Private Welcome To The Shark Tank

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren had been halfway through lifting her hand, already preparing to gently correct Korda about the comment on the lights, when she noticed the change in Omen's expression.

It was subtle, the kind of shift most people would miss if they were not paying attention. The slight tightening of his jaw. The way his gaze dropped for just a moment before he turned away. The quiet withdrawal that came from habit more than choice.

Her fingers paused in midair.

Then, slowly, she lowered her hand again.

She did not call after him. She did not try to intercept him. She did not turn the moment into something public.

Not here. Not now.

She watched him push back his chair and move toward the sink with practiced efficiency, already retreating into motion and routine, into something familiar and manageable. Something he could control.

For a moment, her jaw tightened.

But she stayed where she was.

Instead, she shifted slightly in her chair, keeping both Korda and Omen in her peripheral vision as Korda's attention finally followed Omen across the room. She saw the realization dawn, the brief confusion, then the quiet understanding as he replayed his own words in his head.

Good, she thought. He noticed.

She remained silent as Korda followed him, listened as he stumbled through an apology that was awkward but sincere, and watched Omen continue washing dishes with the same steady precision he applied to everything, even when he was clearly distracted.

Only when there was a natural pause in their exchange did Aren finally speak.

"For the record," she said calmly, her voice even and unhurried, "I'm the one who keeps the lighting systems in order. He just tolerates my rearranging until I'm satisfied with it."

There was no sharpness in her tone, only quiet correction.

Her gaze shifted briefly toward Omen's back, then returned to Korda.

"And he never complains about it," she added. "Even when I rewire half a room at two in the morning."

She stood then, moving slowly toward the kitchenette without crowding either of them, and leaned lightly against the counter, arms loosely folded.

"I was going to say something earlier," Aren continued, "but I decided to let you handle it."

Her eyes met Korda's.

"You did," she said simply. "And you did it well."

She let that settle before going on.

"Omen doesn't need someone to fight his battles for him," Aren said quietly. "He needs people to take him seriously, and to mean it when they apologize. You're doing that."

Her gaze softened slightly as it drifted back toward Omen.

"I'll talk to him later," she added. "When he isn't already trying to stay busy."

Not if. When.

She straightened, pushing off the counter.

"For now," Aren finished evenly, "you two can finish the dishes."

Then she returned to her seat, giving them space again, trusting them to work it out in their own way, and already filing away the conversation she intended to have with Omen when the evening finally quieted down.

Sergeant Omen Korda Veydran

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Omen didn't reply at first, focusing on the dishes like they were going to bounce right into their places in the cabinets. It was only after Korda and Aren both were through talking that the Clone let out a sigh and started to talk alittle. "No, its my fault. Guess I got too used to people not noticing or caring. Besides, we both know Mando aren't used to having actual heartfelt conversations" That part was true. Mandolarian's made their own language based on conquest, honor and killing. It wasn't made for comfort.

Trying to push the sneers and talking of Old Republic Officers down in his mind, Omen tried to past a smile on as he reacted to some of Aren's comments. "And don't even ask me how she does her cable managment for that whole lab downstairs. But from where I see chaos, she sees order in that unique head of hers. One of the reasons I love her, she sees things I could never see." And no he didn't complain when she held a flashlight in her mouth in their bedroom with her tools, trying to fix something that didn't need to be fixed. "I will admit though wanting to throw a pillow at her a time or two."

The ARC visually seemed to relax as he put away the dishes. He had been more angry at the thoughts of his head than Korda. Taking a breath, he gave a side glance in their directions, pretending they weren't play mindshrinker behind his back. "Are... you going to be staying here tonight or...?" Guess it would be good to know if he could get the spare bedroom ready.

Aren D'Shade Korda Veydran

 

[Korda Veydran]

Korda noticed it immediately.
Not the words, the smile.
It didn't quite reach Omen's eyes. It was the kind people used when they were trying to signal they were fine without actually feeling that way.
He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, giving Omen space even as he closed the distance. When he reached him, he set a broad hand on the clone's shoulder, solid, steady, not heavy.

"I've seen how they treated your brothers," Korda said quietly.
Not accusing. Not dramatic. Just stating fact.
His jaw tightened for half a second.

"Doesn't matter what banner they flew or what creed they preached. It was shameful. Even by Sith standards."
A beat.
"And that's saying something."

He gave Omen's shoulder a brief squeeze before letting his hand drop.
Then Omen mentioned the pillow.
That got a low chuckle out of Korda.

"Oh, I've been there," he said, shaking his head. "Rynar too. More than once."
He leaned back against the counter, arms folding loosely.
"Back when we were still living out of cheap motels and cargo flats, before the Citadel, Cupcake was still small."

