Private The Trust Test

[Ironwraith]

The knock wasn't loud.
It wasn't soft either.
Measured. Intentional.

Ironwraith stood just outside Ana Rix's workshop door, armored boots planted evenly against the durasteel flooring. The corridor lighting cast long, muted reflections across the matte plating of his Republic armor. He hadn't bothered with civilian wear this time.


His helmet rested beneath one arm, black visor dark, silent. The other hand hovered near his sidearm out of habit, not threat. Old muscle memory. Old survival code.
He didn't like unknown variables.
And this… was an unknown.
The datapad rested in his gauntleted hand. The same one she had repaired the first time they met. The same one he had trusted her with something he didn't do lightly.
The files had been buried deep.
Not surface corruption. Not a glitch from rough handling. Not something caused by field interference.

Buried.
Layered beneath operational logs. Archived mission transcripts. Encrypted Republic dispatches. Three levels deep inside secure partitions he hadn't accessed in months.
That was what bothered him.


He had combed through them twice. Then a third time. The corrupted fragments weren't readable, just fractured strings of code, timestamp distortions, and what looked like overwritten blocks that shouldn't have been touched.

He could ignore surface damage.
He couldn't ignore something that looked deliberate.
His jaw tightened slightly as he knocked again, same rhythm.

If anyone else had touched that datapad…
If anyone else had used her repair as a doorway…

He needed to know.
And there was only one person he trusted to tell him the truth.


"I know you're in there," he called through the door, voice even, steady. Not accusing. Not tense. Just controlled.
A beat passed.
"I need you to take another look at something."

No dramatics. No explanation through a door.
Just a soldier standing outside a workshop, helmet under his arm, sidearm at his hip, waiting for the only person who might understand why a few corrupted files could feel like the start of something worse.
He didn't flinch anymore.
But he didn't ignore warning signs either.
And this one felt like static before a storm.

Ana Rix

 

[Ana Rix]

The workshop always felt different when he was in it. The air, usually heavy with the smell of ozone, soldering flux, and old grease, seemed to settle into a comfortable stillness that only his presence could bring.

As the door hissed shut, sealing out the noise of the district, Ana didn't immediately turn back to her workbench. She stayed close to him for a moment longer than necessary, the warmth of the small space drawing them together. The diagnostic lights reflecting off his armor cast rhythmic pulses of amber and blue across the room, but her focus was entirely on the man behind the metal.

"You're too quiet," she murmured, her voice dropping into a softer, more intimate register now that they were alone. She offered him a small, knowing smile, the kind that didn't just reach her eyes but lingered there. "Even for you."

She looked down at the datapad in her hands, her thumb tracing the edge of the casing where the metal was worn smooth. It was a familiar weight, but as she felt the lingering heat from his grip, her brow furrowed with genuine concern. She wasn't just looking for a software glitch or a hardware failure; she was looking for whatever had brought that specific look to his eyes.

"Hey," she said, stepping back into his space and placing her free hand lightly on his forearm, just above the gauntlet. The touch was steady and grounding. "If the repair held but the data didn't, we'll figure it out. If it's something else...well, you know I'm better at fixing things than I am at guessing games."

She gave his arm a reassuring squeeze before turning toward the main console, beckoning him to follow her into the heart of her mechanical sanctuary.

"Set the helmet down. Breathe for a second," she added, her tone light but layered with an underlying tenderness. "Then talk to me. What exactly did you find out there that's got you standing like you're waiting for an extraction?"

She cleared a space on the cluttered table, sweeping away a handful of resistors to make room for the datapad, but her gaze remained fixed on him, waiting, her quiet focus offering him a safe harbor before the work began.

Ironwraith

 

[Ironwraith]

Ironwraith set the datapad down carefully on the cleared table, the faint hum of its circuits filling the silence. He lowered his helmet beside it, the weight of the metal finally off his arm, and ran a gloved hand over the edge of the console, steadying himself before speaking.

"These files," he began, voice low and even, "they weren't just corrupted. They were buried deep. Normally I wouldn't be worried… but the depth, the way they were layered, it's… unusual." He paused, briefly meeting her eyes. "You were the first person I thought of to help."


A quiet beat, almost lost in the blinking diagnostic lights. He added, almost casually, "It's been a few weeks since… last time." He shifted slightly, the armor making soft clinks, and there was a hint of something unspoken in the way he looked at her, a trace of missing her presence.

Reaching to his belt, he pulled a small flask and offered it to her, the polished metal catching the ambient glow. "Homemade brew," he said, the corners of his mouth lifting ever so slightly. "Thought you might want to try it. For me…"


He uncapped a second flask from his own belt and took a deliberate sip, letting the familiar burn settle in. The gesture wasn't flashy, not for him, it was a quiet offering of trust, of camaraderie, of the unspoken bond that had grown between them over weeks and shared work.
"I… appreciate you being here," he said finally, voice almost rough with the weight of holding back. "Let's see what we can dig out together."

