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Vel kept her head down as she laced up her boots. Kept her eyes fixed on the grating beneath her feet, and relied on muscle memory to get through the knots. And she wasn’t the only one. All around her, the other flight commanders were just as solemn. The weight of the looming battle made these few minutes almost sacred. A quiet understanding for everyone in the locker room.
Every single one of them knew the stakes. And every single one of them had volunteered.
There was the usual bravado. Punches to the arm and the occasional desperate hug. No goodbyes. Not in so many words. Just promises of the best revnog credits could buy on some beach after this was all over. Just a few meaningful looks. Choked up whispers of ‘May the Force be with you’.
And cheers. Apparently. When a couple of knuckleheads everyone had secretly been rooting for got swept up in the enormity of the moment and made that choice—to be brave. To cut the bantha shit and finally wrap each other up in a passionate embrace—
Vel snagged her pack and walked away without looking back.
It wasn’t that she wasn’t happy for Shara and Kes. Or for Wil and Dreena. Han and Princess Leia. Countless others who had found love in these impossible times. It was just that—seeing them. Giving each other those soulful looks. Walking in step. Or arm in arm. It was seeing everyone pairing off. And knowing these were the moments that mattered—right before a big mission, with the odds stacked against them. When everything usually came to the surface. Everything that they hadn’t had the courage to say before. So many quiet declarations. Vows made tucked away in a corner while the klaxons sounded and fuel crews scrambled in the hangar. The air so thick with the fear that this might be the last time they got the chance to—
All it did was remind Vel of all she’d lost.
By her count, this was the fourth time she’d suited up for the world’s ending, after all. Aldhani. Ghorman. Yavin. And now—Endor.
She wondered, with a strange sense of detachment, if this would be the one that stuck. She felt as if she’d been here before—and not just because the enemy was building the same great horror, their superweapon, that had pulled her back into the field a little over four years ago now. This cycle. It was all the same. The looming threat—the scramble to meet it. The pulse pounding excitement. The terror. The teary goodbyes.
Well, Vel wasn’t big on that last one. She’d met Mon for breakfast, as usual, and her cousin had almost managed to hold up her end of their bargain not to get emotional. But of course, Mon always had to be so poised for everyone else. Only ever really let her guard down fully with Vel. So Vel couldn’t begrudge the teary display. She was determined not to begrudge Mon anything. Not now.
There was a loud ping overhead, a prelude to the announcement that the transport for red and gold squadrons would be leaving Home One in ten minutes. And Vel slowed her steps – she had volunteered for a flight crew under Crynyd, who was at times a bit cautious, but. This time promised to be different. This time they had to throw everything they could at the Emperor. Fly right into the face of his grand plans. They wouldn’t get a chance like this again. To burn it all down. That was what she was counting on. This one last chance to pay those bastards back for all the shit they’d spread across the galaxy. Make them suffer or go down trying. The way so many of her friends had. People she’d loved.
Vel frowned and checked her chronometer—green group wouldn’t be called for another half hour at least.
Vel hesitated—she could always go to the commissary. But she was sure the scene there would be even more chaotic than the locker room. With pilots and pathfinders alike trying to talk each other up and find subtle ways for a dignified goodbye.
And if she went to find Mon, well—Vel wasn’t sure she’d be able to keep it together.
This was the part she’d never been good at. The waiting. Before the action.
Cassian used to say—
Vel turned on her heel again, just needing movement to get away from those ghosts—and found herself nearly knocking over a page. One of the young ones—carrying a stack of files at least twice her size.
“Oh, sorry—” Vel apologized and knelt to try to help recover the flimsi at their feet.
“No, no, it’s alright. It’s—actually better if you let me.” The girl stammered, as she snatched the paper right out of Vel’s hands. “She likes it a certain way and—oh, kriff. These were—no, there we go.”
Now, there could have been at least a hundred people the page could have been referring to. But for some reason—Vel didn’t have to ask who she was. She had an inkling. Since the past seemed to have developed a will of its own. And was toying with her. Pushing everything back into place, the way it had been before. Just so she’d end up the way she always did or—maybe. To give her a second chance.
It was that insane thought, that had Vel following right after the page when she took off down the corridor, still muttering to herself.
Vel took quick steps.
Before she could have a chance to change her mind.
The command center was in chaos. A hub of frantic energy, with techs in headsets shouting over each other and directors in pressed vests gesturing emphatically at a fuzzy holoimage of the forest moon they were placing all their hopes on. It was loud. Full of activity.
