Archive of Our Own

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fan fiction.

Author's note: not what she requested, but this fic is for estora anyway. Gerald Su'Lac is her original character, and I'm just borrowing him for a while … 

~*~*~*~between thought and utterance~*~*~*~

Ferus keeps pacing nervously, jumping at every sound. Going to the door about twice a minute just to see if Ryn is there yet, like she wouldn’t just knock. There are several dozen Bellassan jewel-bees in his stomach, and none of them are for the mission at hand. They’re all for seeing Ryn again. 

He’s being ridiculous, of course, and he knows it. Ryn is a friend, or as close to a friend as he’d ever had until he met Roan. And she is pretty understanding: she’ll give him the benefit of the doubt, on everything. 

It’s just ... they were almost more than friends. They had danced around the issue for nearly two years before she started sleeping with Anakin Skywalker - okay, she never said she was sleeping with him, but Ferus wasn’t completely oblivious. They were having sex. Together. Often. And Ferus was reminded, every day, in a myriad tiny ways, that it could have been him. If he’d said something sooner. Or said something at all. If he had found a way to let her know he wanted more. 

Which he couldn’t do, because he was a Jedi, and wanting more wasn’t part of the equation. 

Then he left the Order, but instead of taking advantage of his newfound freedom to tell Ryn how he felt, he left her standing on a landing platform with tears in her eyes. 

HoloNet gossip says she’s still sleeping with Skywalker, and since Ryn has wanted him since the first time they met, Ferus is trying to be happy for her. 

He feels her coming, unbelievably - he shouldn’t be able to do that anymore - and yanks the door open before she can knock. 

“Hi,” she says, startled, and Ferus can’t speak for a minute. 

“Hi,” he says finally, hoarsely. “Good to see you.” 

Ryn frowns faintly. He’s seen that look before: slightly baffled, trying to figure out whether her interlocutor is quite sane. (She uses it on Yoda a lot.) “Likewise,” she says politely, and Ferus cringes because she’s using her Company Voice. “I just wish the circumstances could be better.” 

Oh. Right. Makesh. 

Ferus blushes, caught. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “Me, too. I mean ...” Shut up, Ferus. “Gerald should be here any minute.” 

Ryn nods once. “Good.” 

She stands on the porch, watching him expectantly, until finally Ferus remembers his manners. 

“Oh!” He steps back, sweeping one arm in a gesture of invitation. “Please. Come in.” 

“Thank you.” Ryn walks inside with the same easy grace she’s always shown, and Ferus feels his throat clench with all the things he doesn’t dare say. She looks around the office, taking in his neat desk and Roan’s cluttered one, and smiles. “Nice place.” 

“Thanks,” Ferus says, uncomfortably aware that Ryn has thrown him an easy conversational gambit on purpose because she knows he’s terrible at small talk. “I, uh, share the business with Roan. I mean, I did, until we enlisted. I kind of still do.” 

Whether Ryn got any real information out of that disjointed ramble is hard to say. If she thinks he’s an idiot, at least she doesn’t say so. She lifts one corner of her mouth in a half-smile. “So I’ve heard.” 

Ferus blinks. “What? I mean: you have?” 

“I don’t live under a rock, Ferus.” She scans the room again, and her smile widens into genuine appreciation. “It suits you.” She meets his eyes briefly, and for an instant he can’t breathe. “You always did prefer to work in the background.” 

Silence falls between them.

This is it: his chance to say what he should have said already. Ferus steps closer, into the quiet, taking an unsteady breath. “Ryn ...” 

She looks a question at him. 

“About ... about the way we left things. I just wanted to say -” 

The door opens and Gerald Su’Lac steps in. “Olin? I hope I’m not interrupting anything?” 

Ryn steps away from him, breaking the intimacy of their position, and smiles a greeting at Su’Lac. (She’s gotten better at smiling when she doesn’t feel like it, over the years.) “Not at all,” she assures him coolly, extending a hand instead of bowing. “I’m Commander Areth’ryn Orun ...” 

“Gerald Su’Lac,” Su’Lac answers, taking her hand, and the moment is gone.