He held up two fingers, indicating tiny.
"Rynar had just gotten that nexu from when I rescued him. Little furball thought everything was chewable."
Korda snorted softly.


"I wake up one morning to Cupcake gnawing on my boot like it owed her credits, while Rynar's halfway across the room rewiring a busted light panel with a flashlight in his mouth."
He shook his head.
"I nearly threw a flash detonator out of reflex."

A pause.
"…I settled for yelling instead."
His gaze slid back to Omen.

"So yeah. Pillow throwing urges are normal. Occupational hazard."
When Omen finally asked about staying the night, Korda straightened slightly, considering.
He glanced toward Aren first, instinctively.

Then back to Omen.
"I don't want to wear out my welcome," he said honestly. "So that's up to Aren."
He tipped his chin toward her.

"Head of the house and all."
Then, with a sideways grin:
"Pretty sure she's got bigger ones than you anyway."

Aimed squarely at Omen.
Beat.
"If I do stay," Korda added, rolling one shoulder, "I can just crash in the garage. That's where I left the Ashen Maw and my helmet. I've slept in worse places."

A faint shrug.
"Besides. Keeps me close to my gear. Old habits."
His expression softened again as he looked between them.


"Either way, appreciate the food. And the patience."
No bravado. No armor.
Just truth.

Aren D'Shade Sergeant Omen

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren did not answer immediately. She allowed the silence to settle between them after Korda's offer to sleep in the garage, letting the weight of his instinct speak louder than the words themselves. Her gaze remained steady on him, unreadable for a moment, as she considered not just what he had said but the reflex behind it, the habit of someone who had spent too many nights choosing discomfort over vulnerability.

When she finally spoke, her voice was calm, even, and shaped with a certainty that did not need to raise itself to be heard.

"If you stay," she said quietly, "you are not sleeping in the garage."

There was no edge in her tone, no hint of reprimand or scolding. It was simply the truth as she saw it, delivered with the same quiet conviction she used for things that mattered.

She tilted her head slightly as she studied him, taking in the tension in his shoulders, the way he held himself as though expecting to be told he had overstepped.

"I understand wanting to be near your gear," she continued, her voice steady and thoughtful. "I understand habit, and the comfort that comes from keeping everything within arm's reach." She paused for a heartbeat, letting the thought settle. "But this is not a forward post, and you do not have to treat it like one."

Her eyes flicked briefly toward the hallway where the spare room waited, warm and quiet behind a closed door, before returning to him with a softer focus.

"You are here," she said, her tone gentling, "because you were invited. Not because you needed shelter. Not because you had nowhere else to go."

A faint breath escaped her, something close to a restrained smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"And I do not invite people into my home only to let them freeze themselves out of reflex," she added, the words carrying a warmth she rarely showed openly.

She rose from her seat then, unhurried and without any attempt to impose her presence, stepping closer only to close the conversational distance between them. She did not crowd him or loom over him; she simply made it clear that she was speaking to him directly, without barriers.

"The spare room is open," she said, her tone practical but gentle. "It is quiet, it locks, and you will hear the doors if anything moves during the night."

She knew that mattered more to him than the softness of the bed or the warmth of the blankets.

"And your ship," she added, "will still be exactly where you left it in the morning."

A subtle shift entered her voice then, something lighter, almost wry.

"If it helps," she said, "Omen checks the perimeter twice before bed anyway."

It was not a joke, not really, but it carried none of the heaviness such a statement might have held in another context. It was simply a fact, offered with the ease of someone who knew her partner's habits well enough to trust them.

Her gaze softened as she looked at Korda again, the edges of her expression easing.

"You do not have to stand watch tonight," she said, the words offered gently, not as an order but as a choice she hoped he would take.

Then, as if the matter were already settled in her mind, she stepped back toward Omen's side, her hand brushing briefly against his arm in a gesture of quiet reassurance before falling away again.

"If you are staying," Aren finished, her voice low and certain, "then you stay properly."

No drama. No negotiation. Just the way she decided things when she cared.

Sergeant Omen Korda Veydran

 

[Korda Veydran]

Korda didn't answer right away.
He stood there for a moment, shoulders squared out of instinct, hands resting loosely near his belt. Aren's words settled over him in a way he hadn't expected. not like an order, not like charity. Just certainty. The kind that didn't ask permission.


His eyes softened first.
Not dramatically. Just enough that the constant edge in them eased.
Her tone pulled something loose in his chest.
It reminded him of his mother.

His mother's voice had carried that same quiet weight. The same refusal to let people punish themselves out of reflex. She'd been the only one who ever spoke to him like that back then, before the clan burned. not in sound, but in intent. The way Aren spoke carried that same quiet refusal to abandon someone to their own defenses. His mother had been the only one who fought for him when the clan decided he was too brutal. Too dangerous. Fourteen years old, already judged beyond redemption.