And Kleya was at the center of it.
Vel had no trouble spotting her. She was a point of stillness in the madness. Leaning forward to check over the work of some tech at one of the consoles. Her entire face was so focused—her eyebrows scrunched with that cool intensity she’d always had.
And Vel’s feet maybe faltered just a little.
Because it—had been awhile. Since they’d—spoken to each other. And—suddenly Vel didn’t know what she was doing here or what exactly she’d even thought she could possibly say.
Vel had seen Kleya, of course. Every now and again. From across the mess or in the stadium, as they liked to call it, when Vel would sit at the back with a few other lowly instructors to get a briefing on whatever new intelligence Kleya and her group had managed to dig up. But even when Kleya actually looked back at her—it was only ever with a flicker of recognition. It never seemed to throw her. Never seemed as if there was anything—more she wanted to say. Just to Vel. If anything, she usually looked annoyed when they made eye contact for more than a few seconds. Or at least—that was what she let show. Not that Vel was used to much of anything else from her. Since Kleya had always—kept her emotions held so tightly to her chest.
Suffice to say, Vel had kept her distance. It had just seemed—easier that way. And clearly Kleya had no objection. Probably preferred it even. And it had just become habit, really. Over time. Keeping out of each other’s way. Or perhaps something a bit more inevitable than habit. Because they were operating in very different spheres. Kleya embedded in the innermost circles of High Command and Vel. Well. Vel hopping from planet to planet in the Outer Rim. Setting up temporary bases in the remotest places for new recruits that would be airdropped in for a few weeks of training under her careful watch before they’d be given a more permanent assignment.
Lately there hadn’t been much overlap in their work. Or opportunities for—catching up. Not that Vel had ever been—good at that.
Though Vel could still remember that subtle whiff of Kleya’s shampoo lingering in the frozen corridors on Hoth the few times they’d passed each other. There had been plenty of tension then but—nothing substantial uttered between them. Not outside of the painfully formal salutations that were part and parcel with working for the same Rebellion. Most of the time, Vel had been able to get away with just a curt nod. And even that time she’d woken in the med bay after an unfortunate run in with some of Solo’s old smuggling buddies, with Mon fussing over her—Kleya had stayed back in the shadows. And only asked questions about the mission itself. Before excusing herself to leave Vel in Mon’s capable hands.
It had just seemed as if—there was this barrier. Some kind of wall between them. Even sturdier and spikier than the one that had made them so antagonistic with each other in the early days when they’d been tangled up in Luthen’s strings. And neither of them seemed willing to breach it.
So when they were face to face they had to keep it brief. Nothing too familiar. Nothing too probing. Avoiding—whatever had been left unsaid on Yavin IV.
And for so long, Vel had been perfectly fine with this arrangement. Had felt it was important, necessary even—not to let herself get too close. It was too complicated. Because Kleya was Kleya with her unshakable resolve and armor so thick nothing ever affected her. And Vel was out there wearing her mangled heart on her sleeve feeling every little goddamn thing too much. Still grieving. And losing again and again and again and—
They were just too different. And there was too much history. To unravel. And there was—never enough time. Not before with Cinta and certainly not now. Never a moment’s peace with the Empire squeezing them so hard.
And Vel had never even known where she could begin. Didn’t think she’d ever had the words really. On Ghorman she hadn’t wanted to jinx it, had thought she’d done everything right, so she hadn’t said anything at all when Cinta had told her to be careful in the tunnel. She hadn’t grabbed her and kissed her one final time—had no way of knowing it would be the final time. And she’d had so many opportunities, before Cassian went to Scariff, to just tell him about Bix. But it had seemed too big. Too messy.
She could probably fill up several datatapes with all the words she’d failed to say. Could write a whole new course, for her recruits. Based on every missed opportunity.
But suddenly—none of that seemed very important anymore.
What was important—was the way those cold coils in Vel’s chest, the ones that had been twisting and writhing and knotting tighter and tighter ever since Kleya had announced to everyone in the stadium that the Empire was building another Death Star—all of that uncomfortable activity stopped. Went still. And her heart, when it beat—was warm again.
Kleya looked as beautiful as ever. Proud forehead and supple lips. She still looked as if she’d been working herself to the bone, with those dark circles under her eyes. And a gauntness to her cheeks. Her hair was down, pulled back in that severe way at the top like she’d always worn it in the gallery, but rather than tucking the rest up in a bun she’d let it cascade down her back.
