#dalvu

“Che’ri? Did you hear me?” Thalias inquired.

“Hm?” 

“I asked, what do you want for dinner?” she repeated.

“I don’t care,” Che’ri mumbled, not even bothering to look up from her questis.

Frowning, Thalias crossed the sky-walker suite and sat down on the bed beside Che’ri.

“Do you want to talk about what's bothering you?”

Che’ri’s face scrunched up, clearly embarrassed. “No, it’s silly.”

Thalias gently placed her hand on the girl’s knee, getting her to look up. “I’m sure it isn’t silly, and you have a good reason for feeling the way you do.”

For a few seconds, the girl just stared into space, before the words bubbled out of her, lips trembling. “Earlier in the mess hall, all the officers were talking about families and where they'll visit on leave and…” She began to sniffle. “They all belong somewhere. I don’t even know where I come from, I’m not part of any family…they’ve all got homes.” Che’ri broke out into sobs when she revealed what was truly bothering her: “I don’t have a home.”

Thalias realized that she had no adequate words. After all, she’d gone through the same situations and feelings as a young girl and had resented her caretakers’ useless replies when she’d needed comfort. She understood the sky-walker’s reaction all too well. Not wanting to resort to the same meaningless platitudes, she tightly wrapped her arms around the girl in silence. Che'ri threw herself at her, crying abysmally into her shoulder. 

The girl remained there until she'd cried herself to sleep. Carefully extracting herself, Thalias tucked her into bed and stood up. Having the girl’s weight on her legs for over an hour had left them feeling numb. She waited for sensation to return to her legs and her fatigue to fade a little, then left the suite, heading for the bridge. 

Instead of Thrawn, she found Samakro sitting stiffly in the command chair. 

“Caregiver,” he greeted her curtly. 

“Sir,” Thalias replied with barely concealed agitation. “I need to talk to the senior captain.”

Samakro scrutinized her suspiciously. “He's due for his shift in ten minutes. Why?”

Thalias wrung her hands, contemplating whether to confide in him. “It's Che’ri. She got upset about not having a home.”

Samakro frowned. “How did that come up?”

She sighed in resignation, shrugging helplessly. “Well, officers in the mess were talking about what they'd be doing while on leave and…” 

He had the decency to wince. “...And she realized that she didn't have a place or family to come back to.” His expression softened. “How is she?”

She sighed again. “She cried herself to sleep, but I don't think she was throwing a tantrum due to exhaustion. She was genuinely distraught.” 

Samakro's frown returned. “Is that a common occurrence?”

Thalias shook her head. “No, but I don’t believe it should be ignored. Especially if you want her to perform her duties well,” she added pointedly. 

He scowled at her. “I know you think I’m callous and uncaring, and while I do have an obligation to ensure that this ship runs smoothly, I can assure you I care about Che'ri's wellbeing. Aside from professional concern.”

Thalias blushed, staring at her feet. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—”

He waved her apology off, seemingly about to reassure her it wasn’t necessary when he was interrupted, tensing as Thrawn materialized behind them, while she jumped. 

“Is there a problem?”

“No, sir. That is to say, not, per se, with the ship...” Samakro started, trailing off with an expectant look towards Thalias.

Thrawn glanced curiously between them.

“...But Che'ri cried herself to sleep because she's distraught about not having a home to return to like everyone else,” Thalias finished explaining.

“I see.” 

Silence followed, Thrawn’s expression unreadable as he contemplated their words, gaze slightly unfocused as he took in the distant starscape outside the viewport as though he expected it to hold the answer to their dilemma. 

“Home and family are concepts deeply ingrained into many species' cultures, including our own,” he finally spoke, words solemn. “Even if our adoption system modifies that concept. Especially for a child of Che'ri's age.”

Thalias pressed her lips together. “But Che’ri has neither.” 

Thrawn raised an eyebrow. “Doesn’t she?” 

