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The Alliance
By MGA

This AU story is rated NC-17 and should not be read by anyone under the age of 18 or by anyone who finds such material offensive! I don't own the characters of Deena Shan and Captain Kale Roshuir, Darth Vader, et all. They belong to Dark Horse Comics and Lucasfilm Ltd. I'm not writing this for money. I just wanted a happy ending for the first two...with a little atonement from Deena for having betrayed 'the man of her dreams' and his fallen troops in writer Rob Williams' excellent "The Wrong Side of the War" and "My Brother, My Enemy" series. Here is what I think could have happened after Rebellion issue #3:

The cell was cold and dark, its only light coming from a dim blue illuminator around the sides of the room, casting shadows that made the space seen colder, disturbing the attractive blonde female prisoner held within.

A few hours ago, Deena Shan had been escorted by a half dozen stormtroopers and unceremoniously thrown into this cell. A few coarse comments had been muttered by some of the troopers before they left. Deena's skin crawled as she recollected the glee contained in the mechanically distorted voices.

She had cried at first, kicking and screaming, pounding on the door and walls, using up all her energy; until she collapsed, sobbing to the floor in a heap. She could shout and scream, demand to see her captor Captain Kale Roshuir; but no one would hear or care.

Deena could not take her mind off what was coming; she had known it since she had last seen Roshuir on Kalist VI; in that disastrous battle between the forces of the Alliance and the Empire.

So she sank into a corner, farthest from the door, curling up on herself as she began to go over how she had ended up in this terrible predicament.

Deena had been so willing at the beginning, when she and her Rebel companions started their undercover mission. Truth be told, it had turned her head to be assigned to work with Luke Skywalker. Imagine, a hero of the Rebellion working with her, to infiltrate Imperial operations on the prison colony of Kalist VI.

Only, it had not quite worked out like she had planned. Her brief, passionate fraternization with an Imperial officer had ended any unrealistic notions of galactic revolution and freedom for all.

As for Luke Skywalker, he was not at all interested in her. Even afterwards, when she had risked her life to help get him and the others off Kalist VI, he cooly brushed her off, like all the other freedom fighters she had encountered.

Deena knew there were whispers going around that she had slept with an Imperial and enjoyed it. She cursed herself, feeling sick to her very stomach when she thought of Captain Kale Roshuir. She would have to fall head over heels in love with an enemy officer. How clichéd and cruel for both her and for him.

And now he hates me, even though I tried my hardest to tell him; but how could I ever make amends for leading him and his men into a trap?

Of course, it had started completely accidentally, as most situations of infatuation do. A few brief glances while she worked in her Imperial science officer's disguise, a shy smile in the corridors as the charming officer gave her a tour of the base.

Out of the thousands of men and women at the prison facility, they seemed to meet too frequently; it was as if Roshuir had been finding things for her to solve for him, going out of his way to bring them into contact with one another.

How could she resist him? How could any woman have refused Kale? He was handsome, respectful, and looked so attractive in his uniform. Though he worked for the Imperials, he was a brave and good man. Even she could see that.

To her Rebel companions, all Imperials were faceless, nameless bullies with no respect for anyone, treating females like possessions. It was all there in the Alliance's propaganda. The facts and figures on the number of women seized and channeled into the Empire's secretive military brothels was equally as frightening.

Though now that she considered it, the Alliance was hardly any better. Rogue Squadron had some unique farewell rituals, and as women were few and far between on the frontlines of their civil war, Rebel leaders preferred to use their women as spies in Imperial households.

Deena suddenly felt unclean, dirty, like a whore. How could the Alliance have made her stoop to such a level? They may not have said it in so many words, but why else was she on the mission? She had little battle experience, no skills to speak of really. She was more like a gun-tooting rookie than a soldier.

Her cheeks burned. If she had have wanted that sort of life, she would have joined a dancing troupe, or gone off to Coruscant on her own accord to snare a powerful man, like Leonia Tavira, the rumored teen-aged mistress, and now wife of Moff Tavira, had.

Always in the wrong place at the wrong time, Deena. That's what her Dad used to say.

And so here she was, awaiting her trial and punishment at the hand of the man she loved. How ironic that he would never understand her reasoning, or how hard she had tried to prevent her Alliance group from carrying out that ambush.

Deena sat in the corner, curling up on herself tighter than before; not wanting the camera she knew was monitoring her movements to capture her tears.

*                                                *                                       *

Captain Kale Roshuir sat in his office, his chiseled visage brooding darkly over images of a cell-bound prisoner that he viewed from a small desk screen.

He had not been able to get Deena Shan's face from his mind since those disasters on Thila II and Kalist VI when, due to her betrayal, Rebel forces had attacked, killing many of his men, freeing the prisoners, and destroying the penal colony he had once ruled over.

And now he had finally captured her.

Anger permeated Roshuir's thoughts; he practically shook with rage as he considered Deena's deviousness. How she had convinced him of the Rebel base's location on Thila II; and then so innocently pretended to care for his safety, ensuring he would run straight into the arms of danger to prove himself to the Empire...and to her.

Like a rookie trooper after his first time, he had fallen for Deena, his head in the stratosphere, not rationally considering the situation. He felt sick to his stomach when he remembered how he was going to ask her to accompany him on his next leave, so the two of them could take more time to get to know one another.

