A/N- Thanks to Feravai for the title idea :)

Disclaimer: Disney owns everything. They probably even own Bioware, who owns SWTOR. This is what I imagine would have resulted from one of the Vette companion quests. I remember doing it recently and being intrigued by her response. This story contains spoilers for the Sith Warrior class storyline. Also, Star Wars bad words FTW

Chapter One

Korriban Orbital Station

Varkoor stood in the center of the common room of his starship, his hands clasped behind his back. He stared at the unlit holoterminal, half expecting the hated silhouette of his former master to materialize with oily promises of power and reward. The pureblood smirked beneath his dark cowl.

It was over. He'd triumphed over Darth Baras, and now even the Dark Council feared him.

The quiet hum of the ship's auxiliary power systems was the only sound.

The hulking Sith lord rolled his neck and felt a vertebrae pop as the tension finally began to ebb from his body. They would rest and enjoy this monumental victory. He knew he'd be hearing from Servant One soon, but right now, Varkoor longed to return home to Dromund Kaas, even if it were only for a short time. His eyes dropped closed as he imagined the feel of the cool rain on his skin, the constant flash of lightning and the distant sound of thunder.

He sensed Quinn's hesitant approach from the bridge. The fear clung to the man like a stench. Varkoor suppressed a growl of irritation that he still tiptoed around him.

"Quinn, relax." he rumbled quietly, his back still to the human.

"Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord." Quinn blew out a quick sigh, presumably relieved that his death was not imminent.

Quinn continued to stand there, waiting to be given leave to speak.

Varkoor squeezed his eyes closed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Is there something on your mind, Captain?"

He stepped forward to stand next to Varkoor. "Yes, my lord. There are a few things I wish to address. First, there are some maintenance—"

His words were abruptly cut off by a shriek coming from the direction of the starboard engine room. Varkoor's eyes widened as he turned; he would have been tackled into the holoterminal by Vette rocketing toward him if it weren't for his honed reflexes. She was laughing like mad as she leaped into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist, hugging him tightly. He recovered quickly and took advantage of the opportunity to hold her close, breathing in her scent, even if it would be brief. As it was, the Sith lord was no fool. He'd take what he could get, even if she was squealing in his ear.

"She found her! Tivva found her! Mother was sold—"

Quinn huffed in irritation. "I beg your pardon, Vette, I was already engaged in conversation with our Lord Wrath and I hardly think such behavior is appropr—"

"—to a Hutt on Tatooine years ago—"

"My lord, if you would allow me, I would like to utilize this downtime to run a comprehensive check of the navicomputer as I am not certain it is calculating the jumps to lightspeed at peak efficiency. And if you would be so kind, I would have a wor—"

Varkoor waved a hand at Quinn in dismissal, the Vette-shaped barnacle still clinging to him talking a mile a minute. "Whatever you think best, Captain. I trust you to handle it."

Quinn bowed slightly, his annoyance palpable, as he turned on his heel. "Of course, my lord." He disappeared back to the bridge.

Varkoor stood there, a bemused expression on his face as he memorized the sublime feeling of having her clinging to him, even if it were purely innocent. He knew she was telling him something phenomenally important about her mother, but all cognitive function was shut down to compensate for the hyper awareness of the tiny female quite unexpectedly invading his personal space; a female who happened to have no karking idea what being this close to her was doing to him. He summoned the control that he'd mastered in the early years of his training and remained stoic. He wondered how long she would prattle on before she realized she was still in his arms. His eyes slid to her mouth as she talked and gestured wildly, her little fingers absently tugging on his cowl, bouncing excitedly. Varkoor tightened his hold on her, his chest rumbling in response to her movements. She squeaked breathlessly as more words tumbled out.

"—to go meet her as soon as we can! Can we can we can we pleeeeeaaaseeee?"

Varkoor was fairly certain that if she asked him to go to Tython and perform Gamorrean opera for the entire Jedi Council wearing a cantina dancer's outfit he would have done it.

He found his voice, irritated that it sounded a bit rough. "Of course, Vette. As soon as Captain Quinn completes his checklist regarding the ship, we can be on our way to Tatooine."

She squealed and bounced again, hugging him tight, burying her hands within the voluminous folds of the cowl that wrapped loosely around his shoulders. The big pureblood closed his eyes, savoring the feeling, knowing it was about to end. "Vark, you are the BEST!"

