Work Text:
It isn’t often the pilots have free time at the same moment. Everyone on base holds multiple jobs and duties and responsibilities. Tonight is the first time in months a large number of the pilots get to come together for a drink. One drink turned into two. Then three. Some pilots chose to stop there, others continued on, as everyone had varying tolerances or mixed their proportions differently.
Unlike the fighters, the pilots aren’t really rowdy drinkers. It’s been quite calm, everyone sharing stories of different ships they’ve flown.
There’s one pilot who used to be a royal flier for the court of Naboo. Another who was a chauffeur on the upper levels of coruscant. There’s a married couple who met during the clone wars. Hera listens in awe with the other pilots, everyone having such different stories, different pasts. There’s so much behind the different ships everyone has flown. Hera smiles to herself, feeling a piece of her childhood patch itself. The number of times she’s only ever dreamt of this. Being a pilot, swapping stories with her peers.
A bothan pilot and engineer gives a theatrical retelling of the time they built their own ship to escape off a moon and slip past an imperial blockade. They enthusiastically explain how the scrap pieces held itself together until the moment they landed in a forest. Where it promptly fell apart. They laugh about how, by the laws of physics, it shouldn’t have even been able to lift off the ground, let alone survive a dog fight with some TIEs.
Hera awes in sync with some of the other pilots at the story.
She isn't sure if it's the starliquor heating her body or the thrill of the memory, but a mischievous smile crosses her lips. "I have another one."
The other slightly tipsy or drunk pilots turn to the general in curiosity, always eager to hear her musings and stories.
"Have any of you ever piloted an Imperial I-Class Star Destroyer?"
The thrill sparks into a fire as she receives a mix of shock from the pilots, some excited, some apprehensive. But they give the same shake of their heads in unison.
The chaotic smile dips into a dangerous smirk, feeling her accent creep back in on her tongue as she asks, "Would you like to?"
—
Hera giggles as she lightly drums her fingers on Chopper, waiting almost impatiently for him to contact Kallus. "Chop, ya think Fulcrum'll help us? Well, of course he's going to help us, he'll give us whatever intel he can. But you think he'll want to pilot a star destroyer? You think he's ever piloted one before? What has he piloted before? Ooooo I want to know how that boy flies!" Hera continues to chatter on until Chopper beeps in, announcing that Kallus has picked up the comm frequency.
"Spectre III?" His concern still floods through the voice scrambler, "What's happening, are you alright?"
"Fulcrum!" Hera starts excitedly papping the ends of her lekku on Chopper. "We have a super secret operation and we need your intel!" Hera starts giggling when she makes eye contact with some of the other pilots, who break out into laughter a few yards away.
There's a couple beats of silence from her dear Agent Fulcrum. "Spectre II," Hera has to smother her smile at the unsettled inflection in his voice, "please, do tell me about this 'super secret operation'." Hera can almost picture him now, frustrated concern and a sigh on the tip of his tongue.
She leans closer to the commlink that Chopper always has hidden somewhere. Her dear friend tried to tell her that the commlink is for emergencies only. Pfft. She knows for a fact that Chop just used it last week to get intel to terrorize an imperial medical facility. Hera keeps her voice low, "Fulcrum. Agent Fulcrum. Heheh," a few more giggles erupt from the pilot, though she tries to contain herself, "the temporary use of a star destroyer is absolutely imperative. It's imperative, Fulcrum. I need you to tell me where we can find one Imperial I-Class Star Destroyer with low defenses."
The man. The man with the intel. Kallus, the knower of many things. He won't let Hera down. Oh, she hopes so dearly that he'll pilot with her, she hasn't had the chance yet to have him copilot. Hera can tell a lot about a person by what type of pilot they are. Hera gasps, becoming giddy, this could be a bonding exercise!
"Hera Syndulla," Kallus chides the general in a hiss, "do not tell me you are drunk."
Hera pouts before stilling her tone, becoming super serious and making her voice grave, "I am not drunk." It only lasts a few seconds before some of the giddiness from a few other pilots breaks her out into giggles again. "I'm tipsy. And. Mister Fulcrum, you don't know my name. And most importantly, you aren't my mother. Tell me what I need’a know, it is important rebel business!" Hera yells in a whisper with her hand over her mouth, as though if no one can see her lips, she can't be heard.