Ana Rix

 

[Ana Rix]

Ana didn't answer right away, her silence stretching as she picked up the datapad the moment he set it down. Her focus narrowed with a startling, practiced intensity; while the warmth in her expression didn't vanish, it retreated behind a veil of analytical precision as her thumb brushed slowly along the casing's seam, searching for microscopic inconsistencies before she even considered powering the device on. At his explanation, a small furrow appeared between her brows, and she leaned in closer to the flickering screen.

"Buried that deep…" she murmured, the words falling more to herself than to him as she scrutinized the error logs. "That's not simple surface degradation from age; that's either something deliberately hidden beneath the code, or a write cycle that went catastrophically wrong at the worst possible moment."

Moving toward the console with a fluid, distracted grace, she set the datapad down and linked it into the terminal with practiced ease. Shifting lines of white data scrolled across the monitor, the light reflecting faintly in her dark eyes as she began her initial sweep, but then, quite suddenly, she paused. It wasn't the data that had caught her attention, but rather the physical weight of the casing beneath her palm. Her fingers traced the edge again, moving slower and more deliberately this time until she felt a small shift in pressure, a barely perceptible give in the metal that shouldn't have been there.

Her expression shifted, turning from mere curiosity to a sharp, singular focus. "Wait...hold on a moment," she whispered, reaching for a specialized tool to loosen the outer shell just enough to inspect the internal seal. She held her breath for a heartbeat, her eyes scanning the delicate internal components, before finally letting out a quiet, steady exhale of realization.

"Okay," she said, a sense of relief bleeding through her voice, subtle but unmistakable as she looked up at him. "This part's actually on me." She offered the admission without any hint of defensiveness, her honesty grounding the moment. "It looks like the casing didn't seal perfectly after the last repair I did. It's a minor flaw, but it was enough to allow external interference to bleed in over time, causing those fragmented writes in the deeper storage layers while the system tried to compensate for the noise."

She tapped the edge of the metal housing lightly, her tone softening as she caught his eye. "It looks far worse on the monitor than it actually is, I promise, and it is entirely fixable."

Only then did she finally reach for the flask he was offering. As she took it from his hand, her fingers brushed against his for a lingering second—a spark of warmth that felt more intentional than accidental. She held the polished metal loosely, her gaze flickering down to the gift before returning to the datapad with a faint, appreciative smile.

"I'm definitely going to take you up on this," she said quietly, the heat returning to her voice as she held his gaze, "but not just yet. I'd much rather fix the problem I caused first." She turned back to the console, her fingers already dancing across the controls to begin the isolation process. "Once the data is safe and the integrity is verified...then we can truly relax."

Her movements became a steady, rhythmic blur as she isolated the corrupted sectors, her voice slipping back into that calm, grounded cadence that had become so familiar to him. "If it is just the interference I suspected, I can rebuild the affected partitions and verify the integrity layer by layer until it's clean, but if we find that anything was overwritten intentionally..." She glanced at the scrolling code, then back at him with a look of fierce, shared purpose. "...well, we'll find that, too."

Ironwraith

 

[Ironwraith]

Ironwraith allowed himself a small, measured smile as he watched her work. The way she moved. calm, precise, fully absorbed, was something he'd come to recognize, even admire. She had that rare kind of focus that made everything else fade away, and for a moment, he felt something tight in his chest, almost like relief, almost like… warmth. He didn't need to speak; he could tell she genuinely enjoyed this, and that was enough.

"It'd be an easy mistake to make," he said quietly, voice steady but soft, the faintest edge of a smile lingering. "I don't hold it against you."

He lifted the flask for a slow, deliberate sip, letting the warmth settle in before returning it to his belt. Armor clinked softly, echoing in the quiet workshop. He studied her for a moment longer, the subtle tilt of her head, the faint glint of determination in her dark eyes, and the thought struck him unbidden: he'd missed this. Him, standing here, watching her work, feeling the steady rhythm of her presence. Not just the work, not just the efficiency, but her.

Finally, he spoke again, voice low and even. "How've you been these past few weeks?" There was no pretense in his tone, only genuine curiosity, the subtle weight of someone who had missed a trusted presence more than he cared to admit. His gaze met hers, steady and open, letting the warmth of the workshop, and of her, fill the space between them.

He almost wanted to reach out, but he didn't, not yet. He would wait. Quietly, attentively. Patiently. That was him. And somehow, that small restraint made the moment feel bigger, more important.

