Title: A New Path

Summary: Tycho Celchu's journey from the Empire to the Alliance.

Disclaimer: Star Wars is, quite clearly, not mine, and no copyright infringement is intended. This story is not written for profit.

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Epilogue

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"How much longer you think we'll be here?" Tycho asked Wedge, toying with one of the blankets on his cot. They'd been at Hoth for nearly two years now, off and on – more on than off. And they'd all agreed that it was getting colder by the day.

"Hopefully not too much longer. As it is, I don't think a year on Tatooine would warm me up." Wedge shivered and rubbed his arms, though he could barely feel the motion through all the layers he was wearing.

"I say that if the next place they send us isn't hospitable, we mutiny."

"That'll work," Wedge said, rubbing his hands together.

At that moment, there was a knock at the door, and Tycho looked at him. "Our room isn't bugged, is it?"

Wedge glanced around. "Don't think so." Then he got up and headed for the door. Maybe the movement would warm him.

Maybe not.

The door opened and he was surprised to see General Rieekan standing there. "Sir," he said crisply, saluting. Behind him, he could hear Tycho rise.

The General returned the salute. "Do you mind if I come in, gentlemen?"

"Uh, yes, sir," Wedge said.

"Yeah, it's not like we were talking about revolting and heading to warmer climates," Tycho murmured, trying and failing to keep a straight face.

Rieekan shot him a strange look, but didn't smile. "I'm afraid I have some bad news."

Wedge's stomach suddenly felt colder than the air around them. "Yes, sir?"

"Jesina Dreis' ship was destroyed. When she left here it was on a cargo run to Sullust. As near as we can tell, she dropped out of hyperspace outside of Belsavis for a course correction and was ambushed…by the Inhibitor. A cruiser we had in the vicinity responded to her distress call, but there was nothing but debris left by the time it arrived."

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Tycho literally felt his blood run cold. He'd heard the expression before, but had never experienced it – even living inside this icebox for the last year or so. He felt his knees weaken, felt hands under his arms. He vaguely could make out the cot beneath him as someone helped him sit down.

He could hear voices in the room, but none he could recognize; nor were there any words he could comprehend.

After a moment, the hands holding him still loosened their grip and he was able to make out the words and recognize the voices. Wedge was saying his name over and over again, and General Rieekan was telling him to breathe.

He heard the same words echo inside his head. Yes, that's it. You need to breathe. In and out, there you go. After a moment, he was no longer sure which words were coming from where.

"That's better, lieutenant." That was the General.

"Can you hear me, Tycho?" That was Wedge.

Slowly, he nodded, and opened his eyes. He could feel water on his face, but it took longer for him to realize that the water had come from the tears that continued to run down his cheeks. "Force," he whispered.

"Are you going to be all right, son?" Rieekan asked. Tycho wasn't sure if he was talking to him or Wedge, so he gave him a half-nod. "I'm going to go talk to Skywalker, let him know neither of you will be reporting for patrol."

Tycho managed another nod, and forced himself to focus on the General's retreating form. Then he shifted his attention to Wedge's hands, which currently rested on his shoulders.

Wedge was kneeling in front of him, his eyes red though there were no tears falling. "I'm sorry," he managed to say.

Tycho pushed him back. "I…I need to go."

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Wes rounded the last corner on the way to his quarters and stopped short when he saw Tycho sitting on the floor outside the room he shared with Wedge. He frowned and continued to head toward his own door, but concern for his squadron mate overpowered his desire to relax – and plan out another trick for Wedge and Luke.

Melting the floor under Luke's chair had been fun.

He walked past his door and knelt on the floor next to Tycho. The man was hugging his knees to his chest and his eyes were fixed on some random spot on the wall. "You all right?"

Tycho shook his head.

Wes frowned. He wasn't the sensitive type. Not that he thought Tycho was – when had he started thinking of the other pilot by his first name anyway? Probably when Wedge had. But the Alderaanian was clearly upset, and comforting people wasn't his strong suit.

Especially when they weren't exactly volunteering anything.

Or didn't seem interested in being comforted.

He sighed. "What happened?"

Tycho seemed to physically struggle to pull his eyes away from the wall, and Wes was struck by the expression on his face when he could finally see it. For all the time he'd known Tycho – even when they couldn't stand each other – the other man's eyes had been his most communicative feature. But now they were empty. They were completely void of emotion, and even the color seemed to have changed. His eyes were no longer the sharp ice blue that had so many of the women on base tossing him second looks. They were duller, an almost cloudy dark blue that belied the emotion he was clearly trying – and failing – to control.

"She's dead."

The words had the force of a solid punch to his stomach. He was knocked off balance, falling hard onto the icy floor. He sat there, staring, open mouthed, for how long he didn't know.

"How?"

"Ambushed."

"Who?"

"Inhibitor."

"Where?"

"Belsavis."

"When?"

Tycho only shrugged.

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If someone had asked Wes later how long he was sitting on the floor across from Tycho, or how he made it back into his room, he probably wouldn't have known.

Hobbie could tell them, though – a rough estimate, at least. Because he walked by them three times over the course of an hour, before he finally realized that neither was speaking at all – or even looking at the other, for that matter. Finally, he'd talked Wes into coming back to their room, but he'd been unable to get his friend to tell him what had happened. He left Wes lying on his cot, flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, and more or less catatonic, and went to find Wedge.

