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She could never say no to Leia Organa. Not during the first war, not six years ago when she'd watched the recently resigned senator's transmission while curled under the bar of a cantina on Nal Hutta. But this was the closest she'd come to it, the most she'd ever entertained the idea of leaving. She was getting too old for this sort of thing.

But Hera also knew the only reason she let herself consider an escape for so long was that it was something she'd never do. Even before what happened to Hosnian Prime, she knew she wouldn't be able to share this galaxy with the First Order, anymore than she had the Empire.

And after.

There's barely anyone left to make this decision, and she's not one of them, just as she wasn't before. But just as before, she had been listened to, her thoughts considered. Now, she has her orders.

But Hera gives herself a minute, just one, to outside the door, her arms crossed. Then once again, she lifts her hand, and knocks on it.

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Hmm. Less anticipated, but still interesting, for all that.

Thrawn folds his hands in front of him again, though he does not move to sit back.

"And what, Hera Syndulla, do they think will -- as I have heard it said -- sweeten the pot?"

It gets a small, tight smile from Hera.

"What do you want?"

He smiles, thin and mirthless.

"Front line command."

She waits again, to see if he'll continue, and then -

"You have interesting priorities."

"I have learned, in my time here, that I really do prefer to be useful. And, as it happens, busy."

So it goes.

"I think they could work out some kind of command."

Hera mulls over her words. "But I doubt they'd trust you to handle something like that alone."

"That," Thrawn says, with only the faintest flicker of humor, "is entirely unsurprising. And, from my point of view, both reasonable and acceptable. Depending on who they might wish to send with me, of course. A certain type of rigid thinking would be . . . difficult to work with."

See: the majority of the Imperial officers Hera used to work against.

"I think I have some idea of who'll they'll send."

It's the first time she blinks away, looking toward one of the walls. But before she speaks again, she straightens, and looks back to him.

"Is there anything else you want to know, or that you'd want them to know?"

"Some idea," he repeats, studying Hera for a long, quiet moment.

"Is that information you might be willing to share with me? Or shall I merely wait."

Another pause.

"As for the rest, if there is information to be had about current ship and weapons technology, as well as the current state of affairs on all current fronts -- I'd like to begin my reading as soon as possible."

"I'll make sure that happens, after I've talked to them about what you want."

Hera unfolds her hands, pressing them on the table as she rises from the chair.

"I hope you haven't gotten tired of me."

He raises one eyebrow again.

"I rather think the opposite question is more pertinent, Hera Syndulla."

She, after all, never did manage to destroy anything Thrawn loved.

"Though for my part, you are quite as interesting as ever."

She looks back down to him.

"I'll do what I have to."

Thrawn continues to look up at her, fingers clasped in front of him.

"For as long as it takes?"

Given that neither of them can have any idea how long that will be.

She stay still, her hands on the back of her chair.

And then, she admits, "I already considered not coming back."

"A reasonable choice, I would think."

He is not smiling now.

"And yet here you are."

"Here we are."

Hera releases the chair, and turns to leave.

"Indeed."

Another momentary silence.

"Return quickly, if you can, Hera Syndulla. We both well know how rapidly the fortunes of war can shift."

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