Chapter Twenty-seven
Tycho started to strip out of his flightsuit before the door to his quarters had fully closed behind him. He peeled the fabric from his sweaty body, then pulled off his boots, uniform and undershirt, leaving him in his underwear and clothing scattered across the floor. He should shower, but he just didn't have the energy to.
As he shivered in the cool air of his quarters, he turned and made it as far as his bunk before collapsing onto it, face first. Starlight's huge sublight engines produced a familiar and comforting vibration beneath him, trying to lull him to sleep. They were unsuccessful, however, because sleep was an impossible target for Tycho, somewhere outside his range for the moment.
He found it really odd that sleep was beyond his grasp, because he was completely exhausted, both physically and mentally, after a gruelling rear guard action. They lost four pilots between the four squadrons-three from Moonflight alone-while engaging the TIEs. That was followed by a half hour stuck in hyperspace to meet up with the fleet, a debriefing immediately after their rendezvous, then an aborted attempt to talk to Wedge.
Wedge: his closest friend in the entire galaxy. The haunted look in his eyes stabbed deep into Tycho. He hadn't known the Wedge who lost his parents, but he had to imagine a similar look in the 16-year-old's eyes. Pain and grief and anger wrapped inside the fear of an unknown future.
Tycho flopped from stomach to back, staring up at the ceiling, his eyes stinging with fatigue. Although it was only mid-afternoon ship's time, all Tycho wanted to do was sleep. He was still worried about Wedge, though, that much was clear; but as usual he couldn't pinpoint exactly what he was worried about. The dogfight had gone as well as could be expected, especially under the circumstances. Not only had Rozrrom ambushed them, but he had attacked during Ajene's memorial service. That couldn't have been a coincidence; the time of the service was well known throughout the ship, so whoever the spy was, he or she would have had no problem communicating that to Rozrrom. But somehow Tycho would have had a hard time believing that even Rozrrom would attack the fleet during a funeral. Guess we know for sure now that he has no scruples after all.
Despite the timing of the surprise attack, Wedge had performed his duties adequately. The frustration pouring over the comm in regards to Fedra and Ackbar's orders hadn't escaped Tycho's notice, and Wedge's instructions were given in a rather brusque and clipped manner after that; but that was entirely understandable considering the situation, wasn't it?
No, there was something deeper that worried Tycho, and had for quite a while now. But he was frustrated because he couldn't really put his finger on it, and he knew himself well enough to know that sleep wouldn't come until he had sorted it all out. He sighed, sitting up in the middle of his bed.
Since sleep wasn't going to come easy, he might as well shower.
Wes ran a comb through damp hair, a blurred image of his face reflected back at him from the condensation-covered mirror in the 'fresher. He hummed an aimless tune, trying to get some of the hair at the back of his head to settle down properly, but it steadfastly refused to cooperate. He ran his fingers through it, frowning. His humming ceased altogether. "Hey, Hobbs?"
Hobbie was reclining comfortably on his bunk, his back leaning against the wall. His knees were bent so his datapad could lean up against them while he read his correspondence. He looked at Wes over the top of his knees. "Yeah?"
"C'mere."
Hobbie sighed, setting his datapad aside. He made his way into the refresher, looking at Wes's distorted reflection. "What?"
"Is my hair thinning back there?" Wes pointed to an area of thick and unruly brown hair at the top of his head.
"You got me off my bunk to ask me a dumb question like that?" Hobbie asked after rolling his eyes.
"No, really! It feels like it's thinning."
Hobbie turned away from him, sighing again. "Wes, you have a head of hair that would make a wookiee envious. You're not about to lose it anytime soon."
"Are you sure? You know, we wear helmets a lot, maybe-"
"Shut up and finish getting ready. I'm starving," Hobbie called over his shoulder on his way back to the bunk.
"Okay, okay."
After only a few additional minutes of grooming, Wes was ready to go. The duo left their quarters and headed down the corridor to the mess. It was crowded, as it often was after a battle, and loud. Hobbie spotted Ecla sitting with Inyri and Corran, and headed over to join them. Wes followed in his wake, suddenly glum.
"Hey, Hobbs," Corran said, moving around the table so Hobbie could sit beside his girl-friend. News travelled quickly on a ship like Starlight, and despite trying to be discrete, it was already common knowledge that they were together. They had eventually given up trying to hide it.
As Corran took his new seat, he glanced up at Wes, who remained standing. "What's the matter with you?"
Everyone at the table turned to look up at him, and Wes felt faintly uncomfortable under their scrutiny. He had no idea why-usually he loved to be the center of attention-but this time he felt uneasy. "Nothing, I'm fine. Especially if you go get me a caf, Horn.
