Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Remove the witch or we will.

The message is sprawled in red paint on the doors leading to Osha's apartments. A chilling warning, but not the first of its kind, and certainly not the last. Head held high and ignoring the whispers of the growing crowds on the street, Osha carries on through the doors, a mask of indifference hiding any signs of unease.

For five years, Osha has endured the nest of vipers that was The Senate. A place where the well-intentioned were far and few in between, and quickly suffocated in the coils of the cunning and merciless. It seemed those coils were now slowly encircling Osha, the shadow of their fangs a fatal promise.

She will not let them scare her. 

She is here for a reason.

Brendock had changed drastically since she was a child. No longer was it a planet only inhabited by her mother's coven, but now it was home to nearly a hundred different covens, witches from all over the galaxy seeking refuge there. It was those witches that she was here for. As Senator of Brendock, it was her duty to give them a voice and to fight for their protection. Many had fled persecution in their home worlds and had entrusted Osha with the battle to help them return home without fear. 

It was a task not everyone agreed with. Few trusted witches and their motives for joining The Republic. Many saw them as unnatural and dangerous, giving Osha more enemies than allies.

Even among the witches, there was opposition. Some thought it a waste of time, that The Republic had no real interest in the well-being of people like them. Others thought it a reckless endeavour; secrecy and discretion had always been their key to survival, their main line of defence, yet by becoming members of The Republic it put them in the spotlight, opening them up to scrutiny and jeopardising their secrets.

It didn't help that many did not think Osha was an appropriate representative. In many eyes—including her mother, Koril—she was not truly a witch. Not until she ascended and became an official member of a coven—a path Osha refused to take. As far as they were concerned, if she wasn't one of them, how could she speak for them? 

Osha locks the doors to her rooms and stands before the window, overlooking the city of Alderaan. It was said to be one of the most beautiful cities in the galaxy, and all Osha wants is to leave and never return.

She hates this place and The Senate's games; the tedious need to masquerade in pretty gowns and crowns, the aching loneliness despite being in a crowd of thousands, and the dauntless task of untangling the lies and truths spun from silver tongues. Everyone was looking out for themselves, ready to throw their friends to the loth-wolves to save their own skin. It was a place of treachery dressed up as a gleaming jewel of rightness. 

It was a place Osha didn't want to be.

And yet, this is where she must stay.

If her mother's vision had been right, then they would need all the protection they could get for what was to come.

"Osha, this is the third Jedi Knight who has left your service due to... personal disagreements."

Osha fidgets with the beadwork on her dress, unable to bring herself to look at the holoprojector sitting on her desk.

She knows the look on Mother Aniseya's face would be one of stern disappointment, a look she cannot bear to see. Osha may be a Senator for an entire planet, but there is nothing like that tone from her mother to make her feel like a scolded child who had been caught misbehaving.

It was all The Head of The Senate Guard's fault.

The mangy old snitch.

"That's not true," Osha counters. "Knight Ree fell ill. You can hardly blame me for that."

"Yes, I heard. He started having horrific nightmares foretelling his doom if he didn't leave The Senate immediately," Mother Aniseya drawls, her voice far too knowing for Osha to even attempt to push her innocence.

"Not a very good Jedi if he couldn't overcome his fears. And as for Knight Olanda, they had personal problems that had nothing to do with me."

"Yes, I heard that too. She had several bounties on her head, which was making her Jedi duties impossible to carry out. The Jedi Council are still investigating who placed them, but it seems they've hit a dead end," Mother Aniseya says pointedly. "Impressive, if not wasteful."

"And as for Knight Cora-"

Mother Aniseya holds up her hand. "Enough, Osha. You and I both know the real cause behind this series of unfortunate events. It stops now. The Head of The Senate Guard has informed me of the threats made against you, something you failed to do. Whether you like it or not, this means you require extra protection until it is deemed safe."

"Every senator has been threatened at some point or another, but they don't get private Jedi guards!"

"It isn't preferential treatment if that's what you're worried about. Most Senators have their own personal guard on top of The Senate Guard. As our planet is... more humble, they've offered to provide more protection. It is not an offer that should be rejected. Your safety is paramount."

Osha huffs in annoyance and crosses her arms.

"Is it the protection you take issue with or who is providing it?" Mother Aniseya is nothing if not perspective. "Osha, I know you are disappointed the Jedi did not accept you. I know it's hard to see them at The Senate and be reminded of that hurt, but you need to put your feelings aside and be reasonable."