There had been something special there; that was for sure. Something about Deena had intrigued and encouraged him to want to be with her,though he still couldn't be certain if it was some subconscious inkling of who she truly was, or just a clever deception on her part.

Roshuir's anger was not only aimed at Deena; it was also aimed at his own foolish self. Despite everything she had done to him - the attempt on his life and the death of so many of his troops - he still had feelings for her.

It was like some bad holodrama, only it was very real. And he was trapped in the middle of it, with a cheap Rebel tart on his mind and in his heart.

Since Kalist VI, he had feverishly dreamed a torrent of sweet, whispered threats coupled with cruel, painful tortures that he would personally inflict upon her. He would make her suffer as he had suffered since they had parted ways. But no punishment he could devise would ever make her see how he had agonized over her and his own gullibility.

He had been made a fool of by a Rebel spy, the only female he could ever claim to have genuine feelings for, working for the Alliance to seduce and trick him. Her lies had been the reason he had lost so many warriors in the Thila system. Better that he should have died along with his men, since living with the shame and dishonor it brought to him was hellish.

Such a clever little trap, and he had eaten it straight from her hand. Worse, her betrayal had hurt, breaking his heart; coursing like poison through his veins, corrupting him with thoughts of vengeance in place of a lover's despair.

Duty had been the only woman he had known for so long. Duty demanded his commitment and loyalty; unlike the illogical, emotional tryst he had shared with Deena. Yet if it ever came to a choice between the two, he was uncertain as to which woman he would take.

He felt unclean, dirty over his feelings for her. She was filth. Rebel scum. Part of a brigade of motley insurgents that were terrorizing innocent civilians, and killing Imperial soldiers in cowardly ambushes that he had been lucky to escape with his life from.

So why did he continue to play with fire? Why did she still elicit such strong emotions from him?

He knew damn well that questions were being asked about his loyalties. Though few knew the intimate details about what had transpired between Deena and himself, his fellow officers were wondering how the Rebels had so easily infiltrated the base.

To cast suspicion away from himself, Roshuir felt he must discover the true location of a rebel base; and the prisoner he now watched on the view screen was his only hope of redemption.

He just needed to convince himself that the need to redeem his reputation was the true reason he thought about Deena every waking hour.

*                                           *                                            *

The chamber lighting had been dimmed to nothingness, further disorienting Deena as she felt her heart pounding in her chest.

Fear and an embarrassing excitement overtook her as the door hissed open and two black-garbed naval guards, who had previously stripped what little was left of her Rebel armor with a cold, calculating professionalism, entered once again, giving the room enough light from an outside walkway to finish their job.

Removing her stuncuffs, they shoved her up against a flat, metal rack; securing her hands over her head and expertly opening up her naked lower body with attached restraints.

Without a word, the guards left the chamber; the doors hissing shut behind them; leaving Deena to the darkness and mercy of whoever would conduct the next stage of her interrogation.

'Interrogation' had a number of meanings within the Empire, or so she had been led to believe. 'Torture' being one, 'brain washing' being another, and sometimes-even 'termination' could be replaced by that neat and efficient word.

Deena had not signed up for this drawn out humiliation; no one had mentioned the possibility of torture when she had joined the Alliance. Death, yes; but the Rebel leaders had not mentioned torture, or incarceration, or excruciating pain in any of their passionate speeches that called on all citizens to join their ranks to fight for justice for humans and aliens alike.

They had painted a stirring picture; their rousing words inspired the bored and disenchanted; those who didn't realize the privilege, freedoms and order they already had since the Empire had been established.

Why she hadn't thought about the possibility before now made her more depressed. Of course, the Empire dealt in torture as a means to an end. Even those who were innocent were not immune. Not that she was innocent. But then neither was the Alliance.

Deena recalled how a member of her first Rebel unit had stated unhappiness with a targeted mission that was being called a 'liberation.' He claimed the source providing the location for the 'liberation' was dubious, but the attack went ahead as planned.

Their target turned out to be an isolated group of Imperial scientists and their families, researching minerals and ores on an Outer Rim planet. Many of them, women and children included, were killed. A few were questioned harshly until the Rebels recognized it had all been a terrible mistake.

Of course, it never would have happened if they had listened to the one who warned against the incident. After his protest, he was never seen again. Deena wondered if he up and left the Rebellion. She wouldn't blame him if he had.

The Clone Wars had bought terrible unhappiness. The Rebellion was now doing the same. As the Rebellion against the Empire grew, the crueler the Imperials became. Were the Rebels achieving anything by defying authority, or were they making it worse for everyone?

With the pain of her tightly restricted wrists tingling, Deena looked around for the first time, taking in her surroundings as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. A tiny light in the corner of the ceiling alerted her to the presence of a hovering, spherical droid. As if sensing her interest, the droid let off a soft, insistent beeping noise.

No one had entered since the two naval guards abandoned her to her fate. She wasn't sure how long ago that was, what with the ever-present darkness weighing down upon her and her thoughts wandering back to why she had joined the Rebellion. Even though lighting was practically nonexistent, she felt a camera upon her, monitoring her every breath.