The pilot can practically hear the man pinching the bridge of his nose right this moment. "Hera, please, please drink some water. Now." The distress is strong with this one.
"I outrank you, kind sir. I don't have to take orders from you." Hera's pout returns full force. She's not disappointed, with just enough asking, she knows fully well her almost friend will cave. He's just such a stick in the mud. But it's still endearing, honestly. That rule follower.
"Of course not, general," Kallus's tone is much lighter through the scrambler, softer, "but I am not cleared to give you what you need until you drink three full glasses of water, stat."
It's an obvious lie, but Hera is more than happy to play along. "Oh, in that case," she motions for one of her fellow pilots. "While I drink water, can you get us the intel we need, Fulcrum?" One of the pilots shoves a gallon of water in her hands before wobbling back to the group, and she watches as they begin to return to a buzzed state to plan out their undefeatable strategy. Hera turns her attention back to the commlink as she sips on a straw for the water.
“That depends, how many ace pilots do you have with you? What is their status?” Hera usually hates the pronunciation that comes with the coruscanti accent, as she is usually just reminded of too many imperial officers she’s had the displeasure of meeting, but something about Kallus’s has been growing on her. His accent feels slightly different than when she had first met him. But it could just be the voice scrambler and the amount of alcohol in her system.
Hera giggles a bit. What is our dear Kallus like when he’s tipsy? Adventure for another night? The pilot can feel her own accent slipping back comfortably onto her tongue. “There’s about two dozen of us. And we have a war criminal. Fulcrum, and he’s a marvelous droid!”
There’s the smallest hint of laughter, almost fondness in Kallus’s voice. “That he is. A magnificent partner you have, Spectre II. I’m certain that he’s learned many things from you. Could you remind me of the status of the pilots once more?”
“Hehe, say that word again, Fulcrum.”
Hera can almost picture the quizzled look on his face, “Uh, which one, Spectre II?”
Hera does her best Kallus impression, straightening her shoulders and trying on his smug smirk, “Status.” She breaks out into another small fit of giggles.
Kallus sighs through his nose and takes a deep breath. “Status. Status.”
Sipping more water, Hera grins. “Thank you, Fulcrum! The current status of the other pilots.” She looks over to the group once more. “Buzz buzz. They are very buzzed. Bzzt. Hehe. Bzzt, bzzt,” Hera snorts, “Busy bees they are, buzzing. Sir, they are excited!” She spins her head back to the commlink, drumming her fingers along the half-empty jug of water. “This is their first time!”
“First time buzzed?” There’s such panic in his voice.
“No,” Hera shakes her head, “Silly, it’s going to be their first time piloting an Imperial I-Class Destroyer! It’s a thrill they’ll never forget!”
“Well, if you really want them to certainly remember it, I suppose you’re going to have to make sure they’re drinking water too, so the liquor doesn't steal the memory,” Kallus whispers the last portion of the sentence, as though it’s one of the galaxy’s biggest secrets. His voice returns to its normal volume, “It would be such a shame if they couldn’t remember their first time. Do you agree, Spectre II?”
Hera gasps, “You’re such a clever man! You right, you right!” Hera sends a shout over her shoulder to the pilots, reminding them all to drink water.
“Not as clever as you, Spectre II. What about you, what is your status, Spectre?”
He thinks he’s slick, doesn’t he? Well. It’s working. Hera sloshes the jug that’s running low on water. “Lot of empty space in this jug that was full of water. Now, Fulcrum,” Hera’s voice has a bit of her usual seriousness return to it, but she can still feel the heat of her very nice buzz, “don’t you try to change the mission at hand here. I fully intend on stealing a star destroyer with or without your help.”
He’s rolling his eyes at me. I can kriffing feel it. “I am painfully aware, general. I plan on helping, don’t worry. I’m even bringing some help of my own.”
“I didn’t know you had friends.” Was that rude? Hera feels like that might’ve been rude.
Relief floods Hera when she hears the man laugh. And, boy, can he laugh. “I assure you, general, I’m not sure if he and I are friends or just colleagues who have good work chemistry. Maybe one day I could introduce you two informally. He’ll have to keep his identity concealed tonight, and I will do the same. I’m sending Spectre III the coords and we will meet you there.”
Saluting the commlink, Hera whistles, “Yessir.”
“Good. Spectre III, I’m trusting you to watch the pilot’s backs. And Spectre II, drink a bit more water? For me?”
