Leta didn’t hesitate in trailing Fiearius and Dez all the way up to the bridge, where they were talking privately. She almost stepped inside the cabin — but something in Dez’s voice made her halt in the hallway and listen curiously.

“The Council believes that they’re invincible,” he was saying in a low voice. “Everyone living under their rule thinks they’re invincible.”

“Hell, I think they’re invincible,” Fiearius snorted.

“Well I would like you to use your assets to prove them wrong.”

“Assets?” Fiearius repeated incredulously. “I’ve got a broken ship, a supply drop timetable, and, what, you and me? To take down — what is it you said? Three Satieran frigates and their hundred person crews? Okay, Dez. Sure.”

Take down Society ships? Startled, Leta stole a glance inside. Fiearius was slanted against the wall, arms crossed, skepticism masking his face.

“You have allies,” Desophyles pointed out.

Fiearius raised a brow. “I have business associates,” he corrected.

“Business associates who would likely appreciate the opportunity to acquire three Satieran frigates and their bounty.”

“So what the hell is in it for me, then?”

“Whatever share you require. And,” said Dez, “the satisfaction of striking back.”

Fiearius’ mouth twitch in annoyance. “Well aren’t you filled with a newfound sense of vengeance.”

Dez looked only bemused. “Give it some thought. For now,” he added quietly, “I’ll leave you to your doctor in the hallway.”

Leta gave a start. Without a word, Dez locked eyes with her knowingly, then brushed past her shoulder and disappeared down the hallway, leaving Leta to swing her eyes back to Fiearius.

“What the hell was that about?” she asked incredulously, ignoring the fact that she was just caught in the act of spying. “You’re talking to Dez again? Why?”

“You’re creeping around the halls and eavesdropping now? Why?” he muttered, pushing away from the wall and eyeing her with distaste. He looked like he wanted to get back to work, but Leta stepped sharply into the room.

“You don’t actually trust him now, do you? Tell me you don’t. Tell me you’re not that stupid. “

“Of course I don’t trust him,” he snapped, scrolling through the console screen to ignore her. “Not that it’s any business of yours.”

“He’s supposed to be locked in the brig. What were you two talking about?”

“Just discussing plans. Why are you even worried about it?” he demanded with sudden irritation, cutting her a glare. “Sure as hell isn’t your problem.”

“Yes, it is,” said Leta in surprise. “Dez is definitely a problem if I’m part of this crew.”

Fiearius snorted. “Well you’re not.”

“Wait — what?”

Fiearius glanced to her, eyes cold. “What do you mean ‘what’? You leave my ship, you’re not part of my crew, you got no need to know my business. Don’t see what’s so complicated about that.”

“Leave? Leave, what — ?” Suddenly, realization struck her: perhaps Fiearius had overheard all those times Corra had asked her to leave with her …

“You think — you think I’m going with Corra on the Beacon.” Leta searched over his face, though she wasn’t sure what expression she wanted to find. In this moment he was looking her over swiftly with his jaw clenched, as if sizing her up.

“Why?” she challenged hotly, crossing her arms. “Would that bother you, if I did?”

“No,” he said, turning away. “I don’t care what you do.”

“So I up and leave tomorrow, you won’t even bat an eye.”

“No. I won’t.” He gripped the edge of the console, then turned away and paced an impatient circle in the room. A month of being bedridden must had truly gotten to him, because he was overflowing with roiling, misplaced energy.

As bad of an idea as it seemed, Leta couldn’t help herself. “Is that why you’ve been avoiding me? Because you think I’m leaving?”

Fiearius suddenly stopped making circles, pausing in the middle of the room to stare at her. “What do you want me to say, exactly?” he demanded, twitchy and agitated. “Huh? What do you want from me?”

The question felt like a test.

“I don’t know,” said Leta honestly. “I really don’t. But I wasn’t planning to leave the Dionysian.”

Fiearius met her eyes then looked away, quickly unnerved. “Well why the hell not? It’s a good ship with a good pilot and the captain’s your best friend. You could go anywhere you fucking like. Why wouldn’t you?”

