The Jedi Archives: Kit Fisto and Aayla Secura
Disclaimer: Star Wars © George Lucas. This chapter and all chapters henceforth are purely works of fiction, and I do not gain any monetary profit from this story. Unfortunately.
Chapter Summary: Kit is obsessed with Aayla's name… and is less-than-discreet and incredibly vocal about it. Aayla is annoyed.
A/N: My deepest thanks and gratitude to Minion of Sekhmet, who is my lovely beta, encouraging inspiration, and most wonderful friend. This is dedicated to you, my dear.
Chapter A: Aayla
Within the vast confines of the Temple Archives, the peace, broken occasionally by the shuffle of boots and the stray whisper of voices, was emphasised by the soft tapping of fingers against a datapad.
… And the not-so-soft voice of one Nautolan Jedi Master.
… Continually and incessantly voicing aloud a particular name.
… Adding improvised variations in a deep, ponderous tone.
… And inching steadily closer towards perilous danger.
"Aaaay-lllllarrr." A significant pause. "Ey-la. Aayla. Ey-a-la. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaay... –"
An irritated twitch of cerulean lekku. The rhythmic tapping ceased for a fleeting moment, before stubbornly plowing on.
"–… laaaaaaaa –"
"DAMNIT, Fisto, quit screwing around!"
The peace was broken. As were the varying degrees of concentration of several dozen Jedi Masters, Knights, Apprentices, and the odd Youngling scattered between the towering aisles of archived knowledge.
Aayla Secura mouthed a sheepish apology to a scowling Master before shoving her datapad into her utility pouch and dragging a bemused Kit Fisto – rather forcefully – by the arm into a shadowed corner of the archives.
"All right, Fisto, you'd better have a very good explanation for the broken-commlink imitation," the irate Twi'lek growled, jabbing a finger into his robed arm for good measure. "And I want it promptly within the next two minutes!"
"I like it."
Aayla paused, mouth open as she processed his – incredibly – brief explanation. "… pardon?"
"I like it," came the nonchalant response. "Your name; I like it."
A faint blush tinged the Rutian Twi'lek's cheeks as she floundered speechlessly for a brief moment before returning to her previously-agitated state. "Yes, well, there are other ways of expressing that."
"Hmm, really?" Kit tilted his head to one side, a pensive look adorning his face.
"Yes," Aayla stressed, emphasised by the irritated twitch of her lekku. "Just saying so, for example. A simple comment; a passing observation. There's no need to remind me of my name every two seconds!"
The Nautolan emitted a non-committal noise which may or may not have been an agreement. "I hadn't considered those options…" he frowned thoughtfully, his gaze – or his face, at least – turned upwards to the towering ceiling.
Aayla sighed explosively, rubbing her face with one hand, the other at her hip. "Please do so, then."
"Eh," the Nautolan shrugged, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "Those aren't so fun. Gotta run now; very busy schedule! May the Force be with you… Aayla," and he promptly fled from the archives, faster than a pouncing nexu and his mind ringing with the infuriated telepathic shout from Aayla.
He didn't stop running until he'd rounded enough corners, doubled-back several times at various intersecting corridors, and traversed a sufficient amount of distance from the archives. He slowed to a stop at the last intersection before his quarters, a few green tentacles falling over his shoulders as he peered cautiously around the corner…
"Ah! Master Fisto!"
The green sentient's head whipped around with an audible pop, and his supposed-assailant was forced to leap back suddenly to avoid being acquainted painfully with fourteen tentacles. Catching sight of the speaker, Kit was both relieved and suitably horrified. It wasn't an enraged Aayla… but it was a certain, highly-esteemed and stunned Cerean Jedi Master.
"Master Mundi! I apologise, I wasn't paying proper attention to my surroundings. Are you unharmed?" he winced, and inwardly vowed to never let Aayla catch wind of this incident; she would never let him forget it.
"Quite all right, Master Fisto. The past few weeks have been undeniably stressful, and yet we still have another Council meeting," Ki-Adi-Mundi sighed. "But… -"
"Council meeting?" Kit interrupted, sounding rather surprised… and slightly panicked, Mundi noted curiously.
"Yes, indeed. Our duties never seem to end, do they?" he chuckled.
"Right," Kit laughed, inwardly panicking.
He had meant to escape to the security of his quarters after his recent baiting of mortal danger, but now he had a Council meeting, where he was entirely exposed and vulnerable to a ruthless counter-attack… most likely by means of a humiliating prank, but where Aayla was concerned, her pranks were considered the ones to be the most likely to succeed in killing someone through embarrassment.
Granted, there would be several other Jedi Masters there, but Aayla was… Aayla. She could even be up in the Council chambers at that very moment, evilly cackling "fufufu…" as she prepared Force knew what for him…
"Are you alright, Master Fisto?" the Cerean inquired, his brow furrowed.
Kit Fisto heaved an internal sigh of relief, relaxing in his comfortable – and apparently un-tampered with – Council chair.
He'd been sitting rigidly in his seat for the past half hour, tense and ready to spring far, far away from the possibly dangerous chair-turned-Nautolan trap at the slightest twitch in the Force. His anxieties were seemingly disproved when nothing had happened at all since he'd sat down, albeit tentatively and with much apprehension, in his chair.
He'd been so distracted that he'd not paid any heed to the debriefing so far, and sat a little straighter in his chair – feeling a little twinge of guilt – when he belatedly realised that Master Unduli and Padawan Offee were leaving the room.
The doors to the Council chamber slid open, and when Kit saw who was next to be briefed by the council, all of his previous apprehension returned full force.
Aayla Secura stepped in, 'looked' at him, and smiled.