New Normal

The chrono beside the bed read 0847 local time when Quinel opened his eyes. His neck protested immediately—sleeping in a chair hadn’t been his brightest idea. He straightened slowly, working the kinks out of his spine, and glanced over at the bed.

Tammea was still asleep. Her face was peaceful, soft pink skin no longer carrying that sickly purple tinge from yesterday. The credit chip gleamed against her collarbone, rising and falling with each steady breath. Ten hours. Maybe more. The first real sleep she’d had since Ghauba.

He stood carefully, making sure not to wake her. His boots were quiet against the apartment’s carpeted floor as he made his way to the door. One last look back—she hadn’t stirred. Good. She needed this.

The common area was empty, morning light filtering through the windows and casting everything in soft gold. Quinel moved to the small galley and stared at the limited supplies they’d picked up yesterday. Breakfast. He could handle breakfast. Probably.

Dez emerged from the secondary bedroom, photoreceptors glowing in the dimness. “The small organic still sleeps?”

“Yeah.” Quinel pulled out ingredients, examining them with mild suspicion. “Figured I’d make something before she wakes up. We’ve got a long day ahead.”

“I think it should be pointed out that your culinary skills remain… questionable.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“I am merely stating facts.” Dez settled into one of the chairs, watching as Quinel attempted to work the apartment’s cooking unit.

Quinel cracked a pikobi egg and dumped it into a pan. “I sent Garaath a message last night. Asked him to set something up for her at the ship.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” The egg sizzled, maybe a bit too hot. He adjusted the temperature. “Kid needs to know the Stray’s her home too. Really her home, not just… somewhere she’s staying.”

“You have become attached.”

“She’s crew.” Quinel flipped the egg. It broke. Of course it did. “Crew looks after each other.”

Dez’s optical sensors focused on him for a long moment. “Indeed.”

Twenty minutes later, Quinel had managed to produce something that vaguely resembled breakfast. Overcooked eggs, slightly burnt toast, some sliced meiloorun fruit that looked better than it probably tasted. He was arranging plates when he heard the bedroom door open.

Tammea appeared in the doorway, still wearing the same clothes from yesterday—wrinkled now, slept-in. Her purple hair hung loose around her shoulders, not yet braided. She looked… better. Calmer. Present in a way she hadn’t been since Ghauba.

“Good morning,” she said quietly.

“Morning, kid.” Quinel gestured to the table. “Made breakfast. Fair warning—it’s not going to win any awards.”

“I’m sure it’s fine.” She sat down, accepting the plate he offered. Her gaze lingered on the burnt edges of the toast, but she didn’t comment.

Dez’s photoreceptors swiveled between them. “I calculate a seventy-three percent probability that this meal will be classified as ‘barely edible.’”

“Nobody asked you.” Quinel sat across from Tammea, shoving a piece of toast in his mouth before Dez could make any more observations about his cooking.

“I am simply providing an accurate assessment.”

“You’re a pain in my ass, is what you are.”

“That is physically impossible, Captain. I lack the manipulators necessary to—”

“It’s a figure of speech, you oversized calculator with guns.”

Tammea’s lips twitched. Then she let out a small sound—not quite a laugh, but close. Quinel paused mid-bite. Dez’s optical sensors brightened slightly.

“Something amusing?” Dez asked.

“You two.” Tammea took a bite of eggs, her expression lightening just a fraction more. “You’re funny together.”

“Funny?” Quinel raised an eyebrow. “That’s one word for it.”

“I believe the correct term is ‘insufferable,’” Dez offered. “Though I am contractually obligated to tolerate his presence.”

“You don’t have a contract.”

“A verbal agreement, then. The terms were quite clear: you would provide maintenance and repairs, I would refrain from shooting you.”

“Still thinking about shooting me?”

“Daily.”

This time Tammea actually giggled. Not forced, not performative—genuine. The sound filled the room like sunlight breaking through clouds. Quinel felt something ease in his chest. This. This was what he’d been hoping for.

“See?” Quinel gestured with his fork. “You’re smiling. That’s progress.”

She ducked her head, but the smile remained. “The breakfast isn’t that bad, by the way.”

“Liar.”

“Okay, it’s a little burnt. But I appreciate the effort.”