“Because maybe Corra isn’t the only reason I’ve stayed on this ship so long.”

The words tumbled out of her, a vulnerable confession, but she did not take them back.

“You know the way you treat me sometimes,” she went on fiercely, “I probably should leave. Maybe it’s time I do.”

He did not refute it.

Dropping her arms in defeat, Leta stepped backwards for the door, to disappear into the hallway and pretend this confrontation had never happened. But she only made it one step when Fiearius turned to her and said abruptly, “Don’t.” His eyes were blazing over her face, pinning her in place, halfway out the door.

Feeble protests jumped out of her throat, and she started to shake her head. “Fiearius. You can’t tell me that. We can’t keep doing this, you can’t — “

“Don’t,” he said again. His eyes burned on her. “Don’t leave. The Beacon. Don’t do it.”

Leta was stunned into silence by the absolute conviction in his voice just as Fiearius was stirred to action. Suddenly, as though this were the most important task beset upon him, Fiearius marched through the room, caught her face in his hands and pressed his lips to hers.

It happened so quickly, such a swift interruption, that Leta went rigid with shock. What was going on? How had they gone from arguing to — to this? Out of pure instinct, her hands reached to grasp his wrists, battling the urge to both shove him off and tug him closer. Her throat made a noise of — desire? protest? — but he swallowed it.

Beneath her shock, the cold, scolding voice in the back of her mind pointed out how completely and entirely foolish this was, kissing Fiearius — But then, the warmer voice, the one that was kinder to her, the one that she rarely listened to, ventured thoughtfully: wasn’t it about time she got something she wanted?

And for that, she felt herself respond.

Raising herself swiftly up to tip-toe, she deepened their breathless kiss while her hand dragged upward, encircling her forearm around his neck. In response, his hand pressed into the small of her back and pushed them back a step until her shoulders met the wall clumsily. A startled breath jutted out of her lips but it was only a half-second before his mouth attacked hers.

At this point, she’d found, resistance was long-lost and futile. Heat rose between them.  He pinned her wrist to the wall with one hand, his other hand clutched her hips, as his mouth pressed hurriedly down her jawline and neck.  Her fingers curved against his taut shoulder, pulling his hips against hers. Their kiss broke jaggedly; she heard his gruff voice in her ear.

“Here?” He meant here, now, the bridge. “Are you — “

Dimly she knew there was every reason to halt him here — what good could possibly come of this? But for once, she found she wasn’t looking for answers. Not now. Which was why she barely breathed, “Yes,” before seeking out his lips once more. He groaned against her mouth, and then his mouth dug against her neck, down her collarbone, and dipped southward.

It was a nearly unyielding embrace. Nearly.

Just when she felt Fiearius’ hands against her obliques beneath the fabric of her shirt, she sensed something else — something off. The air shifted in the room. Her eyes went to the door to their right, and suddenly, horribly, they were not alone at all.

“Uh — “

It was Cyrus halfway in the doorway, shocked, looking rather like he wanted to bolt.  And he wasn’t alone: standing beside him was Adrastreia, the young woman from earlier. Her mouth had fallen open, then she clapped a hand over it, though she looked distinctly more amused than Cyrus did.

“Sorry — I just — “ Cyrus groaned with disgust, pressing his palms against his eyes. “Just wanted to introduce you to Addy — “

Leta slipped away from from Fiearius’ arms just as Fiearius stepped backwards, turning himself away toward the front of the ship. At once, Addy chimed, “We’re so sorry! How about we come back later?”

“Yeah, okay, great,” Fiearius grunted, catching his hand in his hair and refusing to look at any of them.

“Are things always this fun around here?” Addy whispered to Cyrus; he just looked back at her with widened eyes.

“Sorry Cy,” said Leta quickly, her voice remarkably even, all things considered, even if there was a tug of dry horror in her tone. She felt like this would be the proper moment to figuratively bang her head against the wall. Or perhaps literally.