*                                           *                                            *

Filtered through infrared lenses on a desk screen before him, the spread-eagled image of a nude Deena Shan was being closely watched by Captain Roshuir, though this time, she did not have his full attention.

A vague feeling of dread prevailed as he stood beside the imposing form of Lord Darth Vader, overruling any bitterness he held for the female prisoner. Roshuir could not comprehend where his fear came from.

There were other officers who dismissed Vader's supernatural powers as false notions and tricks, probably to disguise their own trepidations; but even they could not deny that some faint aura of terror enshrouded the Sith Lord, intoxicating and poisonous. Many an officer had choked on that terror, ending with a demotion...or worse.

"You have done well, Captain, in capturing one of the Rebels responsible for the Kalist VI incident," the deeply commanding voice of Vader spoke, any tones of praise stripped away by the mechanical rasp of his artificial lungs.

"Thank you, my Lord." Kale gulped, knowing one word out of place could have him stripped of rank or sent to some dreaded backwater planet...or death. Working under Vader could lead to a fast-track promotion, but he wasn't sure it was worth it, if ones life was the forfeit for failure.

"I would have preferred Skywalker," intoned the Dark Lord, through the steady in and out echoes of his breathing apparatus.

There was no mistaking the displeasure in those words. Roshuir shuddered; he had a score to settle, questions that needed answers. His obsession overrode his fear.

"I sense there is nothing of interest she can tell us," Vader continued. "Her Rebel companions feel the same, otherwise, they would have attempted a rescue. She must be terminated."

Dead cold words cooled Roshuir's frustration, which was soon replaced with something of a panic. He had spent too long obsessing over Deena; holding her accountable for her crimes. He didn't want her dead; he wanted her to pay for the pain and betrayal she had caused him and his men, by making her feel pain and finally by betraying her own companions. Grasping for a reason to accomplish this goal, he turned to the Dark Lord, hoping by chance his confidence would not fail him.

"Allow me to pry some information from her, my lord," Roshuir spoke with conviction.

Few argued with Lord Vader, and even fewer survived challenging Vader's judgment. Holding back the surge of anger he felt towards Deena, he bit his tongue and waited for the response.

"If you wish to avenge your troops, you should focus your energies towards tracking down the rest of her terrorist cell," replied Vader, who had chosen not to take offence at Roshuir's request, though the death sentence on Deena remained unchanged.

"I have a distinct impression that she is hiding something from us, my lord...perhaps, she knows where the Rebels moved to after Kalist VI; or something else that would enable me to begin my search for Skywalker and his associates."

Roshuir had heard that Vader had some reason to be particularly interested in Skywalker, and so he appealed to this, determined to confront Deena, one on one.

"You have my permission to use any means necessary to secure such information from her."

With those words and an ominous swirl of his black cloak, the Dark Lord left Roshuir's vicinity, striding off in the direction of the outer hallway, leaving the Captain to consider his minor victory.

"Thank you, my lord." Roshuir spoke softly to himself, with a smug, twisted smile upon his lips.

Soon, Deena would undergo her punishment, but it would not be from his hands. There were more subtle and technological ways to cause pain and suffering.

*                                           *                                            *

Thus far, the waiting and uncertainty was the worst part of Deena's interrogation. The Imperials were obviously playing a game with her head, Deena told herself; letting her imagination cause the most torment. And it was working, as her thoughts played merry hell with her innermost fears.

It had taken her eyes time to finally adjust to the darkened room. Though now Deena wished it was still engulfed in shadow.

She could barely make out some sharp, oddly shaped implements that were arranged on a small table nearby. She also noted the tiny amount of blinking light that came from the corner of the ceiling glinting on and off of their reflective surfaces in a menacing manner.

The room temperature dropped rapidly, cooling Deena's naked body. Goose pimples popped up on her skin; her arms started to ache; pins and needles attacking her now white fingers; while red marks formed on each wrist from the heavy metal cuffs digging into the soft, veined flesh.

It was strange how the smallest sensation seemed somehow amplified. She was becoming more attuned to her body; her beating heart quickened as thoughts of not wanting to die in this cell, alone and forgotten, overtook her being.

Her thoughts had been slightly less fearful before the shadows had risen from the room, something of an epiphany rising from within. Joining the Alliance had been a rash, stupid decision, and a choice she might not live to regret.

Deena wasted no time rethinking about those that she had sworn loyalty to; the people that now chose to ignore her imprisonment and torture. She had performed well as their whore, but had become disposable, discarded due to her attachment to an Imperial whose bed she had shared.

Her thoughts turned back to Captain Roshuir, the guilt returning to churn in her stomach.

Closing her eyes, she couldn't help but recall Roshuir's strength; his gentle, experienced hands; and deep, passionate kisses. Doing so, took her breath away, heating her being, despite her uncomfortable, awkward position.

The pleasurable memory of their time together was not quite enough to take her away from the realities of her torture cell. Deena returned to her senses, the warmth evaporated as her heart grew cold.

Using any means possible, she had been chosen by the Alliance operatives to convince Roshuir to lead an attack on a Rebel base; but she knew it was her choice as a female to have enjoyed sleeping with him.

Did she regret it? Oddly, she did not. Even now, possibly faced with torture at the hands of her former lover, she did not have any remorse of taking the opportunity to be intimate with Kale.