Ana Rix

 

[Ana Rix]

Ana didn't look away from the console right away, allowing the silence to hang between them for a moment longer as she finished the task at hand. Her fingers moved steadily across the holographic interface as she isolated error clusters and reindexed damaged partitions, her posture relaxed yet carrying an undercurrent of sharp intent. The soft, flickering glow of the display traced along her features as she worked, illuminating the concentration in her eyes.

At his question, however, a small and knowing smile touched her lips.

"I've been…working, as usual," she replied, her voice carrying a quiet humor that suggested she already knew exactly how predictable that sounded to him.

She adjusted a specific setting with a flick of her wrist, then leaned in slightly as a fresh set of data scrolled past her field of vision in a rapid cascade.

"I've spent the better part of the week buried in repairs and diagnostics, punctuated only by the occasional 'this definitely wasn't my fault, but I'll fix it anyway' job," she explained.

A soft breath of a laugh followed the comment, echoing slightly in the confined space.

"Such is the glamorous life of an independent entrepreneur in this corner of the galaxy."

She finally glanced over at him for a brief moment, her expression turning warm and easy in a way that managed not to interrupt the steady rhythm of her focus.

"It's a cycle of long hours, unpredictable clients, and a near-constant argument with my own stubborn tools," she admitted.

Her eyes flicked back to the screen to monitor the progress bar, but the warmth remained evident in her voice as she continued.

"It's good to be occupied, though, and I find that I'm busy in the specific kind of way that actually makes sense for once."

A small, reflective pause followed her words before she spoke again in a much quieter tone.

"It beats the alternative of standing still for too long."

She tapped the console lightly as another section of the data stream stabilized under her touch.

"What about you and your recent exploits?" she asked.

Her tone remained casual and light, but there was an unmistakable undercurrent of genuine interest behind the question.

"Are you still habitually throwing yourself into those dangerous situations where 'taking a hit' eventually becomes the most practical advice you can follow?"

Ironwraith

 

[Ironwraith]

Ironwraith exhaled faintly through his nose at her description of "glamorous" entrepreneurial life. The corner of his mouth twitched.
"Predictable," he said quietly. "But effective."

He shifted his weight slightly, resting one hand against the edge of the console, watching the scrolling lines of restored data as if they were troop movements on a battlefield.

"I've kept busy," he replied. "Security audits. Infrastructure sweeps. Making sure problems don't get the chance to become problems." His tone carried that familiar steadiness, the quiet confidence of someone who preferred prevention over spectacle.

A beat passed.
"I've only had to track down 40 who decided to go AWOL." A faint smirk touched his lips. "New personal low."
He let that hang just long enough to suggest the joke before shaking his head lightly.

"I haven't had to use lethal force much since leaving active service," he added more seriously. "And I prefer it that way." His gaze softened slightly as it rested on her. "Turns out I enjoy keeping things intact."

There was more meaning in that than just infrastructure.
He glanced at the progress bar stabilizing on her display, then back to her, studying the glow of the console light against her features.
"And you?" he said quietly, tone lowering just a fraction. "Still arguing with your tools… or have you finally found something around here that listens to you?"
His eyes held hers a moment longer than necessary.
"If it helps," he added, almost offhand but not really, "I've always thought you were better at handling difficult equipment than you give yourself credit for."

Ana Rix

 

[Ana Rix]

Ana let out a quiet, huffed breath of a laugh at that, her fingers never once faltering as they danced across the interface to trace the jagged error clusters deeper into the heart of the system.

"Forty, huh?" she murmured, her voice dropping into a register more like a private confidence than a professional update. "You're slacking, even for a busy man."

There was a distinct softness to the jab, a playful teasing that sat comfortably beneath her focused exterior. She leaned in closer to the display, the cool blue light of the haptic interface washing over her features and catching the faint, amused curve of her lips. With a few deliberate commands, she isolated a fractured partition, her movements smooth as she rerouted the data streams around the wreckage. When the corrupted block finally highlighted itself in a sharp, pulsing amber, she let out a soft exhale of victory.

"There you are, you little nightmare…" she whispered, almost affectionately, to the machine.

She didn't open the file. She didn't even let her gaze linger on the headers. Instead, she tagged and contained it with clinical efficiency, rebuilding the surrounding architecture so the rot couldn't spread or destabilize the rest of his hardware. Only when the "Containment Successful" prompt flickered did she finally allow her attention to drift toward him.

"I try not to make a habit of reading other people's buried files, you know," she added lightly, her eyes meeting his with a spark of genuine warmth. "Even when they bring them to me looking like they've been through a trash compactor. Some things are better left behind a firewall."

She turned back to the console, but the air between them felt a little heavier, the professional distance closing just a fraction. Her tone shifted, becoming noticeably warmer as she worked on the final calibration.

