Wedge returned quickly, and after they piled into the speeder, he began to make an almost circling descent, to be sure she hadn't fallen on some walkway between there and the low levels.
She hadn't.
They reached the ground level, or what had once been such, seeing a group of aliens and once-humans gathered in one area. Something was strange though. Usually, they would be clawing after each other for the unfortunate's things. Yet they stood back at an amazed and respectable distance.
As the Rogues rushed forward, murmers of 'Jedi' could be heard. They didn't pick up on why, until they pushed through to the centre.
There were Lyanna's clothing, her things, as they would have been. One leg and arm lay at crazy angles, and the band that had held her long braid lay just far enough to the side to suggest it had been worn... but there was no Lyanna. Only blood and grey-matter splattered on the ground suggested she'd been there, had landed violently... but there was no body.
Hobbie looked up at the others in confusion, then knelt and patted the clothing, as though expecting his eyes to have been deceiving him, and she was yet there.
Empty.
He gathered the clothing to himself and cried, rocking back and forth, keening moans emitting from his throat. Something fell to the ground, and he reached to pick it up. It was the necklace he'd given her as a promise... a promise that, now, could never be fulfilled.
Hobbie sat for a long while like that, then mechanically got up, gathering her things to himself. Without a word to his comrades, he moved to the speeder, and sat in the back. He exhuded an aura of utter isolation, keeping the others from trying to talk to him.
They knew he just needed some time alone. Wedge drove them back to the base, and Wes walked with Hobbie back to the barracks where they shared rooms. Without a word, Hobbie entered his room and locked the door.
With nobody to see him, Wes let himself cry for the girl who'd been his best friend's love... and had been a close friend and confidante to them all.
*
For three days, Wes paced outside Hobbie's room. Other squadmates had come by, trying to see him, but it was a no dice situation. The Ralltiirian wouldn't answer his comm, wouldn't even get annoyed when Wes tried knocking constantly. He once went at it for two hours, tap tap tap tap, and not a word of admonishment was recieved.
Hobbie never emerged, but that wasn't uncommon. The man occasionally would get in a funk and stay in his room. He had a 'fresher, and a stash of food, so he could go for quite some time.
But, this was different. Wes knew how much Hobbie cared for Lyanna, and he knew his best friend wasn't just hunkering down for the winter. Hobbie was in mourning....
The more he thought about it, the more worried he got. Things soon got to the point where he couldn't wait a moment longer for Hobbie to reemerge. Knowing he was going to hear it from the base keepers, and not caring, he pulled out his blaster and shot the doorpanel.
Hobbie's door slid open to reveal a dark room, the only light coming from the now open doorway. It fell just short of a figure sitting listlessly in a chair. Not moving.
Wes was't even sure if it was breathing. He quickly moved forward and shook his friend's shoulder to no avail. The man was nearly comatose, clutching Lyanna's things.
Unresponsive.
He looked as though he'd gone through the wars alone. His usually neat hair was unkempt, ferrocrete dust still pasted through the strands that fell over his face. Even stubble was present, a testimony to just how long he'd been like that.
He had a pulse though, it was beating slowly, as though trudging along unwillingly, automatically.
Now Wes was scared. He quickly commed Wedge, asking him what to do.
*
Hobbie lay on a clean bunk in a mental ward, still clutching the bloody clothing, still unmoving.
Wedge, Tycho and Wes took shifts sitting with him. It wasn't because there were more pressing matters - they were on leave for the month - it was because seeing their friend like this was taxing on the soul.
When Wedge sat with him, he tried talking to him about all the good times they'd all had. Wes tried to make Hobbie laugh in rememberance of the pranks Lyanna had helped them pull. Tycho said nothing, just watching over the Ralltiirian in an understanding silence. Unsure what to say, lost in memories of his own. Because of this, he was often given the graveyard shift - grisly term, but appropriate nonetheless.
Hobbie wasn't sleeping anyhow. Nor did he eat, or drink, or anything. The only time he'd remotely respond would be if someone tried to take Lyanna's things from him. He simply clutched them tighter to himself.
Until he no longer had the strength to do so.
One by one, they were able to take the bloodstained clothes away, one by one the things she had were placed in a box. Finally, all that was left in his loosely gripped hand was the necklace she'd worn, the necklace he'd given her.
They let him keep that.