrosia – that was something else he was beginning to worry about. Throughout the evening they had been interrupted often by the drones, bearing more of the membranous orbs filled to the brim, which she accepted with her usual grace. Normally a few quaffs of the fragrant, milky liquid were harmless, resulting in increased energy and mild intoxication. But too much of the substance would eventually trigger the neurobiological changes that preceded the Joiner transformation.

The thought brought forth unsettling suspicions about the Iesei nest's true intentions in keeping her so plied with drink, and cast a darker shadow on Daizanna's earlier sentiments. It was troubling, more so because once upon a time it would not have been his concern. Back on Alderaan, his own nest had swiftly identified her as a possible asset. Vector would not have questioned it then, but now, he knew immediately that he would not allow it. He felt abruptly grateful for the freedoms he retained as Dawn Herald – he alone could keep her safe.

Suddenly anxious to get the agent back home to the ship, Vector reached out to steady her. "Agent," he began. "You've done well tonight, and we are impressed. But the hour grows late, and we think that you should consider retiring."

"Oh?" She peered up at him, eyes half-closed already. He was briefly reminded of a chick he'd once rescued as a child, long ago, and of how the little bird would look the same way, heavy-lidded, when it was drowsy.

"Accompany the Joiners, if you wish; morning comes soon," he murmured to her, nudging her towards a group that looked ready to leave. He recalled the restless nights she'd had during the past week. Yes, she had had enough.

"We were up all night dancing?" she asked. Then, with a little giggle, "I haven't done that since I was a girl."

She'd never brought up her past before without prompting, and for a moment, he was tempted to tease it from her. Disconnected from the hive mind, she was closed to him in so many ways, and denied her life history, he could only wait to let her reveal herself to him day by day. He wondered briefly if anyone had ever really known her – witnessed the adolescent revelry she alluded to, known the child that time and circumstance had shaped into this remarkable woman. But it was too early still – she would likely resent it in the morning, and he didn't want her to withdraw from him when he'd so recently earned her friendship. In time, perhaps she willingly would share more of herself. For now, he wanted simply wanted her to be safe.

"We'll have to hear more about your adolescent adventures at another time," he said a bit regretfully, steering her again towards the departing Joiners. "Go rest now, agent. We'll see you in the morning."

She began to stagger off in the direction of the resting dens, but then looked back at him suddenly with a wide, inebriated grin. "Have I ever told you how handsome you are?" she giggled flirtatiously. And then, like a fourteen-year-old fleeing after confessing her first crush, she turned and skipped off.

He watched her go. Only her scent was left and once more he drew it into himself. Eyes closed, he savored it, exploring and experiencing every particle in the air, and the fading taste of her lingering on his lips. Then he turned and swiftly made his way outside the tunnel. The desert was cool at night, and he took in the fresh, dry air with relief.

Unsettled, he stood in the darkness for a while, eyes closed. His heightened hearing picked up the occasional noises of the local wildlife – the grating chatter of womp rats, somewhere far off. In his mind the nest was similarly restless, buzzing with plans. There was much to do. United with the lost clans, Oroboro was eager to take advantage of its newly combined strength and press forward for expansion. For a moment his mind wandered back his own kind, and an old idea resurfaced – an agreement between the nest and the Empire. Oroboro would not have been enough on its own, but together, the Killik tribes were a force to be reckoned with – and a resource that might tempt the Empire. It would be best for everyone. He would ask the agent what she thought.

And the agent herself…

It had been a long time since Anora, and Vector was no longer sure what to do. But it wouldn't – couldn't be the way it had been this evening, the instinctive responses of the Killik nearly subverting his own judgment and taking over. She had made it clear that she wanted not only the Dawn Herald on her team, but Vector himself. Whatever he would offer her would reflect that – the man and the Joiner. He would have to keep her away from the nest then, for her own safety.

For the first time since his Joining, he felt a pang – not regret for what he had become, but sorrow for what he once might have offered her. He would never be fully human again. And as accepting as she was of him now, he dreaded the moment when she'd inevitably withdraw from him, refusing the Joiner to avoid the hive mind.

But he would accept whatever she would give him – a day, a lifetime, or nothing at all.

When his meditation was finally complete, the sun was beginning to rise, the first hazy rays making an appearance over the horizon. Vector walked the tunnels to the female Joiner sleeping den where the agent lay. Standing just beyond the threshold he sensed her aura – tranquil, dreamless, blue – and felt pleased that finally she'd rested well.

Soon she'd awaken, and he'd take her back to the ship, and they'd be off on their next adventure. His eyes settled on her form near the dark corner of the den. She was curled up on her side, one hand loosely clutching the silken sheets. Even from that distance he could sense her scent, fresh and alluring, calling to him.

Not yet, he thought. But soon. Tomorrow would be a new song.