"In your dreams, sir."
Since Corran was unwilling to get it for him, Wes went to get his own caf, still a little unsettled at his feelings of disquiet. Hobbie went with him, picking up something to eat for himself and a drink for Ecla. Wes took a deep breath and returned to the table, sitting at the far end of the table from Ecla and Hobbie.
Wes sipped at his caf pensively, watching quietly as the couple talked inconspicuously between themselves, not taking part in the general conversation. He scowled at the tabletop, berating himself for what he was feeling. Admit it, Wedge was right. You're jealous.
Corran nudged Wes, and he nearly jumped. "Whoa, Wes, little jumpy there. Something the matter?"
"No, I'm fine," Wes replied flatly.
"Never easy, is it?" Corran said quietly, leaning back in his chair.
"What isn't easy?" Wes asked, turning to frown at Corran.
"Sharing your best friend with someone you can never contend with," Corran answered, motioning towards Hobbie with his head.
"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm very happy for them." Wes folded his arms tightly across his chest before catching himself and returning his hands to the table. He cradled his cup in his palms, conscious of Corran's gaze. "They deserve to be happy. It's great that they want to spend every single waking minute together, and want to talk about how happy and in love they are, all the damn time, to anyone who'll listen."
Corran's eyebrows rose, but he chose to sidestep Wes's statement for the moment. "I'm not disputing that. I'm talking about you, and how you feel about it."
"I feel fine with it. I even had a hand in getting Hobbie to continue pursuing her when he had almost given up." Wes studied the table before him then took a swig of his caf, suddenly wanting to avoid the whole subject. He looked over the rim of his cup, watching as Hobbie took Ecla's hand in his, bending to whisper into her ear, and she giggled. Despite himself, Wes felt his mouth twist into a grimace.
"Maybe I'd better get some sleep," Wes said to Corran, standing and making ready for a hasty escape. But Hobbie motioned him over to his end of the table, and although he felt like ignoring him, Wes went over anyway.
"Hey, Ecla and I are going to the lounge to catch a holo-comedy. You wanna come?"
Wes was in no mood to be a third wheel, or to accept their pity, which he was pretty sure it was. If Corran had picked up on his mood, his best friend was sure to have as well, so he was making an attempt to include Wes in their activities. "You really don't want me there, just admit it," Wes blurted before the thoughts had even finished forming in his head. All conversation around the table stopped with his heated declaration, and Wes felt his face flush. He couldn't be sure if it was because of the anger quickly building within him, or the knowledge that he was causing a scene. Either way, he slowly realized that he didn't particularly care.
Hobbie sat very still, his eyes wide, mouth hanging open slightly. Wes got a tiny bit of guilty pleasure out of that stunned look.
"What are you talking about?" Hobbie eventually asked, finding his voice. "Of course we want you there."
"Maybe you do, but I'm sure other people wouldn't enjoy my company quite as much," Wes muttered, glancing at Ecla, then back at his friend. He realized a fraction too late that he'd really put his foot in his mouth this time. Hobbie had looked bewildered at first by Wes's words, but now he wore an injured expression. Wes couldn't bear that look, he had to escape. "I'll see you around."
Finally leaving the mess, as he should have done when he originally wanted to, Wes turned to his right, instead of left towards his quarters. He wasn't sure where he was going, but he needed to walk, needed to expend some of the uneasy energy that filled his body and twisted his thoughts.
After showering then heading to his office to complete some datawork, denying to himself all the while that he was stalling, Tycho found himself walking down a deserted hallway, now determined to talk to Wedge. Mirax was right; Wedge had to open up, because if he bottled up his feelings inside, as he always did, he would eventually explode. And if that happened on a mission, he could get the entire squadron—maybe even four squadrons—killed.
Wedge's only other reasonably comfortable outlet, Mirax, had reluctantly left the fleet. A plan that Admiral Fedra and Wedge had come up with involved her and the Skate, but because of recent events, it was postponed indefinitely. And with heightened security and a critical investigation underway, she'd been given little choice but to be on her way. So who did that leave for Wedge to open up to? Well, who better than Tycho to share feelings of suppressed pain and loss?
Not only was Tycho his best friend, but he was also Wedge's second-in-command, therefore it was up to him to determine the severity of the situation and take appropriate action. So it was time to do just that; he had to find out if Wedge was physically and emotionally capable of leading four squadrons into battle.