Osha says nothing. Out of sight, her nails dig painfully into her palms. Her mother hasn't said anything wrong; she's right by all accounts, and yet it takes everything Osha has to keep her tears at bay, to stop the dam from crumbling.

It doesn't matter. They don't matter. This is your place now. The mantra is a weak lie that does nothing to ease her pain.

"They've assigned a new Jedi to you. His name is Master Qimir," Mother Aniseya informs her. "You'll accept him as your guard without complaint. I mean it, Osha. This is for your protection. No more plaguing minds with nightmares. No putting bounties on their head. No accidentally getting your Jedi involved in tavern brawls."

"I stand by that the tavern brawl had nothing to do with me."

Mother Aniseya narrows her eyes.

Osha is wise enough not to further push her luck. After Mother Aniseya ends the call, she sends Osha the details of her new Jedi guard.

"A Jedi Master, huh?" Osha mumbles, reading the information on the datapad. "In other words, someone who will be harder to get rid of."

I don't like that look on your face, Osha, Pip chirps, from his place on the desk. Do you really wanna tussle with a Jedi Master?

Osha smiles mischievously and winks at the little droid.

"Since when have I ever backed down from a challenge?"

From the balcony overlooking the landing bay, Osha waits impatiently for the first glimpse of her soon-to-be protector. Or opponent, as she preferred to call them. Pip is held in her hands, dangling over the balcony, allowing him a good look at those leaving the arriving ships.

Is he super late, or are we super early? Pip asks.

"We're super early, because he's going to be super early," Osha replies.

How do you know that?

"Know your enemy, Pip. I read his files. He's a very efficient Jedi. I don't want him arriving early and catching us off guard."

Pip beeps thoughtfully. I think you're looking too deeply into this.

It takes another half hour before a Jedi vessel matching Master Qimir's ship finally docks. During that time, Osha can't help but notice that the docking bay seems unusually busy for this time in the morning. The Thread thrums with everyone's excitement. Off-duty staff—handmaidens, guards, sanitation crew, secretaries and even a few senators—have gathered in not-as-subtle-as-they-think clusters about the landing bay and balconies. 

"I wonder who they're all waiting for?" Osha muses.

The answer to that question becomes apparent when the ramp to Master Qimir's vessel lowers. The chatter grows louder, the anticipation in the air thickening. Every group turns to watch as the Jedi emerges from the ship with a confident stride. From this high up, all Osha can tell is that he is dressed in the more formal, more embellished, white Jedi temple robes, the preferred attire for The Jedi when visiting The Senate. 

"Tell me they haven't been lurking all this time to catch a glimpse of him?" Osha asks in bewilderment. "What's so special about him to warrant all this fuss?"

He's a Jedi? Oh, what a waste of a pretty face! Pip mourns. 

"Behave, Pip," Osha chides. "He's not that attractive."

Liiiiiiiiies, Pip hisses. You don't have telescopic vision like I do! You can't see his face yet! But if you don't want him, I'll take him! He can guard me all night! So don't scare this one away!

"Sorry, Pip, but I don't need a babysitter," Osha scowls, rolling her eyes.

You might not want protection, but I do! 

"You have me to protect you."

An extra set of hands can't hurt. Especially his hands.

Before Osha can berate the little droid for his atrocious remark, he does the single most embarrassing thing he has ever done in the five years they've been together—an impressive feat in itself. He turns the volume of his speaker full and lets out a mortifyingly loud wolf whistle.

The chatter abruptly dies, many pausing their activities to glance up at the balcony, searching for the source of the loud whistle.

Osha throws herself to the floor, getting out of sight. Horrified and completely stunned, she stays perfectly still for a few moments, eyes closed, mouth agape, trying desperately to wrap her head around what has just happened.

She can't believe Pip just did that! No, wait, she can. The little droid was pathetically weak to a pair of pretty brown eyes—as was half The Senate, considering how many had come to ogle the man! If she had known she was dealing with a pretty boy, she would have left Pip locked away in a box where he couldn't cause trouble! 

Osha turns to lie on her back and brings Pip up to eye-level, a murderous scowl on her face. 

"You. Are going in the incinerator, Pip," Osha mutters darkly.

You just want to come between me and Master Qimir! Can't stand a little competition? 

"What competition? You're a glorified screwdriver-"

"You must be Senator Aniseya," a new voice interrupts.