It was not all about the sex act; there had been some intelligent conversation that made her feel like a respected equal. Deena had not experienced that sort of deference from anyone in the Alliance, most of who patronized or mockingly referred to her as an attractive, but dumb bim.

She understood Kale's anger at her; he had every right to hate her, to want her punished, then liquidated, for the loss of his men that had willingly followed her false information to their deaths. She hated herself for that, for taking part in the deception. Why hadn't she spoken up...told him the truth?

Deena realized she had become the very thing she was supposedly fighting against. How she had despised those who used and abused the gullible to fulfill their plans of conquest: yet, the Alliance leaders who claimed to be fighting for all beings, were in reality, just as willing to use ruthless means and treachery to regain lost power.

Was this entire killing necessary? Had she ignored the good that the Empire had brought to the galaxy, for the over-rated, ill planned liberalism of the Alliance?

For all the Rebel's sense of righteousness, were any of those who had signed up for the Rebel cause better off? Was the galaxy any safer because of this stupid, senseless war?

A hiss sounded. The chamber doors opened with a flood of light. Deena looked up to see the outline of someone entering her cell, his silhouette frighteningly familiar.

She had seen that same silhouette leave her that morning on Kalist VI; she had seen it a day later as she was about to take off on a stolen Imperial tanker. And she had come face to face with it as she had been captured aboard an Imperial detention ship, aiding Luke Skywalker in his quest to rescue an old friend.

Captain Kale Roshuir glared at her, the harsh light redefining his normally handsome face in an unattractive manner, making him look every bit the Imperial sadist she had been expecting. Her blood turned to ice.

She held her breath as the tall officer strode towards her, moving over the floor grids, steady, pounding, but his movements were not nearly as loud as the sound of her heartbeat.

It was then that she noticed he was not wearing his officers' tunic; just a gray-green tank shirt over his muscled torso, jodhpurs, and those permanently polished black boots.

"Hello, Deena."

The greeting was flat, emotionless, as Roshuir did his best to keep his feelings in check, even to the point of ignoring her completely naked state.

Deena's cheeks turned bright crimson, and the restraints made a clanging sound, as she pulled against them, in a failed attempt to shield herself from her nudity.

"When last we were alone, modesty was the furthest thing from your mind. Did you suddenly discover your moral centre?"

"Kale, I..."

A bare hand slapped Deena's cheek and lips hard, the familiar scent of it lingered, as she tasted blood in her mouth, the hurtful sensation strangely welcome after the memories of her culpability and sensory deprivation. She looked up at him, eyes silently pleading for forgiveness...or penance.

"Never call me by that name, again!"

Roshuir's voice was as sharp and cruel as a vibroblade, cutting into her guilty heart like a hook, tearing it apart further.

He struck her again, this time on the opposite side, causing tears to swell in her eyes and spill down her face.

"Captain Roshuir, I'm so sorry," she cried, chest heaving, wrists aching as she tried to shift her body.

To Roshuir, she looked vulnerable, her slender, nude body spread out, tempting to the touch.

He quickly removed a pair of gloves from his trouser pocket and pulled them tightly over his hands, making sure they were snug; grateful he now had a barrier to protect him from touching her bare skin, since Deena's pale body was as beautiful as it had been when they first came together in his bed...in his former quarters.

His thoughts turned to desire, mingled with the need to abuse her. Purging his mind of their past encounter, Roshuir began to dwell on a stronger emotion. Hatred returned as he remembered the cost of her betrayal.

"So, you claim to be sorry for the damage you caused...the lives you destroyed...or is this another one of your lies?" Roshuir asked angrily, his face turning ugly, brutish, as he continued. "You'll see more clearly...and be more truthful...by the time I'm finished with you."

"What are you going to do to me?" Deena's voice sounded small and scared.

For a moment, he felt unsure. Could he actually go through with this? Unlike Imperial Intelligence operatives, he was not extensively trained to interrogate a prisoner; and wondered if he could inflict bodily harm upon her in a cold, efficient manner. He quickly cast those thoughts aside, hoping his insecurity had not shown in his hesitancy.

"I have my orders. That's all you need to know." He said curtly, glancing up at the ceiling where a hovering IT-O interrogation droid waited for a signal; its dark spherical form programmed to administer drugs that made prisoners more compliant; along with an array of metallic instruments to make the more stubborn subjects capitulate.

Roshuir originally thought he would have the droid carry out the physical part of the session. The instant he entered the room to confront Deena, he decided otherwise. Her palpable fear gave him a sick sort of pleasure. To have this power over her was intoxicating; the only antidote to the undercurrents of pity that might interfere with his duty.

"IT-O unit, activate and administer," Roshuir intoned, knowing the torture droid was programmed to obey his voice and instructions.

Tiny red lights began to blink on the droid; a low-pitched humming noise, followed by periodic higher-pitched blips, sounded as the unit floated downward until it hovered menacingly before the prisoner.

The IT-O unit slowly extended a metallic arm clutching a loaded syringe that just as slowly embedded itself into a wincing Deena's arm.

The droid then retracted the syringe, lifted its round shape upwards; back to the ceiling corner; no longer silent; but active and awaiting new orders from the interrogator.