She was the only person in the galaxy who could get away with calling him that nickname and live to tell about it. He sighed. She froze, squeaking when she realized her position. She jerked back and looked at him, stricken, her eyes wide. She tried to drop her legs from around his waist but the right one got hung up on the hilt of his lightsaber, so she was awkwardly squirming in his hold until his left hand dislodged her leg. He couldn't resist squeezing her calf as he did so. She squeaked again, her jaw dropping in mortification.

"Eh…hehehe…sorry…" she mumbled, her pale green cheeks flushing with embarrassment. She pushed against his chest. Varkoor took longer than was strictly necessary to gently set her on her feet. She lurched backward, putting a respectable, professional distance between the two of them. She smoothed the front of her long duster, readjusting the blaster pistol at her hip. Her eyes darted around, and finally she glanced up at his face. He watched her with faint amusement.

"S-sorry! I-I was so freaking excited, I must have forgotten myself for a minute…" She rocked on her heels and repeatedly slapped a fist into the heel of her other hand, still blushing furiously, trying and failing to look casual. Varkoor's gaze hooded and his mouth tipped up on one side. Her innocence and total lack of guile utterly charmed the big Sith. He briefly thought of his mother and how she would howl with laughter that he would be so taken by a slave. But Vette was no slave. She was a vibrant and energetic young woman who who had no idea how her silly awkward innocence completely took his breath away.

She was beautiful like this.

"No need to be sorry, Vette. Good news is meant to be shared," he murmured. You can jump in my arms and share any time you want. Good thing he didn't say that aloud.

She flashed him a brilliant smile. His heart sped up like it always did at the sight. "Thanks, big guy…this means a lot to me."

Jaesa emerged from the crew's quarters that she shared with Vette, a look of concern on her face. "What's all the commotion out here? Master, is everything alright?" She peered up at the Sith lord and then at Vette.

Vette forgot her embarrassment at Jaesa's arrival. She started bouncing on the balls of her feet and grabbed the young woman's hands. "I've found my mother, Jaesa! We are going to Tatooine!"

"Oh Vette, that is wonderful news!"

"It's been so long since I've seen her…what will she think of me?"

"She'll be thrilled to see you, silly! Master Varkoor will be accompanying you, I assume?"

"Yeah, as soon as Captain Jackboot finishes all of his chores…" They burst into giggles, lapsing into what Vette once explained to him was known as 'girl gab' in which women chattered incessantly, unmindful of those around them. He usually found it prudent to escape elsewhere to avoid hearing something exceedingly awkward. They linked arms and drifted to the galley, the Sith momentarily forgotten. Varkoor let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

"I'll be soooo glad to be leaving Korriban," Jaesa confessed. "I cannot wait to be as far away from this planet as possible. The evil intent of the acolytes and overseers alike was stifling. Some looked at me like they wanted to devour me. And the darkness in their hearts…" Jaesa shivered.

"Oh girlfriend. Let me just tell you about the time I landed my stupid self in the Sith Pokey, see there was this creepy jailor that thought he was big business…"

Varkoor took advantage of Vette's and his apprentice's exuberant chatter to slip away to his quarters. Once the door slid shut, he leaned on it, scrubbing a hand down his face.

He had it bad, and if he didn't snap out of it, he'd do something really stupid. If she had any idea how she affected him, or how often she invaded his dreams…she would leave, of that he was positive. They had a good thing going, a strong partnership. Over the years she had become…necessary to him. He trusted her. She was a refreshing breeze with her witty banter that kept him grounded in this stifling and overbearing world of high level Sith maneuvering, where no one was trustworthy, even so-called allies. He'd even go so far as to call her friend. And most importantly, she had never feared him. He supposed she was the only person in the galaxy who held that distinction. The thought of her leaving made his chest tighten painfully, and was an idea he couldn't even contemplate without a faint sensation of panic.

Others like him would suffer none of this torment he currently endured. They would take what they wanted from her until their desires were sated, feed off of her fear, and choke her into submission, and no one would challenge their right to do so. One of Darth Baras's colleagues had at one point rebuked him for removing her slave collar, saying he was throwing credits down the drain as slaves like her were exorbitantly expensive. He'd come a hairsbreadth from killing the man. The very idea of that device anywhere near her made him nauseous.