Osha had never heard his voice before, but she knows that it's him, The Jedi Master assigned to watch over her, because of course, he would find her while she was sprawled on the ground, arguing with a droid. Did that mean he had seen her from all the way down there? How did he even get up here so fast? Did he think she had been the one to wolf whistle him?

Her cheeks burn, the embarrassment making her feel physically sick.

Meekly, and with a feeling of utter dread, Osha tilts her head back, finding Master Qimir looming over her, his arms crossed, an amused smirk tugging at his lips.

Now that she is this close to him, she can see why he had gathered such a crowd. She is detest to admit it, but Master Qimir is undeniably a very handsome man. Brown eyes so dark they are almost black, a disarming smile that could weaken even the strongest of knees, a well-maintained moustache, and dark wind-tussled hair. Perhaps she can't blame Pip for being quite so taken by him. Even her traitorous heart had skipped a beat. 

"Hello," Osha blurts out.

"Hello."

"Hi." Osha winces, realising what she had just said—as if this first meeting wasn't awkward enough already!

"Hi," Qimir drawls, even more amused now. He kneels beside her and offers her his hand. "Are you going to stay on the floor or do you need a hand?"

Feeling even more flustered by his proximity, and still having not recovered from the embarrassment of everything that had happened thus far, Osha feels her defensiveness flare. She scoffs, batting his hand away and rises to her feet with as much dignity as she can conjure. Not much, it would seem,  as the many layers of her dress had entangled around her limbs, making her ascent anything but graceful.

"I'm fine, thank you," Osha says, perhaps a little too waspishly to be considered polite. She can't bring herself to look at him and instead averts her attention to dusting off her dress. "You must be Master Qimir."

"I am. I'm sure you're already aware that I've been assigned to protect you, a task that I'll do to the best of my abilities." His voice turns shrewd. "No matter the interference."

"Interference?" Osha finally looks at him.

Qimir hums thoughtfully and clasps his hands behind his back. "It seems being your guard is a dangerous profession. Three knights in three months. That's concerning."

"Are you implying something?" Osha asks, her voice softening. It was an innocent enough tone, but anyone with any wits about them would hear the subtle warning.

Qimir leans forward, entering her space. Osha struggles not to shy away and break eye contact. Normally, she wouldn't flinch, but in her frazzled condition— her heart fluttering wildly in her chest and cheeks still warm from her earlier humiliations—it is not an easy task, especially not against a stare far more intense than she is accustomed to.

Qimir lowers his voice now, a challenging glint in his eyes. "Is there something to imply?"

"Not at all," Osha says tightly.

"Well, whether it be exceptionally bad luck or sabotage by outside forces-" The look Qimir gives her makes it very clear who he thinks those outside forces are, "-you can be assured that you won't be getting rid of me that easily."

Qimir takes a step back. A wise choice, considering he dares to give her a cheeky wink. 

"We'll see," Osha says, lifting her chin defiantly. 

Qimir gestures to the doorway. "Shall we get going? You have a meeting with Senator Danmask in half an hour, followed by tea with your mother, a holo-transmission audience with several petitioners from Brendock, and I believe your Pip droid is scheduled for a maintenance check in the evening."

If he expects her to be impressed that he has already memorised her schedule, he can be sorely disappointed. Her face is carefully blank.

Maintenance? Pip perks up, distressed. Why do I need maintenance? Whose doing it? Can Master Qim-

Osha quickly shoves the little droid into his pouch that is attached to her belt. He lets out a few muffled bleeps and screeches as she claps the pouch shut.

"You just arrived, surely you want time to settle in?" Osha asks, wanting rid of the man so she can have time to recover her senses. And punish her back-stabbing little droid. 

"Already eager to get rid of me?"

"No, I'm just looking out for your well-being."

Qimir hums thoughtfully, not sounding convinced. "I thank you for the concern, but I can get settled in later. I'm all yours for the day, Senator Aniseya." There is a mischievous look in his eyes that Osha doesn't care for at all—if anything, it rings every alarm bell in her body. "And the foreseeable future."

"Fantastic," Osha bites out. She begins walking away, not waiting to see if he is following. "Let's get going."

And get this nightmare of a day over with.

Chapter Text

Master Qimir is impossible to get rid of.

