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After Faro had given the order to prepare the Chimaera for travel - the last time she would ever do so - her datapad pinged at her. Its faint chime didn’t send a spark of color through her mind, the tone not one signaling a variety of usual communications she received. Instead, it was a ping she had almost never heard, and thus, her mind had never assigned a color to it. Frowning, she pulled it out and stared down at the sender information.
Odd. It was gibberish.
“Excuse me, sir,” Faro said, looking up from the datapad to find Thrawn watching her. “What do you make of this?” She held the ‘pad out to him, leaving the message unopened. Stars knew what sort of untoward data program it could contain, should she unwittingly key something malicious.
Thrawn accepted the datapad and peered down at it, arching one brown thoughtfully as he examined the sender information.
“I believe it is safe to open,” he said simply, passing the datapad back to her. “Go ahead and see to it. We are well underway here and will wait until you return to the bridge to make the jump.”
Faro frowned again, but accepted the ‘pad with a nod. “Yes sir. I shouldn’t be long; call if you need me.”
Thrawn didn’t reply, merely offering her his usual, small smile, eyes twinkling slightly.
Faro wondered what had gotten into him as she turned and strode down the bridge, intending to head to her office. But as she opened the message, she realized exactly what was going on.
A single line of text, written in Sy Bysti, greeted her. <”If you are available, I would like to say goodbye.”>
Faro couldn’t stop the small smile rising to her lips as she quickly typed a reply to Admiral Ar’alani’s message. <”I’m headed to my office now.”>
Despite the tumult of the past few hours - the soaring elation at finding the Steadfast victorious, the simmering rage at Ronan’s betrayal, the sheer shock of being handed the 11th Fleet - Faro hadn’t missed the fact that she and Ar’alani hadn’t had a private moment alone since Ar’alani returned the Defenders to the Chimaera . Faro had known they might not be afforded one, but that didn’t stop the quiet pang of sadness that ran through her as she watched Pik escort Ar’alani off the bridge.
At least, she was pretty sure it was Pik, and not Waffle. It was even harder to spot the rank designations on the black Deathtrooper armor than it was on the usual white Stormtrooper armor, but Faro had a feeling that if it had been Pik escorting Ronan to his shuttle, the useless assistant director wouldn’t have made it to the hangar in one piece. She had heard the two troopers griping about their mission to Aloxor, and knew that the only thing protecting Ronan from being dumped out an airlock was their fierce loyalty to Thrawn.
Scowling, she pushed the thought of Ronan out of her mind as she entered her office. But having done so, she realized she was left with an uncomfortable twinge of uncertainty. What would she say to Ar’alani? She was glad the admiral was alive, certainly, but what else would she tell her? That every time she thought back to their shared kisses last night, her knees went weak? That she had never met anyone like her, and didn’t know how to handle the swirl of emotions tangling in her gut right now? That she almost wished she and Vanto could trade places, that she would get to serve at Ar’alani’s side in the Ascendancy?
No. The Empire needed her. Duty came first - it always had, and it always would.
Faro still hadn’t made up her mind when the door chimed, and she stepped forward to allow Ar’alani to enter.
“Admiral, I’m glad--” Faro cut herself off as Ar’alani stormed in, her expression thunderous. Faro watched as the Chiss brushed past her, arms clasped behind her back and striding into the office with hardly a glance at her. “What’s wrong?”
Ar’alani whirled to face her, eyes blazing, and Faro almost shrank back at the sheer rage in her expression. But after a moment, Ar’alani’s gaze softened, and her anger seemed to lower from a roiling boil to a soft simmer.
“Ronan,” Ar’alani hissed through clenched teeth, turning again to begin pacing agitatedly in front of Faro’s desk.
“What?” Faro asked, confused.
“Assistant Director Brierly Ronan.” Ar’alani stopped in front of Faro’s desk, looking down at the zillo beast, still poised with claws and jaw open, ready to strike. “Thrawn has sent him with us.”
“What?” Faro breathed, not daring to believe it. How could Thrawn do that? The man was useless, stupid, xenophobic and rude and--
“Grand Admiral Mitth’raw’nuruodo has some grand plan for the man,” Ar’alani bit out, beginning her pacing again. “Of course he does. Plotting away without consulting me, without regard for my own ship and crew, and of course the bastard is right but that doesn’t make this any less-- less--”
“Terrible,” Faro said, stepping forward and finishing Ar’alani’s statement for her. Her own earlier rage, dissipated by the shock of Thrawn informing her of her promotion, came back to a boil. She cut in front of Ar’alani’s pacing, placing her hands down on the desk to steady herself, to stop herself from snatching up the zillo beast and hurling it into the wall. After all the krayt spit the man had pulled, Thrawn decided Ronan got to be the one who left with Ar’alani? Ronan was worthy of sending to the Chiss? Ronan was the person Ar’alani was to interact with every day, and not her?