Avoiding Deena's discomfort, Roshuir focused on the implements laid out on a table before him, his own green eyes glittering as his gloved hands toyed over one, then another, until fingers flexing, he finally plucked a small, sharpened blade from among them.

Deena's senses were becoming heightened; most probably from whatever drug that metal monstrosity had pumped into her veins.

Through her terror, Deena could somehow sense her human tormentor was acting cruelly because of his hurt; trying to hide his emotions behind the mask of an Imperial Captain. His injured pride and trodden heart were just as important to avenge, as were his reputation and his fallen troops. His position gave him the opportunity to achieve this on all accounts.

"You don't have to make this too difficult," he spoke, his voice suddenly thick, eyes focusing on a point on the floor.

Deena backed further into the cool metal behind her, tremors beginning to wrack her body. For some reason, his voice frightened her; although his tone and statement were not as harsh as before.

He turned, moving closer to her, encouraging a reaction by carefully running the blade down the soft skin of her exposed underarm, barely touching the pink-tinged flesh .

She froze at the contact, terrified of his hand slipping, of the slicing and inevitable rush of blood, closely followed by a wave of pain; Deena barely registered that she had begun to cry, tears running down her body, unashamedly.

Roshuir suddenly pulled away, watching Deena slump, every part of her relaxing as he retreated from her personal space.

"You can make your stay less painful by co-operating. There are some questions that need answers, and if you don't answer me..."

He didn't quite finish the sentence, allowing her to fill in the blank, letting her own thoughts unfurl, tormenting her internally.

Almost intimately, he took her chin in his right black-gloved hand, using his left hand to brush her mussed hair from her face, rubbing the tears from her too-white cheeks. She leaned into the gesture, her own confused feelings more attuned to his.

"I know nothing of importance, Captain...I was a nobody within the Alliance!" She replied sadly, avoiding his gaze.

The tenderness of his touch was shattered as his left hand buried itself in her hair and yanked harshly, twisting and causing her to yelp in pain.

"Wrong answer."

His words were whispered, yet the effect was like a loud, annoying echo in her ear.

The stuncuff on her right wrist suddenly snapped open, freeing her hand that was grabbed roughly by Roshuir and yanked to him, while the rest of her body pulled awkwardly, painfully from the remaining restraints.

"Answer my questions, or I will break every bone in this hand. Do you understand?"

Deena swallowed, and then bit her lip, holding back further tears as he placed a stronger grip on her middle finger. Holding it between his thumbs, he held the tip and put pressure on it. Deena looked into his eyes, and saw the hurt, and the need for vengeance.

"What was your mission objective on Kalist VI?"

A pointless question; with Jorin Sol's `rescue', it was all too clear what Deena and her companions' initial objective had been.

"Please, don't do this," She screamed in pain as a vicious snap resounded in the room.

Roshuir' black-gloved fingers slipped lower, grasping on the next section of bone. He waited for her cries to die down to sobs, hardening himself to pity, that was rising anew.

"I'll ask you again, and if I'm not satisfied, I'll crush all of your fingers together, understand?" He spat furiously.

Despite his initial twisted pleasure at being able to punish her, revulsion was rising like a tide. He was beginning to despise himself¿and her for making him feel empathy.

"What was your objective?"

"Jorin Sol," Deena cried out, "we had to get Jorin Sol out...he knew too much!"

"You must have known this," she whimpered, closing her eyes, shoulders sagging under the weight.

Another crack and she howled, a second bone broken, the finger now weakened and limp.

"I want to know why you chose me," Roshuir asked, "to lead my men into that cowardly trap?"

He pushed on the broken finger, bending it backward, coaxing more excruciating screams from Deena.

Once more, the powerful thrill of making her feel pain helped to quell any feeling of tenderness he had towards her. He held back a sneer, his heart racing, and adrenaline pumping.

He was there; he was almost there, the answer to the question that had driven him halfway across the galaxy to find her

"You...why I chose you? She sobbed, knowing this was the real reason for her suffering.

Deena knew he didn't care about information that might help the Empire destroy the Alliance. Hours ago, she had been grilled by Intel, who decided right then and there she had nothing of value to offer. She wasn't worthy of their interest, so, they threw her to Roshuir, who would play with her until her inevitable execution.

How ironic, she managed to think through her pain, neither the Alliance nor the Empire thought she was worth much. The only one who ever felt anything for her was Kale, and that feeling was driven by pure hatred.

Deena felt his grip shift to her ring finger, bending it further backwards; she felt it stretched, almost to the breaking point, and then broke down in sobs again.

"I'll tell you...just stop, please, " Deena looked up at him, her once bright, now red-rimmed eyes pleading. "You couldn't hurt me any more than you already have."

Kale remained silent; Deena's racking gasps the only sound coming between them. He looked at her, and then at her swollen hand.

He had her. He was on the verge of getting what he wanted; needed. The truth serum was at its zenith, and Deena was willing to tell him the real reason behind her bedding him. Was it her just following orders, or something more personal? He had to know.

Roshuir released Deena's hand, supporting her with his body as he attempted to place her hand back into the restraint. Deena refused to cooperate, immediately wrapping her free arm around his back; desperate for warmth, for any contact he might be willing to give.