No matter how early Osha rises to discreetly leave her apartments before his arrival, she always finds him waiting outside. There is no losing him in the market crowds. No persuading him to retire early for the night. No tricking him that she plans to have a quiet day of rest at her apartment and therefore has no need of him that day.

It's like he can read her mind and knows she's trying to give him the slip.

Her previous tricks will be of no good to her with this one. She isn't confident enough in her abilities to discreetly meddle in a Jedi Master's dreams, not without detection. Her credits were still low from hiring bounty hunters to distract Knight Olanda, as well as keeping their silence. The possibility of getting Master Qimir involved in a tavern brawl is still on the table, but she isn't quite sure the patrons will be as eager to tangle with a Master Jedi as they were a less experienced Knight.

No, if she wants to get rid of this man, she will have to get creative.

"Leaving early again?" Qimir drawls.

Osha suppresses her smile. He is as predictable as clockwork; already waiting outside her apartment, ready to thwart her attempts to sneak out early and force him into a game of hide and seek—a game she enjoyed tormenting her previous Jedi guards with.

Qimir is leaning against the wall across from her door, arms crossed, looking unbearably smug. He thinks he has one-upped her again, but little did he know, he is exactly where she wants him.

"Actually, no. I wanted to ask if you would like to join me for breakfast?" Osha says softly, with what she hopes is an innocent smile full of nothing but inviting warmth.

Judging from the way Qimir narrows his eyes, despite the polite smile still present on his face, he isn't buying it. He knows she is up to something—clever man.

"And here I thought you wanted to get rid of me."

"I don't know where you got that idea from," Osha shrugs. "Now, are you coming in or are you going to let my food go to waste?"

For a moment, she thinks he'll decline, that gaze of his far too wary and calculative. Finally, he nods his head in agreement and pushes himself from the wall.

Osha leads him into her apartment and to the dining area. It was a small viewscreen alcove that overlooked the city and was decorated floor to ceiling with all kinds of flowers, shrubs and one miniature bunta tree that arched over the table, creating a curtain of golden leaves to enter the alcove. Morning's light bathed the flowers in a gentle golden glow, awakening the sleeping buds around them as they walk by.

"Where's your Pip droid?" Qimir asks.

"He's recharging in the bedroom."

A lie, for the little droid, was muted and locked away in a toolbox under her bed, where he could cause no trouble.

Qimir sits opposite Osha at the circular table, eyes scanning the meal before them. Unsure of what food he liked, she had prepared a rather generous selection; some miniature fruit wraps with whipped cream, a stack of blue milk pancakes, space waffles, a bowl of fruit and some Aldeeran sweet-bread toast with butter and jam, as well as a jug of freshly squeezed pink-orange juice.

Osha fills her plate, purposely taking one of each item on the table—a subtle assurance to him that they were all safe to eat, which they were. Even the juice was safe.

The inside of Qimir's glass, however, had been coated with a rather nasty concoction known as Fueth Brew; it was colourless, odourless, and only activated when coming into contact with citric acid. It was a mild poison that provoked nausea, vomiting, hindered sight, and produced a fever that would last two miserable weeks unless the antidote was given.

It would effectively put Master Qimir out of commission, giving her a merciful break from him.

Osha pours herself a glass of pink-orange juice and takes a sip from it, proving the drink was safe. She begins eating her food, fighting back a smirk as she watches Qimir's reflection pour the juice into his glass. He doesn't drink from it, not yet, instead beginning to fill up his plate with fruit wraps.

"Why the change of heart?" Qimir asks. He gives her a pointed look. "No need to play coy, we both know you have no desire for me to be within a hundred light-years of you."

"Not true, I'm thankful for your protection," Osha lies, keeping her voice even.

She sees him quirk an eyebrow and knows he is unimpressed by her feigned ignorance.

"But, if that were true—hypothetically speaking—maybe I've accepted that you're determined to stay, more so than the Jedi that came before you. If we're going to be working together, we might as well get along and make it more bearable for both of us. Wouldn't you agree?" Osha smiles pleasantly.

Qimir nods, but again, his smile is more knowing than agreeable.

They are two loth-wolves clad in sheep clothing circling the other, knowing full well what the other is but having no means to prove it. Wolf knows Wolf. Snake knows snake. Only lambs and mice are easily fooled by pretty guises and slippery words.

"I think any chances of us getting along will be hindered by your prejudice against The Jedi," Qimir remarks, taking a bite of his fruit wrap.

"I hold no ill will towards The Jedi. Your role as peacekeepers and advisors within The Republic is invaluable."

