Face Value

{The title of this post is exactly what you have to take this story at. Don't bother asking me for the background, 'cause I don't know. I couldn't even explain effectively why I wrote this. It was a mixture of several random minuscule triggers. Anyway. Such as it is. Apologies in advance to Rogue ;o) }

Disoriented and confused from the blow, Rogue lay prone on the ground, surrounded by a wash of angry, incomprehensible sounds that broke across him like surf. Then someone grabbed a handful of the back of his uniform and hauled him upright, slipping an arm around his chest. His head tipped back, and the cold, hard metal of a blaster jammed against his right jaw. A voice rose above the others, loud and demanding.

“Don’t move, or I’ll kill him!”

The threat penetrated the fog in his mind, but just barely. He tried to convince his muscles to move, to struggle, to get away, but didn’t have much success. Familiarity nagged at his mind, but fighting took up most of his mental capacity, not leaving him much left for luxuries like remembering.

The arm tightened, but the gun didn’t press any harder. Had Rogue been thinking clearly, he would have found that odd.

“You’re not helping, sir,” a voice muttered in his ear.

This time he stopped fighting and focused on the voice.

“Dara?” He strained his eyes to the right, trying to catch a glimpse of her face.

“Just look scared, all right?” her impatient voice hissed.

“Good t’see you, too, Sarge,” he slurred, relaxing slightly.

“Reunions can wait, sir. We’re not out of this yet.” She raised her voice again. “Step aside, unless you want him dead!”

Half-pushing, half-guiding Rogue, Dara walked her hostage through the crowd of onlookers, her face grim and determined, blaster still pressed against Rogue’s jaw.

“Just don’t get trigger happy,” he whispered.

“Shut up.” She added, “Sir,” as an afterthought, and then they were through the crowd.

Loathe to have that many people at her back, she turned, keeping Rogue between her and the indigs, and started backing away.

It required more effort on her part to keep Rogue upright, but she managed adroitly. They backed up the ramp of a shuttle, then Dara said, “Sorry, sir,” and let him fall to one side.

He hit the ground in a heap, groaning. Dara closed the door against the yells and cries that had erupted: the indigs were not happy about letting their prize go. They were starting to throw things, and kept up a steady barrage against the shuttle’s hull. Dara stepped over Rogue with another murmured apology and ran to the cockpit.

Moments later, Rogue felt the rumble of the engines and was pressed against the deck as the shuttle took to the air. Pursuit was apparently minimal, because Dara was back at his side within minutes. He had managed to push himself into a sitting position, and was gingerly touching his head, encountering a sticky warmth.

Dara had brought a medkit with her and swatted at his hand. “Don’t touch.”

He smiled weakly and leaned back against the bulkhead as she gently cleaned the gash. She was almost done when Rogue looked at her out of the corner of his eye, not wanting to move his head and possibly get smacked again. “That was an interesting rescue, Sarge.”

“Hush.” But she grinned.

Rogue let his eyes shut, but didn’t hush. “For a minute there, I thought I was in even more trouble. I didn’t think you were coming, or could even get there in time.”

“You always underestimate me,” she teased as she placed a bandage over the wound. “Now, you need to get some rest.” She stood and pulled Rogue to his feet.

He swayed unsteadily, and she draped his arm around her shoulder. Supporting most of his weight, Dara led him down the corridor to a small cabin. The only furniture inside was a military-issue cot, but Rogue had never seen anything so inviting. He sank down gratefully and was asleep before Dara left the room.

~

He woke to a raging, throbbing headache that started at the base of his skull and pierced straight through to his eyes. The pain was too intense to allow him to fall back asleep, so, with a moan, Rogue sat up and swung his legs over the side of the cot. Standing was a little tricky: his vision sometimes doubled, and he was having a hard time keeping his balance.

He staggered to the door, hoping Dara and her medkit were somewhere close by. Even the hiss of the door opening seemed unbearably loud, and he knew he could not bring himself to call out for his sergeant. Leaning heavily on the wall for support, Rogue made his way to where he figured the cockpit would be.

Dara frowned when she saw him and swiveled her chair around. “You should still be asleep,” she scolded. “It’s not been two hours yet.”