No, he would do everything in his power to ensure she never wanted to leave him. Her feminine presence was making him soft and sentimental, his mind conjuring scenarios and possibilities that were best left within the realm of fantasy. He imagined taking her far away, some undiscovered place where no one had ever heard of the Empire. Of course, those thoughts were fleeting. Vette was a valuable ally whose skills in battle were considerable. She could crack any door code, slice into any database, disarm bombs…she was remarkable. Losing her was unthinkable. Plus, she never expressed any wish for him to pursue her as anything more. He would accompany her to Tatooine like any friend would, lend his support, and that would be that.

He sat heavily on the edge of his bed, dropping his head into his hands with a growl, his fingers scratching over his shaven head. No matter what he tried to tell himself, she owned him. The only good thing about it was that she was completely unaware, and she would bleeding well stay that way.

You are a Lord of the Sith, Darth Varkoor, Empire's Wrath, answerable to no one but the Emperor himself…and you're absolutely unmade by a twi'lek. Well done.

Mos Ila Spaceport, Tatooine

Vette felt numbness creeping into her chest walking through the dusty terminal. Her mother was dead. Her mind was branded by the picture of the older woman's body laying on the table in the little shop. Her ears rang with the sound of Tivva's angry words that demanded vengeance. Varkoor's quiet words encouraging her to kill the Hutt repeated in her mind over and over again. Her chest hurt and her eyes stung, but the tears would not come.

She had been so happy, so bloody excited that her family was going to finally be reunited, only to be too late. By two kriffing days!

While she gallivanted all over the galaxy with a Sith Lord leaving piles of bodies in their wake, her mother had been the property of a disgusting worm. All this time her poor mother toiled under cruel slavers, and she had done nothing to help her. She stopped at the railing overlooking the towering windows of the busy spaceport. She rolled her eyes as she registered the voices and whispers of those around them, everywhere they went, the alarm and fear palpable. Most days, she didn't even think about it.

For once could they just be somewhere without people freaking out about the Sith lord? Her gaze flicked to the cause of the commotion. Darth bloody Varkoor stood several meters behind her, his face completely shadowed by his cowl, his hands clasped behind his back. She sneered as she considered his newly bestowed title. He was nothing like those monsters on the Dark Council. He was just Vark to her.

Most days, anyway…he was just Vark. Not today.

He was a terrifying sight. People scurrying past, giving the Sith lord in their midst a wide berth was nothing new. She glared a stony wordless accusation at him and turned away.

Today, standing in a greasy spaceport in the Outer Rim, he was the angel of death, who he always was. He never attempted to be anything else, he'd never hidden it. She knew this from the beginning. How had she been able to forget so often, to believe Vark were anything else?

She didn't know how long she stood there, gazing unseeing out the grimy windows. She was dimly aware that he still stood there, waiting patiently. She finally turned and faced him fully. He hadn't moved. Her gaze traveled over the heavy kilt he wore, the intricately patterned chest armor that she had just had repaired last week. Then, she had rather thought it was pretty, the way the whorls and lines wrapped around his powerful torso. Now, it absorbed the light, it was soaked in blood, no matter how often it was washed, or repaired or remade. He was darkness.

So what did that make her? Vette looked down at her pale green hands, free of her gloves, clean and calloused, her fingers slender and her nails neatly trimmed. She imagined they dripped with blood. Her right hand clumsily fumbled at her hip for the expensive blaster pistol Vark had had made especially to fit her small hands, one of a matched set. Power and hatred had surged through her as she pumped salvos of blaster fire at point blank range into the forehead of the Hutt worm who was responsible for her mother's death, and that of so many others. He deserved it and the galaxy was a better place now that he was dead. He caused suffering, so he paid for it with his miserable life. She squeezed her hands into tight fists. The feeling of power she'd felt at that moment had made her dizzy with pleasure.

When it faded, she felt like she'd lost herself.

She was death's handmaiden. She jerked her head up, her eyes glossy.

He lifted his cowl, letting it fall back to reveal the sharp edged and boyishly handsome face that had become so dear to her over the years…the rich dusky red skin of his Sith heritage was as familiar as home to her. Was that just what she wanted to see, to close off the reality of just who and what he was? When she was close to him, she knew she was always safe. When anyone else looked upon him, did they see a place of security like she did?

No…his was the face of of their destruction. She narrowed her eyes, searching the harsh angles and lines of his features. He could be cruel, relentless…merciless. That was all she saw now, when she looked at him: a marauder that enslaved her people, ravaged all he touched and gloried in suffering and vengeance, and his deep honeyed voice had urged her to exact her own vengeance, that it would strengthen her.