"Now, why don't I believe that?" Qimir drawls.

"You don't think The Jedi are valued members of The Republic? That's a bit harsh on yourself," Osha muses, enjoying the little side glare he gives her for purposely misinterpreting his words. 

"You have a politician's tongue, Senator Osha," Qimir says, his tone almost chiding. "Your diplomatic skills would have been useful had you been allowed to train as a Jedi."

Outside, the clouds roll in, darkening the sky and swallowing the golden sunlight beating down upon them. It is colder now, so cold a chill runs down Osha's spine.

Keeping her gaze firmly on her plate, Osha focuses on cutting her waffle into smaller chunks. The old ache in her heart, born of bitterness and hurt at rejection, flares painfully. Qimir's words were spoken so casually, as if they were a mere innocent observation, yet when she finally brings herself to meet his stare, she knows he spoke with the intent to wound.

He knows her past.

And isn't afraid to weaponize it.

"You've been doing your research," Osha says lightly. "Yes, I was tested to be a Jedi. But unlike other children, I was fortunate enough to be found when I was too old, so I got to stay with my family rather than be ripped away from them."

Osha raises her glass to her lips, taking a long sip. If he wants to play dirty, then she will play dirtier.

"I can't imagine what that must be like, being taken from your loved ones at such a young age," Osha muses pityingly. "To be denied family. To be denied love."

It is scarcely noticeable, but Qimir's knuckles whiten as he grips his glass tightly. There is something there. A kink in his impenetrable armour. A weakness to exploit if she can prod further. What tragic past did he hide behind that handsome face, that irksome smirk, and cool demeanour?

"If being a Jedi is such an awful fate, why do you mourn that such a path was lost to you?" Qimir asks, tilting his head.

"I don't," Osha's voice is weaker than she wants.

"Want to know what I think?"

"Not really, but I'm sure you're going to tell me anyway."

"You're hurting. And it isn't just because The Jedi rejected you. It's more than that," Qimir says. "It wasn't just The Jedi life you craved, it was the freedom you thought it would give you."

"Freedom?" Osha laughs. "From what? A loving family. A home. Being able to do what I want when I want. All things that are denied to you."

"A loving family and home that you travelled thousands of light-years to get away from? You love them dearly and they love you just as much, but you felt caged by their expectations, suffocated by their disappointment."

Osha's nails dig into her palms.

She tries not to think about Mother Koril's fury after she had run away the day of the ascension, refusing to go through with the ceremony. Countless arguments had followed, and ever since that day, her relationship with Mother Koril had been full of strife, her mother never accepting her decision.

Her relationship with her sister had taken the worst damage, their sisterly bond forever tainted. Mae saw Osha's refusal to join the coven as a rejection of their way of life, of their family, of their sisterhood. No words of protest could convince Mae otherwise, her hurt and sense of betrayal too deep.

The only one to respect her choice had been Mother Aniseya. Despite the strong opposition she faced from the coven, who had been a whirlpool of opinions and feelings on the topic, Mother Aniseya had stood firm and defended Osha. But even with this shoulder to lean on, Osha knew her mother was disappointed. Every time someone tried to persuade Osha to join the coven and she declined, Osha could see the disappointment and sadness in her mother's eyes—sometimes, it was more unbearable than Mother Koril's and Mae's anger.

"That's not true. I left to fight for their rights. For all witches' rights." Osha tries to keep her voice level, her emotions hidden, but she speaks too quickly, too sharply, to feign indifference.

"And as for being able to do what you want when you want—" Qimir carries on, ignoring her rebuttal, "—is that something you can do now? We both know everything you wear is nothing but an elaborate disguise. That you hide what you feel behind a cold mask of indifference and clever word games."

Osha glares at him, she can't help it. His words are sharpened blades, slicing her open, making her bleed.

And still, he is not finished.

"Your time and energy are reserved solely for your people. Every action you make has to be meticulously thought out so it doesn't have a negative outcome for them. You're under constant scrutiny. One scandal away from ruining your political career and everything you've worked for."

"You're wrong," Osha says quietly. 

"Becoming a Senator was an attempt to fly free, but instead, you flew from one cage to another."

"You know nothing about me, so stop pretending that you do!" Osha hisses.

"If I was wrong, you wouldn't be feeling this angry," Qimir points out, his voice still infuriatingly calm. 