Who, by that time, had apparently managed to somehow coax Tycho inside their quarters. The Alderaanian was sitting up – a slight improvement over Wes – but still staring at nothing.

And Wedge didn't look much better than the other two.

Sighing, and deciding he probably wouldn't get anything from either of them, he left to find Luke.

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Wedge saw Hobbie pause in the doorway, and was glad he didn't come in. He didn't want to talk to him now. He was glad Tycho wasn't in a talking mood, because he wasn't sure he wanted to talk to him, either.

He wondered absently if Hobbie had gotten Wes into their quarters, but it was far from being the top item on his list of concerns. He sank down onto his cot, Rieekan's words still playing over in his head.

Jesina…destroyed…a cargo run…Sullust…we can tell…hyperspace…Belsavis…ambush… Inhibitor…distress call…debris…cargo run…Sullust…Belsavis…Inhibitor…debris.

Whiskey.

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Tycho felt the thin mattress he was sitting on shift under additional weight, and looked over to see Wedge sitting beside him, two full bottles of whiskey in his hands. "Feel like a drink?" he asked, offering a pained, lopsided, smile. "Won't have to worry about feeling cold again."

"I don't expect to feel anything again, not anytime soon, anyway."

It was the longest sentence he'd managed since General Rieekan's visit.

He reached over and took the bottle that sat in Wedge's right hand, opening it in a single fluid motion. He took a long sip, relishing the burning sensation as it drained down his throat. It stung, but the pain felt good. Maybe he would feel something again, after all.

He watched Wedge tip his own bottle to his lips, heard his friend's satisfied sigh. "What do you think she'd say if she saw us right now?" he asked.

"I think she'd probably take the bottles away and throw them at us."

"Nah…it'd be a waste of good whiskey. She liked a good drink as much as the next Corellian."

"Alderaanians drink whiskey, too." He could already feel the alcohol going to his head. Exhaustion, lack of food, lack of energy – and alcohol. Probably not the best combination. He took another swig.

"Yeah, but not nearly as much."

"She did."

"Like I said, Corellians."

Tycho was quiet for a moment. "She'd find something to hit us with."

"Yeah."

Again, there was silence, and again Tycho broke it. "It's almost harder than before."

Wedge looked at him, head tilted to the side. "How's that?"

"I mean…it's not, not really. When Alderaan was destroyed, it…I can't even explain how it felt. But I knew all along – even at that moment – that Jes was still alive, just because of how she was, and that she hadn't been back to Alderaan since I'd left, and that helped me. Because of her, there was still something left for me. My whole planet was gone, but not my whole life. There was still something that was okay."

"That's how Booster and Mirax were for me," Wedge said, talking another long drink from the bottle.

Tycho nodded absently. "But she's not here anymore. She was the last thing left, and…"

"And now she's gone, and there's nothing left."

If the words might have seemed harsh to the neutral observer, they didn't to Tycho. He just nodded, and raised the bottle to his lips once more.

After a long moment, Tycho spoke again. "I'm just tired of starting over."

Wedge nodded. "I think we all are. Janson…well, I don't really know much about him, honestly. Doesn't talk much about himself, y'know?"

"Neither does Hobbie," Tycho pointed out, detecting the slightest slur to his words.

"I know…but with him, you know he's had to start over, at least once. Went to the Academy, came over to us…an' anyway, even so…we've all had to start again. I don't know anyone who doesn't see joinin' the 'lliance as startin' over. Ya gotta give up everythin' – even if ya got fam'ly at home, don' see 'em anymore." Tycho noticed that Wedge was slurring too, worse than he had been himself. He didn't particularly care, though, and simply nodded.

"Ya thin' she got drunk after Alderaan?" Wedge asked.

"Prob'ly," he murmured. "So I don' thin' she'd be that mad at us for this…" he trailed off, draining more whiskey from the bottle. Yes, he was definitely getting drunk. Funny, he could usually hold his liquor better than this. Couldn't he?

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Luke followed Hobbie back to Wedge and Tycho's shared room. They met Wes in the corridor outside. He looked better than Hobbie had described, but still not entirely well. His face was pale, eyes dull, hair mussed from lying down.

Together, they walked in silence the rest of the way to Tycho and Wedge's quarters. The door was open, and the two were sitting side by side on the bed, mostly empty bottles of whiskey in hand.

He let out a low whistle. He hadn't expected them to be drunk…yet, anyway. Maybe he should have. "Mind if we join you?"

In all honesty, he half expected them to tell him to get lost. He hadn't known Jesina half as well as even Hobbie had, and he had nothing on Wes, Wedge, and Tycho. But Wedge waved him in. "C'mon in. Have a drink."

"I think you've done enough drinking for all of us," Luke replied dryly, but he walked in and pulled up a chair, as Wes and Hobbie sat down on Wedge's cot.

"Nah, not nearly." Tycho shook his head. "Plenty more where that came from…I think." He looked sideways at Wedge, who just laughed.

"Appropriate," Hobbie murmured, and the others glanced in his direction, Luke included. He wasn't sure what Hobbie was referring to; he didn't know enough about Jesina to be privy to any inside jokes.

Hobbie shrugged. "She always could drink Tycho under the table."