The hovering IT-O droid misinterpreted the prisoner's movement; and proceeded to descend and defend the interrogator.

"IT-O, stand down," Roshuir said, his voice husky; somewhat stunned by Deena's tender touch; that seemed strangely out of place after all the suffering he had inflicted upon her.

The torture droid obeyed his request; returning to its corner.

"Captain Roshuir," Deena rasped, "My joining the Alliance was a mistake. They never respected me. I was a joke. Until I met you, I never realized how badly I was treated...how wrong this Rebellion is."

He listened quietly, allowing her to catch her breath in between the confession.

"Yes, I went to your bed, but you never treated me like a whore...you respected me...you were a gentleman. I betrayed you...and your men...I tried to warn you, but I was afraid to tell you the whole truth...I deserve to be punished...I deserve to die."

An idea began to grow in Kale's thoughts, sinking its roots into dismissed dreams; if she might be willing to turn on her former companions, if they could form some kind of mutually beneficial alliance...

"Please don't hate me, I never meant to hurt you or your men. I fell in love with you almost from the moment we met. I swear, I'm telling the truth; I even told my companions - the hell with what they might think."

Her face stayed bowed, her fingers grasping and twisting a handful of his tank shirt, pulling him unto her. She began to cry again, and he didn't move away, holding her close to him. He then released her.

Perhaps their relationship was more than a case of ordered seduction, thought Kale. Even the most accomplished spy wouldn't have given in so easily, despite her orders. He knew, deep down, there was more to their initial coupling and mutual attraction.

"Stop it, Deena." He sighed, slipping her hand back into the restraints.

Kale held her face up one more time to look into those blue eyes; not as pretty as when he first looked into them, being red and swollen from her tears, but at least he knew they were honest. The truth serum, mixed with a small amount of the sensation-heightening drug Skirtaponol, was having its effect on her.

Deena looked back, confused, her broken finger hanging pathetically, her lips pouted. She thought he was almost tempted to kiss her...almost.

Roshuir turned abruptly from her as if to leave.

"Kale! Don't go! Please!"

He headed to the entry without looking back.

The door closed with a hiss behind him, leaving an exhausted, heartbroken, and thoroughly confused Deena pulling at her restraints, begging for her tormenter to return.

*                                           *                                            *                                       

Stabbing sensations of pins and needles in her left arm brought Deena back to consciousness. She instinctively tried to bend it, to stimulate the blood supply, but found the wrist encircled by a stuncuff. Dazed, she tugged once more, slowly wondering why there was only a single restraint.

Wriggling her fingers, she suddenly realized that her once broken digit had been set, presumably by a medic droid, and was wrapped in a slim, flesh-colored bacta splint.

Vague memories came to her of finally passing out in the interrogation chamber; then being roused and released from the metal rack by two faceless naval guards, who moved her limp form onto a hovering stretcher, then threw a coverlet over her naked form as she fell back into oblivion.

The realities of her surroundings become clearer to her as she regained awareness.

While unconscious, she had obviously been bathed and was no longer nude, but clothed in a delicately sheer nightgown, panties, and lain out on a bed on which the headboard had been raised slightly; with two soft pillows attached, in what appeared to be an Imperial officers' sleeping chamber, the surroundings much more spacious than the shared quarters of a common soldier.

The lights were dimmed, everything taking on a much more pleasant tone, with the hard lines of the dark grey interior reduced to a gentle haze, reminding her strongly of that time with Kale...

It had been just like this, lying on a soft bed for the first time in weeks, after being stripped out of her jumpsuit by an attentive and experienced Imperial officer. What more could a girl want?

Deena shook her head; this couldn't be real. This must be another one of Kale's cruel tricks. She remembered the torture, she remembered the pain; this might also be some side effect of the drug she had been forcibly injected with since her mind kept going back to a happier place, probably the only place she had been that felt so good...so right.

Disguised as an Imperial fuel analyst, her mission on Kalist IV had become much easier when Captain Kale Roshuir, the handsome base commander, had expressed an interest in her.

She still recalled his gentlemanly manner as he escorted her to the quiet cartography room where they could research the Thila system. There was little time for small talk; their eyes and body language took over. She had wanted him, and he had wanted her; and for once, the Rebel cause was of secondary importance.

Political allegiances no longer mattered as Deena willingly decided to give herself to him as he quietly steered her to his quarters. Pangs of guilt over her deceptive talk of Rebels on Thila vanished while they were together in each other's arms.

In the afterglow of their passion, the fantasy of them being together in the future enveloped her; though it was nothing more than a release, she rationalized; something her mind had created to prevent the reality of their differences from driving her mad.

Once her betrayal became evident, Kale's earlier admiration of her turned to hatred, deservedly so. She would never be welcome in Kale's embrace again. The time they spent in the torture chamber proved that, once and for all.

A familiar hissing noise was heard. Deena turned her head in the direction of the sound, her heart pounding when she saw Captain Roshuir enter from the 'fresher, looking perfectly handsome. He had removed the tank shirt, his smooth, well-muscled chest bared, though Deena noted, not without some disappointment, he still wore his regulation jodhpurs and black boots.