They ate in comfortable quiet for a few minutes. Quinel noticed Tammea actually cleaned her plate—overcooked eggs and all. When she’d finished, she stood and started gathering dishes without being asked.

“I can get those,” Quinel said.

“I know. But I want to help.” She carried the plates to the small sink, already running water. “You cooked. I’ll clean.”

Quinel exchanged a glance with Dez. The droid’s optical sensors flickered in what might have been approval. They worked together, Tammea washing while Quinel dried, falling into an easy rhythm. When the last dish was put away, Quinel straightened and crossed his arms.

“So. We need to head to the ship soon. Garaath’s expecting us at the hangar.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “I’ve got something to show you when we get there.”

Tammea looked up, curiosity sparking in her eyes. “What kind of something?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“A good surprise or a bad surprise?”

“Definitely good. I mean I hope.” He smiled slightly. “You’ll see when we get there.”

Her expression shifted—interest, maybe even a hint of excitement, though she tried to hide it. “Can’t you just tell me now?”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“Quinel…”

“You’ll see. Promise.” He nodded toward her room. “Go get ready. We’ll head out in a few.”

She hesitated, then moved to the small pile of belongings in the common area—the bag with yesterday’s purchases, still unpacked. She pulled out one of the new outfits and disappeared into the bedroom. Quinel heard water running—the fresher, probably washing up.

Dez moved to stand beside him, optical sensors tracking the closed door.

“It appears that she is making progress,” the droid observed quietly.

“Yeah. I think she is.” Quinel glanced at the bag, now half-empty. “Still a long way to go, but… this is good.”

“You are attempting to provide stability.”

“Trying to keep my promise.” Quinel’s voice dropped. “Make sure she knows she’s got a place. Somewhere that’s hers.”

Dez’s optical sensors dimmed slightly. “You are aware that this makes you responsible for her long-term welfare.”

“I know.”

“And you accept this responsibility willingly?”

Quinel looked toward the bedroom door, thinking about the girl on the other side. The kid who’d lost everything. The kid he’d promised to protect, no matter what.

“Yeah,” he said. “I guess I do.”

“Then I will support your efforts.” Dez’s tone shifted, taking on that dry edge again. “Though I maintain serious reservations about your parenting qualifications.”

“Thanks. Really feeling the love here.”

“Droids do not experience love. We experience—”

“Operational parameters, I know. You’ve mentioned it.”

Tammea emerged a few minutes later wearing one of the new outfits from yesterday—dark pants and a blue tunic that brought out her eyes. Her purple hair was pulled back in those same twin braids she’d worn the day they met.

“Ready?” Quinel asked.

She nodded. “Ready.”

“Then let’s go.”

---

They walked through Cloud City’s main thoroughfare as morning traffic picked up around them. Speeders hummed past on the designated lanes while pedestrians moved between the gleaming platforms. The city looked different in daylight—less mysterious, more functional. Just another place people lived and worked. But still beautiful in its way, all that white architecture against the endless sky.

Tammea walked between Quinel and Dez, looking around with open curiosity. Not the manic, forced engagement from yesterday—this was genuine interest. She noticed things: the way light reflected off windows, the different species moving through the crowd, the distant sound of music from somewhere deeper in the city.

“It’s pretty here,” she said after a while.

“Yeah. Cloud City’s not bad.” Quinel kept his pace measured, giving her time to take it in. “Different from Ghauba.”

She was quiet for a moment. Then: “Everything’s different from Ghauba now.”

“I know, kid.”

They walked on. Quinel caught her looking at him a few times, like she wanted to ask something but couldn’t quite get the words out. Finally, as they turned down the corridor leading to the hangar district, she spoke up.

“What’s the surprise?”

“Still not telling.”

“Is it something for the ship?”

“Sort of.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the answer you’re getting.” He glanced down at her, smirking slightly. “Just be patient.”

“I’m not very good at patient.”

“I’ve noticed.”

Dez’s optical sensors brightened. “Her curiosity appears to be functioning within normal parameters.”

“Was that your way of saying I’m annoying?” Tammea asked.

“I would never suggest such a thing.”

“Yes, you would,” Quinel cut in.

“You are correct. I absolutely would.”