No, Faro thought to herself. Stop that. You’re needed here.
Faro closed her eyes and willed herself to take a deep breath. Pausing, counting out the exhale, she turned to face Ar’alani to find the Chiss watching her closely.
“Why exactly has Thrawn done this?” Faro asked, her voice studiously neutral.
“He believes Ronan may be useful in providing misinformation to the Grysks, should the need arise,” Ar’alani bit out. She crossed to stand next to Faro, and plucked the zillo beast from the desk, apparently wanting something to keep her fingers busy.
“He’s certainly good at that,” Faro said bitterly, watching as Ar’alani twisted and pulled at the beasts tail.
“No doubt,” Ar’alani said, suddenly setting the beast down with a small thunk and turning to begin her pacing again. Faro watched her, sensing the admiral had more to say. After a moment, Ar’alani stopped and again whirled to face her.
“He dares board my ship, and insults my crew, and makes demands of me even before your Deathtrooper was gone!” Ar’alani hadn’t raised her voice, but Faro could practically feel the anger rolling off the other woman in hot, fierce waves.
“What did he say?” Faro asked, eyes narrowing.
Ar’alani shook her head. “It does not matter. He thinks I cannot understand Basic, and did not intend for me to hear him.”
Faro didn’t know Ar’alani could understand Basic either, but that wasn’t important at the moment. “What did he say?” Faro repeated, willing her voice to remain calm.
Ar’alani met her narrowed gaze and matched her scowl. “At first, upon seeing Navigator Mi’yaric in the cockpit, he insulted her and her abilities. Vanto explained that as it now stands, Navigator Mi’yaric holds a higher rank than him, and that he should be careful not to express such negative sentiments regarding my navigators in front of me.” Ar’alani drew a careful breath. “He then said that he was a colonel, and if I didn’t learn how to show him some proper respect, he would send my ‘wretched blue hide to the Emperor in a Coruscant second’.”
Faro felt her eyes widen in shock, then narrow again as a thin veil of red fell across her vision. “Are you in the port side or starboard hangar bay?” She asked quietly, turning for the door.
“Port side,” Ar’alani said, making to follow her. “Why?”
“You should stay here.” Faro said over her shoulder, ignoring the question as she keyed the door and stepped out into the corridor.
“No.” Ar’alani said simply, following Faro out the door. Faro turned to her as they strode to the turbolifts, arching a brow in challenge, and to her surprise, Ar’alani chuckled.
“I’ll be sure to stay out of your way.”
Faro gave a snort and didn’t reply, turning forward again as they entered the turbolift.
The ride down to the hangar was a lengthy one, and through her simmering anger, an important thought occurred to Faro.
“I would like to kiss you again,” she said bluntly, turning to face Ar’alani as the lift descended through the bowels of the ship. “But I don’t know if I will have a chance to, after I… speak, with the assistant director.”
Ar’alani didn’t hesitate, stepping forward and pulling Faro to her in a fierce embrace. Their lips crashed together, almost frantic, and Faro found herself pressed into the wall of the lift as Ar’alani kissed her like her life depended on it. She felt her cap get knocked askew as Ar’alani roughly brought a hand to her hair, and felt the sharp prod of the admiral’s belt buckle against her belly, but she didn’t care. Ar’alani’s lips were on hers, and she could hear her blood pounding in her ears, emotions tumbling in her head, angry and elated and sad at all once, and she vowed to herself that if Ronan ever did anything to hurt this beautiful, amazing woman now pressed up against her, it would be the last thing he ever did.
“It is a risk I do not wish to take,” Ar’alani said, breaking the kiss and pulling away as the lift began to slow. She reached up to gently readjust Faro’s cap. “Though I hope this is not our last time together.”
Faro smiled, standing on tip-toes to steal one last kiss before the doors opened. “Your shuttle is technically not under the Empire’s jurisdiction,” she said, grinning wickedly. “As long as Ronan stays aboard, I might be able to get off scott-free.”
“For the record, I should encourage you not to engage in any action that may imperil your career,” Ar’alani said, following Faro out of the lift and into the hangar bay. “But I have a feeling you would not listen to me.”
“You’re right about that, Admiral. Permission to board your shuttle?” Faro said, striding towards the sleek Chiss ship.
“Granted.” Ar’alani stepped to the side, gesturing for Faro to precede her up the boarding ramp.