It was a mix of old and new—the way she moved, so commanding. Familiar. And yet, there was something new in the way she carried it. Shared it. Worked her whole team so well. Vel knew, if she’d wanted it—Kleya could’ve been running the whole division. Across the whole Alliance. Right up there with Cracken.
But Mon said she’d refused every offer of promotion. Said over and over she was content where she was.
And Vel couldn’t help but believe it. Couldn’t help but stare. She wanted to remember her like this. Whatever happened next.
“Can I help you, Captain Sartha?”
Vel blinked, it took her a moment to realize there was a thin man standing in front of her—and he was looking at her expectantly. And it suddenly dawned on her how strange it must look from the outside—she didn’t exactly have clearance to be in here. Not even with her relation to the Chancellor leading this Alliance.
“Oh, sorry, I—”
Vel paused to clear her throat, she’d caught the flash of Kleya’s eyes flitting up in her direction—but then she’d gone right back to whatever she was doing. A new tension in her jaw.
Which—was not exactly the reaction Vel had been looking for, but. She supposed it was better than being ignored completely.
“If you’re looking for Chancellor Mothma, she’s in bay 4. She’s giving General Solo’s team a final briefing.” The squirrely little man said helpfully.
“I know.” Vel chanced taking a few steps toward Kleya’s station. Tentative steps. Careful to stay out of the way of the bustling pages and techs. “I saw her this morning. I was—just hoping for a quick word with Director Marki.”
Vel knew Kleya heard her. Because her eyebrow twitched right before she picked up a random holopad and turned her back.
“Ansel, would you please tell the Captain that we’re busy—”
“Kleya.” Vel sighed, unable to keep the irritation from her voice even if she knew she deserved at least some of Kleya’s ire, “Come on. It—it won’t take long—”
“Do we have an open line to the Falcon?” Kleya suddenly cut Vel off and crossed over to another tech at another console. This one at the far back of the room. Putting at least eight more feet between them—it felt like miles.
“We just got confirmation—General Calrissian will be piloting.”
The tech in the chair groaned and shook her head, “I’ll do my best, but you know that hunk of junk’s always spotty.”
“We could try a secondary loop through the co-pilot’s computer.” Kleya murmured, biting her lip, “Maybe they’ve switched it on now that the seat is held by someone other than the Wookie.”
“I’ll try paging Nien Nunb.” Someone called.
Vel sighed and shook her head. She felt foolish for coming here, and yet—she couldn’t bring herself to move away just yet. Even with that countdown looming, even knowing that her window was closing—Vel lingered. She couldn’t—accept defeat this time.
She couldn’t leave here without—breaking something.
Preferably that barrier between her and Kleya. She’d been hiding behind it for far too long.
She caught the sleeve of the squirrely man from before, just as he looked like he was about to dash off.
“Ansel, was it?” Vel let her arm fall heavily around the man’s shoulders, “I know you’re all busy here, and I’ve got to report to my muster station, but I would be ever so grateful if you could let Director Marki know that I just stopped by to say—"
There was a loud clatter as something fell to the floor. A loud thud that rose above the usual mission chatter.
“What?!”
Vel turned slowly and met Kleya’s eyes steadily.
“You heard me.”
Around them, the activity had slowed. And Vel could feel several dozen pairs of eyes on them. Ansel, for his part, was staring at her with his mouth agape—and she could feel how he trembled in place.
But Vel was much more interested in Kleya’s reaction. Whether or not she’d play this as disinterested as ever. Or if for once she might—let Vel see what she really felt.
Vel stood stiff and still as Kleya’s brown eyes swept up and down her frame—taking in the pilot’s jumpsuit she wore, the tattered pack she carried—the green armband.
“Who approved this?” Kleya suddenly demanded, turning in place to scowl at the others around her. And suddenly her team seemed to find it hard to meet her eyes.
“Don’t blame them, it—it doesn’t matter.” Vel sighed and released Ansel so she could scrub her hands over her face before taking quick steps toward Kleya again, “Look, they sent out a call for volunteers days ago. You know that. I just—could we maybe step outside? For a minute? It’s just that I-I wanted to tell you—”
“Oh, now you want to talk!” Kleya snapped, those brown eyes flashing like lightning. “You put your name in days ago and only thought to tell me now? Now?! Right before the biggest offensive this Alliance has ever attempted?”