Her voice careened into Rogue’s ears and echoed through his mind, intensified by his headache until he thought the sound would bring tears. He winced and drew a sharp breath.

Dara caught on immediately. Without saying a word, she tugged Rogue into a chair and dimmed the cockpit lights. She left as Rogue breathed a sigh of relief, returning minutes later with painkillers and water. Shortly after taking them, Rogue felt the searing headache subside to a tolerable level.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely.

She smiled. “Feel better?”

“Some,” he admitted. “Command had better give me some leave when we get back. I’m going to need it.”

“It shouldn’t be difficult, sir. They’ve already officially logged you as ‘dead’.”

Rogue was surprised. “Really?”

“Yes, sir. Given your manner of disappearance, they didn’t have much choice—or hope.”

“You have a point. But I wonder that they expended resources on a pointless mission.”

Dara didn’t respond, and when Rogue glanced at her, he saw that she was purposefully avoiding his gaze.

“’Fess up, Sarge,” he said. “That’s an order.”

“Well, I’m not here officially. They never would have sanctioned it,” she admitted sheepishly.

“So, how are you here?”

“I’m AWOL,” she said bluntly. “When we return, I’ll be up on charges of deserting my post, requisitioning military craft without authorization, and defying a direct order against heroics.”

Rogue was taken aback. “I, I’m touched,” he said dryly. “Your loyalty is truly humbling.”

She shrugged dismissively. “Leave no man behind. I couldn’t have lived with myself if I hadn’t at least tried.”

“I’ll do what I can to alleviate the consequences,” he assured her.

She cocked an eyebrow. “Rogue, they could have me court-martialed before you get out of the medbay. I’ll be fine.”

Rogue wanted to protest, but suddenly felt very, very tired. He leaned his head back and decided to rest his eyes before replying.

Dara glanced over at him, satisfied that the sleeping meds had taken effect and that he was asleep. She reached across and tilted his seat back a few degrees. The chairs had been made with dozing pilots in mind and were quite comfortable. Rogue’s breathing was deep and steady as the shuttle sped through hyperspace, back to Coruscant.

~

Dara slouched in the chair, purposefully abandoning military posture, and picked at her sleeve. Prison uniforms are not flattering, she decided.

They had made it safely and without further incident to Coruscant. Snubfighters bristling with lasers had flanked them as soon as she called in her flightplan. They were greeted by an escort of New Rep personnel, equal parts military and medical. Dara had flatly refused to go with the MPs until the medics had Rogue on a stretcher and hooked up to an intravenous feed. By that time, he was so far out of it that he didn’t react when an officer placed binders on Dara’s wrists. She followed without a struggle, glancing back just once to see the medics hurrying Rogue towards the medbay.

Dara shifted in her seat, making the binders on her wrists rattle. She had been answering questions for over an hour now as the inquiring officer tried to pick every detail from her brain.

For what felt like the hundredth time, Dara said slowly, “I don’t know how I knew. I just did. My gut told me that my commanding officer,” she stressed the last two words, “wasn’t dead. I did what I had to.”

The man sitting across from her consulted a datapad. “This isn’t the first time you’ve exhibited a tendency to ignore orders that didn’t suit you, Sergeant Mcejo. Reports from the situation at Arneb IV—“

Dara’s eyes flashed. “Don’t,” she interrupted, her voice soft and dangerous. “You don’t know what happened there, and you couldn’t possibly understand. I don’t care what the reports say. If you dare to sit there and judge my actions under fire from what you’ve read off a detached datastream, I’ll be answering more serious charges than deserting my post before it’s all over.” Then she seemed to check herself and added, “With all due respect, sir.”

The officer was taken aback by her outburst. He set the datapad down and seemed really to see her for the first time. “You can’t even express remorse for your actions?”

She considered that. “I am sorry. I’m sorry it was necessary for me to disobey a direct order so I could pursue a course of action that I knew to be right.”

He regarded her for a long moment, then picked up his datapad again. “Fifteen, even ten years ago, during the Rebellion and the early stages of the New Republic, what you did would have been lauded and praised. No one likes leaving comrades behind. But times have changed, Sergeant. We have to have discipline.”

She met his gaze squarely. “I’m not trying to avoid the consequences, sir. I take full responsibility for my actions.”