"And just for the record…"

She adjusted a tool setting with a sharp click, then reached up to reseat a stubborn connection inside the open casing. Her fingers brushed intentionally close to his hand where it rested against the console, a fleeting, lingering touch of skin against skin that felt far more electric than the circuitry she was fixing.

"…my tools listen to me just fine," she said, a small, knowing pause hanging in the air. "It's usually the operators that tend to be stubborn and difficult to calibrate."

That earned a faint, almost playful smile as she finally looked back at him properly, her gaze lingering on his for a second longer than was strictly necessary for a business transaction. There was a challenge in her eyes now, a silent acknowledgement that they weren't just talking about data paths anymore.

"Though, I suppose some operators are significantly more rewarding to work with than others," she added, her voice dropping to a low, melodic hum.

She turned back to the task with a graceful fluidity, sealing off the corrupted segment and initiating a clean rebuild cycle that sent a steady pulse of green light across the room.

"I'm isolating the damage now," she said, slipping back into that calm, grounded rhythm that defined her work. "Once the structure is stable, I'll scrub the interference and re-layer the data paths. It's a permanent fix and should stop anything like this from happening again."

She gave him one last glance, her expression softening into something quiet and oddly sincere.

"And it'll keep your 'difficult equipment' running exactly the way it should. Consider it a specialized service."

Ironwraith

 

[Ironwraith]

Ironwraith watched her with open admiration now, not even attempting to disguise it. The way she hunted through fractured code like a tracker following spoor through brush… it was different from combat, but the precision was the same. The patience. The control.
He understood maybe half of what she was describing.
Partition rebuild. Structural layering. Interference scrubbing.

He caught the important parts.
It's fixable.
It's contained.
You're safe.

That was enough.
A slow smile formed as she teased him about operators being difficult to calibrate. He met her gaze evenly, that steady warmth in his eyes answering the challenge in hers.

"Is that so?" he murmured.
Her fingers brushed his. Intentional. Electric.
He held her gaze another beat too long.
"Well," he said carefully, voice dropping just a shade, "if calibration's required…"
He tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk appearing.

"I suppose I could be convinced to submit myself to your diagnostics."
The words left his mouth.
There was a half-second where he realized exactly how that sounded.
His brow lifted. A quiet breath of laughter escaped him, low and unguarded.

"That came out differently than intended," he admitted, shaking his head once. "You know what I meant."
Another small chuckle followed, the rare, genuine kind that didn't carry armor with it.
He stepped a fraction closer to the console, close enough that the warmth between them felt less like metaphor and more like physics.
"For the record," he added more softly, eyes steady on hers again, "if I were difficult… I trust you'd handle it."

No bravado. No edge.
Just quiet confidence. And something unmistakably fond beneath it.
Then, with deliberate restraint, he glanced back at the stabilizing green pulses across the display.
"Looks like your 'specialized service' is earning its reputation."

Ana Rix

 

[Ana Rix]

Ana did laugh this time, soft at first, a low hum in her throat that vibrated in the quiet of the workshop, then a little brighter. The sound seemed to catch on the metallic surfaces, warming the cramped, oil-scented space more than the harsh glow of the work lights ever could. It was a rare sound, one that felt like a secret she was letting him in on.

She shook her head slightly, the movement causing a stray lock of hair to fall across her brow. Her eyes dropped back to the console as she finalized the rebuild cycle, though the smile lingered, tugging at the corner of her mouth with stubborn persistence.

"Careful," she said, her voice dropping into a playful, velvet register. "You keep volunteering for 'maintenance' like that, and I might actually start running full diagnostics on you. I'm not sure you're ready for what my sensors would pick up."

Her fingers moved with the effortless, quiet precision of a master at work, sealing the repaired partitions and reinforcing the routing layers. She worked with a delicate touch, ensuring the interference wouldn't have a chance to creep back into the architecture. Under her hands, the system began to purr, a harmonious, rhythmic cycle. The last of the jagged amber warning indicators bled away, replaced by a clean, steady, and triumphant green.

She leaned back just a little, the tension finally draining from her shoulders as she let out a small, huffed breath of satisfaction.

"There."

A quick, rhythmic tap on the console confirmed the sync.

"Structural integrity restored, corrupted sectors isolated and scrubbed, and your deeper storage layers are finally behaving themselves again," she reported. Her tone was crisp and professional, the language of a woman who knew her worth, but as she glanced over at him, her gaze softened. "And for your peace of mind? No signs of anything…deliberate. Just the usual wear and tear of a life lived at high velocity."

The reassurance was offered gently, a small bridge built between her technical expertise and his personal stakes. She reached for the outer casing, her hands steady as she secured it. This time, her motions were slow and deliberate, a finality in the way she tightened the seal, speaking of a job done perfectly.