“Kleya, it didn’t—” Vel stammered, “I-I didn’t think you—”
“What? Didn’t think I’d approve?” Kleya cut back in, voice icy and sharp. Arms crossed over her chest—the picture of pure disdain. “Didn’t think I’d maybe have some concerns about you putting on a flight suit after all this time and hopping into an A-wing—an A-wing!—when we both know you haven’t handled anything smaller than an Alpha 3 Nimbus in over two years!”
As she spoke, Kleya thrust her holopad down to the tech seated on her left who'd been gaping up at her unabashedly with wide eyes—and just like that, the spell seemed to be broken. Or at least—fractured. And their captive audience snapped back to their own activities—or at least pretended to. They moved much more slowly. And only glanced away when Kleya crossed in front of them, on her way to another large screen.
“That’s—that’s not important!” Vel’s cheeks were burning as she tried to get her own feet to move. She trailed after Kleya, still stammering.
She supposed she’d forgotten just how efficient Kleya could be when taking her to task. She’d always known exactly what buttons to push to throw her off. To get under her skin. Get her heart racing.
“Of course it’s important!” Kleya snapped without doing Vel the courtesy of turning to look at her directly. She was typing frantically, pointedly ignoring Vel. Pretending it took hardly an effort to rile her up like this. And hold the higher ground, “You’ve been in this fight at least as long as I have. You know battles aren’t decided by numbers alone. The devil’s in the details! We have to have the right people in the right place to do what they have to at the right time—”
“So you’re saying I’m just not right for this, is that it?” Vel demanded, planting her feet and drawing herself up to her full height. She’d raised her voice to match Kleya’s snarl without even realizing it. “Still not good enough? Far too reckless? Isn’t that what you put in your little file?”
Kleya’s spine stiffened and Vel caught the way her eyes flashed as she started to turn—but then she froze midway, seemed to catch herself just before returning fire. Perhaps before saying something she knew she’d regret.
And when she turned finally, to face Vel—there was just the faintest flicker of doubt playing across her features. She covered it well, by lifting her chin and setting her jaw. But Vel caught it.
And the way her lip trembled. Slightly. When she exhaled.
“Of course not.” It seemed to take great effort to keep her tone even. But she managed it. With her hands clasped loosely in front of her, the way she used to stand. In the gallery. When she was hiding behind so many lies Vel had often wondered if she even knew the truth anymore.
“I’m just saying it—” She faltered then. Just a little. The slightest catch in her breath. Just another little crack in the façade. And Vel’s reckless heart leapt.
“It doesn’t always have to be you rushing off into danger.” Kleya tilted her chin forward, trying to make this point without shouting. The veins pulsing in her forehead betrayed just how difficult she had to work to accomplish this though, “You were-you were doing fine with the recruits, Vel.”
“There won’t be any more recruits if we don’t stop this thing, Kleya.” Vel insisted, with a shake of her head. “It’ll all be over.”
Vel swallowed thickly, and chanced pushing just a little more, “The resistance. The Alliance. Freedom. All of it. I-I can’t just sit this one out—”
“Which is why we have a perfectly well established armada all locked in and ready to go.” Kleya suddenly snapped, raising her voice all over again. She spoke right over Vel, drowning out her last few words as if she were desperate not to hear them, “You don’t have to go rushing off to be some bloody hero!”
“I’ve never pretended to be anybody’s hero!” Vel practically exploded, the force of it burning the back of her throat. Making her vision go dark for just a moment. “That was always Cassian’s thing! He was the one going around saving people and all I’ve ever done—is lose them.”
She lost all her breath on those last words. And Vel had to pause. Force herself to take several breaths. Swallow down what had tasted like a scream.
There was no mistaking that mournful shine in Kleya’s eyes now.
“Vel.” She whispered. Voice tight.
Vel looked away and worked her jaw for a moment—she’d completely lost track of time. Everything around them had gone still. So many eyes watching again. Nobody really breathing. And she still felt as if she'd barely scratched the surface of--all that needed to be said.
“Look, maybe you’re right.” Vel finally croaked. Addressing the blinking lights on the screen behind Kleya. She figured it was the only way she was going to be able to get out more than a few garbled sentences, “Maybe I—didn’t tell you because I knew you’d disapprove. But I—didn’t exactly come here to ask your permission. My mind’s already made up and I—I have to do this. Not to be a hero. Not to prove anything to anyone. It’s really just—for all the people we lost. Too many to name. I just—this is how I can make it worth it. For them.”