Everyone else had wanted him gone.
And when they made their choice anyway…
Korda had made his.
Fire had followed.

before fear replaced family. She'd gone back into the house for his father while Korda had stood outside begging for her not to go back for him. but as he had taken a step close to the house, a blast took them both and threw him.
She had stood between him and exile.


He didn't let any of that show.
Those memories stayed buried where they belonged.


Instead, he exhaled slowly and nodded once.
"…Alright," he said quietly. "Spare room."
No argument. No resistance.


Just acceptance.
"For what it's worth," he added after a moment, his voice low, genuine, "thank you."
He shifted his weight, rolling one shoulder.


"And... small correction," he continued, the faintest trace of dry humor creeping back in. "I don't actually have a ship."
He glanced sideways at Omen.
"Caught a ride planetside with a pilot who owed me credits. Had him fly low enough for me to jump. He took off after. I'll ping him when I'm ready to leave."


Like that was completely normal.
His gaze returned to Aren.
"So yeah. Grounded until further notice."


A slow breath left him.
"New environment might help with sleep," he admitted. "Iron Citadel's good at a lot of things. Rest isn't one of them."
Then he looked toward Omen.


"And I'll walk perimeter with you," Korda offered. "Two sets of eyes beat one."
He lifted one hand slightly in a half-shrug.
"Old habit."


There was a brief pause before he added, quieter:
"And… advance apology if I come up swinging or start talking in my sleep."
One corner of his mouth twitched.


"Night terrors don't exactly RSVP."
He glanced between them, massive frame settling just a little.
"But I'll try not to redecorate your hallway."

Aren D'Shade Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Omen knew better than to argue with Aren when she forced the issue of Korda staying. Besides, he didn't see a reason why Korda couldn't stay as long as he didn't start spraying rounds everywhere or knocking anything off the walls while he sleepwalked. "Well, tonight. our home is your home." Let's hope the bed would be better than whatever pallet of wood planks Korda usually slept on. "Just don't make my home your new OP."

A couple of minutes later, Omen was deciding if he wanted to ask if Korda wanted to just ride back with them as he started making the guest bed. Having a friend was a nice change, even when they were very... long-winded... Still, he knew Korda was trying, which was more than he could say for most people. And it was enough for him to appreciate the effort.

When Korda came in to inspect his new living quarters, Omen gave him a genuine smile as he presented the room with wide arms. "Is this good enough for you? I know it's not a tent where you lie down directly on a sharp rock, but hopefully it will be comfortable." And if Korda said no, the Clone actually might set a tent up outside out of sheer pettiness and frustration. It was amazing what losing a game could do to you.

Korda Veydran Aren D'Shade

 

[Korda Veydran]

Korda paused just inside the doorway, taking in the room the way he took in everything else. slow, deliberate, eyes tracing corners, vents, door hinges, sightlines. Old habits.

Then Omen made his comment about the bed.
A corner of Korda's mouth twitched.
"Hold on," he rumbled, stepping forward and pressing a hand lightly into the mattress like he expected it to bite back. He leaned down, checked under the frame with exaggerated seriousness, then straightened.

"…Alright. No obvious pressure plates. No trip lasers. I think we're clear."
He gave Omen a sideways look.
"But if this thing launches me into the ceiling at three in the morning, I'm blaming you."
Then he laughed, low and rough, the sound of someone who didn't do it often but meant it when he did, and reached out to clap Omen on the back with a solid, friendly thump.

"Thank you," Korda said, quieter now. Not ceremonial. Real. "Both of you."
He let his hand fall away and leaned against the doorframe, one shoulder settling into the wood like he finally remembered how walls were supposed to be used.

"It's been a while since anyone's welcomed me into their home like that," he admitted. "Usually I'm the armored stranger passing through. Or the problem people point at."

His gaze drifted briefly down the hallway, toward where Aren had gone, then back to Omen.
"You two don't do that," he added. "I noticed."
There was a short pause before he snorted softly.

"Don't be surprised if you come in here later and find me asleep sitting upright in the corner," he said. "Back against the wall. Old reflex."
He gestured vaguely toward the far corner of the room.
"Hard to unlearn."

Then, with a faint grin:
"And if I start muttering in Mando'a or reaching for a weapon that isn't there, feel free to throw a pillow at me. Seems to be the traditional method."
He straightened from the doorframe.

"Seriously though," Korda finished, meeting Omen's eyes. "I appreciate this. More than I'm gonna get poetic about."
A beat.
"…Also, your hospitality beats sharp rocks by a wide margin."