"Seal's corrected too," she added, her eyes flicking up to his for a heartbeat before returning to the metal. "You shouldn't see that kind of degradation again. I've made sure of it."

Straightening up, she wiped a smudge of grease from her thumb and turned toward him fully. She folded her arms loosely over her chest, leaning back against the workbench in a way that was both casual and commanding.

"And before you start reaching for your credits…" she began, a faint, playful tilt of her head catching the light. "This one's on the house."

Her tone stayed calm, but there was a flicker of steel in it, the kind of authority that didn't invite argument. "Bad seal, my responsibility. I don't let equipment leave my sight unless it's flawless."

The small smile tugged at her lips again, turning into something more intentional as she stepped slightly closer into his personal space. "Consider it a premium perk of that 'specialized service' you were just complimenting. I like to keep my favorite clients... well-maintained."

She reached for the flask she'd set aside earlier, her fingers lingering on the cool metal before she finally uncapped it. The sharp, aromatic scent of the spirits drifted between them, mingling with the scent of ozone and heated circuits.

She took a slow, deliberate sip, her eyes never leaving his, warm, teasing, and filled with a sudden, sharp spark of anticipation.

"Now…" she murmured, the flask held loosely between them. "…I believe you promised me something worth trying. Don't tell me you're all talk, because I've just proven I'm very good with my hands."

Ironwraith

 

[Ironwraith]

Ironwraith lifted his flask and tapped it gently against hers, a soft clink echoing in the small workshop. "This brew's strong," he said, low and measured. "Sip it slow."

He let his eyes follow her for a second, recalling a memory that made the corner of his mouth twitch with amusement: the time he'd seen a soldier who could handle anything on the battlefield, gunfire, grenades, the kind of hell most couldn't stomach, get knocked out cold by a single flask of his homemade brew. She had downed it in fifteen seconds. That memory made him grin faintly, fondly.

Sliding a small stack of credits across the console toward her, he added, "Consider this a tip for how much care you put into your work. Not many people treat things with the precision you do." His gaze softened, lingering on hers.

He chuckled quietly at his next words, almost as if trying them out before fully committing. "I wouldn't mind… seeing how skilled your hands are in other applications," he admitted, voice careful but teasing.

A pause. Then he shook his head, letting out a low laugh. "Forgive me. Humor like this… it's how we kept sane in the trenches. My men and I... we joked. Kept each other from losing ourselves. Not all of it's appropriate outside a battlefield."

He met her gaze, steady and warm, letting the moment hang between them without forcing it. The repaired datapad hummed quietly beside them, a testament to her skill, while the workshop smelled of grease, ozone, and just a hint of his brew. For once, he could simply stand here, sharing the quiet space with someone who understood precision, and maybe a little more.

Ana Rix

 

[Ana Rix]

Ana's eyes flicked down briefly as the credits slid across the console, her gaze lingering on the cold metal before lifting back to meet Ironwraith's. She didn't push them away, but she didn't reach for them either, allowing the payment to sit in the space between them as a secondary thought while her attention shifted more fully toward the flask. When it tapped against his, she lifted her own in a silent, mirrored gesture, the faintest curve of a smile returning to her lips as she caught the quiet, almost curious note in her own voice asking if it was as strong as he claimed.

Following his advice, she took a measured sip, slow, deliberate, and careful, letting the rim of the flask brush her lips as she tested the heat. The burn hit a second later, sharp and warm as it settled low in her chest, and she allowed her eyes to close briefly in genuine appreciation rather than discomfort before exhaling softly. She admitted he wasn't exaggerating, her voice now carrying a more relaxed edge as she lowered the flask without setting it down, her fingers remaining loosely wrapped around the metal while she leaned back against the console beside him.

At his comment about appropriateness, her brow lifted just slightly, showing she was neither offended nor surprised but entirely aware of the shift in the air. She noted that for someone claiming his words weren't appropriate, he certainly hadn't sounded very uncertain saying them, her gaze holding his with a steady, warm intensity that carried a memory of the heat they'd shared before. She took another small sip, slower this time to let the warmth linger, before lowering the flask and closing the remaining distance between them with a slow, intentional step that brought her directly into his space.

"Precision translates, Ironwraith," she murmured, her voice dropping into a low, intimate register as she leaned in until her shoulder brushed his chest. "Whether it's circuitry…or anything else you might have in mind."

After a beat, her eyes flicked briefly toward the credits still resting on the console, the corner of her mouth curving into a true smile as she looked back up at him through her lashes. She reminded him that he wasn't paying extra for that kind of insight, maintaining that the repair was her mistake to fix, before taking another controlled, careful sip while remaining close enough to feel the heat radiating off him. She stayed there, grounded and comfortable in the shared quiet of the workshop, letting the proximity do the talking.