Samakro shot Thalias a look of mild exasperation, which she’d come to recognize as a common reaction to Thrawn’s guessing games.

Thalias shook her head. How did he not understand? “She has no one and no place to go back to at the end of her service. I know that's true for some of the officers as well, but she's a child, and what's worse is that she doesn't even have a chance of finding out which family she came from,” she listed off, shoulders slumping in resignation. 

“Not in the traditional sense, no.” Thrawn inclined his head slightly, clasping his hands behind his back. “Yet she has a place among us. We are the only ones that she has known as caretakers, teachers and protectors. If she is to feel a sense of belonging, it must come from those she trusts.” 

“With all due respect, sir,” Samakro pointed out gruffly, “She won’t feel like she belongs just because we tell her so. Every warrior knows actions speak louder than words.” 

“Indeed,” Thrawn agreed. “If we wish to ease her worries, we must make it clear to her that she is valued by all of us, not merely as an asset, but as an individual.” 

Samakro shrugged. “It's not unlike boosting new cadets’ morale. How hard can it be?”

Thalias exhaled, some of the tension visibly leaving her shoulders. “A gesture from each of the bridge crew would mean a great deal to her.” 

Thrawn studied her, his gaze assessing, yet not unkind. “And to you as well, I suspect.” 

She hesitated, then gave a small nod. “Yes, Senior Captain. I think it would.” 

Thrawn nodded. “I will personally check in on Che'ri after my shift, Caregiver.”

Thalias’ shoulders relaxed visibly. “Thank you, sir.”

The next day, Mid Commander Elod’al’vumic found Che’ri in the Forward Visual, gaze distant as she stared out the viewport, hands wrapped around her knees. Her expression was vacant as the sensor officer sat down; Dalvu’s first clue something was amiss.

“Where’s your caregiver?” she inquired, noting that the girl was alone.

“She had to discuss something with the Mid Captain,” Che’ri mumbled apathetically, gaze never shifting from the viewport.. 

“Ah.” Dalvu trailed off into an awkward silence. She wasn’t a gifted conversationalist, but thankfully, after a few moments Cher’ri did the job for her. 

“Do you come here often?”

The woman nodded. “I do. Sometimes to relax, sometimes to train.”

The girl frowned. “Train?”

Dalvu smiled. “The Forward Visual’s original purpose is a functional one. Sometimes, our electronic sensors can fail, which would be fatal, especially during a battle. It’s why we place spotters here—officers who track threats and coordinate our weapons which rely on line of sight. Occasionally we run exercises to keep our minds sharp.”

“Isn’t that exhausting if there’s a lot of enemy ships swarming us?”

“It is,” Dalvu conceded. “But that’s what we train for. To be honest, I mostly just come here for the silence, though.”

That made the girl turn, finally looking at the sensor office for the first time, prompting Dalvu to continue. “I grew up in a remote place. Quiet, peaceful, calm. The crew is my family, but sometimes being on top of each other the whole time becomes too much, so I come here to escape.”

“The crew is your family? Don’t you have anyone planetside?”

“Not anymore, no, but I've gotten used to it,” Dalvu replied with a genuine smile, trying to convey the truth in those words. “Regardless, even with the crew, it's like with all families. You fight, you argue, you annoy each other, and yet at the end of the day, there's no one else you'd rather have standing beside you and watching your back.”

“They're crew members…”

Dalvu arched an eyebrow. “That doesn't make them any less of a family. You know, family and home are two very subjective terms. They are what you make them, what you choose them to be.”

“So if I wanted, I could pick the crew as my family too?”

The senior officer smirked. “Every single one of us, and we'd be honoured.” 

A tiny, reluctant smile found its way on Che'ri's lips. Dalvu took it as a win. 

Lieutenant Commander Azmordi was on his way to log a few hours on the flight simulator—not that he needed it, but sometimes he just enjoyed it recreationally—when he found that he wasn’t the only one to come here for some peace and quiet.