She laughed again—that same genuine sound from breakfast. Quinel felt something settle deeper in his chest. This was good. This was what she needed. What they both needed, maybe.

They reached the hangar district and made their way through the maze of docking bays. The Misfit Stray sat exactly where they’d left her, blue and purple hull gleaming under the overhead lights. Garaath stood near the boarding ramp, arms crossed, watching their approach with that knowing expression of his.

“About time,” the old Twi’lek called out. “Thought maybe you’d decided to move into that apartment permanently.”

“Not a chance.” Quinel clasped Garaath’s forearm in greeting. “Appreciate you handling everything.”

“Wasn’t much trouble.” Garaath’s gaze shifted to Tammea, expression softening. “How are you feeling today, little one?”

“Better,” Tammea said. She sounded like she meant it. “I got some sleep.”

“Good. You needed it.” He looked back at Quinel, one eyebrow raised. “Did you tell her yet?”

“No. Figured I’d just show her. Is everything set up like we talked about?”

“Just like you asked.” Garaath’s expression warmed slightly—approval mixed with something that looked like pride. “You did good, kid.”

“Thanks.” Quinel felt his face heat slightly. “I owe you big for this one.”

“You don’t owe me anything. Consider it a gift.” Garaath nodded toward the ship. “Now don’t keep her waiting. Take her in and show her already.”

Tammea was watching this exchange with growing curiosity, her gaze darting between the two of them. Quinel could see her trying to piece things together, figure out what they were talking about. He caught her eye and gestured toward the ramp.

“Come on. Let’s go inside.”

The ship’s systems were already powered up—basic life support humming, lights on, everything warm and ready. Tammea assumed that Garaath must have prepped her while they were finishing up at the apartment. She followed Quinel through the common area, then into the port-side corridor where the crew quarters were located.

She could feel his emotions clearly now—a mix of nervousness and hope, anticipation threaded through with something that felt like… warmth. Genuine care. It radiated from him like heat from a sun, steady and real.

He’d been feeling guilty yesterday. She’d picked up on it through the walls, through the haze of her own breakdown. But this morning was different. This felt… good. Like he wanted to share something with her.

They stopped at the old storage room—second door on the port side. Tammea’s breath caught. This was where she’d fled after watching Ghauba burn. Where she’d curled up behind the crates, trying to hold herself together while everything fell apart. Where Quinel had found her, held her while she cried herself out.

The door had been broken then. Wouldn’t close properly, wouldn’t lock. She’d noticed that even through the haze of grief.

Quinel reached out and touched the control panel. The door slid open smoothly—fixed now, she realized. He stepped back, gesturing for her to go ahead.

“Go on. Take a look.”

Tammea moved forward, curious, and stepped through the doorway.

Then stopped completely.

The storage room was gone. In its place was an actual quarters—small but real, with proper walls and a real door and… everything. A bed had been installed against one wall, made up with soft blankets in shades of blue and purple. A small desk sat in the corner with a chair, empty and waiting. Storage compartments lined another wall, ready to be filled. The overhead light cast everything in warm tones.

It was a room. A real room.

Her room.

“It’s yours,” Quinel said from behind her. His voice was quiet, almost uncertain. “Your quarters. We’ll get you whatever else you need to make it feel like home, but… this is your space now.”

Tammea couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. She just stared at the bed, at the blankets—blue and purple, the same colors she’d picked out for her clothes yesterday. The same colors as the ship that had saved her life. Her feet carried her forward without conscious thought, hand reaching out to touch the soft fabric of the quilt.

He’d done this. For her. Made this space. Set it aside.

“The bedding,” Quinel continued, sounding almost sheepish now. “I, uh… I noticed you seemed to like those colors yesterday when we were shopping. Figured you might want your room to match. Was that… okay?”

She turned to look at him, standing in the doorway, watching her with that same nervous hope she’d felt from him. Waiting to see if he’d done the right thing.

The furniture wasn’t fancy—sturdy but basic, the kind you could pick up at any station’s surplus shop. But it was hers. Picked out for her. Arranged for her. This wasn’t temporary. This wasn’t just him tolerating her presence on his ship.

“This is… mine?” Her voice came out barely above a whisper.