“Really. I’m sorry,” she added, her eyebrows raising faintly as she took a jagged step to the side toward the door,  dazed and unsure of what to make of this moment. Adjusting her shirt, the strap of which had horribly slid down her bare shoulder, she slipped hastily out into the hallway, grimacing profoundly once she was a safer distance from the bridge and from Fiearius.

“So you’re going to store your ship here?” she asked, her voice bright and cheerful. “What kind of ship is it? What are you even doing here anyway? Sorry, I just can’t believe you, of all people, came into this garage. The span is smaller than I thought, huh?”

“Suppose it is,” Cyrus muttered, still feeling bewildered by the last ten minutes. He trailed after her, though it was hard to keep up with her brisk pace; she had a lot of energy.

Forcing friendliness into his voice, he added, “So — Atelier’s daughter? You worked with your dad?”

“Oh yeah.” Pride lifted her voice. “Worked in his garage since I was three years old.”

“How’d you end up here then?”

“I feel like asking you the same thing,” she mused. “But as for me, well … Paradiex isn’t exactly the same place it was when I grew up.” There was something sad in her tone that made Cyrus look up.

“What do you mean?”

“The Society. I don’t know if you’re familiar with what they’ve … “

“I’m familiar,” Cyrus assured her fervently.

“They’re more present in Paradiex than ever before. My dad can’t finish a single project without them knocking on our doors to see what he’s up to.” She heaved a sigh, wrinkling her forehead with distress for a moment. “Anyway, he wanted me to get off-world for awhile, and Carthis seemed the safest bet so here I am.”

She planted her hands at her hips and nodded at the garage laid out before them. It was the messiest workshop Cyrus had ever seen.

“It’s not like, my dream job or anything,” she added, darting him a nervous look. “But it’s hard to find work, y’know. It’s just a temporary gig until, y’know, I  …. find somethin’. I mean, I’m an engineer, not a mechanic. To be honest I’d much rather be on a ship … “

Cyrus nodded. It occurred to him moments too late that she was weary of him judging her.

“But this — this is good too,” she added quickly, brushing strands of hair behind her ear nervously with her wrist. “Anyway, let’s get started, yeah?” She pressed toward the ship’s ramp, swinging her screwdriver out of her pocket once more.

“I was trying to to tell him about the core power problem,” Addy went on, jerking her head in the older mechanic’s direction, “but he wasn’t exactly open to the idea. But maybe we — “

But Cyrus was only half-listening now. His mind was churning with an idea. Cyrus knew Atelier. He was a gifted engineer with an eye for innovation that Cyrus had always deeply respected. And this was his daughter. He stopped abruptly on the edge of the ramp. “Hang on. You said — you said you’d rather work on a ship?”

Addy turned around with another shining grin. “Oh yeah. Definitely. I’d love to see more of the span — this is actually my first time off Satieri, ever, believe it or not.” Her smile slowly faded with question. “Why?”

“Because, well, if you’re serious about it — “ An image of the Beacon’s engine room arrived in his mind. “I know a ship that’s looking for an engineer.”

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

In all her months aboard, Leta had never seen the Dionysian’s mess hall so crowded and lively, especially at this hour of the night. It seemed the crew had found reason to celebrate wildly after months of low morale: the captain was back on his feet, and just as important was a proper send-off party for Corra and Finn.

And for that reason, the liquor was flowing. Shots were thrown back, music was playing, and Rhys was already staggering on his feet as he told rambling, incoherent stories to Amora, who humored him with a shifty look in her eyes.

Meanwhile, Leta stood against the counter and kept close to Corra, nursing her third bottle of beer and trying to keep her mood light.

“Who’s that?” she asked Corra suddenly, lowering her beer. “Over there talking to Cy?”

Across the room, Cyrus was deep in conversation with a young blonde woman Leta did not recognize. He made a gesture with his hands, and she looked surprised, then laughed; whatever they were talking about, it seemed to be going well.