Vel sighed and braced herself as she finally dragged her eyes back over to Kleya. She felt a little lightheaded. It took her a moment to focus.
Kleya had turned her head away. There was a wisp of hair that had come away from her updo—and Vel desperately wanted to reach out and brush it back for her. It reminded her very much of the Kleya who’d appeared on Yavin—disheveled and lost. But alive. Vel could still remember the way her heart had seemed to shake off years of dust and cobwebs at the sight of her.
“Right.” Kleya said almost to herself, with a clipped nod. And when she lifted her eyes, they were burning. “So you came here to get your affairs in order. Give your final goodbyes, is that it?”
Vel bit her lip, “Well—I’ve never been good with timing, but. Yes. I suppose so.”
Kleya let out a huff—but it almost fell flat. Her lips weren’t curved up in an almost snarl the way they usually were. Those bags under her eyes—they seemed even darker as she held Vel’s gaze. Made the worry in them so much easier to see,
And another one of those knots in Vel’s chest unraveled.
Then Kleya shifted just a little, to look past Vel, her focus razor sharp again.
“Ansel. I’m taking Captain Sartha onto the promenade. You can finish final checks.”
Before she’d even finished giving her orders, Kleya was sweeping down from the small platform. And the whole gravity of the room seemed to move with her.
Vel couldn’t help but be drawn to her. Dragged along, she supposed. By whatever it was that still tied them together.
She drifted close enough almost to touch.
But she didn’t. She just followed. Silently. Trying not to let the way her head was spinning keep her from walking in a straight line.
Kleya pulled something from her vest as they passed the squirrely man who was still gawking--and she slapped it into Ansel’s chest, nearly knocking him off balance.
“You’d better get to it.”
“Oh, b-but, Director Marki, I—that is, we—uh,”
Kleya didn’t look back.
She didn’t say anything either, as she led Vel through a side door. Out onto a secluded deck that looked out over the port thrusters. It was a narrow walkway. They couldn’t stand two abreast without brushing shoulders. And as if to test whether Vel would prolong the contact, Kleya slowed her steps as she approached the railing. Vel followed suit.
Through the observation paneling, Vel could see the medical frigates trailing behind them. And the Independence, limping along in the rear of their long caravan of cruisers and freighters. Every last ship in their arsenal. All gathered to meet this last great threat. And against the backdrop of the dark reaches of space, it did look impressive.
But Vel knew it would be another thing entirely, to see their fleet up against the brand new Death Star.
She shuddered and turned her head to look out to the points of light beyond their ships.
Everything was awash in a ruddy reddish glow from the giant red star at the heart of the Sullust system. And Vel was struck again by the similarities. By the fact that everything had come full circle. Yavin’s skies had often been bloody and red. And she’d spent so many evenings. Standing silently with Kleya like this. Just looking out at the world. Calm. And peaceful.
“You’re wrong you know.” Kleya’s voice was low. Still strong though. She kept her chin up as she stared straight ahead.
Vel tilted her head to look at her. To trace her profile in this light.
“You saved me.”
Vel wanted to snort and say Kleya was mistaken. Cassian had gotten her out of Coruscant, despite her best efforts to thwart the extraction, as he always liked to point out.
But now that Vel was looking at Kleya. Now that she was remembering—just how much she'd missed those brown eyes. And that haughty lilt at the ends of her sentences. Those dark little pockmarks over her eyebrows. The way she fidgeted, sometimes, when she had to sit still for too long. That nose. That chin. All of it. Suddenly correcting her on such a minor detail, semantics really, well--that hardly seemed like the best place to start. When there was still so much—so much she desperately wanted to say.
Now that they were here. When it mattered.
Some of it was held over from those years she’d spent hating Kleya for her association with Luthen. All that history—blaming her for all of his failings. For all of her own. All of that old animosity—she could still feel it. Sometimes. Like a bit of shrapnel at the base of her spine. Jagged and digging in deeper every time she woke up in a cold sweat with Cinta’s face fading from her mind’s eye. Sometimes she couldn’t remember Taramyn’s face very well. Or how Melshi liked to take his kaf. And there had been nights she was sure she hated Kleya for surviving. When they hadn’t. And Vel felt—urgently. That she needed to tell her that. Make her understand that it—wasn’t a feeling she reserved for Kleya alone. That she turned it inward too. That she couldn’t help it. But was—trying. Every day. To let that go. For the both of them.