"Stop reading my thoughts," Osha grits out. With a scoff, she adds, "And Jedi wonder why so many people are wary of them? How can they not be when you go about ripping people's secrets from their heads while claiming the moral high ground?"

"Moral high ground? That's rich, coming from the woman who has been tormenting Jedi trying to help her."

"I've done nothing wrong, it's your fellow Jedi who keep failing to do the simple task of guard duty." Osha tilts her head, her eyes hardening. Cruelly, she asks, "So tell me, Master Qimir, when The Jedi came to take you to the temple when you were a child, did your family fight for you? Or were they happy to see you gone?"

Something behind Osha shatters.

She jumps, quickly looking over her shoulder to see what the commotion is. One of her potted plants—a beautiful vanserv flower with bright pink and purple petals—had fallen from the shelf and broken, spilling soil and shards of clay pot across the floor.

Osha frowns, wondering what had caused it to fall over so suddenly. When she returns her attention to Qimir, he is taking a sip of his drink.

Osha reaches for her glass and takes a large gulp. She is too riled up to properly enjoy her victory. If anything, two weeks of suffering seemed to kind of a fate for this man after the audacity of his words.

"I think you should keep your thoughts to yourself, Master Qimir. As you like to remind me, you're here to protect me. Do not speak about things you know nothing about," Osha warns. She rises to her feet and gestures to the front door. "I think you should leave now. Guard outside the apartment if you want to, but for the next few hours, I'll be doing my work here, and I would rather be alone."

Slowly, Qimir rises to his feet. There is something assessing in his stare. "I don't think that's a good idea, Senator."

Osha huffs. She forcefully parts the dangling tree leaves and strides into the living area, heading towards the doors to her apartment. If she has to physically push him out the door, she will. 

"I think I've heard enough of what... you think," Osha pauses. 

A strange wave of dizziness overcomes her. Fumbling, Osha manages to grab onto a nearby couch to steady herself. She closes her eyes and takes in a deep, steadying breath. 

"Senator Osha, are you alright?" Qimir asks cautiously. 

"I'm... fine," Osha mumbles, raising one hand to her head. It is warm to the touch, sweat already forming. "I'm just... not feeling... well."

It dawns on her what has happened when Qimir stands before her. While she was feeling sicker by the second, he looked perfectly fine except for the concerned look on his face. If anyone should be feeling sick right now, it should be him, not her...

Not unless...

Oh no. Did I get the glasses mixed up? Have I poisoned myself? Osha panics.

"I'm not feeling well," Osha repeats. "I want to be left alone. Just... just go... I'll be... I'll be..."

Osha's words trail off, the world spinning too fast to focus on anything. Her legs are growing weaker. Her head is aching. Within one moment and the next, she is falling, her energy draining from her.

Strong arms capture her, and she has the vague feeling of being hoisted into the air. Someone sighs and then begins to speak. It is the last thing she hears before everything goes dark.

"What am I going to do with you, my troublesome little witch?"

Osha feels like a fool.

For the past three days, she has been confined to her apartment, unable to do anything but wallow at her own stupidity. She had been so careful to ensure she gave Qimir the poisoned glass, and yet, somehow, she had ended up drinking from it instead! With how sick she has been, she has been unable to go out and gather the various ingredients needed for an antidote, so she has been forced to endure the ill effects of her failed treachery.

With a sigh, Osha drags herself out of bed. Every muscle in her body screams in protest, and yhe dizziness returns, forcing her to steady herself against walls and furniture to make her way into the kitchen. She would rather stay in bed, but she needs to eat.

As Osha begins re-heating the soup she had forced herself to make the day before, the doors to her apartment slide open with a sharp bleep, indicating the lock code had been overridden by a security passcode.

Osha groans, knowing who it is even before she looks up.

For the past three days, Qimir has knocked at her door morning, noon and night, requesting entry to check up on her and offering to fetch her anything she needed. Each time, Osha refused to allow him in. She didn't want to see anyone while in this condition, especially not him.

But it seems Qimir was done letting her chase him away.

The Jedi strides into the kitchen, pausing mid-step when he catches sight of her.

If Osha wasn't already self-conscious around him, she certainly was now.

There were no elaborate gowns and carefully applied make-up to hide behind. No dazzling assortment of jewels and accessories to distract sharp eyes from seeking out weakness. It was just Osha in her sleepwear—simple shorts and a t-shirt—and a thick quilt wrapped around her shoulders to keep warm. Her movements were sluggish, her nose was runny, and her eyes were tired. To put it bluntly, she was a mess. An aching, sniffling, icky-feeling mess. 