Ironwraith

 

[Ironwraith]

Ironwraith didn't step back.
When she closed the distance, he let her.

The brush of her shoulder against his chest sent a quiet warmth through him, steady and grounding rather than explosive. His hand moved almost instinctively, settling at her waist first, then lower at her hips, firm but unhurried. Not claiming. Just holding.

His thumb traced a slow, absent line against the small of her back as he looked down at her.
"Precision translates," he repeated softly, a faint smile forming. "That's good to know."
There was nothing rushed in him. No battlefield urgency. Just presence.

"If you ever decide to take me up on that offer," he added, voice dropping slightly, eyes steady on hers, "I had something else in mind I could demonstrate. I do have skills outside security audits."

A quiet breath of amusement followed.
"But," he continued more gently, "only if you want to. I don't rush things I intend to do properly."
That part wasn't flirtation. That was honesty.

He shifted just enough to rest his forehead lightly against hers for a second before easing back an inch, giving her space while still keeping his hands at her hips.

"Tell me something," he murmured. "You ever smoke?"
His brow lifted faintly.
"You don't seem like the type. Calm. Controlled." A small smirk touched his mouth. "Though I've learned the quiet ones usually surprise me."
He wasn't judging. Just curious. Studying her the way he studied everything he cared about understanding.
And right now, that was her.

Ana Rix

 

[Ana Rix]

The moment held a weighted, magnetic stillness that Ana didn't attempt to break. When his hands settled at her waist, she didn't pull away; instead, she let the contact anchor them both. Her posture remained relaxed yet keenly aware, processing his steady warmth. It wasn't overwhelming—it felt measured, a deliberate counterpoint to the district's cold air. Her own fingers, still loosely curled around the flask, rested against his chest for balance, though the gesture felt more like a quiet acceptance of his proximity than a necessity.

When he echoed her earlier words, that small, elusive smile returned to her lips, softer and more genuine than before.

"Careful," she murmured, the vibration of her voice low and intimate between them. "You're going to start sounding like you're taking notes."

There was a newfound ease in her tone, the sharp edges of the info-broker smoothed over by a rare lack of urgency. As he made his offer, her eyes held his for a beat longer than strictly professional: thoughtful, searching, but notably no longer evasive.

"Mm." It was a faint hum of consideration that vibrated against the hand she had resting on his chest. "I'll keep that in mind."

It wasn't a commitment, but it wasn't a dismissal either. She was simply leaving the door unbolted. When he leaned in, pressing his forehead against hers, she stayed perfectly still. Her breath slowed for a grounded heartbeat, taking in the shared space before he pulled back just enough to give her room to breathe. She let him move, neither chasing the contact nor retreating from it, content to remain comfortably within his reach.

At his question about her habits, one of her brows lifted slightly, a glint of genuine amusement finally breaking through her calculated exterior.

"Smoke?"

She took another small, controlled sip from the flask, the liquid heat trailing down her throat before she offered a reply. Her shoulders rose in a casual, easy shrug.

"Sometimes," she admitted. "Socially. Usually, when the company is right, or when something actually manages to get under my skin enough to require the distraction."

She looked up at him again, her gaze sharpening with a playful, predatory edge that felt more like a challenge than a confession.

"So, no...not an addiction. I don't like things that own me," she added with a small pause, her voice dropping an octave. "But I'm not against it, either."

Her fingers shifted against the fabric of his shirt, a subtle grounding movement that mirrored the steady weight of her gaze on his. The corner of her mouth curved just a fraction, a tiny spark of daring in the dark.

"Why? You offering or are you just taking inventory of my vices?"

Ironwraith

 

[Ironwraith]

Ironwraith's thumb continued its slow, absent motion at her hip as he listened, eyes steady on hers. He liked the way she answered. Direct. Measured. No surrender in it.

"Maybe I am offering," he said quietly. "Maybe I'm assessing risk."
A faint smirk touched his mouth.
"It depends on whether you're willing to accept one."

He shifted just enough to reach back toward his belt without breaking the closeness entirely. From a small side pouch, he withdrew a slim, dark cigar case. Not flashy. Practical. Worn from use.

"I don't bother with cigarettes," he said, tone calm. "Too quick. Too frantic."
He opened the case with a soft click, revealing a pair of compact cigars.
"Cigars make you slow down. Focus. Or calm your nerves." His gaze flicked back to hers. "Sometimes both."

There was no apology in it. No shame. Just honesty.
"I don't smoke often," he added. "Only when the moment's worth marking."
A subtle pause hung there. Intentional.
"And this," he murmured, eyes holding hers, "feels like it might qualify."

