Chapter Text
Chapter 2- When it rains are you thinking of me, for the devil follows where I go.
Caf with Varo is nice, Mira muses how everything with Varo is nice. The flowers he presented her with at Basil’s office were nice, so were the compliments he paid to her hairstyle today and even just the way he led her to his top of the range landspeeder. A perfect gentleman, he politely asked about her work, the plans for Basils ball and how her family fared.
After stopping at a caf takeaway Mira allowed herself once again to be led, this time across the road to the city park. They meandered beside the old canal, home to pleasure boats these days rather than anything industrial, and Mira genuinely enjoyed walking arm in arm with Varo. And when he drones on about his fathers work as a senator for Kuat and how he’s trying to follow him into the council Mira just watches him and wonders at how unfair it is that he’s so effortlessly good looking. Smiling reassuringly she lets him continue to wax lyrical about his father's business, which has something to do with ship building on Kuat.
Basil was right when he said he was a catch, an idea reinforced when the older man practically shoved her out of his office with a departing order to enjoy herself when Varo came by to pick her up. Marta, another assistant from a different department, gave her death glares from the office across the hall. Mira is slightly ashamed, but not really, that this gives her a little spark of satisfaction. Somewhere deep and dark inside of her liked that she had something everyone else wanted.
After they’ve long finished their caf Varo’s landspeeder is magically waiting for them kerbside, his driver opening the door and she’s secretly pleased when he holds her hand the whole way home. When he brings her to the doors of her aunt and uncles house she allows him to kiss her gently.
“I’ll come by your office tomorrow, if you’ll have me,” he looks rather pleased with himself when she nods. From the corner of her eye she can see Mothma’s daughter Leida casting a disapproving look through the drawing room window.
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A few days later Mira finds herself slipping through the shadows of the garden, her comms had beeped a few hours ago so she dashed home from the office. Basil had them working late on a grand play they were putting on for the final night of the Summit, not that Mira did much but run errands for everyone else.
There was a slight drizzle of rain and she’s glad to be under the cover of the folly, but the wait isn’t long as a figure melts out from the shadows, Dravens agent.
For some reason, she’s not all that surprised when the imperial aid from the ball makes his way up the steps. Taken aback for a moment, yes, but maybe after so many meetings with the terrifying Draven she’s developed some sort of unconscious sixth sense in the back of her head when it comes to spies.
“I hope you aren’t cross with me,” is all the dark-haired man says as he comes right up to her, until the toes of his shoes touch hers. But Mira just shakes her head. The imperial suit from every other meeting has been replaced with casual clothes, the coarse canvas of his plain jacket brushes against her silk dress.
Reaching down she grasps his left hand in both of her own, stroking the calluses on his fingers, “I’ve never met a diplomatic aid with hands so rough, nor scarred.”
“A clever little bird then,” he murmurs with a wry smile.
“So many scars,” she traces the nasty rope of a scar that winds itself around his wrist, “although I suppose you could explain them away with a childhood well beyond the inner rim.”
“Beyond well beyond,” laughing bitterly he reaches into a pocket and hands her over a comms unit. “Will you be at this play?”
Shrugging she looks up at him, still tracing the legion of scars on his hand, “Yes, of course. What’s your name, no doubt you already know mine
?”
“You can call me Joreth. I have a favour to ask,” with his free hand he tracks a thumb across where her neck joins her shoulder, the searing pressure is firm, like his firm grip of her when they danced.
“The admiral always keeps a briefcase with him and it contains some very important dossiers. I’m going to swap it during the play, but I need to switch it back before the end.”
“And you want me to distract him while you do it,” Mira surmises, “Is that your real name?” She asks, mind still preoccupied with his hand, which was now winding its way around her neck and the slight girl can’t help but keen upwards. Away from the growing pressure but closer to her would assailant all the same.
Dark eyes search hers for a moment and she notes they don’t twinkle tonight, they don’t mirror Dravens empty blue gaze but there’s no trace of the good-natured charm either. The playful, albeit bitter, laugh from a few moments ago is long gone.
A finger stills over her flickering pulse as he tightens his grip further, strangely she doesn’t feel fearful, although she’s starting to feel dazed from the lack of air. The intent gaze flicks to her stuttering chest, rising and falling for breath under the thin, white fabric of her dress before returning to eyes.
“Mira?!” The moment is broken as the house keepers shouting echoes down the gardens, gasping as the hand releases she falls back to clutch the railing behind her.
“I’ll find you before it starts,” he disappears before she can reply.
The housekeepers shouting draws closer and she rolls her eyes, starting to feel like he’s always leaving her in his wake.
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