His thorny brow furrowed over scarlet eyes that glittered with something fierce and unnamed. It was the only sign that he was aware of her distress.

"Vette, I shouldn't have—"

She lifted her hand, palm outward, effectively silencing him. Her eyes flashed dangerously. "Don't." She closed herself off, even as his glowing red eyes closed in defeat.

With that, she stalked past him toward the hanger without a second glance.

Across the main thoroughfare of the seedy spaceport, a squat balding man wearing a grubby tunic was arranging the various refreshments and cheap stims that he was peddling from a decrepit cart. He whistled through his teeth at the strange drama that played out across the way from him.

"Ain't never seen the like."

An equally squat woman who was just as grubby as her husband's tunic growled as she counted credits from their till. "What're you on about?"

He pointed to the giant pureblood Sith who followed several steps behind a wisp of a twi'lek girl who was obviously furious with him if the death glare she'd just leveled at him was any indication.

The old woman grunted. "Probably caught him dallying with some bit of cantina tart. Heard them big red fellas have a taste for slave girls just like 'er. She'd do well ta cut 'er losses, if that's th' case."

"Karking hell, ya crazy bint! That there's one of them Sith lords what can squeeze yer insides with their mind! Did ya see his lightsaber? And he's got that little spitfire givin' 'im what for!" He shook his head again in amazement as the unlikely pair disappeared into the hanger section of the spaceport. "She must have some sorcery of her own, or she got some death wish."

The woman cuffed her husband upside his head. "Or maybe he's jus' got a brain in his head and knows when ta shut the kark up, unlike some idiots I know!"

Varkoor could stand her silence no longer. As soon as the airlock to the ship sealed, he grabbed her arm. "Vette."

She whirled around, jerking her arm free of his hold. She just looked up at him, her face awash with misery. "What?" she whimpered.

The Sith sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead. He fought the urge to cover his head with his cowl. It had become a refuge. He was determined to fix this. She always looked to him when they were in a tight spot, and he always came through for her. She'd lighten the mood with a joke, or a well-timed jab at his 'sithiness'. She'd remind him he was a little bit insane and then punch him in the arm with a smile that could light up the galaxy. This would be no different.

Yet, the anger that radiated off of her suggested that he'd miscalculated. Grievously. Took something for granted that was never present. He felt unfamiliar panic.

"I keep seeing that slimy Hutt's face, Vark…" Her voice was thin but had a hard edge to it.

He wanted to draw her close, tip her chin up, and assure her that she was guilty of nothing, that her support kept him sane, just the way he always did whenever she got too close to his handiwork. He protected her from it by being the last thing their targets saw before they died. She always accepted his reasoning and they were able to move on.

Not this time. This time she had rained death with her own anger, her own hand.

He'd thought it would give her closure…peace. To do anything else other than seek vengeance for the murder of someone he loved was unthinkable to Varkoor.

"I should have known it would affect you this way," he murmured. His arms ached to gather her to him and cover her. He didn't dare.

She kept talking as if she didn't hear him, her stare off to the side unfocused. "All the bodies, the blood. The look in Tivva's eyes…"

He wanted to retreat, to disappear from her sight. Even if she hated him. Please don't leave…

"I thought I could just…let it go…I can't help blaming you." Her eyes focused back on his face with laser sharp clarity, brittle and hard.

His jaw clenched with the pronouncement and he wanted to grab her, shake sense into her that she did nothing wrong. Justice was served.

Instead he held his fists at his sides, sudden anger toward her bubbling forth. He growled, "I should have done the deed for you…so your hands would be clean."

She laughed a cold mirthless laugh and shook her head. "You just don't get it, do you?"

The way she spoke made the panic he had tried to deny swell in his chest. "I know…I wasn't thinking…letting you go…" his voice sounded like someone else's. Weak. Lost.

She was backing away from him shaking her head slightly. "Yeah…well. Done is done. I guess. Just…stay away from me, ok?"

She disappeared to her quarters. Varkoor stood rooted to the spot, roiling hatred began stealing over his soul. It was part of who he was and the emotion empowered him. He sensed Jaesa's unease through the Force, her questions and her fear. He didn't care. Potent rage churned within his gut and he wanted to kill every living thing that had ever caused Vette pain, eliminate them, eradicate their worthless lives after drawing out their suffering until his rage was spent.