But mostly what she wanted to offer was—an apology.
For—all she should have done differently. After Yavin. When she’d watched the Death Star explode—and found Kleya huddled in a closet, struggling to breathe while the rest of the base celebrated. She didn’t regret sitting up with her all night. She didn’t regret holding her hand while Kleya cried. What she regretted—was everything that had come after. All the time she’d wasted running away from—what they both knew they were feeling. She’d known what it was. Even then. And she’d been so afraid—that it would turn out the way it had before. The way it always seemed to. She regretted changing her posting at the last minute, to take a separate escort off of Yavin. And never telling Kleya why. She was sorry for—being a coward. For being dishonest.
And using the goddamn war as an excuse.
“If all you came here to say was goodbye then you can save your breath.” Kleya said evenly. Like she was casting each word into a dark pool to watch the ripples. With only mild interest.
“I don’t want to hear it.”
And Vel had to chuckle at that—gods, she was good.
“No, that—wasn’t the only thing.”
Kleya cut eyes at Vel—so dark and dangerous. Intoxicating.
Vel honestly wasn’t sure if she could manage to stay upright when Kleya looked at her with all those storms in her eyes. So much inside her seemed to have turned to jelly. Or ceased to function entirely. And forming words at all at this point seemed asking for far too much.
“Well?” Kleya demanded, always so impatient.
And Vel couldn’t exactly help the way her lips twitched into a smile as she took Kleya’s face in her hands. It had always been a pleasure—surprising Kleya. Somehow managing to find her own way around her impenetrable armor. And turn things on their head. Make Kleya the one at a loss for words.
It didn’t happen often—but it happened now. When Vel kissed her.
She could taste Kleya’s surprise on the tip of her tongue—it was like swallowing fire.
Vel kissed Kleya with intention. Hard, but. Not desperate.
Both lips locked over Kleya’s. She kissed her with passion. Purpose. With momentum. She kissed her because words were inadequate. Words couldn’t convey how much she’d needed her. Then and now.
But she hoped by offering her tongue—Kleya might get the hint.
Vel kissed her long enough that her lungs started to quake for want of air. And she broke away with an undignified gasp. She probably would have stumbled if she weren’t still holding onto Kleya. She had no idea when her hands had managed to find Kleya’s waist. But she was grateful all the same.
“There.” She somehow managed to croak out—though, she winced when that single word seemed to echo in the hush around them. Kleya just blinked at Vel as if in a daze. Pupils blown wide. As if maybe she had forgotten to breathe too.
“That’s all I needed to say.” Vel flexed her hands, and started to step back, to let go of Kleya—because that was what was supposed to happen next. She was pretty sure.
She still had to report to her muster station. Go fight the bad guys. Save the galaxy. Not to be a hero, though.
“Don’t you dare.” Kleya snarled as she launched herself back at Vel—and somehow managed to turn what at first blush appeared to be a full frontal assault into an embrace. Vel barely had time to brace herself before Kleya’s arms had wound around her, hands getting tangled in her hair.
And her lips crashed into Vel’s again. With so much force she had to take a step back against the railing and she tasted blood. But by some miracle she remained upright. By some miracle—she managed to kiss Kleya back just as eagerly. Hungry for more of that fire.
She’d dreamed about doing that. A few times, actually. But she never thought that Kleya would actually—be so enthusiastic. And—kiss her back.
Because—well. Kleya was Kleya. And she was always in control. Even when she wasn’t.
It took Vel a little longer than she’d like to admit to realize that these kisses were salty. That Kleya—beautifully frustrating, terrifyingly wonderful, absolutely everything Kleya—was crying.
Vel somehow managed to cup Kleya’s face again—pulled away even though her heart was pounding so fast and her lips were still tingling. Even though all she wanted was to kiss Kleya for as long as she possibly could. Because it just might be the last time she got the chance to—
“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Vel asked, careful as she brushed that strand of hair back behind Kleya’s ear. Touching her still seemed like a gamble. Like at any moment Kleya might shove her away. Tell her they should go back to the way things were.
Kleya was glaring at her again—though that familiar expression wasn’t quite as effective with her lips so red and raw.
“You know precisely what’s wrong.”
Vel bit her lip. To keep from laughing. It seemed so absurd—that Kleya could go from kissing her to picking a fight with her so easily. But then again—nothing about this had gone the way she’d imagined. Or even hoped.