Che’ri was strapped into a training seat in front of a dark screen, controls untouched and eyes unfocused. Azmordi purposefully made his entrance noisy, alerting her to his presence. She startled, shooting him a sheepish look as the pilot leaned against the side of the console, crossing his arms with a smirk. 

“You do know that it needs to be turned on to work? You won’t be getting very far otherwise,” he teased.

“Wasn’t practicing,” the sky-walker mumbled, not meeting his eyes as she shrunk just a little more into the seat. 

“I can see that,” he replied gently, studying her for a moment. “Want to let me in on why you’re brooding here instead of, say, your own bunk?”

Che’ri shifted uncomfortably, her gaze not meeting the pilot’s. “Didn’t want to be in there.”

Azmordi tilted his head. “Because you didn’t want to be alone or feel alone?”

“Does it matter?” Che’ri grumbled.

He narrowed his eyes, watching her closely, noting the defensive body language and tone.

“It does. A lot,” he stated simply.

Silence followed as Che’ri stared at the controls in front of her before finally forcing an answer. “I’m never alone. I mean…sky-walkers are hardly allowed to go anywhere by themselves, and the Springhawk is always bustling with officers…”

“But it doesn’t stop you from feeling lonely?” Azmordi concluded.

“No,” Che’ri admitted quietly.

“It seems quite obvious to me why you’d be here, then,” he mused.

She turned to look at him, confusion visible on her face as she waited for him to elaborate.

“I don’t know if you’re aware—and how could you be, I suppose—but I don’t have a home as such. I have my quarters on this ship, and in the barracks planetside…but that’s it.”

Che’ri gave him a dubious look. “But didn’t you grow up somewhere?”

Azmordi shrugged. “I was born on a station, and my parents travelled a lot, so I grew up on ships. Now I’m a pilot. I never associated any planet with ‘home’—the stars are the only constant I know,” he concluded. “I imagine it would feel the same to you as a sky-walker.”

The girl chewed her lip, mulling over his words. “But…don’t you ever wonder what it would be like? To have a place to go home to?”

Azmordi took his time to respond before he reached forward and booted up the flight simulator. “I do go home. Every time I take the helm. Every time I see this view.” He gestured to the starfield that flickered to life on the display. “This is my home.”

Che’ri stared at the display, saying nothing. But her fingers unconsciously drifted towards the controls, lightly brushing over them.

The lieutenant commander smiled knowingly. “You’re a pilot, Che’ri. Your instincts already know where you belong.”

She didn’t negate his statement, instead wrapping her hands around the controls. Exhaling, she relaxed marginally, tension in her shoulders dissipating. 

Grinning, Azmordi quickly tapped a few keys, starting a training sequence. “Tell you what—how about a little practice session, and after, I’ll ask the captain whether he’d be amenable to you trying the real thing. Sound good?”

Che’ri’s eyes widened. “You think he’d let me?” 

“In between missions during some downtime? I’d say so.”

For the first time, she looked and sounded eager, a spark in her eye. Azmordi considered that a success. 

Samakro was headed for the bridge when he came across their sky-walker sullenly walking through the hallways.

“Thalias is looking for you.” He winced as his words came out more harshly than intended.

Che’ri's expression fell even more, if such a thing were possible. “She's always looking for me,” she muttered, eyes downcast.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, crouching down in front of her, his previous words mocking him. How hard can it be? Turns out, encouraging a child was extremely hard.

“Because she cares for you. We all do.”

“Only because you need a sky-walker,” Che'ri shot back, crossing her arms petulantly.

“That's an unfair assessment and you know it. I've seen some of the crew defend you more strongly than they'd ever bother defending a family member.”

Che'ri tentatively raised her eyes up to him. “Really?”

Samakro nodded firmly. “Really. For some of us, our fellow officers are our only family, and we call the Springhawk our home. For a lot of us, the crew is a closer and more important family than our blood-related one. That includes you.”

Che’ri sniffed, trying to mask it as a cough. 