“Yeah, kid. It’s yours.” He leaned against the doorframe, trying to look casual but not quite managing it. “I told you last night. You’re crew now. Crew needs quarters.”

Not guest quarters. Not temporary space. Crew quarters.

Her quarters.

Tammea walked slowly around the small room, touching everything—the desk, the chair, the storage compartments. Everything was solid, real, permanent. Her fingers traced over the blue and purple quilt again, feeling the soft fabric, the warmth of the colors.

He’d thought about this. About what she would like. About making her feel… home.

The realization hit her like a physical thing, warm and overwhelming and so much more than she’d expected to feel this morning. Through their empathic connection, she could sense his emotions clearly now—genuine affection, determination, the fierce protectiveness that had kept her alive through Ghauba. And underneath it all, something that felt suspiciously like family.

He meant this. All of it. The room, the colors, the space. He wasn’t just keeping a promise to her mother. He actually wanted her here.

“Thank you.” The words felt inadequate, too small for what she was feeling. She turned to face him properly, and before she could think about it—before she could question whether it was appropriate or wanted—she crossed the space between them and wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug.

Quinel stiffened for just a second, clearly not expecting the gesture. Then his hand came up, patting her back awkwardly, like he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with an armful of emotional Zeltron child.

“You’re welcome, kid,” he said quietly. “You deserve to have a space that’s yours.”

She held on a little longer, feeling his steady heartbeat, the warmth of actual care. When she finally stepped back, she had to wipe at her eyes. Stupid tears. But good ones, this time. The kind that felt like hope instead of grief.

“Do you want to get settled in?” Quinel asked. “I need to finish up with Garaath, handle some last-minute stuff before we head out.”

She nodded. “Okay.”

“Take your time. I’ll send Dez in with anything else you need.” He nodded toward the small bag she’d set down by the door.

“Okay.” She watched him head forward toward the common area and boarding ramp, then turned to look at her room again. Her room. On the ship that was becoming her home.

The bag didn’t take long to unpack. A few outfits, some basic toiletries. The art supplies she barely remembered grabbing yesterday—everything had been so hazy through the sleep deprivation and empathic overload. Everything fit easily in the storage compartments. She arranged it carefully, making small decisions about where things should go. Little choices that felt important somehow.

The credit chip still hung around her neck, warm against her skin. She touched it gently, feeling the weight of it. Not insurance anymore. Not payment. Just… her mother’s love, carried close.

Footsteps in the corridor announced Dez’s arrival. The battle droid appeared in the doorway, carrying her few remaining items from the apartment.

“Your quarters are satisfactory?” Dez asked, setting the things down near the desk.

“They’re perfect.”

“Quinel was concerned you might find them inadequate.”

“No. They’re…” She looked around again, still trying to process it. “They’re really perfect.”

Dez’s optical sensors focused on her for a moment. “You have been designated as crew. This designation carries certain responsibilities and privileges. Quarters are standard for crew members.”

“I know. But it still feels…” She couldn’t quite find the words. “Special. That he did this.”

“The Captain is surprisingly competent at gestures of care, despite his general incompetence in most other areas.”

“That’s not very nice.”

“I am not programmed for niceness. I am programmed for accuracy.”

“Still not nice.”

“Noted.” Dez turned toward the door. “Garaath is waiting outside. Quinel requests your presence when you are ready.”

“I’ll be right there.”

The droid paused in the doorway. “For what it is worth… I calculate that you will find this arrangement acceptable in the long term.”

“Thanks, Dez.”

“You are welcome.” He stepped into the corridor, then added over his shoulder, “Though I predict a ninety-seven percent probability that he will continue making questionable decisions.”

She smiled despite herself. These two were definitely a pair.

---

Garaath was leaning against the landing strut when they emerged, deep in conversation with Quinel about something that looked serious. Both of them straightened slightly as she approached.

“There she is,” Garaath said warmly. “How do you like your new quarters?”

“I love them.” Tammea smiled—genuine and unprompted. “Thank you. For helping set everything up.”

“You should be thanking him.” Garaath nodded at Quinel. “It was his idea. I just made a few calls, arranged for the furniture to be moved in.”