“Why do you have to be so sweet.”
“I assure you, I am not sweet.”
“That’s what a sweet person would say,” Hera hums softly before sighing.
“I am now very concerned about your sobriety, general. You seem to have forgotten who you’re speaking with.” There’s a heavy sigh on the other end before Kallus signs off with, “Fulcrum out.”
Chopper beeps at Hera as he puts the commlink back into one of his most hidden compartments.
She thoughtfully rubs Chopper’s lid. “Yes, he very much still doesn’t see the whole picture, Chop.” She hums for a moment as se sips on the last of her water. “How about we show him a fun time? Spectre Style, hm?”
Chopper excitedly whistles and chirps.
“Yep, it is indeed time to once again ruin some Imperial Officer’s night.” Hera makes her way to the conference of pilots to finish their plan of attack.
—
“Fulcrum I, send the blockade Commander Jogan’s clearance codes!” Hera smiles in sheer glee as a cloaked and masked Kallus works on the comms panel beside her with swift expertise.
“Already done, Sir,” Kallus’s voice is still scrambled through the mask. He moves in sync with Hera, helping her by reaching controls outside her reach as the other pilots are scattered about the room.
“Good man, Fulcrum II,” Hera tosses a shout over her shoulder to Kallus’s friend, “help Spectre III ready the escape transport! We’ll have to make a quick exit.”
“On it,” Fulcrum II begins to usher some of the pilots to the transport ship through the hole they had cut into the side of the room. He’s so feisty. Hera giggles about how much her first sight of Kallus’s friend reminded her of Ezra picking fights with Zeb.
Hera and Kallus have to move the thruster scales at the same time and pace as each other to ensure the ship doesn’t change direction. Hera shouts for the remaining pilots to return to the transport. And Kallus asks his friend to do a head count.
“Everyone’s here except for your tall ass and the general,” is quickly quipped.
“Duly noted,” Kallus returns an equal amount of sarcasm. Backing away from the panel, Kallus kicks the thruster’s accelerator in. “That’s our que, general.”
Hera smirks as she paps Kallus on the forehead with a lek, “Excellent piloting, Fulcrum I.” She then holds up her arms with grabby hands.
Kallus shakes his head in disbelief, but still scoops her with a small chuckle. “You are unbelievable.” The man busts ass to make it back to the transport, his stupidly long legs making the trip faster than Hera would have. She’s still buzzed, so she is allowed to take advantage of her fulcrum’s height.
Hera sings a tune as some of the other pilots detached from the star destroyer they we just piloting, it’s course heading straight for an imperial blockade. They jump into hyperspace before they get to see their hard earned results, but they’ll definitely see it on the holonet in the morning. So Hera is deeply satisfied with herself as she continues to pap Kallus.
“Flying with you has been an absolute blast!” She smiles up to Kallus as he gently sets her down. “Please tell me we can fly together again!” Hera rolls back and forth on the balls of her heels. She wants to know what expression he’s making, after his first time piloting with her, but she still understands that he has to keep his identity concealed.
“We can, but only if you’re sober next time. And please give me a heads up. I was able to easily play hooky tonight by saying I was gravely ill.”
“Oh no, you’re sick?” Hera immediately places the back of her hand on Kallus’s mask. “You’re so cold…”
Kallus chuckles again, “No, Hera, I’m not actually sick. But you will be in the morning if you don’t take this and drink more water.” Kallus holds out a pain reliever gummi. “Whatever you drank was strong.”
Hera immediately pops the bright candy-like medicine into her mouth and grins. “Meiloorun! How’d you know?”
“Garazeb loves to send me voice memos. He’s left me so many about his family.” There’s a tension that leaves Kallus’s body as he fondly recalls the little detail.
“Zeb looks forward to introducing you to us.”
“I look forward to meeting you, general.” Hera can almost hear the addition of ‘because I was never here.’ Kallus gives her a salute, “It was nice not co-piloting with you.”
Hera pulls Kallus into her arms and just holds him there for a moment. In surprise, the man tenses up. “You’re always welcome to copilot with me,” Hera lowers her voice to a whisper, “Kallus.”
It takes a moment, but Kallus eases his arms around Hera, returning her embrace. “Just… please contact me sober next time.”
Hera pouts but nods, nonetheless. “Deal.”