"I was just thinking about you, Kale," Deena said dreamily, her free hand reaching for him, as if in slow motion. He smiled slightly, proving it was a dream. Captain Roshuir would never wear such an expression for her now. Still, it was harmless enough, fantasizing about what she could never have.

"I was thinking about you too, Deena."

Kale took her hand, moving smoothly around the bed, settling in be side her, raising her raised hand to his mouth.

"We've been given this opportunity to be together, but only if you can give me something to prove your willingness to atone for your...mistake in joining the Rebellion."

A fair exchange, she supposed. In her half-drugged state, one hand in the grasp of her dream lover, and the other in the biting embrace of a stuncuff, she thought the symbolism of being pulled between the two was rather fitting.

She leaned further back against the pillows, removing her hand from his to touch his cheek, the rough texture teasing under her hand; there was something pleasurable about the sensation of a man's stubble beneath her fingers.

Kale's eyes burned with desire; Deena closed hers and pouted as he leant forwards to kiss her. She felt as if she was going to faint, so strong were her responses.

Everything fell into a familiar rhythm then, her one arm wrapped around him, the other bent in an uncomfortable, but strangely attractive manner, her bright eyes opening, sparkling as they kissed deeply.

As they kissed, Kale was left wondering if the Skirtapanol was still in her system. He decided he didn't care; the stimulatory effects of the drug could only be used to his advantage.

Pushing her gown up around her waist, he stroked her thigh, feeling her shudder gently against him, her free hand slipping down; fingers tracing sensuously down his chest, then flittering over his waistband.

"What do I have to do to surrender to you? Anything that can help, Kale, you know I'll do it." She purred into his ear, her tongue lashing out to delicately lick it, her heavy breathing adding to his state of arousal.

Deena's hand moved lower, her palm rubbing against the fabric covering his stiffening rod, fingers fumbling with the trouser fastenings as he kissed her hard on the mouth. Her other hand still struggled against the stuncuff, a few clangs sounded in the background, barely acknowledged by Kale.

"It depends on what you know, Deena," said Kale, who had already decided the stuncuff would remain, until she had proven herself.

He sank lower, burying his mouth into her sweet-smelling skin as he nuzzled along the curvature of her neck; his hands now toying with the edge of her under wear. His thumb brushed teasingly against the damp fabric between her legs, making her squirm to increase the contact.

"I can have your death sentence lifted and take you away from here, far away...but only if you co-operate."

She moaned, feeling his fingers press deeper, pulling her panties aside, idly tormenting her arousal with one hand whilst the other slid a finger deep inside her warm, wet slit.

"What do you want to know, Kale?" She gasped, her free hand now inside his trousers, fingers grasping his erect member tightly, but not too tightly.

"Do you want the location of a weapons supplier? Is that it? I just remembered the name of a planet that has a secret factory...would that be enough?"

Her words were an intoxicant, lulling him into a heightened state of pleasure; was this how it felt to have complete control over another being? Was this the thrill of domination?

"More than enough, Deena, more than you possibly imagine..."

He withdrew his hands, and Deena let out a soft squeal of frustration. Her sex was swollen; aching; waiting for him to finish the job by filling the emptiness within.

Perhaps she wasn't co-operating enough?

To her relief, Kale's expression wasn't angry. It was admiring, like it had been before on Kalist IV. He slipped his hands under her bunched gown, feeling the silky texture of fabric and flesh, slowly sliding across her belly, then breasts as he pulled the flimsy material up over her head, ripping the delicate strap on the left arm side that was restrained by the stuncuff.

Next came her panties. A quick tug and tear was all it took before Kale held what was left of her under garment in his fist.

He moved off of the bed in a roll, tossing the torn nightgown and under wear to the floor. He stood over Deena; his muscled arms crossed in front of his chest, taking in the sight of her naked curves and taunt, pink-tinged nipples.

Perhaps he had rushed this to begin with, he thought. It was time to savor his victory, every glorious inch of her; and make her wait; no beg for him to continue.

"Kale, don't...don't stop. I need this. You need this."

Roshuir smiled, more smugly than before as he reveled in how their roles were reversed. Now he was the seducer.

Uncrossing his arms, he bent over Deena, his right hand reaching towards her, holding her gaze, before she took his hand, kissing it first in an act of submission, then placing the hand on her left breast.

She held it there as she leaned upwards, meeting him halfway in a suffocating kiss, feeling him lower his full weight onto her, pressing a knee between her legs to part them. She became more excited, tingles of pleasure pooling like liquid fire over her as she felt the slightly coarse material brush against her moist slit.

His hand continued on its own, rubbing gently, then kneading the soft, mounded breast, pinching the hardened nipple. She pressed into him, encouraging him further by returning her hand to his trousers, her fingers ghosting over his erection.

As difficult as it was in his own excited state, Roshuir found the willpower to break away from her touch, rising again, leaving her breathless, yearning.

"Tell me, Deena," he asked firmly, looking down at her tempting form, "what is it you remembered?"

"I...I overheard some talk about a factory and arms depot," she said in a voice a bit more husky than usual.

Kale frowned slightly, then backed away from the bed into a nearby chair where he slowly removed his boots.

Deena's eyes shone with longing and lust, and her hand grasped at the sheets, twisting them ever so enticingly before him.

