Nar Shaddaa

Niall found himself once more before Cole's door. Last time, he had been there for medicine. This time, it was just to chat, and so he was dressed in his House Organa clothing, still blue and trim, but without the obvious military adornments. He reached out, pressing the door chime to announce himself.

Cole stepped out of the refresher, he was wearing a fresh uniform, running both hands through his hair. He was finding that time spent in the Red Light District left him feeling strangely grubby. "Enter."

The door slid open, and Niall stepped in, smiling. "Cole. Good afternoon. I thought I'd take you up on that offer to visit you made yesterday." He waited, standing by the still open door.

Despite having made the offer, the visit was still unexpected. He'd just been thinking about some lunch, but now his stomach was a knot. "Come on in, Captain. Would you like some coffee?"

"No, thank you." Niall shut the door behind him, taking another step or two into the room. His lips twitched at the word 'captain'. "How have you been since we last spoke? Have you put in your time at your clinic, today?"

"Take a seat," and Cole waved to the only chair as he got himself a coffee. "I just got back from the clinic, but I wouldn't call it mine." The older man looked tired, but not overtly so. He was squared away, cleanly shaven, though his uniform still had that vaguely slept-in appearance in the way it hung.

Niall eased himself into the indicated chair, as casually as he could manage. Meaning that while his posture was still straight and perfect, but at least his arms seemed relaxed.

"And how did you find it today? Productive, I hope?"

Cole moved to the desk and leaned against it. In opposition to the Captain, he was loose and slouching, like his joints needed tightening, even though he was the one in uniform. "Relax, Captain, you look like you're in a dentist chair. Are you sure I can't get you anything to drink?"

"Perhaps some water. I have to stay hydrated, after all." Niall's posture didn't noticably change, nor did his expression, the first stiff, the second blandly polite. Fetching a drink for him might help put the stiff Officer Ormont at ease, Niall thought.

Cole offers a small, reassuring smile, not quite the one he uses in the free clinic, but it was there. He sauntered over to fetch a glass of chilled water. "Word has been spreading. Don't know how I feel about that." He hands the water to the Captain, his expression isn't polite or bland, he has resting bitch face, and his eyes were hard.

"They've started lining up outside before I even got there."

"Oh?" Niall's eyebrows went up. "Well, that sounds like a good thing, mostly. It speaks well of your efforts."

His lips pressed together, just a little. "What are you doing for security?"

Cole pressed his lips together slightly, unconsciously mirroring Niall, "I don't like walking out there after two hours feeling like I haven't even put a dent in the numbers." He goes back to leaning on the desk, picking up his coffee and sipping it. "Ashla didn't make it today. But the people who have to live down there don't get bodyguards, why should I?"

He'd come here as a friend. And he wanted to be one. But Niall was a leader, through and through.

He clasped his hands in front of him. "Because members of the Republic military have orders to not go into the Red Light district alone." His voice took on a different tenor, rich with authority. "Because ever member of the delegation potentially has a target on them, both from the Sith, and from those who seek ransom or a weapon against the Republic. And, finally, because you have a responsibility to ensure that the resources that the Republic has poured into your training will not go to waste because your protection was insufficient to prevent some criminal from beating out your brains."

Niall pulled out his datapad. "I am assigning a soldier to you for your protection. Please see that you take them with you when you go to work in the clinic." His tone did not allow for contradiction.

Mentally, Niall sighed. This was a lesson he needed to learn. The friendly rapport between him and the Lieutenant seemed to be the most he could manage.

What the hell is this man's game?

Cole stiffened, straightened, pale eyes cold, "sir," he acknowledged through grit teeth. After a moment, "you asked me what someone was supposed to do with their gifts. With all due respect, sir, I can help these people, and it is my duty to so."

"Your first duty should be to the Republic that you gave your oath to." Niall kept the same tone, the same expression. "And I hope you continue to help them. That's good work, and worthy of your gift."

He sat back, just a tiny bit. "And, since that work will not be in the least hindered by the presence of a soldier charged with seeing to your safety, you shall bring one. Understood?"

Cole cursed his luck, he's the Group Commander. A younger version of the Group Commander.

He come to attention and snapped off a clean salute. "Sir, yes, sir." He looked the seated Captain up and down. "With all due respect, I'd ask if I was dismissed, sir; but these are my quarters."

Niall sighed. Slowly, he rose to his feet. "Yes, very good. I'll let you go about your business." It was only a few steps to the door.

He looked back over his shoulder. His expression was the same, but his grey eyes seemed a little larger than before. "I do admire the work you do, Officer Ormont. Very much. Please, keep it up."

A moment passed, and then he turned back to the door, pressing the button to open it. It slid open with a hiss.

I don't think this could have gone worse. But for all his intelligence, Cole could be incredibly stupid. Or perhaps just masochistic. What if something can still be salvaged? Salvaged like the half-destroyed husk of a soldier only barely clinging to life long enough to reach a kolto tank.

Maybe it was the look in Captain Organa's eyes, or the feeling that someone had filled his digestive tract with concrete, or some kind of futile, self-betraying hope; but Cole's shoulders slumped into their typical slouch and he spoke quietly, "Niall? Wait."

Niall turned back, his lips twitching in the way they sometimes did. "Yes, Cole?" He said.

He sucked his teeth for a moment, he hadn't planned that far ahead, or didn't expect the Captain to actually stay. "You didn't come here to dress me down over the clinic. And apart from today, I've had a Jedi who's more than qualified to play bodyguard if it suits her."

He sighs a little, reading him is like trying to read a datapad that's been switched off, "why don't we start over?"

"I would like that." Niall said. After a moment, he sighed, his gaze going distant. His expression seemed faintly sad. "But it's no use, Cole. Because even if we have a wonderful conversation together, at the end of it, I'm still going to want you to have a guard, and you're still going to resent me being able to order it."

He looked back at Cole with a wan smile. "This doesn't mean that we can't be friends of a sort. I have a very good relationship with some beneath me in rank. They confide in me, and I in them. But there's always a distance."

Cole allows his brow to furrow a little, he grit his teeth, just imagine you're talking to Ashla, "resent? Shit, Captain, I don't resent you. Ignorance is no excuse for not following orders, I should have known I was supposed to have a guard."

He'd spend so long trying to fit the mold the Group Commander had wanted for him, and Cole finds the effort of lowering his guard tiring. Why am I bothering? He says one thing, but he means another.

That response actually made Niall chuckle. "Well, okay then. Good." He shrugged, apparently loosening up a bit. After another moment, he hit the door control, and it slid shut once more.

"A Jedi is more than good enough for a guard anyway." He waved a hand. "Let's not talk about it any more. I don't suppose you thought any more about the question I asked you yesterday?"

The Captain's laugh made him self conscious. Cole sipped his coffee and considered hurling it at the wall in a sudden burst of frustration. He indicated to the chair again, "I have." His lips press together, wondering how to start, his ideas as loosely connected as his limbs.

"I don't believe I'm devoid of talent. Aptitude, a gift, whatever you call it. I'm not stupid," he couldn't bring himself to say he was smart or intelligent, "and I'm a good surgeon. I think I'm even a pretty good doctor in general."

He runs a hand through his curls, "the question of what I should do with it is easy: I should heal people. I like it, I'm good at it, it helps people."

Niall smiled, just a bit. "You are. I can attest to that."

He sighed, not unpleasantly. "And yes, that's good. Much the same as I've thought of it, in fact. Gifts are supposed to be used. More than that, I think. We have a responsibility to use them." This time, when he sighed, it was a bit rougher. "And that is why I do what I do."