Sergeant Omen Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren had remained quiet while Korda spoke, listening not only to his words but to the way his tone shifted as he accepted her decision, to the subtle easing of his posture as something in him finally allowed himself to stop bracing for impact and simply exist in the space they were sharing. She watched the way Omen moved through the room with familiar ease as he prepared the bed, the quiet domestic rhythm grounding after everything that had been said, and when Korda finally stepped into the guest room to inspect it, she followed at an unhurried pace, reaching first for the small control panel near the doorway.

She adjusted the lighting with a few practiced motions, dimming it just enough to soften the space without leaving any corners in shadow, then turned back toward him, her expression calm and unreadable, as it often was when she was being most sincere.

"You don't need to apologize in advance for things you don't control," Aren said quietly, her voice even and steady. "If something happens, we will deal with it. No one here is fragile, and no one is looking for an excuse to send you away."

Her gaze held his without flinching, not challenging him, simply making it clear that she meant it.

"And you are not a problem waiting to happen," she added, not as reassurance but as fact.

At his comment about not having a ship, one corner of her mouth lifted almost imperceptibly.

"That explains several logistical gaps," she replied calmly.

When he offered to walk the perimeter with Omen, her eyes shifted briefly between them before returning to him.

"That's fine, as long as it doesn't turn into a watch rotation," she said. "Omen already knows the layout, and you're here to rest, not reinforce."

She moved a little closer to the doorway, resting one hand lightly against the frame.

"Sleeping somewhere unfamiliar is difficult for people who have spent years in hostile environments," Aren continued. "If you wake up, you don't need to pace, and you don't need to justify being alert. You are allowed to simply be awake."

She paused, letting that settle.

When Omen finished presenting the room with exaggerated pride, she watched with faint amusement.

"It's structurally sound, temperature stable, and free of exposed conduits," she said. "By my standards, that qualifies as comfortable."

Then she turned fully back to Korda.

"If you need anything during the night, whether that's water, blankets, noise dampeners, or privacy, you ask," Aren added. "There is no expectation attached to that."

After a moment, her tone lightened slightly.

"And no tents will be deployed inside my house," she said, glancing briefly at Omen. "Under any circumstances."

She lingered in the doorway for a moment longer, listening as Korda joked about pressure plates and pillows, catching the warmth beneath his humor and the way Omen's posture slowly loosened as the tension finally faded. When she spoke again, her voice was calm, dry, and unassuming.

"You're allowed to use the furniture for its intended purpose," Aren said. "It isn't reinforced for defensive positions, and the corners are inconvenient if you're trying to sleep without waking up sore."

Her gaze drifted briefly to the far corner, then back to him.

"And if you end up sitting upright all night, I'll still expect you to try the bed tomorrow," she added. "Consider it an experiment."

She leaned lightly against the opposite side of the doorframe, arms folding loosely.

"You're not an armored stranger here," Aren continued quietly. "You're a guest who was invited, who accepted the invitation, and who treated the space and the people in it with respect."

Her eyes held his.

"That's why this works."

At the mention of muttering in Mando'a and reaching for nonexistent weapons, one corner of her mouth lifted faintly.

"If that happens, Omen will handle the pillow," she said. "I'll handle anything breakable."

She glanced at Omen with subtle fondness.

"We have experience with late-night repairs."

Her attention returned to Korda, her voice softening just slightly.

"You don't have to perform gratitude here," Aren added. "You don't have to earn the right to stay. You already did that by being honest and by trying."

A brief, thoughtful pause followed.

"And for what it's worth," she finished evenly, "I'm glad you're here."

Then she stepped back, giving him space again, her posture relaxed and unguarded.

"Get some rest," Aren said quietly. "Tomorrow can wait. And we'll still be here in the morning."
Sergeant Omen Korda Veydran

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Omen smiled tiredly as Aren wished their new friend good night. Hopefully, Korda would be able to sleep better tonight. "And of course, you know where to find us if you need us. Sleep tight." And with that, he let the door close, leading Aren to their own bed. The Clone was confident he would be able to sleep through the night now with such a ferocious guard dog in the house.

As they both got in bed, Omen pulled Aren into his body like he had hundreds of times before. Maybe this affection was enough for a stay of execution from their needed talk. At least until tomorrow, when he might be sleeping on the couch after Aren pushed him out of their bed together. Then again, maybe this talk would benefit them in the long run. But right now, the only thing that could benefit him was sleep.

Before the ARC trooper turned off the light, his head leaned forward to peck Aren's lips one last time before they said goodnight. "Thanks for being welcoming. He's a handful and may put my blood pressure through the roof but he is honest at least. You don't see that quality in many people." The look in his eyes told her the Clone meant every word. But as they both drifted off, Omen wondered if he could make her hear his point-of-view during whatever this talk was going to be about. Well, the clone probably knew what it was going to be about, him being a naughty boy that Aren had to correct before Omen spun out of control.

Korda Veydran Aren D'Shade