Corra peered in her direction for a moment and then grinned. “Oh, her! That’s Adrasteia. She’s the Beacon’s very first engineer,” she declared proudly. “Cyrus brought her by a couple days ago and told me so anyway. I wasn’t really in any position to argue. They just went down to the engine room and nerded out together for about an hour. Fine by me, but I’m pretty sure there’s an ulterior motive in the appointment. What do you think? Have I been replaced already or what?”

“There’s no replacing you, Corra,” Leta assured her laughingly, but her laughter soon faded into a sincere sigh.

“What’m I going to do without you?” she added, looking away and watching dully as Rhys poured a shot for Javier, who took a tiny sip and was immediately overcome with a violent coughing fit.

“Just come with me,” said Corra at once, leaning over and slapping Javier merrily on the back as he hacked away. “I mean it, chika. Join the Beacon crew.”

It certainly wasn’t the first time Corra had made this suggestion: every few hours, Corra excitedly sprung this idea on her and every time, for some reason, Leta felt herself hesitate. She could not bring herself to answer.

“Have you decided yet? If you want to come with us? No pressure,” Corra added, swigging her beer with one hand and patting Leta’s shoulder with the other. “I mean, a little bit of pressure, because we leave tomorrow, but y’know … “

Leta mustered a smile. “Well you are already taking Daelen away from me,” she noted wryly, glancing over the room toward her old friend, who was talking with Maya. He’d already happily agreed to join the Beacon’s crew as their tending physician (“Not like I have any desire to go back home!” he had declared with a grim laugh), a fact that made Leta sleep a little easier: at least her best friend would be surrounded by an able-bodied crew.

“We can never have enough doctors, though,” Corra teased in a sing-song voice, elbowing Leta in the ribs with such eagerness that Leta nearly staggered backwards. “Eh? Eh?”

Snorting into her beer, Leta pushed her off. Deciding to steer the conversation away from these waters, she asked briskly, “So. What’s the Beacon’s maiden voyage, captain? What’s the first run going to be?”

“Finn’s got something lined up,” she remarked, shrugging. “He was very excited about it so I let him take the lead on this one.” She leaned over and smiled at Leta impishly “Y’know. To keep his ego intact.”

“I heard that,” came Finn’s voice as he approached, shaking a long green bottle at his side. He was not looking at them, but over their heads. “Where’s Fiear? I need to spray him with champagne and remind him how much better my ship is,” he said, and then crossed through the room importantly.

Leta hadn’t actually seen Fiearius all evening, nor much over the past few days. His triumphant (if still somewhat unexplained) return to health had been somewhat soured when he found out about Corra and Finn’s departure. As good as it was to see him on his feet again, Leta got the distinct feeling that he may have been avoiding her. For what purpose, she couldn’t begin to fathom and with Corra halfway out the door, she had put her concern on the backburner for the time being. He’d probably seen enough of her over the past two months in the infirmary anyway.

Leta was fairly certain then that Fiearius wouldn’t be in the mess hall with the rest of the crew, but sure enough, she spotted him then leaning in the doorway, beer hanging loosely in his hand, already smirking at Finn. But he never got the chance to actually act on his bubbly threat: just then, Dez, of all people, stepped into the room, and nodded for Fiearius to join him in the hallway. Fiearius’ smirk dropped off his face, but he followed him, and they disappeared from the mess hall.

Leta could hardly believe her eyes. “Did you see that? What’s Dez doing out of the brig?”

“Fiear let him out this morning,” said Corra, shrugging her shoulders. “Dunno why exactly … that guy’s a total whackjob.”

Leta certainly agreed. And what was he doing with Fiearius?

Suddenly tossing her beer bottle into the garbage can with a thud, she followed them.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

“So here’s what I was thinking,” Leta announced importantly, slicing her hand through the air to ensure that Cyrus, who walked at her side down the Dionysian’s hallway, was paying careful attention. They were headed to the bridge so Cyrus could check on the Dionysian’s fuel levels, but first, they had a plan to execute. A very important one.