And she supposed—that was why she had to trust it.
“Kleya, I—”
Vel froze when Kleya put a finger to her lips. And her breath caught.
Kleya seemed to tremble. Not so much that she lost that rigidity to her posture, but. Enough that it was noticeable. Enough that hope thrummed through Vel’s veins.
The fire in Kleya’s eyes still burned—but it was more subdued. An even burn. Not quite a blaze.
And Vel couldn’t help but wonder if maybe Kleya had a million things she wanted to say too.
“It will only be worth it—if you come back.” Kleya finally managed—her voice so much softer now. Barely a rasp. She swallowed and lifted her chin, but her next words seemed to take an even greater effort. Her throat constricted, “So please just—be careful.”
Vel tried for a grin as she chanced reaching out—to swipe that tear away with her thumb, “Hey, you know me.”
But when Kleya laughed—it sounded watery. And another tear slipped free. “Yes—yes I do.”
And Vel let those next tears fall. Watched them in awe. Considered them precious. The rarest of treasures—some proof, finally. Even more substantial than the kiss. That Kleya felt it too.
Even if—Vel had suspected for awhile.
Because Kleya wasn’t just looking at her—she was looking right into her. The way she always did. And Vel swore for a moment the whole galaxy disappeared. And she could just feel—all the ways their lives were connected. All the twists and turns and choices that had led them here, as if it was exactly where they were supposed to be. Despite all the odds. Despite all the times it had all gone wrong. Losing Cinta. Losing Luthen. Losing her faith that there’d even be a life to live after this—
Somehow they were both still here. Too stubborn to let go.
Vel felt some kind of kick in her chest. Her heart giving her another nudge, she supposed.
And Vel pulled her in. Pressing their foreheads together. Because there—wasn’t time. To say it all. And she honestly didn’t think at this point there was any need.
Kleya shuddered at the touch and she gripped the back of Vel’s vest. Yet another clue that made Vel’s heart skip a beat.
And when the ping sounded distantly, somewhere beyond this secluded little corridor, somewhere beyond their soft bubble, to announce the ten minute warning for green group—Kleya was the first to pull away. Though Vel could feel her reluctance in the way her fingers trailed along Vel’s arms.
“You have to go.”
Vel nodded, and watched her as she squared her shoulders and did her best to look stern. Even with the tear tracts still perfectly visible on her cheeks. She lifted her chin, as if in defiance of this fact. Because she was Kleya fucking Marki and Vel was pretty sure she loved her. She couldn’t help but grin like an idiot.
And Kleya for her part, looked far less imposing with her eyes all soft like this.
“So that is an order, then, Captain. Be careful out there. In your goddamn A-wing.”
And Vel felt it. In the very air she breahted. The way that barrier between them had been crushed. Demolished. Exploded into a million pieces. Leaving a manageable little furrow. That she could cross in one bound.
Vel leaned forward to nudge Kleya’s forehead with her nose, “Well, only because you said please.”
Kleya rolled her eyes—but her cheeks betrayed her. As they tinged a light pink. And her lips too. Vel could see the way they twitched. She was so close—so close to a genuine smile.
“We can discuss your insubordination when you return.” It was said flippantly, as a dismissal, but Vel could read Kleya so much better now. And she could hear the longing in that phrase.
When you return.
Vel was still trying to commit those words to memory as she headed toward the door, the way Kleya had said them, the slight crinkle between her brows, that flash of something soft in her eyes—but Vel hesitated before reaching our for the controls to open the door.
Kleya had stayed at the railing. And Vel knew it was because she didn’t have the strength yet. To move from this spot. Knew that she was barely holding it together—would probably break a little more once Vel was gone.
Vel bit her lip and turned back. She held Kleya’s gaze for as long as she could. Hoping the other woman could see all she still hadn’t been able to say. Yet.
Not because she was still afraid but because she just—wasn’t as good with words. As she was with kisses.
Kleya shook her head—but it was only a slight movement. Not nearly as bewitching as the smile that slowly spread across her face. Pained, but still dazzling. Something just for Vel to see.
And Vel’s whole body seemed to sigh with relief.
It was the blessing Vel didn’t know she’d been waiting for. But she smiled back—not exactly a promise passing between them. But something heavier. An understanding. Bone-deep. That this time was different.
And even if it was the end. It was also the beginning.