Work Text:
Bay Twelve smelled like ozone and ambition—the kind of place where broken ships and tired pilots went to lick their wounds.
Firefly wiped grease off her palms and blinked up at the half-disassembled engine hovering above her. Another few hours and she’d have the stabilizer aligned. Maybe then she could finally leave this rustbucket port and stop taking jobs for people who paid in promises.
She didn’t hear the footsteps until they were close.
“You the mechanic?” a voice asked—light, casual, a little too confident.
Firefly pushed herself out from under the hull and sat up.
The girl standing in front of her looked out of place here. Polished boots, a long coat stained with something that wasn’t engine fluid, and silver hair swept back like it was styled on purpose. Not local.
“Depends who’s asking,” Firefly said, shielding her eyes.
The girl smiled. “Name’s Stelle. Ship’s stalling on low orbit. I was told you’re the one to talk to if I want to avoid blowing up mid-jump.”
“You told them you were a pirate, too?” Firefly asked, climbing to her feet.
“I said I was in freelance acquisition.”
“So… a pirate.”
Stelle held up her hands. “Let’s not get lost in labels.”
Firefly crossed her arms, eyeing her. “You have credits?”
Stelle grinned. “Enough to keep your lights on for a week. And a good story, if you’re bored.”
“Try me.”
“I stole the ship from my last employer.”
“Why?”
“He was boring.”
Firefly raised an eyebrow. “And now?”
“Now I need someone to keep the ship from falling apart long enough to outrun his friends.”
She wasn’t wrong—Firefly could already hear the loose hum of misaligned thrusters from the girl’s vessel moored across the hangar. The kind of sound that screamed: I’m fast, but I haven’t had maintenance since the last war.
Still. Something about the way Stelle stood—relaxed, but not careless—made Firefly hesitate.
“Let me guess,” Firefly said. “You charm your way into places, smile at the right people, and jump out an airlock before they know what’s missing.”
“Only when I really like them.”
Firefly didn’t smile. Not quite. “Lucky me.”
Stelle tilted her head. “You always this warm to strangers?”
“Only when they ask for favors and confess to grand theft starship in the same breath.”
“Then let me start over.” Stelle stepped closer and extended a hand. “Hi. I’m Stelle. I’ve got a ship, questionable morals, and I’d like to hire you for a few days.”
Firefly looked at the hand, then took it. Rougher than she expected—someone who worked, not just stole.
“Firefly,” she said. “Mechanic. Also questionable.”
Their hands lingered for a second too long.
“Bay Thirteen’s empty,” Firefly said, turning back toward her workbench. “I’ll take a look after I finish this job. You bring the ship. You don’t touch anything. And no lying.”
Stelle raised a brow. “What if I’m good at it?”
“Then don’t be obvious.”
As Stelle walked off—boots echoing against the metal deck—Firefly found herself watching her go longer than she meant to.
She shook her head, grabbed a spanner, and went back to work.
———
A few hours later...
The ship in Bay Thirteen was worse than advertised.
Its heat shielding was held together by someone’s faith and a lot of duct tape. There was a dent in the aft panel that looked like it had been made by a meteor—or a really angry ex.
Stelle sat cross-legged on a crate nearby, sipping a pouch of instant citrus tea like it was wine.
Firefly worked in silence for a while. She liked the way the engine spoke—heat, pressure, current. Honest, even when it was dying.
“You always fix things alone?” Stelle asked.
Firefly didn’t look up. “Better that way.”
“You don’t trust people?”
“People leave.”
Stelle was quiet for a beat.
“I don’t stay long either,” she said finally. “Too much heat on my trail. Too many ghosts.”
“You always tell strangers that?”
“Only the ones who crawl under my ship.”
Firefly chuckled. She didn’t mean to. But it slipped out, low and unguarded.
When she stood up, wiping her hands, Stelle was still watching her.
“You’re good at this,” Stelle said.
Firefly shrugged. “Ships are easy.”
“And people?”
Firefly hesitated.
“Sometimes,” she said. “Sometimes not.”
Stelle smiled, small and real. “Let me buy you a drink. For the repairs.”
“I don’t drink with clients.”
“Then fix the ship, take the credits, and drink with someone you met in a spaceport who happened to ask for help.”
“That’s a long way to say ‘please.’”
“I’m charming when I’m nervous.”
Firefly narrowed her eyes, but her voice was softer now. “You’re not nervous.”
“Not yet. But I might be if you say yes.”
Firefly exhaled and looked away, pretending to be focused on the ship. She wasn't.
“Fine,” she said. “One drink.”
Stelle beamed. “You’re going to regret that.”
“I probably will.”
And she probably wouldn’t.
———
They ended up sitting on the edge of the dock, feet dangling above coolant mist drifting from the lower engines. Stelle passed Firefly a fizzy drink she’d snagged from a vending unit—something bright blue and questionably carbonated.
“I don’t know if this is soda or fuel,” Firefly muttered.
“Probably both,” Stelle said. “It matches your eyes.”
Firefly gave her a look. “That’s not how flirting works.”
“Are you sure? It’s working on me.”
Firefly laughed, short and startled. “You’re unbelievable.”
“But endearing,” Stelle said, bumping their shoulders together.
“Jury’s out.”
Firefly didn’t move away.
———
March squinted across the hangar, watching Stelle trail after Firefly like a puppy with a crush and no dignity.
“She likes her,” she said, sipping from her drink.
Dan Heng didn’t look up. “She likes everyone.”
“Yeah, but this one’s different. She’s doing the soft eyes.”
He finally glanced over. Stelle was handing Firefly a wrench like it was a bouquet. Firefly took it without looking.
Dan Heng sighed. “She’s doomed.”
March grinned. “Admit it. It’s kinda cute.”
He shook his head. “It’s going to end with something on fire.”
March laughed. “That’s how Stelle flirts.”