Cyrus nodded, looking gravely serious, so she continued, “First, I’ll distract Finn. No wait, I’ll get someone else to distract Finn. A pretty girl would do it. So I’ll distract Corra. Then you run downstairs to the Beacon’s engine room. How fast can you sprint? You know how to fix an engine which means you know how to break one,” she reminded him, lifting her eyebrows keenly. “So the Beacon will be here forever. It’ll be our secret. No one will need to know.”

“That’s one way to do it,” Cyrus agreed, but then he blanched. “But break an engine? Are you asking me to use my talents for evil? ‘Fraid I can’t do that. With great power comes great responsibility … “

He trailed off, and then, both of them sighed in unison. When Corra departed, they would soon be united in loneliness. Leta’s heart was already aching with loss. Of all to happen in the last two weeks — and it had been another tumultuous, strange stretch of time — Leta found the idea of Corra leaving hardest to manage. But, as Leta kept telling herself repeatedly, it wasn’t really goodbye. Hell, maybe she’d even be joining Corra when she left. Everyone needed a doctor, or at least everyone needed a best friend.

And how could she blame Corra at all? She had a ship in her hands, a pilot in Finn, and she had no reason to stay stagnant here forever …

Unfortunately, there was more to Corra leaving than just missing her presence. Cyrus seemed to be thinking along the same lines.

“You know, the Beacon is the only thing keeping the Carthians from kicking us out,” he muttered as he started up the staircase. “Don’t think the military would appreciate having a renegade ship harboring multiple fugitives parked on their main docks. We’ll have to find another way to hide the ship when she leaves.”

“Maybe Corra won’t want to leave right away.”

“Maybe, but I don’t want to hold her back,” he admitted. “I’m going to look into maybe moving the Dionysian to a local mechanic’s hangar. They have the space, they have the privacy, all I have to do is find a way to compensate them for borrowing it. And I have a master’s in engineering from Paradiex.” He shrugged. “How hard could that be?”

Leta was sure Cyrus’ plan was just fine, but she couldn’t muster much of a response. She only nodded as they rounded a corner to reach the command deck. Cyrus knew her too well: he seemed to know exactly what was on her mind.

“Hey, so,” he prompted quietly, sliding her a glance. “How’s Ren doing? Heard from him lately?”

“I just did yesterday, actually,” she said. “Heard from a few of his caretakers, too. It sounds like he’s doing well.”

It was then, however, that the conversation came to a staggering, startled halt. Down the hallway, in the bridge, came sudden noise that told them they were not alone in this part of the Dionysian after all.

She heard footsteps, the squeak of the captain’s chair, and the humming of a system console. And even more than that, she could sense the room held an occupant who belonged there. There was little argument as to who it was. Before she knew, she knew.

“Well Amora’s right,” said Leta to Cyrus bluntly, after a considerable, heavy pause. “The ship’s haunted.”

Yet, as the curious young woman carried forward, apparently fearless of ghosts, she was given newfound reason to halt sharply in the doorway of the bridge.

It was him, it really was Fiearius sitting there in the captain’s chair, like he used to, realer than real, apparently busy with — something. He scrolled through the console screens with one hand, lounged back casually, just like the old days.

The sight of him there went straight through her like a knife, and for a moment, Leta, shocked into pale expressionlessness, could do little more than stare.

Cyrus was at her side, equally as dumbfounded.

Fiearius glanced over his shoulder, spotted them, and smiled. “Hey! How’s — “

“What’re you doing up here?” Leta breathed, unsure if she should have felt alarmed, thrilled, both, or neither.

Cyrus sounded rather fearful. “Fiear. How’d you get up here?”

“I walked.”

“Without your cane?” said Leta in disbelief. “All the way up the stairs? By yourself?”

“Looks that way.” Fiearius started to push himself up to his feet, and immediately Leta and Cyrus launched forward to help him.

“I’m fine,” said Fiearius, brushing them off and laughing. “Really.”

“No you aren’t,” said Leta, “your legs — “

“Little achey,” he admitted. “But I feel great. Better than I have in months.”

“How?” said Leta, clasping her temple. “Fiearius, you barely made it along the docks the other day. You had to use me for support. And Daelen said — “

Daelen had said it was unlikely he would ever walk again. She swallowed those words and continued.