He didn't press one into her hand. Didn't assume.
He simply held the open case between them, an invitation rather than a decision, his other hand still steady at her waist.
No rush. No demand.
Just offering.

Ana Rix

 

[Ana Rix]

Ana didn't pull away when he reached for the case; instead, she remained anchored in the small space between them, her eyes tracking the steady arc of his hand before settling on the cigars as the lid opened with a muted, metallic click. She looked at them for a long, quiet second, perhaps weighing the invitation they represented, before lifting her gaze back to his. That familiar, knowing smile returned to her lips, subtle and teasing.

"Assessing risk?" she asked, her voice dropping into a soft, thoughtful register that carried a faint thread of playfulness. "You make that sound a lot more serious than it actually needs to be."

As she spoke, her fingers shifted almost imperceptibly against his chest. She wasn't pushing him away; rather, she seemed to be grounding herself in the heat of the moment, the steady rhythm of his heart beneath her touch serving as a counterpoint to her own calm. She listened as he explained his reasoning, giving him the kind of rare, undivided attention that made the rest of the room fall away. She let the concepts of slowing down and finding focus settle between them like cooling embers.

Her gaze drifted back down to the case, her expression one of genuine consideration. "You're right about one thing," she murmured, the words smooth and low. "The quick stuff…the fleeting distractions…they never really appealed to me."

After a deliberate pause, she finally reached out. Her movement was neither rushed nor hesitant, possessing a liquid grace as her fingers brushed against his to select one of the cigars from the case. The contact was brief, a mere ghost of a touch, but it was entirely intentional. She turned the cigar slowly between her thumb and forefinger, testing its weight and the fine grain of its texture, treating it with a sudden, quiet reverence.

"And I don't usually make a habit of marking moments," she added, her voice barely more than a whisper as her eyes drifted back up to meet his. "…but I suppose I can make an exception for this."

The corner of her mouth curved a fraction deeper, a silent acknowledgment of the shift in the air. She didn't move to light it yet, choosing instead to simply hold it, looking entirely comfortable in the magnetic pull of his presence. She tilted her head slightly, her gaze flicking down to where his hand rested firmly at her waist before returning to lock onto his eyes with newfound intensity.

"So," she prompted, her voice trailing off into a challenge. "Am I the one accepting a risk…or are you?"

Ironwraith

 

[Ironwraith]

Ironwraith held her gaze without flinching, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.
"Only time will tell," he said quietly. "Maybe we both are."
A small pause.
"Some risks are worth taking."

He selected a cigar for himself, closing the case with a soft click before setting it aside within her reach, just in case she decided to change her mind. Nothing assumed. Nothing forced.

"I didn't always smoke," he added, voice lowering into something more reflective. "Started in a trench. Four months pinned down in mud and smoke."
His thumb rolled the cigar slowly between his fingers as the memory surfaced.


"There was someone back then," he continued evenly. "Old flame. She walked straight up during lookout duty like incoming fire didn't exist. Lit one without asking permission from anyone." A faint huff of a laugh escaped him. "At the time I was running on adrenaline stims just to stay upright."

He glanced at the cigar.
"She offered me one. Said it'd steady my hands better than the stims would."
Another quiet beat.

"She was right."
His eyes returned to Ana's.
"I've slowed down since then. Learned there's value in taking a breath before pulling a trigger. and sometimes... just maybe it can calm the nerves before passing on. it did for her, she caught a bolt to the stomach, fatal. she lit one last cigar and passed with a smile on her face as I held her."

The warmth in his gaze softened, less soldier now, more man.
His free hand rose slowly, deliberately, brushing his knuckles along her cheek. Not possessive. Just tender. Testing nothing. Simply there.
"And as for risk…" he murmured, a faint smile forming, "I'm still trying to determine why you keep letting me walk back in here."

His thumb traced lightly along her jaw before falling away.
"Whether I need something fixed… or just don't have anything better to do."
The teasing note was there, but underneath it sat something honest. Curious. Maybe even hopeful.
He didn't look away.

Ana Rix

 

[Ana Rix]

Ana didn't pull away as he reached out; instead, she leaned into the gesture just slightly, seeking the familiar warmth of his knuckles against her cheek as she absorbed the quiet weight of the words he'd just shared. Her eyes never left his, but the usual sharp, calculating precision in her gaze began to soften, gradually giving way to a look that was much quieter and undeniably more human.

She let a comfortable breath settle between them for a moment before she finally spoke, a faint, genuine smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "You don't strike me as the type of person who walks into a place like this without a very specific reason," she said softly, her voice carrying a hint of a tease. "Even when you try your best to pretend otherwise."