"Where?" he asked, rising from his seat to unfasten his jodhpurs.

Deena watched as patiently as she could while her mouth opened in anticipation, somewhat distracted as his trousers fell to the floor, leaving only his regulation white shorts, with a tell tale bulge straining the front.

This waiting was worse than the torture of a few hours ago, she thought. Kale had turned around, taking his own sweet time folding his trousers over the chair. Now, he's arranging his boots! Doesn't he have a droid for that?

She realized she had better calm down. It wouldn't do to complain.

Kale's back was to Deena. He knew damn well she was watching him, wanting him. He wanted her, too, but first...

Deena gazed at Kale's magnificent backside as he finally removed and stepped out of his last piece of clothing, carefully placing the under shorts next to his folded trousers.

"I need to know, Deena," he said, finally turning around, his magnificent body in a state of arousal, as he came towards her to the edge of the bed.

"On Degas II...in the Brak Sector," Deena gasped, a small proud smile on her face.

Shifting her body, she leaned forward, kissing the head of his erect rod almost chastely, before lying back, waiting for her Imperial lover to make the next move.

Kale had had enough of this game. Satisfied he had some useful information, it was time for his reward...and hers. He moved on top of her, roughly parting her thighs, entering her with a quick, painful thrust.

Deena moaned, and tightened around him, the pain displaced once he began to move inside, his strokes not too unkind, his fingers returning to toy with her clitoris. She let out a string of incoherent words, her free hand around his shoulder, nails digging into his flesh, as she had her release, shuddering violently, and then relaxing beneath her still excited lover.

Moments later, Kale's fevered thrusting was spent, his climax draining him not only of his seed, but his anger and hatred towards Deena. He stayed in her for a few minutes, savoring the warm silkiness of her slit, before removing his spent rod; confident there would be at least one more lengthier lovemaking session in the next hour or so.

Deena sighed, snuggling up against the strong male body beside her. She knew now this was not a dream. No matter what happened next, at least she had been given another chance to be truthful with the one she loved.

Kale held her delicate form in his arms, marveling at how quickly his obsession for revenge had been dispelled; such was its power over him for so long. He kissed the top of Deena's head, relaxing with her on the soft bed.

He would alert his superiors to this new information, and then proceed with caution. He, too, didn't know what the future held for either of them.

But for now, they were in each other's arms. And that was enough.

*                                           *                                            *

Within the security office aboard the ISD Delineator, Agent Symun Kurr, an older man who had served Imperial Intel's Interrogation and Analysis division since its inception, stood at attention before a holopad where the imposing black form of Lord Darth Vader shimmered into view.

Beads of sweat formed on Kurr's furrowed brow, as he waited to speak with the Emperor's most trusted and powerful servant; his nervousness was only slightly relieved that he could make this report from a distance, on the off chance that the findings were not to Vader's liking.

"Agent Kurr, what have you to report?" Vader demanded; the sound of the Dark Lord's distinct breathing apparatus could be heard under the deep, mechanized baritone voice that filled the room, commanding instant respect from any one listening.

"My lord," began Kurr, "the information gleaned from the female prisoner by Captain Roshuir regarding an Alliance weapons factory on Degas II has been verified...Captain Roshuir personally led a successful assault, destroying the facility and capturing several Rebel leaders and their smuggler contacts."

Kurr put an emphasis on the next statement as he and his agents were pleased to discover that Roshuir had stumbled upon an important meeting of Alliance officials and had the foresight not to blow them all away.

"An immediate interrogation of the new prisoners by my agents resulted in the discovery of additional facilities on Terew and Derra IV," he finished with some pride.

"Good," intoned Vader, "Tell Colonel Roshuir, I am most pleased."

"I shall do so, my lord," answered Kurr; knowing Roshuir would be very pleased with his promotion. "Do you have any further orders?"

"Yes," Vader replied. "Issue Roshuir a code cylinder, then inform him he is to report to the Rizak penal colony located in the Braxant Sector in the Deep Core and take command."

Kurr nodded, thinking Roshuir was exceedingly fortunate. Rizak was known to be one of the most prestigious detention centers in the Empire.

"And see that the female prisoner is handed over to the Colonel...to serve time on Rizak...until he deems her rehabilitation is complete. That is all."

"As you wish, my lord," Kurr gave a military nod, still standing at attention as the flickering image of Vader dissolved into nothingness.

Lucky men like Roshuir get all the credit, thought Agent Kurr as he pulled out his datapad, ready to carry out Lord Vader's orders. Of course, it helped to have a beautiful Rebel fall in love with him. If it weren't for her, Kale Roshuir wouldn't have been in the right place at the right time.

*                                           *                                            *

EPILOGUE: Some Years Later

After a lengthy period of rehabilitation, Kale and Deena were married in a civil ceremony officiated by Grand Admiral Pellaeon...who then made Kale a Moff...and Deena a Mrs. Moff!

The couple had lots of babies and lived happily ever after, because the Rizak penal colony was located on the planet that became Bastion, a loyal Imperial world, untainted by the New Republic, Galactic Alliance, or whatever liberal, unstable government Deena's former political companions happened to throw together.

Yes, it could be said that after declaring her love for Kale and the Empire, the former Deena Shan was finally in the right place...at the right time.

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