To that end, Tycho approached the hallway that housed Wedge's office, planning to try there before knocking at the entrance to his quarters next door. But as Tycho rounded the last corner, he saw Thras Nyl knock at the very door he was aiming for. Tycho hesitated, not sure why Thras would be there, if he should even get involved. Every time Wedge and Tycho talked about the former Imperial, they ended up on opposite sides of a growing conflict. Tycho ducked back behind the corner, remaining out of sight, then glanced around it to watch what happened. He faintly heard Wedge's voice tell Thras to enter, and the junior officer disappeared into the office.
Despite feeling a little childish about eavesdropping, and unsure it was worthy of a New Republic officer, Tycho casually made his way towards the hatch that gave way to Wedge's modest office. He stood just beside the entrance, ears straining to hear the conversation going on within. Surprisingly, he found that he could hear their words quite clearly, even though the hatch was closed.
Have to remember that in the future.
"...duties, but I wanted to stop by and let you know, since I didn't have the chance earlier, that I am very sorry for your loss, General."
"That is very kind of you, Flight Officer Nyl." Wedge's voice was flat, cold. Tycho didn't like the sound of that at all, and he felt his back stiffen, waiting for the explosion he knew could very well come, that he himself had been on the other end of far too many times recently.
"Yes, well..." He heard Thras hesitate, probably unsure what to make of Wedge's chilly reception. "I wished to express my heartfelt sympathies to you at this time of-"
"How dare you!" Wedge spat, his voice pulsing with anger and hurt.
"General, I'm only trying to-" Thras attempted to explain.
"I know exactly what you're trying to do. You've been trying to do it ever since you got here. You sold us out and you killed Ajene!" Wedge bellowed. Tycho had been rooted in place until that point, but now he'd heard enough, and knocked at the door. He waited only a heartbeat before opening it and entering the room.
"Wedge? What-?" Tycho looked at Thras then Wedge, trying his best to look like he had accidentally blundered into the argument.
"This doesn't concern you," Wedge said quietly, taking his seat and shuffling some datacards into the rough semblance of a pile.
"Nyl?" Tycho turned to look at the man he'd been forced to defend even before he was accepted to the squadron. He looked unsettled, and Tycho could understand why. Wedge was almost like a live wire, sparking at every touch. "You okay?"
Thras slumped a little, looking relieved that Tycho had happened in at just the right time. "Yes, fine. Just a slight, ah, misunderstanding."
"Yeah, misunderstanding," Wedge mumbled. "Should have never..." Wedge trailed off, fiddling with the datacard at the top of the pile.
"Should have never, what?" Tycho urged, mildly frustrated that he couldn't figure out a solution to this knotty problem. Flying against the Death Star was easier than this. "What is it, Wedge? You're obviously upset."
"Why don't both of you go back to whatever it is you should be doing," Wedge said, looking up at Tycho. He studiously avoided looking at Thras, who was standing behind Tycho's left shoulder, as still as a statue.
"Damn it, Wedge, I'm worried about you!" Tycho exploded all of a sudden, not sure who he surprised more, Wedge or himself. "We're all worried about you. Please, just talk to us. If not me, then Corran, Hobbie, someone! Whoever you need, I'll find them!"
"I'm fine," Wedge replied in a deadly whisper, his eyes hard. "Take him with you when you leave." Wedge motioned to Thras with a nod of his head, still not looking at the other pilot, instead concentrating on his datapad. Tycho tried again.
"You're not acting like yourself, Wedge. Jumping all over Nyl here is just another-"
Wedge's eyes snapped up and then he was suddenly pushing to his feet, glaring at Tycho with eyes as hard as durasteel. "Don't you dare defend him again! This is as much your fault as it is his." Wedge pointed a finger at Thras, but his eyes and words drilled into Tycho. "You talked me into accepting him into the squadron. If it wasn't for him, Ajene wouldn't be...wouldn't..." Wedge faltered, his voice cracking as he fought for control over the agony and grief that quickly overwhelmed him, dousing the flames of his anger.
Tycho felt his own anger start to build, with a touch of guilt, too. Although he had never subscribed to Wedge's theory of Thras being the spy, not to mention there was no proof of it, he couldn't help but wonder if he himself did somehow bear some of the blame for Ajene's death. "General, this is a hard time for you, and I know you don't mean what you're saying, but you-"
"That's where you're wrong, Colonel," Wedge said, shaking his head as he slumped back into his chair. "I know exactly what I'm saying. I may not be able to prove it yet, but that man is a traitor, and I don't want him anywhere near the Rogues, or any other fighter squadron. I don't want him performing any duty higher than fresher cleaning! The order will be sent. He's grounded."