“Did you take more painkillers or something?” she asked, circling around him to survey him up and down, full of skepticism. “Are you — you’re not drunk, are you?”

But Fiearius just laughed at her again and tilted his head to the side, brow raised. “Of course not. I just…I don’t know, feel better. Ain’t gonna question it if that’s alright by you, oh kiddo, ye of little faith.”

She could only shake her head, still in shock. She would have to unravel this mystery with physical tests — she’d check his heart rate, his blood pressure, run a scan …

But was it possible — was it actually possible — that he had a breakthrough? Daelen had said his mental health needed treatment as badly as his physical wounds. And now, here he was, looking steady on his feet, with healthy color in his face, his warm brown eyes sparkling with mischief. He even shaved a little.

She couldn’t fight the hope blossoming in her chest. “But — what’re you doing up here?”

“Well what do you think I’m doing?” he said gruffly, dropping his elbow on the captain’s chair with an air of his usual arrogance. “I’m takin’ back my ship.”

Finn could hardly believe the readings on the console screen. The efficiency grade, the fuel storage, the surveillance capabilities — this ship was unlike any other he’d flown before. He felt like he had actual hearts in his eyes.

It was no wonder, then, he hadn’t left the Beacon’s bridge all afternoon. The more time he spent here, scrolling through her diagnostics, examining the field of controls, the more he felt like he was falling in love with a beautiful, exotic woman. Who just happened to be outfitted with some of the best long-range weaponry he’d ever seen.

Vaguely he heard the bridge door glide open behind him, but he didn’t look up from his spot in the pilot’s chair. As it turned out, it was Corra, who approached his side and greeted, “Hey, Riley,” over his shoulder.

“Hi. You know, with a little mech tinkering, this beast could be the fastest of its kind?” he said reply, swiping his hand across the screen to show her. “See this? She’s completely unmatched in premium fuel and speed standards.”

Corra paused to stare at the screen, then she glanced toward Finn. “Okay….” she muttered patiently.

“I’m serious, just look at these readings I’m getting, I’ve never seen anything like it,” he went on as she lowered into the co-pilot’s chair, crossing her legs and gripping her ankles as she leaned forward. Finn couldn’t help but notice there was an excited light in her eyes, though he didn’t think it was due to the Beacon’s cloaking ability, for some reason.

“Great,” she breathed suddenly. “So hey, remember that night on Paraven?”

At last, his attention was captured. He turned his chair toward her, a devilish grin spreading over his face. “You mean with the tequila and the moonlight? Oh I remember.”

“Oh shut up, not that part,” she grumbled, rolling her eyes. “The other part. Before. When we were talking. About ships.”

“Ah.” He nodded. This, of course, was a bit fuzzy in his memory. “Vaguely.”

“Vaguely?!” she demanded indignantly. “I bare hopes and dreams to you and all you can remember is making out on the beach? Typical.”

“Hey, I remember a little,” Finn defended, scratching his hair. “You were talking about leaving the Dionysian.”

“Oh there ya go,” she remarked, looking mildly impressed.

“Something about you wanting a ship of your own. Having adventures on your own bird … “

“Right, and?” she prompted.

A long stretch of silence sat between them. Finn gazed at her blankly.

“Close enough,” she declared, and then she bounced up in her seat. “Well guess what!”

“You — ah — did it?” Finn guessed, startled. “Got a ship?” Then he narrowed his eyes as realization hit him hard. “Wait. This ship?”

“I got this ship!” she yelped, actually jumping to her feet with her hands in the air. “I talked to Cyrus, and he doesn’t want it and Fiear doesn’t want it and nobody wants it, so he said I can take it!”

Finn stared as she danced in a circle of joy around him. He felt she was missing a rather important puzzle piece here. Dryly, he muttered, “‘Nobody else’ wants it huh?”

Corra, mid-bounce, stopped and flung her hands back to her sides.