“But you made it happen.” Tammea stepped forward and, without really thinking about it, hugged the old Twi’lek. He made a surprised sound, then carefully returned the embrace, his hand gentle on her back.

“You’re very welcome, little one,” he said quietly. When she stepped back, his expression had gone soft in a way that made him look younger somehow. “You take care of these two, alright? They need someone sensible keeping them out of trouble.”

“I’ll try.”

“That’s all anyone can ask.” He looked past her to Quinel. “We should finish talking business.”

“Right.” Quinel glanced at Tammea. “You good here for a minute?”

She nodded. “I’m fine.”

The two of them moved a short distance away, voices dropping to a low conversation. Tammea stayed near the ship with Dez, watching the way Garaath gestured, the way Quinel’s expression shifted from neutral to concerned to something that looked like anger.

“They are discussing recent developments,” Dez observed.

“What kind of developments?”

“The Empire has released official footage regarding the Ghauba incident.”

Tammea felt something cold settle in her stomach. “What did they say?”

“According to Garaath’s intelligence sources, the Empire is characterizing the event as a crackdown on insurrectionists harboring known terrorists. They have made no mention of your presence or the Stray’s involvement.”

“So… they’re not looking for me?”

“The likelihood appears low. The Empire achieved their objective—eliminating your parents and making an example of the colony. There has been no indication they are aware of your survival.”

She should have felt relieved. Should have felt something like hope. Instead, she just felt… numb. They’d killed everyone. Destroyed everything. And they were calling it a crackdown on insurrectionists. Like the people of Ghauba had been criminals. Like they’d deserved it.

“Tammea?” Dez’s optical sensors focused on her. “Are you experiencing distress?”

“I’m fine.” She wasn’t, but she didn’t want to talk about it. Not right now. Not when she’d finally started to feel something other than grief.

Quinel and Garaath finished their conversation and returned. Quinel’s expression was carefully neutral now, but she could feel the anger simmering underneath. He was furious—she could sense it clearly. But he was trying to hide it.

For her. So she wouldn’t have to think about it.

“Everything alright?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah, kid. Everything’s fine.” He forced a smile. “Garaath’s got a job lined up for us. Should be straightforward—transport run to earn some credits after all the repairs.”

“What kind of transport?”

“Specialty goods. Pickup on Nar Shaddaa.” Quinel’s tone was casual, but something in his posture was tense. “Client didn’t want to say where the delivery’s going until we pick up the cargo. Standard freight job. Should be simple enough.”

Garaath snorted softly. “I wouldn’t call Nar Shaddaa ‘nothing too exciting,’ kid. The Smuggler’s Moon has earned its reputation.” He looked at Quinel seriously. “Watch yourself there. Client seemed… off. Can’t put my finger on it, but something about the whole arrangement feels strange.”

“Off how?”

“Nervous. Eager to get this done quickly. Paying well enough, but…” Garaath shook his head. “Trust your instincts. If it feels wrong, walk away.”

“Noted.” Quinel’s jaw tightened slightly. “We’ll be careful.”

“See that you are.” Garaath turned to Tammea, crouching down so they were eye level. “And you—take care of yourself too. Don’t let these two get you into too much trouble.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“That a girl.” He straightened, looking at all three of them. “You’ve got a good crew here, kid. Unexpected, maybe. But good.”

“Yeah.” Quinel’s voice softened. “Yeah, we do.”

They said their goodbyes—Garaath pulling Quinel into a brief embrace and muttering something that made the younger man duck his head with embarrassment, Dez receiving a firm pat on the shoulder despite his protests that physical contact was unnecessary, Tammea getting another gentle hug and a reminder to stay safe.

“Don’t wait so long between visits, kid,” Garaath called as they headed up the ramp. “I’m not getting any younger, and I’d like to see you all again before I kick it.”

“We’ll be back,” Quinel promised. “Soon as we can.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

The ramp sealed behind them with a soft hiss. Tammea followed Quinel and Dez forward to the cockpit. Quinel settled into the pilot’s seat while Dez took the co-pilot position, both of them running through checklists with the kind of rhythm that came from years of partnership.

Tammea stood behind Quinel, close enough to see the controls but not in the way. He began walking her through the pre-flight sequence—power distribution, atmospheric seals, repulsor initialization, communications check. His voice was patient, explaining each step and why it mattered.