And there he was in his beautifully tailored temple robes with not a hair out of place. Infuriatingly perfect as always.

It should have been you suffering right now, she thinks bitterly with a sniffle.

"Don't you know how to knock?" Osha grouches. Her throat feels as rough as sandpaper, causing every word to come out cracked and broken.

"Why aren't you in bed?" Qimir asks, a frown on his face.

"I need to eat," Osha mumbles, as if it should be obvious. 

"Surely you have a handmaiden or housekeeping staff to assist you?" 

Osha snorts. "No one wants to serve a witch. And no witch wants to serve The Republic."

"You're alone then?" 

"No, I have, Pip."

And that was all she needed.

They couldn't afford to waste money on extra help like handmaidens and housekeepers—her gowns weren't too complicated to put on, and she was more than happy to clean up after herself. Besides, her mothers had been against trusting too many outsiders if it was not necessary. And, although some witches would have volunteered to assist her, Osha didn't want to give Mother Koril or the coven a mouthpiece who would do nothing but try to convince her to ascend.

Qimir moves to stand behind Osha, one arm slipping around her waist, his hand grasping the spoon she was using to stir her soup. Gently, he tries to pry it from her grasp.

"I'll make this," Qimir says, his voice warm against her ear. "Go back to bed and rest before you collapse again."

Perhaps if she didn't feel like she was on the verge of death, she might have been scandalised by how closely he was pressed to her; there was an intimacy to this, the kind that would fill a smitten heart with giddy glee or even warm the cheeks of someone indifferent.

Rather than get flustered, Osha glowers at him over her shoulder and clutches onto her spoon for dear life. If she had the energy to spare, she would have whacked him across the head with it, since he seemed to want it so badly that he had forgotten his manners and encroached upon her personal space.

"I don't need your help," Osha growls. "Now release my spoon, Jedi."

Qimir sighs, looks away and shakes his head. Under his breath, he mutters something that sounds suspiciously like 'stubborn brat'. When his gaze returns to her, his face has hardened, and that familiar challenging glint is back in his eyes.

"We can do this the easy way," Qimir says with dangerous softness, "or the hard way."

Osha deepens her glare.

"Hard way it is then," Qimir confirms.

What he does next completely catches Osha off guard. He swoops down, grabs her by the waist, and then throws her over his shoulder!

Osha immediately begins to curse him and squirm in his grip.

"Are you serious? Put me down, Qimir! This is unprofessional and childish!" Her sore throat does nothing to convey her fury, each protest sounding like the scratchy screech of a disgruntled feline, rather than a ferocious roar. "Did you hear me? Put me down!"

Qimir ignores her and tosses her onto her bed. Before she can say another word, he throws her blankets over her and tucks her in, securing her tightly to the mattress. So tightly, in fact, that all she can do in her weakened state is wiggle futilely and glower.

Osha huffs, watching as Qimir retreats to the kitchen; on his way out, he unclips his cape and tosses it onto her vanity table chair. 

Great, that means he isn't planning on leaving anytime soon.

Osha struggles harder to free herself from the blankets, feeling very much like a grumpy caterpillar trapped in a cocoon.

After a rather long while, Qimir returns with a silver tray in his hands. He sets it on the bedside table and takes a seat on her bed. 

"If you even think about trying to spoon-feed me, I will bite off your hand," Osha warns.

Qimir smirks as he untucks her just enough so she can push herself into a sitting position. When he hands her the soup, Osha realises it isn't the same soup she had made yesterday; this one was an appetising green colour and smelled utterly divine, her mouth already watering.

"Did you make this?" Osha eyes it warily.

"Your soup had an... interesting taste, but I thought you might enjoy something a little different."

What a polite way of telling her he thought her soup was awful. It seems she wasn't the only one graced with a silver tongue.

The soup is, unfortunately, as good as it smelled. It takes far more willpower than she cares to admit to eat it at a respectable pace and not wolf down the whole bowl in one long slurp. As Osha eats, Qimir props his feet onto her bed and leans back against the headboard with his eyes closed and arms crossed—lucky for him, he had the sense to take his boots off beforehand.

Osha continues eating, every so often casting Qimir a wary glance.