He nodded approvingly. “It’s noted in your file that you once trained at Yavin IV, under Master Skywalker.”

“That is true, but my connection with the Force has been severed, and I consider that to be a closed chapter in my life.”

“Even so, could it be possible that this hunch you had could have been a subtle prompt from the Force? A lingering sensitivity to the state of those you are close to?’

She saw what he was aiming toward and decided to see how far he would take it. “It is possible, yes.”

He entered something into the datapad. “Sergeant Mcejo, we are going to drop the charges and retroactively sanction your rescue mission on the grounds that you were guided by the Force. You’re fully reinstated, with no repercussions. It’s not a solid enough reason to offer a military tribunal, but it should be enough to prevent your case from ever getting that far.”

“Sir, you don’t have to do this. I don’t expect special treatment.”

For the first time, the officer smiled. “We have thousands of soldiers who will follow orders to the letter, and who are very loyal. But I am not willing to lose one who would risk everything she has to save a comrade. Commander Garcia is a good officer, and the Fleet would hate to lose him. Were I your commanding officer, I would be proud to count you among my troops.

“But,” he continued, his voice growing serious, “had you endangered the lives of others or the success of a mission, we would be having a very different conversation. As it is, I believe it is well within my powers of discretion to wipe the slate clean. You’re free to go.”

“Thank you, sir.” She would have saluted, but the binders prevented that bit of military protocol.

“Oh, one other thing.”

She looked at him expectantly.

“That direct order you were given never happened. No dialogue between you and your superiors regarding the rescue mission ever occurred. Understood?”

Dara grinned broadly. “Understood, sir.”

~

A few days later, Rogue woke slowly from yet another drug-induced slumber. The difference this time was that he felt better than he had since the whole escapade had started. He stared up at the ceiling, taking a mental inventory. Once satisfied that he had no residual aches or pains, he turned his head to take stock of his surroundings.

Dara sat in a chair next to him, her feet kicked up on a second chair, completely absorbed in her book chip.

“What was the verdict?” he asked, noting that his sergeant was not in uniform.

For a moment, he wondered if she had heard him. He was about to ask again when she set down the book chip and looked over.

“What verdict?”

“You know. The whole AWOL thing. I need to know if I should be logging a formal complaint and looking for a new sergeant.”

She hooked her hands behind her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir. As far as I know, I’m still your sergeant. Unless, that is, you want me to request a transfer. But after what we went through at Arneb, I find that highly unlikely.”

“Cut it out, Dara.” He felt a bit of irritation from her insistence on avoiding his questions. “You said you’d be up on charges for disobeying a direct order to carry out the rescue mission.”

She smiled lazily. “Either you got hit harder than I thought, or you’re confusing me with someone else. I never received any orders that opposed my fully sanctioned, completely approved, Force-guided search and rescue mission.”

Her reference to the Force let him know she was having him on before he caught her wink.

“Come on, Dara. Tell me what happened.”

Relenting, she related the conversation that had ended with the binders being removed and her uniform returned. Rogue grinned his approval, particularly when she mentioned her reaction to the subject of Arneb.

“So you’re not rid of me yet, Commander, despite your fondest wishes.”

Rogue let that slide and latched on to another of her comments instead. “Do you think it was the Force, Dara? That let you know I was still alive, all evidence to the contrary?”

She made a face. “That, sir, is a pile of nerf dung that I re-e-eally don’t want to step in just now.”

He laughed. “And why aren’t you in uniform if there are no repercussions?”

“I have seven days of leave. Partly a reward, partly command wanting me out of the way until this sort of blows over and fewer awkward questions are being asked.” She offered a twisted half-smile that provided her commentary on that, then brightened. “The good news is that they let you out tomorrow, and you also have a week of leave before returning to light duty.”

“And the bad news?”

She smiled sweetly. “The bad news is that I’ll be hanging around, making sure you don’t overdo it, and snickering in the background as you try to explain to your wife why you haven’t called in three weeks without admitting that you almost died.”

He eyed her narrowly. “Careful, Sarge. I still outrank you.”

“That doesn’t count when we’re on leave,” she replied promptly. “Besides, I dodged one bullet, I can dodge another. And anyway,” she reached over and poked his shoulder with one finger, “you owe me.”

Rogue was forced to agree.