Thank you all for your wonderful comments! I love 'em!

Owphoenix: Thanks! Here you go!

PrincessDaisy2: I know. Even I think it's sad! More for you!

GreatOne: Really? Leia can't die? Oh – well, now I'm off to change the story . . . ;-)

Liz: Look! I didn't! Thanks for coming!

Pitdroid: I know, I know. Me, too! I usually hate reading these kind of stories!

Edgar: Why, thank you! You know, for a SW-atheist, you seem to be hanging around the SW section of ff.n and the JC boards a lot lately . . . ha, ha, ha.

A person: Nuisance! Nuisance! Nuisance! You can be quite annoying, you know? Quit staring at me. I'm not writing fanfic, I'm, ah . . .

For the record, Edgar and A person happen to be the same person, and that would be my roommate. She's annoying, but worked pretty hard to find this fic, so, props to my idiotic roommate! Yay! You think I'm kidding!

Clears throat Okay, enough rambling. On with the show!

Wedge Antilles glanced around the mess hall as he shoved a ration bar into his mouth. Wincing slightly from the bland taste of his lunch, he scraped the last bit down and longed for his whiskey supply stashed away in his quarters. Can't, he reminded himself. Gotta make appearances. Show 'em what to do.

The small fleet preparing on the border of the Corporate Sector was restless and uneasy, and was in desperate need of leadership and morale. Since the news three days ago, everyone felt melancholy, even if they didn't show it, and seemed unusually prone to infighting. In some cases, Wedge could put it down to grief over the loss of the Republic's Alderaanian spitfire Jedi, and he'd had some sense of genuine emptiness among the crew over the past couple of days. But he bet Leia Organa's death wasn't enough to push the crew as much as it was being pushed emotionally.

The problems rained down from Command.

Wedge could feel for his friend. Han was a tough guy, but even the strongest men in the galaxy suffered sometimes. Wedge wasn't unsympathetic to the loss Han must be feeling, and was sure he would be doing no more than what Solo had accomplished since the news came in, were he in the same situation.

But Wedge wasn't a general.

Han had responsibilities to his crew, his subordinates. The welfare of this mission was most definitely in his hands, and his alone, and the lives of the men and women serving under him were certainly up in the air right now. If Han didn't return to command, and with confidence and strength, Wedge had serious doubts that success could even be achieved.

Traitor! Wedge shook his head, embarrassed at catching himself in such a moment of morbidity. What one part of his mind acknowledged as reality, the other found resentful and subordinate.

Wedge was interrupted from his reverie by Tycho Celchu. "Wedge?"

"Yeah. I know, I know." Wedge stood up and tossed his wrappers away. "I'm going." He started toward the hatch, then paused and turned toward Tycho with a grin. "Hey, I don't know how long this'll take. Could ya make sure our children get to bed at a decent hour tonight?"

Tycho nodded, and Wedge was out the door. Walking with more assurance that he felt, he strolled up the corridors towards the command wing, past guards and busy techs. He continued up until he came to a non-descript hatch, bordered on the right by what he assumed used to be a keypad and on the left by a massive Wookiee.

"Hey'a Chewie," he said, nonchalantly leaning against the doorframe. "How's it going?"

Chewie rumbled something incoherent and moved towards the keypad. The hatch opened and Wedge stepped inside, hearing the hatch seal itself again behind him.

Wedge found himself reluctant to step further into the quarters, felt nervous at the prospect of confronting Han in what he knew was a most serious manner. This is stupid, he admonished himself. It's Han, for Force's sake!

"Wedge, what the hell are you doing?"

Wedge shook his head. "What?"

"You walk into my quarters and just stand there? You're becoming as brainless as Janson." Wedge had yet to see a corporeal anything, but he thought he could find the voice's origin. He stepped into the small room, and continued past the bunk and glanced down to the floor. Solo lay with his back against the bunk, sitting on the floor, legs sprawled out. No bottles around. That's a good sign.

"How'd you know it was me?"

"Told Chewie not to let anyone in 'cept you. Figured I'd rather get the command speech from you rather than Drahyod or some other idiot."

Wedge swallowed a lump in his throat. "Hey, look, I know – "

"Shut it, Antilles. I know what you're gonna say. And it doesn't matter."

Wedge lowered himself down to the floor and sat opposite Solo. Han seemed tense, but relatively pulled together. Wedge had expected a wampa with a hangover. Interesting.

"What was I gonna say?"

"Wedge, I hung out with you too long during the Rebellion. You don't just come over for social chats and a drink."

Wedge chuckled. "Nah, Hobbie's always been the socialite of the Rogues."

Han turned his head for the first time towards him, made eye contact. His eyes looked tired, worn out, but other than that, he seemed normal. "You wanna know what I'm doing with Meridian, right?"

"Crossed my mind, yeah."

"Mission's gotta be done. What else is there to say?"

"You're leading?"

Han snorted. "Who else can do it? I don't trust any of you with anything this important." He grimaced. "'Sides, I can't have any more blood on my hands."

Any more? "You don't have to do this, Han. No one'd blame you for delaying the mission for a couple of days."

"We're here. We're ready. Might as well." Han closed his eyes. "Go out in a blaze of glory."

Wedge started. "Han, you're not – "

"What? No! Are you kiddin'? I meant my career. I could care less whether or not I die in a blaze of glory."

I don't think you care about much right now. "You're resigning?"

Han gave a half-hearted chuckle. "I hate the uniform and you Rogues make me feel old. Time to leave."

Wedge nodded. A quiet descended on the two, awkward stillness penetrating a seemingly simple conversation. I can't force him to talk to me. Would I even want to listen if he did start talking?

"Look, Wedge, much as I'd love to continue this wonderful discussion, we got a big day tomorrow. Could'ya make sure Chewie goes to his own quarters tonight? I think he's been sleeping by the hatch whole time."

Wedge rose up from the floor. "Yeah, sure." He watched as Han dropped his head into his hands and continued to stare at the floor. "Uh, Han?"

"Don't," he growled.

I'm in this deep . . . "Han, I'm sorry. She's, uh, was a – "

"Wedge, nothin' you can do or say right now will be any different than what I've been tellin' myself."

Wedge felt himself lower his head, silently accepting defeat. "Just, if you need someone – "

Han shook his head. "Later, Wedge."

Wedge stood by the bunk for a few seconds, staring at the crumpled shape of Solo and trying to develop a better verbal finesse. When his brain steadfastly refused to cooperate, he turned and walked to the hatch and left Solo in the environment his surname naturally projected. He reiterated Han's orders to Chewie, which was promptly forgotten as the Wookiee sat down next to the hatch and mumbled a goodbye to Wedge, and continued down the corridors towards his own bunk.

After all, they had a big day tomorrow.