Samakro hesitated, then sighed. “Look, Che'ri. Part of this life is making do with what we have, and that includes making ourselves a home and building ourselves a family.”  

“That’s different,” Che’ri muttered. “You all chose this.” 

Samakro considered that, deciding not to expand on the topic of involuntary service. “Maybe. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy.” He tapped a finger against the bulkhead. “You think I enjoy sleeping in the same dull metal bunk every night? Eating the same food, hearing the same voices day in and out?” 

Che’ri frowned. “Then why do you do it?” 

He allowed himself a stiff smile. “Because it’s where I’m supposed to be.” He nudged her boot lightly with his own. “Same as you.”

With a huff, Samakro stood back up. “Right now, though, I believe we're both supposed to be on the bridge.” Che'ri threw him a confused glance. “Azmordi informed the crew he intended on holding a little pilot training session with you.”

“Really?” 

“Really,” Samakro replied, amused, deciding that the spark in her eye made all the awkward conversations worth it. 

A few days later, Che'ri was in her suite drawing on her questis when the hatch opened to reveal the senior captain instead of her caretaker. 

Being used to her momish picking her up for her shift, Che’ri strained her neck, trying to look behind Thrawn. “Where's Thalias?” she asked with a slight edge to her tone, worried about the cause of this irregularity.

Thrawn raised a hand in a soothing gesture. “She's alright. I wanted to pick you up myself this time.”

Che'ri eyed him with a frown at the unusual procedure. 

“I was asked by the bridge crew to give you this,” Thrawn informed her, approaching her and holding out a box roughly the size of his palm. 

Che’ri gingerly reached out for it. “What is it?”

He chuckled softly. “Open it and find out. We wanted you to have this.”

Curiosity got the better of her as she hastily opened the box, eyes going wide.

“The bridge crew was of the opinion that our sky-walker deserved her own set of honour chains, and those should be decorated with charms they have all hand picked to represent a memory they shared with you.” Thrawn gave her a soft smile. “We thought that this way, we might be able to bring your home to you and make it possible to always carry a reminder around with you.” 

Che’ri chewed her lip, considering his answer and the gift in front of her. “So, the Springhawk's crew could be my home?” she asked tentatively. 

Thrawn seemed to contemplate her statement, getting down on one knee so that he was looking up at her. “I once had a debate with one of our fleet’s researchers about the definition of home, and she made an interesting point. Home is not so much a place as it is the people you surround yourself with that make you feel safe and welcomed. That give you a feeling of belonging.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “So it could certainly be considered as such, yes.” 

She returned it faintly. “I would like that a lot.”

Thrawn nodded. “You're important to the team, and not just on a professional level. Although, I should inform you, Azmordi was quite impressed with your last jump. As was I.”

For a long moment there was nothing to be heard but resounding silence. Then a quiet sniffle was audible, although Che'ri was very much trying to stifle the noise, wanting to appear like a grown up girl.

Her finger reverently traced the metal of the chain before picking it up and inspecting all the little charms neatly dangling from it.

Tears glistened in her eyes as she looked back up at the captain. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, too much at a loss for words to add anything more.

Thrawn smiled. “You're welcome.”

“Could you…? I want to wear them on the bridge.” 

“Of course,” Thrawn agreed, crouching down in front of her and getting to work, paying meticulous attention as he fastened the chain around her neck as though performing a vital task.

Che'ri giggled when he was done. “I have more charms than you have medals on your honour chain.”

He didn't seem insulted by her insinuation. Standing, he held out a hand to walk her to the bridge. “I would have to serve several decades more to catch up with you.”

Taking his hand, the girl smiled proudly as they walked down the hallway. She couldn't wait to wear it to her shift. When the hatch slid open, she didn't expect to be welcomed by a cheering crew. 

“Happy starday, Che'ri!” 

Che'ri beamed. 

Perhaps she'd been wrong. She did have a home and a family.