The door to the hotel room slid open, the lights came on, and a very tired redhead shed her coat and shoes on her way to drop unceremoniously onto the couch. She thought idly that there should be a bottle of something in her hand, but that would have involved getting back up – something she was not quite ready to do. Instead, she curled onto her side, propping her head up on the arm of the couch, and looked toward the large wall-length window that looked out on the Nar Shaddaa skyline.
She should leave.
She should go get the damned Hope out of the little hangar in the shadowport where it was hidden, and she should just keep flying until the Eternal Empire, the Republic, and the Sith Empire weren't even a thought. Jean Schramme's voice sounded in her head again, accusing her of running at the first sign of her emotional barriers...being breached? Falling? Kriffing soldier types and their need to turn every analogy into a battle thing.
She scoffed. What the hell did that even mean? Emotional barriers.
Patrek Waterfield had made himself a mark from the moment the two exchanged words that first night at Descent. It wasn't the flirting, either. It was the condescension. Zakuulan superiority. Whatever happened, he'd practically drawn a target on his chest that night, and she was prepared to take full advantage of that...of him.
It was an invitation that was so obvious to the former SIS agent that she just couldn't resist the opportunity. The sheer amount of hubris that dripped from so much of what he said broadcasted the exploitable weakness like the gaudiest neon on the Promenade. He was begging for it.
Blue had scolded her for taking the bait (and was probably right), sure, but to walk away from the perfect opportunity to either turn the man into an asset or at least get some usable intel while knocking him down a peg or three? From a selfish standpoint, it could be one last profitable venture to fund a damned nice get-away after all was said and done. Even if all she got was a way to protect the few idiot friends she had left who all seemed to be involved in some form of rebellion against Zakuul, it would be something.
When he wasn't being a haughty, superior ass spouting off in that way that made him sound like the tutting adult over the children's unfortunate misunderstanding that he and the other 'adults' really did know what was best, Patrek was intelligent, attentive, witty. She had enjoyed the flirty verbal sparring with the handsome, older officer, and the heat between them was...
Aittera heaved a conflicted sigh as she pushed herself up into a seated position and pulled her knees up to hug to against her chest. She liked him. She told herself that was a good thing in the end, because it made things easier when one liked their mark. In those moments where she spoke candidly with him, her smile came more easily, more naturally, because they were honest moments. She could be herself with him.
She ran two fingers absently over her lips, recalling another moment in which she'd felt far too honest with him, and her eyes slipped closed. There may have been something here she hadn't quite counted on.
“Just who is seducing who here?” she murmured to herself.
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