“Thank you.” Faro gave her a quick nod, then made her way up the ramp into the ship. As she entered the sleek, foreign space, the sounds of a shouting match greeted her.
“... I will not stand for this sort of treatment!” She heard Ronan bellow as she entered the main sitting area. Faro found Ronan standing at a small table in the center of the area, red in the face and his chair flat on the floor behind him, apparently knocked over from the fury of his tantrum. Vanto sat across from him, shoulders slumped and head in his hands.
“And I’m telling you, you don’t get to make those kinds of demands!” Eli said without looking up, voice muffled and carrying the tone one might use when speaking to a cranky toddler.
“I don’t--!”
“Lieutenant Commander Vanto,” Faro said, announcing her presence. “Ronan.” She felt a thrill of satisfaction run through her at omitting his now-defunct honorific.
Vanto looked up as Ronan swirled to face her, his ridiculous cape fluttering behind him.
“And what do you want?” Ronan spat, eyeing her with disdain. “Here to deliver a message from your precious grand admiral?”
“No,” Faro said, striding across the sitting area purposefully to him, stopping less than a meter away. “I’m here to deliver a message of my own.”
And she punched him squarely in the nose.
“Commodore!” Vanto cried, making to rise from his chair, stopping mid-way through the action at a barked Cheunh command from Ar’alani as Ronan made a sound like an offended tooka and collapsed on the deck. Faro crouched down in front of the man and grabbed his tunic with both fists, hoisting him upright and ignoring his cry of protest. His nose was clearly broken, bleeding freely onto his once-pristine white tunic.
“Let me--!”
“Shut up.” Faro said, cutting Ronan off. She took a moment to stare down at him, eyes hard, taking in the sorry sight beneath her. Hair mussed, nose a mess, eyes full of fear.
Good.
“Now you listen to me,” Faro said, voice low and deadly. “You aren’t part of the Empire anymore. You have no status. You aren’t an assistant director, and you aren’t a colonel - not like you even earned that rank in the first place. The only reason you are being allowed to join the Ascendancy is because Thrawn thinks Admiral Ar’alani has some use for you. She holds your life in her hands. If she decides you aren’t actually useful, or if anything happens to her…” Faro paused, leaning even closer to the terrified man. “You will be less than nothing.”
Faro heard Ar’alani’s soft footsteps behind her, and knew the admiral was staring down at them. Faro paused, then gave Ronan a grim smile.
“If you turn her over to the Emperor, I will kill you.” Faro growled. “Got it?”
Ronan didn’t move, eyes flicking to Faro then over her shoulder to Ar’alani. Faro gave him a little shake, and he whimpered and nodded.
Not good enough. “I said, got it?” She needed to hear him say it.
“Got it!” Ronan squeaked, and Faro released him. He slumped onto the deck, one hand going to his nose as he scuttled away from her.
“Good.” Faro stood up, and turned to face Ar’alani, but stopped as she heard Ronan scoff behind her.
“Typical Navy officer,” Ronan muttered, and Faro looked back at him to find him sneering at her behind his bloodied hand as he slumped against the bulkhead. “Resorting to violence and bullying.”
“Excuse me?” Faro asked, incredulous, making to step towards him again but stopping as Ar’alani laid a warning hand on her shoulder. “Violence? You think this is violence?” She gestured to Ronan’s bloody nose, raising her own fist to display her split knuckle.
“Have you not been paying attention?” Faro continued, lowering her fist and clenching it at her side. Images of destroyed ships, the dead screechers, a nightmare she’d had the night before of Ar’alani’s lifeless body floating limp and bloodied amongst the stars, floated to her mind’s eye. “This is war, Ronan. This isn’t a game, or politics. When I say Ar’alani holds your life in her hands, I’m not talking about what you do in your free time or the mediocre trajectory of your worthless career. I’m talking about the blood that’s staining your tunic.”
Ronan’s eyes widened, and Faro continued, relishing the taste of the words she had longed to say when the man threw the Defenders to the wolves. “Your precious project Stardust is a weapon of war. The Defenders are a weapon of war. The actions of the Imperial Navy and the Chiss Defense Fleet are actions taken in a war against the Grysks. Of course this is violence. We are at war.” She raised her clenched fist again. “And if it takes a broken nose to make you understand that, then I will pay Vanto to deck you every single day until you do.”
Faro stared down at him, waiting for a petulant, entitled reply. But none came.
Faro turned to Vanto, offering him a wry smile. “Let me know if I end up owing you any credits, Lieutenant Commander.”