Without a hint of rush or uncertainty, her hand lifted to rest lightly against the rigid front of his armor, her fingers sliding just far enough to find a spot where the cold metal gave way to the steady warmth of the man beneath it. It was a grounding, real sensation that seemed to anchor them both in the moment.

"So I suppose it's either a case of me being exceptionally good at fixing your equipment," she continued, her tone regaining that playful, familiar edge that always danced between them, "or perhaps you simply keep finding new reasons to walk back through my door."

After a small, meaningful pause, she tilted her head just enough to lean further into his touch, an unspoken answer to the question he hadn't quite asked. "I think we both know which one of those it is," she murmured.

Her gaze dipped briefly to the cigar he'd set aside before returning to his eyes, the curve of her mouth lifting with a bit more confidence. "And for what it's worth, I've found that I really don't mind the risk at all."

There was no bravado or deflection in her voice this time, only a simple, quiet honesty that filled the space between them. Her fingers shifted lightly against him, not gripping or pulling, but merely lingering there to maintain the connection.

"I spend the vast majority of my life making sure that things don't break, whether it's complex systems, delicate circuits, or the heavy ships people trust me with," she added, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "It's actually quite nice, every once in a while, to let something be a little bit uncertain."

Her eyes held his again, glowing with a steady and inviting warmth. "Especially when that uncertainty doesn't feel like a mistake."

Ironwraith

 

[Ironwraith]

Ironwraith held her gaze as she spoke, something in his expression shifting when she admitted she didn't mind the risk. The teasing edge in him softened. What replaced it was steadier. Certain.

"Uncertainty," he murmured, thumb brushing once more along her jaw, "can be managed."
A faint breath of amusement followed.
"And if the armor's in the way…" his eyes flicked down briefly, then back to hers, a quiet spark in them, "I can remove it."

The joke was light, but the heat behind it wasn't.
For a heartbeat, he hesitated. Not out of doubt. Out of respect.
Then he exhaled softly.
"Fuck it," he said under his breath, almost to himself.

His hand shifted from her waist to the small of her back, drawing her in with firm but careful pressure. Not abrupt. Not overwhelming. Just enough to close the remaining space between them.

He kissed her.
Slow.
Measured.
The kind of kiss that wasn't about conquest but confirmation.

He gave her room to respond, to deepen it or pull away. His other hand remained steady at her hip, grounding rather than claiming, his lips warm but unhurried against hers. He lingered there, savoring the moment instead of devouring it, letting the workshop fall silent around them except for the faint hum of repaired circuitry and the distant echo of the district beyond the walls.

When he finally eased back just enough to meet her eyes, his forehead rested lightly against hers again.
"Still think it's uncertainty?" he murmured.

Ana Rix

 

[Ana Rix]

Ana didn't pull away; if anything, she seemed to dissolve into the small, charged space between them. For a long heartbeat after the kiss, she remained anchored right where she was, her breath catching in a soft, hitching rhythm against his skin, the lingering warmth of the contact still humming like a live wire. When her eyes finally met his again, the usual analytical sharpness had been replaced by something dark and liquid, a look that was both softer and dangerously certain.

Her hand, which had been resting tentatively against him, slid a fraction further, her fingers curling with a sudden, possessive strength into the fabric of his side before easing back into a slow, deliberate caress.

"Mm…"

The hum was low, vibrating deep in her throat, a sound that was thoughtful, grounding, and entirely focused on him. She leaned in until the distance between them was purely theoretical, her voice dropping to a velvet whisper that seemed to vibrate against his own lips.

"I think…"

A ghost of a smile touched her mouth, teasing and heavy with intent. "…it's a lot less uncertain than it was a minute ago. The data is starting to lean in a very specific direction."

Her fingers shifted again, tracing the line of his side with a slow, agonizing pressure that wasn't quite pulling him closer, but was absolutely refusing to let him drift an inch away. It was the touch of someone who had found something they intended to keep.

"But you have to remember, I'm still a mechanic at heart," she added, her voice dropping an octave as that familiar, playful edge returned, now sharpened by a new kind of hunger. "I'm not in the habit of calling a system 'stable' based on a single trial run. I like to test the limits more than once."

Her gaze dropped, lingering with heavy, unmistakable intent on his lips before snapping back to his eyes, challenging him.

"For accuracy, of course."

She let that suggestion hang in the air between them, thick and intentional. Her thumb brushed slowly, firmly along the side of his ribs, a gesture that felt less like a grounding movement and more like she was marking her territory.

"So no…"

She took a quiet, shaky breath that brushed over his face.

"…I don't think we're dealing with uncertainty anymore. That's been cleared from the board."

The corner of her mouth curved into a look that was more predatory than mechanical, her eyes searching his with a heat that made the rest of the room go cold.

"I think it's just a question of how far we're both willing to take the next test."

Ironwraith