Tycho had no clue what to say, but he knew if he spoke in his current frame of mind, he could say something he might very well regret. He was getting more and more angry at Wedge, which was something that happened very rarely. However, the Wedge before him was not the man he knew and admired, even though the circumstances were far from normal. But he knew that if nothing else, despite the possible repercussions, he couldn't stand by and watch Wedge ruin Thras with baseless accusations.
"Listen to me, General Antilles, because I'll only say this once," Tycho began, his voice as hard as Wedge had ever heard it. "He—Flight Officer Nyl has done nothing to warrant this kind of treatment, and there's not a shred of proof that he, or any pilot, has done anything wrong. Consider this on record: if he's grounded, then so am I."
There was a sharp intake of breath from Thras, but it was the only sound in the room. Wedge never changed his expression, never even batted an eyelash at the threat from his second-in-command. Tycho kept eye contact with his friend, not wanting to back down. He couldn't, now that he had said it, no matter how much he may want to in a minute.
Wedge stood and stepped around his desk, coming to a halt directly in front of Tycho, eye to eye. "Then I suggest, Colonel,that you get used to fresher cleaning. Dismissed!"
Tycho was too stunned to reply, to even move, standing stock-still in the middle of Wedge's office. He dimly felt Thras take his arm and pull him towards the door, one thought flashing through his brain with brilliant intensity. It was absurd, but upsetting nonetheless.
Have I just been fired?!
When Wes finally returned to his quarters a couple of hours after his tantrum in the mess hall, he discovered that his roommate had beaten him there. He expected one of two things to happen: either Hobbie was going to yell at him, or Hobbie was going to ignore him. Whichever his friend chose, Wes knew his reasons were valid, but what Wes actually saw when the door slid open before him set his stomach into a flat spin.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm packing," Hobbie answered without looking up. "I'm moving into my own quarters."
"Because of what happened before?"
"Yes, and no. I think maybe we need some space."
"You need space to be with Ecla, you mean," Wes said, his mouth again operating without direct orders from his brain.
Hobbie slammed closed the drawer he had been emptying, and despite himself, Wes actually jumped. "Damn it, I'm doing this as much for you as for me, Wes! You know that Ecla and I are going to want to be together, but she shares quarters with Inyri and I share with you. Do you really want me to have to tell you to go out for the evening so the two of us can be alone? And obviously you don't want to be around the two of us after what you said in the mess."
"I guess not," Wes admitted quietly.
"And since I'm a major," Hobbie continued, "I'm entitled to my own quarters. So I decided to request them, Tycho approved the request, and I'm moving. That's all there is to it."
"You ever wonder why?" Wes said, as much to himself as to Hobbie.
"Why, what?" Hobbie asked, continuing to shove articles of clothing and personal effects into an amorphous khaki bag.
"Why we always roomed together, even when we could have our own quarters." Wes rested up against the wall opposite Hobbie, leaning on his hands, between the small of his back and the wall.
Hobbie stopped packing and stood straight, considering. "I've thought of it a few times, I guess. I usually come to the conclusion that we would get bored on our own after the years we spent together. Saved travel time between two separate quarters."
Wes nodded slowly. "I think you're right. And I always knew I could depend on you, and you on me," he admitted quietly.
"You still can, Wes," Hobbie said, giving one of his oldest friends a weak smile. "Nothing's changed between us, with our friendship."
"Yes, it has. You don't see it because you're the one who's found someone. You're the one who's leaving."
Hobbie sighed, pulling at the drawstring on his bag. "I'm not leaving, Wes. I'm moving two corridors away. I'll still be there when you need me."
"No, you'll be there when she needs you, and there for me when convenient," Wes said with a sneer. He had sworn up and down that he wouldn't lose his temper again, that he wouldn't let jealousy get the better of him, but Hobbie was about to take a major step towards a serious relationship with Ecla. Wes could admit to himself that he felt threatened by that, but he could never openly admit it to Hobbie.
"I can be there for both of you," Hobbie said soothingly. He obviously wanted to make things right between them, despite the shameful and childish way Wes was acting. "Just because Ecla and I are together doesn't mean that you and I can't still be friends. People become romantically involved all the time and don't let it change the rest of their lives."
Wes snorted. "Oh, yeah, sure. It's a well-known fact throughout the galaxy that the first thing girl-friends do is get rid of their boyfriend's best friend. Wake-up, Hobbie!"
"Wes, Ecla isn't like that. She's a fellow Rogue! And despite how rude you've been, she actually likes you. There's no way she'd make me cut you out of my life like that," Hobbie said in an attempt to settle Wes's ruffled feathers.
Wes just shook his head sadly. "Trust me, Hobbie, at some point she'll force you to make a choice. And you'll choose her."
Hobbie's eyes narrowed slightly. "Wes, I was willing to overlook your little tantrum earlier, because I was pretty sure I knew how I'd feel if you were the one getting into a relationship. But I don't think I like what you're insinuating about Ecla."
"You don't like the way I'm talking about the little missus?" Wes mocked, no longer trying to hide the anger and hurt that had been percolating within him for the last week. Now that it was exposed, he let all of it boil to the surface, aimed directly at Hobbie. "What do you really know about her anyway?"
"She never did anything to you, Wes," Hobbie said, his face disbelieving. "Where's all this resentment coming from?"
"Don't know that much, I guess, if you're not willing to answer the question," Wes scoffed.
"I know a lot about her," Hobbie said, rather heatedly, his own temper finally snapping. "For example, I know that at this very moment I like her a hell of a lot more than I like you!"
"Fine, why don't you go live with her then. See if she lets you play your Ralltiirian music all night long without complaint."
Hobbie's hands came up as he talked, before falling back to his sides in exasperation. "Wes, what in the name of the Sith has gotten into you?"
"Nothing you would understand," Wes said angrily, pushing off the wall. "Why don't you go be with the supposed love of your life and leave me alone?"
"How do you know she isn't the love of my life?" Hobbie asked sincerely, eyeing Wes as he crossed the small room to pick up his toiletries bag.
"How do you know that she is?" Wes countered, his anger covering the pain and feelings of abandonment he was really feeling. He knew he was acting like an adolescent, but he didn't care. "How do you know that she feels the same way about you as you do about her, huh? How do you know she won't find someone else she likes better? How do you know she isn't the spy?" Wes blurted, and instantly regretted it. He could see the confusion change to hurt in Hobbie's eyes, and he knew that he had pushed his tantrum way too far.
"I think I'll be going now," Hobbie said in a very subdued voice.
"Hobbie, you know I didn't mean that, right?" Wes implored. "I didn't mean to say that!"
"Maybe you did, maybe you didn't," Hobbie said, picking up his two bags. "But if you did mean to push me away, you've succeeded."
With only four steps, Hobbie was across the room.
"Hobbie?" Wes begged.
The only reply Wes got was the door sliding closed. Then he was standing alone in his now bachelor quarters.
Hobbie sat on his new bunk, in his new quarters, with his new privacy. The room was quiet and not much bigger than his cockpit, tucked in a secluded corner of the ship. It was no wonder it hadn't been assigned to anyone else, even on a ship as full as Starlight. On the plus side, he was at the very end of a corridor, so no one passed his door or loitered in the hall unless they had business there. He was finally alone, after all those years of sharing rooms with Wes.
Wes, his supposed friend. He had done the unthinkable, accusing Ecla of being the spy in the fleet. Hobbie had a good idea that it'd been said out of anger, but angry words still hurt. Hurt to the point that he wasn't sure what he would say to Wes the next time he saw him. He wondered if that was the end of their friendship.
No, it couldn't be, not after all those years protecting each other's backs, saving each other's necks. Both of us just need time to cool down, need time away from each other. Wes just needs to get used to our new arrangement, that's all.
It was all rather sudden, Hobbie had to remind himself, his forehead creasing in a frown. However, he had no doubt that Wes would be happy for his best friend eventually.
Hobbie stood and absently started to unpack his meagre belongings. As a pilot he'd learned long ago to pack light, only able to carry whatever would fit into the hold of his X-wing. And he always carried the same things with him, no matter where he was stationed: a couple of his citations went up on the shelf above the metal dresser; a framed holo of Rogue Squadron, taken many years and pilots ago, went up beside that. Next to the Rogues was a holo of his parents and sister. His few outfits of clothing went into the closet, all hanging in a neat row, military on the left, civilian on the right. His boots were lined up beneath them; his shaving gear, toothbrush and hair brush side by side on the shelf in the 'fresher.
It took him all of ten minutes to set the room up just the way he wanted it. It was always quicker without Wes underfoot, making jokes and a general nuisance of himself. Hobbie wasn't used to having this much space for his own things, especially since he was neat to begin with. It left the room looking somewhat sparse and empty, despite the smallness of the cabin.
He sat back down on the corner of his bunk, a heavy sigh escaping as he did. He wasn't angry anymore, not really. He never stayed angry for long, and Wes knew that; but this time Wes had really wounded him, attacking him where he knew it would hurt the most, and for that, he was doing something he rarely did.
Hobbie was holding a grudge.