Strangely, despite not wearing her armour and being reduced to such a miserable mess, sitting this close to Qimir while he rests and she eats doesn't feel uncomfortable. She had forgotten the simple pleasure of being in another's presence so casually, with no games to play or scripts to read.

Osha frowns.

But that wasn't what was happening here, was it? No, she was a Senator, he was a Jedi Master, and this was still The Senate's realm. Everything was a part of the game. And she would be a fool to let him trick her into thinking otherwise.

"It won't work, you know," Osha mutters. When Qimir opens one eye to look at her, she adds, "Your little scheme. If you think I'll fall for your nice guy act, then you're mistaken."

"It's not an act. I care," Qimir says quietly. His eyes bore into hers. "It's called compassion."

Osha looks away from him, unconvinced.

Outside of The Senate, she might have believed that, but here, every kindness had a price tag. Friendly smiles, adoring praise, flattery and good deeds were pretty baubles that hid sharpened hooks to capture the unsuspecting in nets of gratitude and obligation.

A violent coughing fit suddenly afflicts Osha, her whole body shaking as she splutters and  chokes. Qimir grabs the soup from her and puts it on the table, quickly fetching her some water from the kitchen. Osha takes it, grateful for the cool liquid soothing her throat.

"Alright, Osha. I think we've reached the end of this round," Qimir's voice brokers no arguments.

"I don't know what... you're talking... about," Osha says between coughs. 

"You still want to play this game? Fine." Qimir crosses his arms, his eyes darkening. "Let's say—hypothetically speaking—you were poisoned. Let's say you know what you've been poisoned with, but you're not strong enough to get the ingredients to cure yourself. What do you need?"

Osha looks at him sharply.

He can't know.

He can't possibly know.

"Or we can keep playing doctor and patient," Qimir shrugs.

"I wasn't-" Osha clears her throat. "I wasn't poisoned."

The last thing she needs is an investigation into an attempted poisoning. Even with her careful planning, there was always the chance they would figure out who the real intended target had been. 'Witch Senator attempts to poison the Jedi Master protecting her!' was not a headline she wanted caught up in.

"Senator Osha, this has gone on long enough. Now tell me what you need so I can-"

Bump... bump... bump...

Qimir frowns at the interruption. "What's that noise?"

"What noise?"

Bump. Bump. BUMP!

"That noise."

"Oh, it's Pip," Osha winces. "I haven't had the energy to get him out from under the bed."

"Why is he under the bed?"

"For misbehaving," Osha mutters darkly.

Qimir uses The Force to slide the box out from under the bed and levitates it into his waiting hand. He opens the latch and then takes Pip out.

The little droid moves his head up and down excitedly. 

"He's not usually this quiet," Qimir muses.

"He's not usually muted."

Qimir unmutes him.

Master Qimir! My hero! It's been far too long! And can I just say, you are looking particularly fetching today!

Osha rolls her eyes. "Should have kept him muted."

Pip's head swirls in her direction. He lets out a low whistle. You look worse than I thought! But hey, less competition.

"Thanks, Pip. You know how to make a girl feel special."

Since she's too proud to ask, she needs slànachaidh roots, rose petals, and ground-up baslin moss mixed with zobin Brew.

Osha glares at Pip, the little traitor.

"Thank you, Pip. I'm glad someone is being reasonable," Qimir says as he places Pip on Osha's bedside table. "I'll be back as soon as I can, once I find the ingredients. In the meantime, keep an eye on her for me, Pip. I don't trust her not to get up to any mischief while I'm not here."

"Can hardly cause any mischief in this state," Osha mumbles.

Qimir fastens his cloak around his neck and heads to the door. Before he leaves, he pauses and looks over his shoulder.

"By the way, did you know that Fueth Brew changes from colourless to green under heat? For example, the heat of a hand holding a glass for too long." Qimir smiles. "Someone ought to teach you that."

With that said, Qimir gives her a wink and then vanishes, the doors sliding shut behind him.

Osha stares at the door, her mouth gaping open as the pieces click into place. He had known. He had known the entire time what she had been up to during breakfast.

Which meant...

"He switched the glasses," Osha realises. "He switched the damn glasses on me! That's how I ended up poisoned!"

Osha, remember when I warned you NOT to tussle with a Jedi Master? Maybe you should heed the warning. 

"Maybe you should warn your precious Jedi not to tussle with me," Osha replies, narrowing her eyes.

Because from now on, it was war.