Vanto snorted. “Sure thing, Commodore.” His eyes flicked to Ar’alani, then to Ronan. “Come on,” he said, standing up and crossing to the fallen man. “We got a medpack in the ‘fresher. I’ll patch you up best I can, and they can set it on the Steadfast. ”
Ronan hesitated a moment before he grabbed Vanto’s outstretched hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. Wordlessly, Vanto led him around the table and out of the sitting area, leaving Faro and Ar’alani alone.
“Sorry,” Faro muttered, stooping to right the fallen chair and sinking into it. Now that the confrontation was over, she found herself shaky. Wincing, she examined her split knuckle. The wound wasn’t deep, but the bruise would be sure to linger.
“What will you tell your medical officer?” Ar'alani asked quietly, sitting in the chair next to her and gently grabbing her hand to examine it.
“I’ll patch it up in my office,” Faro said, finding the Chiss’s cool touch on the angry skin soothing. “That way I won’t have to think up a lie.”
Ar’alani smiled and gave her back her hand. “You know, this was not why I wished to see you before we left,” she said softly. “I overheard him on my way out of the shuttle. I apologize for not being able to control my anger.”
Faro snorted. “Don’t apologize. You gave me the chance to do what I’ve been wanting to do since he gave his report.”
“You feel so strongly about the Defenders?”
Faro shrugged. “Yes, and no. It bothers me when bureaucrats interfere with military matters. They forget that their actions have actual consequences… It’s not just politics out here.” Faro turned her gaze to Ar’alani’s, meeting those beautiful glowing eyes. “It’s lives.”
Ar’alani nodded in understanding. “My life.”
“Yes.”
They sat there in silence for a moment, watching each other, when Faro’s datapad pinged from her pocket. The tone told her it was a message from Thrawn, and Faro sighed. If it was urgent, he would have called directly. But she needed to return to the bridge regardless.
“The Chimaera needs to get under way,” Faro said, rising from her seat. Ar’alani mirrored her.
“As do I,” Ar’alani said. Neither woman made to turn to the door.
“Will I see you again?” Faro asked after a moment.
Ar’alani gave her a small smile. “Perhaps.”
Faro tried to smile back, but couldn’t seem to make her face cooperate. “I… I just want to say--”
“I know.” Ar’alani said, interrupting her and taking her hand. She gestured to the sitting area, and what had just transpired, with the other. “I know.”
When they kissed, it didn’t have the same frenetic passion of their rushed coupling in the elevator. Instead, it had more of a quiet burning - a longing, not just for each other in that moment, but for more moments in the future. A hope, and a promise. Faro was aware this could be the last time the saw each other, because that’s what so often happened in war, and she did her best to commit to memory how the kiss felt. Ar’alani’s hand on the back of her neck, her other clutching her waist, the cool feel of her lips contrasting her warm breath. The odd feeling of calmness that she felt in her soul, and how right this felt, despite the decidedly chaotic circumstances.
She didn’t know how long they stood there, holding each other close and savoring their last moments, before they were interrupted by a soft cough from the aft door.
“He’s all tucked away, Admiral,” Vanto said, beet red and clearly embarrassed. “Ready to go when you are.”
“Proceed to the cockpit. I will join you shortly.” Ar’alani said, stepping away from Faro but still trailing a hand on her waist.
“Yes ma’am.” Vanto hurried away, and Ar’alani turned back to Faro.
“Thrawn gave me a code to use to contact you, if you are comfortable with communicating with me,” she said carefully. “You would not be able to originate any communications, but each individual message could be replied to.” Faro could see the wariness, and not a small amount of chagrin in her eyes. Sending encrypted messages to an unknown alien military commander could be seen as treasonous, and Faro understood Ar’alani was giving her an out if she wanted it. Ar’alani knew of her loyalty to the Empire, and despite her feelings for Faro, didn’t want to impinge on that.
Faro smiled. “Absolutely.”
Ar’alani smiled back, relief washing over her sharp features. “Then I will be in touch.” She gave Faro’s hand a little squeeze. “May warrior’s fortune be with you, Commodore Faro.”
Faro remembered their parting words last night - how worried they were for their respective battles, and how that had been their last words to each other.
And how it all turned out alright today.
She leaned forward, tip-toeing to kiss Ar’alani on the cheek. “And may it also be with you.”
~~~
Some weeks later, when Faro was neck-deep in reports and datawork at her new desk on her new Star Destroyer, her datapad pinged at her. It’s tone sent no flash of color through her mind, and she smiled to herself before she pulled it out to examine the nonsense sender information. She wondered, hoping that if Ar’alani kept up her correspondence, what color that tone would take on in the future.