“Oh don’t look at me like that,” she ordered shortly. “I haven’t forgotten about you. And I’ve got no intention of prying you out of here.” With a wide grin spreading across her face, she casually stepped around behind his seat and put her hands on his shoulders. “In fact,” she went on, leaning down to speak into his ear. “I was just thinking how much I could use a pilot.”

Finn lifted his eyebrows with intrigue. “A pilot? And here I thought you learned to fly her overnight.” He paused, and added casually, “So … you got someone in mind?”

\

“Maybe,” she cooed, leaning her elbow on his shoulder and her head in her hand. Dreamily, each word soaked in sugar, she went on, “There’s a candidate I’m looking at that knows so much about her already and about ships in general and would be such a great asset to my crew, I’d really love it if he’d join me.”

Finn wrinkled his forehead, feigning confusion. If Corra was going to bait him, then he was going to play dumb.

“Wait, who is this guy?” he asked suspiciously. “And what makes you think he wants to pilot for you, eh?”

She blanched and said bluntly, “Because his alternative is to go back to an aging decrepit rust bucket that can’t even reach a decent cruising altitude without nearly exploding?”

Well, it was hard to argue with that kind of logic.

“Fair point,” he admitted, turning to face her. “So is this a real offer? An official offer? ‘Cause you’re gonna have to ask me all official-like, you know.”

Corra sighed, rolling her eyes as she drew herself up importantly. “Finnegan Riley, will you please come with me and be the Beacon’s official pilot?”

“Of course I will, why didn’t you say so?” he said at once, grinning at her. He leaned back in his chair and slid his hands behind his neck. “I’ll accept. With a few terms.”

“Terms?” She planted her hands at her hips. “What kinda terms?”

“Term one,” said Finn briskly, “I want a say in the crew we bring aboard. The Beacon will need about 100 hands, y’know.”

“I’m aware, thanks,” Corra grumbled. “Go on.”

“Term two. I’m not signin’ a contract of any kind. Nothing that says I can’t leave. I can bail at any second. Alright? But,” he added, lifting his hand, “I do promise to land the bird before I ever do that.”

Corra did not look impressed. “Commitment issues, huh? Couldn’t see that coming.”

“And finally. Let’s discuss our titles.”

Corra barely blinked before she said, “I’m the captain.”

“You — what?” Finn laughed, but he was not joking when he said, “You mean co-captain. Seeing as you can’t fly it without me, ma’am, I’ve got just as much right to this ship as you do.”

“You do not.” Corra gaped at him. “If you wanted it so bad, you should have done something about it. I did. So I’m the captain. You.” She prodded him in the chest. “Are the pilot.”

Finn scoffed in disbelief. “Not only the pilot. Co-captain.”

“Fine,” she relented, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. “Lead pilot.”

“I’m the only pilot.”

“You’ll be my first mate, then.”

“Not a chance.”

Corra was stumped for a moment, but only a moment. “Sub-captain!”

“That,” said Finn, pointing at her, “is not even a thing.”

“Fine.” Corra crossed her arms over her chest. “Fine…You can be … “ But then she trailed off and grumbled nonsense under her breath, averting her eyes to the side.

“Sorry, what was that?”

Corra groaned. “You can be co-captain,” she said again, her voice both loud and bitter. Finn beamed.

“Well ya don’t hafta shout. And thank you kindly.” He threw out his hand to shake hers, which she did begrudgingly. But still, he could see a small smirk growing on her face.

“We oughta celebrate,” he decided, jumping to his feet as he looked around the bridge with newfound love in his eyes. “Drinks?”

Fortunately, Finn knew just where to look. The captain’s quarters, which he’d taken the liberty of exploring for himself, boasted an impressive bar. A few minutes later, he returned into the bridge, swinging a green champagne bottle at his side.

“To the Beacon,” he said, filling not a champagne flute, but a coffee mug – it was the only glass he could find quickly – and passing it over to Corra. He poured another for himself and tilted the mug against hers. “Cheers, cap’n.”

“Cheers,” said Corra, grinning brightly as she took her sip — but then she added, under her breath, “Pilot.”

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –