Author's Note: This is an Emi fic. Angst is yet to come, feedback will
influence where the story goes from here, so speak your mind. Don't
worry about Meg, She's simply an OC who will be explained later

Disclamer: C'mon, do you REALLY think I own Star Wars?




Rhapsody in the Key of X

Tycho Celchu sat in his office at HQ, trying to plow through the drift
of paper work that had claimed his desk as its final resting place. He had
only twenty minutes until his patrol and the office had seemed like an apt
place to light inbetween chaotic shifts. However, Rogue secrety, Meg, had
cornered him instantly admidst one of her infamous lectures, along the lines
of, "...not my responsibility to do your personal paper work," and so on.
Tycho had, ultimatly, no alternative than to retire to his desk and immerse
himself in the monotony.

"Mee-eeg, Tyyy-yyychoo," Wedge whined, virtually a petulant child,
"Have you seen the Brentaal flight records?"
"Did you check under, 'B'?" came the exasperated secretary's reply.
"What?"
"'B', Wedge," Tycho sighed, "'B', for Brentaal." Tycho paused for a
moment, before asking the inevitable question he knew he would regret.
"Where were you looking?"
"Under 'F', for 'Flight'," Wedge murmured, perplexed, as if this was
a perfectly normal confusion.
From the far desk, Meg adopted the tone she used when reconciling
the doubts of her five year old daughter. "Wedge, how many mission reports
do you think we write a year that could be considered, 'Flight Records'?"
Wedge shrugged, genuinly miffed. "A hundred? Two hundred?"
"Wedge, we keep the whole wing's records here, not just Rogue
Squadron. Rogue WING, Wedge."
"Oh yeah," he muttered, "A couple thousand?"
"Conservitaly speaking." She drew a tired breath and continued,
trying not to be too condescending. "And if we put them all under 'F',
how many 'F' drawers do you figure we would need?"
"A lot?"
"Yeah Wedge, a lot. And if we had seventeen drawers for 'F', how
long do you figure it would take to find a single file?"
"Alright, alright, I get it," blushed Wedge, thoroughly abashed.
Tycho shook his mop of blonde hair, his cereulan eyes smiling. He
couldn't fathom life with out Wedge and just kept reminding himself what a
brilliant pilot the young man was. Tycho glanced at his chrono and breathed
a sigh of relief.
"I'm off," he stated, pushing away from the desk. "Patrol time."
"C'ya Tycho." Meg flashed him a knowing grin before adding, "And
good luck tonight."
Tycho offered her a rare over-the-shoulder blonde-over-blue fly boy
smile before playfully chiding her, "There's no such thing as luck."
Meg watched her Adonis retreat, the smile fading from her lips. Did
She comprehend his perfection? She let a tired sigh escape as she murmered,
"I only wish it could be me, Celch." She shook her head ruefully and
chastized her own naivete, turning her mind back to paperwork, what to serve
for dinner, when the twins would be home, and the other divine pleasures of
single motherhood.


Tycho Celchu catapaulted out of his X-Wing cockit, genuinly nervous
for the first time in years. His entire mind revolved around the still
awkward logistics and over-practiced words. He knew all too well that tonight
had to be perfect, and that was one thing he doubted he could be.
Tycho unlocked his apartment door and stepped inside, throwing his
things on the davenport. Trying to quiet the storming thoughts that waged war
within his skull, he slipped into the shower. The mindless routine and
soothing water were effective enough, and he emerged a few minutes later,
drying his hair with a towel, his mind somewhat clearer. As he slid into the
clothes he had laid out earlier; a white silk shirt and black slacks, he
couldn't help but wonder what Wedge would select to wear on an evening such
as this.
"Probably magenta and olive green," he smirked, "Or a flight suit."
Tycho was momentarily lost in the humorous mental image, but was suddenly
awoken from his reverie by the doorbell's tone. His stomach churned in
fretful anticipation. "This is it," he thought, and opened the door.
Special Agent Winter leaned against the threshhold, looking as
ravishing as anyone could. Her platinum mane was played gently about,
smooting the sharp contours of her face and angular cheek bones. Her skin
was milky pale, and her acid green eyes were lined with kohl, so that they
seemed to sing with their own inner light. A slinky back dress rode the
perfect curves of her impossibly toned body in a manner that escaped rhetoric
itself.
Tycho stumbled at first, unable to articulate this goddess he beheld.
"Winter," he whispered, in a voice drenced with reverant sincerity, "You're
beautiful."
Winter smiled in a wickedly seductive way that only she was capable
of. "I know. You're not so bad yourself, fly boy."
Tycho grinned wryly, and offered her his arm, "Let's go, shall we?"
"Yes," she replied, taking the outstretched arm. "We'll make the
other couples jealous."
While her touch sent electric pleasure down his spine, for a moment
he forgot to be nervous. It only took a moent for him to recall why he loved
her and why he was doing this to begin with and then-, then he simply smiled.
Tonight was any other night, only better.

A soft glow enveloped the all but vacant gardens of Little Alderaan,
languid tendrils of light drifting from the mock Alderaani night sky. Tycho
felt Winter lean closer to him, enraptured by the microcosm that he had
presented to her.
"It's perfect," she breathed, "It's almost home."
Tycho nodded. "I come hear whenever I get homesick."
He lead her to a small waterfall where crystal waters cascaded over
smoothed stones, sitting on the bank with Winter as his side. He drew a
quiet breath and began his speech. "Back at home, when I was young and in
love for the first time, I used to go the observation deck at Triwithu falls
and imagine how I would propose. I had a whole speech planned, complete with
Shakespeare quotes and an analogy to my love flowing as long as the water
fell."
Tycho paused to catch his breath, then continued, "When Alderaan
was deystroyed, and Nessie with her, I thought it had all ended, that I
had lost everything. Even if I ever found someone else, it could never again
be a spring day at the Falls. All I really lost were the words.
"When I met you, Winter, I was right back to before. My mind went
back and found those words, but suddenly they seemed so very trite. It
seemed like an insult to compare my love for you to a river that would one
day dry up. And the strangest thing was, I no longer missed Alderaan, for
she lives on in the heart s of her children. Every breath, every word, every
move you make is the essence of Alderaan- good, true, loving and beautiful,
even if others can't understand you. Winter, my every day would be complete,
and for once my heart would be at peace, if," his voice fell to a whisper
and he dropped to his knee, producing a small velvet box, "If you, Lady
Winter of the House of Organa, would marry me."


Megan searched through the cabinet, determined to find the file and
to not think about Tycho for five consecutive minutes. She was vaguely
aware that someone was lingering in the doorway, but it eluded her as to why
the individuals presence was of her concern.
Meg peeled back a stack of papers labled "Yavin Tic Tac Toe Games"
to finally reveal the Thyferra flight record she was looking for. She
snatched the file and slammed it on the desk, quickly regaining her composure
as she realised the visitor had entered the office.
A short, akward woman stood near Megan's desk, nervously fiddling
with her mousey brown hair.
"May I help you?" Meg questioned, perhaps too caustic.
"I hoope so," the woman chirped anxiously, "I'm Nyestra DeNari, I'm
looking for Tycho Celchu."
A file fell to the floor, suddenly forgotten as tears clouded the
secretary's eyes.
"Oh Maker, it cant be true..." she whispered.