“Primary systems green,” Dez reported. “Life support nominal. Navigation computer online.”

“Hyperdrive?”

“Functioning within normal parameters. No anomalies detected.”

“Good.” Quinel tapped a few more controls. “Hey kid, see this readout here?”

She leaned closer, studying the display. “What is it?”

“Shield generator status. Shows you power levels, integrity, any damage or malfunctions. Always check this before departure—you don’t want to realize your shields are down when you’re already under fire.”

“That makes sense.” She watched as he demonstrated, pointing out the different indicators. “What about that one?”

“Sensor array. Tells you what’s around you, how far away, if it’s broadcasting a transponder code.” He glanced at her. “You’re picking this up fast.”

“I like ships.” She felt her cheeks warm slightly. “Back on Ghauba, there was this mechanic—Kybuss. He used to let me watch him work, answered all my questions. Taught me a lot about systems and how they fit together.”

Quinel’s expression shifted—something that looked like understanding mixed with sadness. “I knew Kybuss. He was a good guy. I’m sorry about what happened.”

“Me too.” She touched the console lightly, then looked up at him. “He always said I had a gift for it.” She hesitated, then pushed forward. “Could I… could I help? With the ship? Learn the systems properly? I want to pull my weight. Be useful.”

Quinel studied her for a moment, something warm projecting from him and crossing his face. “You want to learn the Stray?”

“If that’s okay. I don’t want to just be… cargo. Or someone you have to take care of. I want to be crew. Really crew.”

“Kid, you already are crew.” His voice was gentle but firm. “But yeah. I’ll teach you. We both will.” He glanced at Dez, who gave a slight nod of acknowledgment. “Between the two of us, we’ll make you into a proper spacer.”

Her smile was genuine, bright. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. Dez is a terrible teacher.”

“I am statistically more patient than you,” Dez observed dryly.

“You’re statistically more annoying than me.”

“That is factually incorrect.”

Tammea laughed—soft but real. Quinel completed the last few checks, pleased. “Alright, we’re good to go. Dez, signal flight control for departure clearance.”

“Transmitting.” Dez worked the comm panel. A moment later: “Clearance granted. We are authorized for immediate departure.”

“Alright, I think it’s time we get this show in the air.” Quinel’s hands moved across the controls, smooth and confident. “Tammea, watch how I do this part. This is how you coordinate repulsor lift with vectored thrust for vertical ascent.”

The ship rose smoothly, pulling away from the hangar deck. Tammea watched, fascinated, as Quinel maneuvered them through the docking area and out into Cloud City’s airspace. Other vessels moved around them—transports, private yachts, industrial haulers—all navigating the designated flight corridors with practiced precision.

“It’s really beautiful,” she said softly, looking out at the city dropping away below them. White structures and gleaming walkways, all of it perched in the clouds like something from a dream.

“Yeah.” Quinel guided them higher, breaking through the upper cloud layer. “It is.”

They climbed steadily, Cloud City falling away until it was just another bright spot against Bespin’s orange-and-white atmosphere. The ship’s frame creaked slightly as they transitioned from atmosphere to void, stars becoming visible through the viewport.

“We’re really doing this,” Tammea said, more to herself than anyone else. “Going on a job together?”

Quinel looked back at her and smiled—genuine warmth, no reservation. “We really are. You ready for it?”

“I think so.” She felt lighter somehow, like something heavy had been lifted away. She knew she wasn’t over everything that had happened since Ghauba—knew she would probably never be completely over it. But for the first time in three days, she felt like maybe, just maybe, things would be alright in the end.

“Good.” He turned his attention back to the controls. “Dez, coordinates locked?”

“Affirmative, Captain. Hyperspace calculations complete. Course to Nar Shaddaa confirmed.”

“Then let’s get out of here.” Quinel’s hand moved to the hyperdrive lever. “Alright, Nar Shaddaa, here we come.”

The lever pushed forward. Stars streaked and stretched, collapsing into that familiar blue tunnel. The Misfit Stray jumped to hyperspace, carrying two souls and one very opinionated droid forward into whatever the galaxy had waiting.

---