Summary: Rogue Squadron heads back to Hoth to defend an Intelligence Unit. But they get more than they bargained for.
Disclaimer: Star Wars, Rogue Squadron, and the rest are not mine. I write this for my own amusement. Jesina is my own, original creation.
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Chapter 14: Tears
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"You wanted to see me, sir," Inyri asked as she approached his door.
He looked up from fighting with the keypad. "Yes, come in. That is, provided this thing will work. I think it keeps freezing up." He slapped at and tried for the fourth time, and was finally rewarded when it slid open. "Have a seat, Inyri. I just want to wait for Tycho."
She frowned. She was in trouble, she knew it. Probably for telling them off in the hall over what they'd done to Hobbie. But she didn't care. They were in the wrong and they knew it. She'd seen it in their eyes. Besides. What punishment could they possibly come up with that was worse than being stuck on this ball of ice in the middle of nowhere?
Wedge looked her over. The bruise was obvious, covering half of the left side of her face. She'd done nothing to try to hide it, at all.
Just then, Tycho walked in, closing the door behind him. "Don't lock it," Wedge warned him. "It might not let us out."
Tycho shook his head and sighed. "If we got through one day without anything getting broken – people included – I think I'd fall over in shock," he muttered dryly.
Inyri shifted uncomfortably. If they were going to yell at her, she wished they'd just get it over with. She hadn't had a chance to talk to Hobbie about what had happened and desperately wanted to. "Sirs?" she asked tentatively. "Why am I here?"
"We wanted to ask you something," Wedge began, looking to Tycho for help. Neither of them had ever been in this position before, and Tycho was the more diplomatic of the two.
Tycho got the message. "What happened to your face, Inyri?"
She stared at him, suddenly knowing exactly where this conversation was headed. "Why don't you tell me what you think happened, sir?"
"Inyri," Wedge started but Tycho silenced him with a look.
"Did he?" Tycho asked. There was no point in dancing around the issue now. She clearly knew what they wanted to ask.
She stood, looking away, shaking her head. "Are you kidding?"
Wedge tried again. "Inyri…"
"No. Seriously, are you kidding me?"
"No. We aren't," Wedge said. "We hear him yelling at you in his quarters, we hear things breaking. And then half of your face is black and blue. Do you really think we have no reason to wonder?"
"Yes, I do think you have no reason to wonder. How can you even think he would do something like that?"
"Then how did it happen?"
"I fell. On the ladder, climbing down from my cockpit. After patrol, I started to leave and realized I forgot my gloves. I sent Gavin on ahead and went back. But the ladder had oil on it that I managed to miss the first time, but slipped on when I was coming back down the second time. I fell, and hit my cheek on the ladder. Ask the mechanic. He spent the next ten minutes going back and forth between apologizing and trying to get me to go to the med center."
Wedge and Tycho exchanged glances. Boy, had they made a mistake.
Inyri looked at them in disgust. "How could you even think that?"
"It was a logical conclusion."
"No. It wasn't. You've flown with him for ten years!"
"Inyri, we made a mistake," Tycho admitted. "But you have to look at it from our perspective. Hobbie broke his hand hitting a wall. He blew up at you in his quarters for no reason. He's been having flashbacks and has just generally not been himself. And when, after spending fifteen minutes in his quarters, during which time he broke any number of things, the next time anyone sees you, you look like someone's hit you…" he trailed off. "It follows."
She scowled. "Permission to leave, sir?"
"Go ahead."
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Inyri sat on her cot, legs pulled up to her chest, thinking about what Wedge and Tycho had said and about what had happened in Hobbie's quarters. As angry as she was, she couldn't blame them entirely, especially considering what she hadn't told them.
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"We need to talk," Inyri said to Hobbie.
He raised his eyes to meet hers, looking miserable. "I know."
She came inside and sat next to him on the cot, reaching out and taking his hand. But he pulled away and stood up. She bit her lip, hurt by the reaction. "Hobbie," she began.
"I'm sorry."
"It's all right."
"No, it isn't."
She sighed and thought back to earlier. She'd interrupted his rant to ask him to calm down, and he'd spun around, fist raised. He'd just barely pulled the punch in time, realizing at the last minute where he was and what was going on. He hadn't hit her, but he'd come damn close. After that they'd just stood there for a minute until she realized that he wasn't going to say another word to her and she'd left.
"Hobbie," she said slowly. "Talk to me?" He shook his head, angry with himself, and she stood to face him. "Damn it, Klivian, at least look at me. Or are you too busy feeling sorry for yourself?"
He spun around, eyes blazing. "Feeling sorry for myself?" he echoed. "How dare you?"
She fought the urge to take a step back when confronted with his anger for the second time that day. "I dare because, in case you've forgotten, I'm the one you took a swing at earlier," she retorted, glancing down at his clenched fists.
He followed her gaze, looking suddenly stricken. Slowly loosening his grip, he dropped into a chair and buried his face in his hands. "I don't believe that happened," he mumbled.
She sat back down. "Wedge and Tycho asked me if you hit me."
His eyes widened. "Because of…?" he gestured toward her face. When she nodded he looked away again and asked softly, as if he was afraid to know the answer, "What did you tell them?"
"The truth."
"Did you tell them I almost punched you?" he asked dryly.
She shook her head. "It's none of their business."
"They'd probably disagree."
She shrugged. "That's tough for them, then, isn't it?" Shaking her head she went on. "I can fight my own battles. I don't need to be taken care of or anything like that. And I'm not exactly pleased that they apparently don't think I can handle myself."
"Inyri, no offense, but I outweigh you, I'm physically stronger…." He trailed off. "If I wanted to hurt you, I probably could."
"Don't flatter yourself." The words were joking but the tone wasn't.
"I'm just saying…"
"I know."
They sat in silence for a while, Inyri staring at her hands and Hobbie staring at the mark on her cheek that could just as easily been from him as from the ladder she'd slipped on. "I've never hit a woman before. Sith, I've never hit anyone unless I had to."
"I know," she said again.
"What's wrong with me?" He'd asked the question out loud a couple times, and about a thousand times to himself.
Inyri shook her head, reaching for his hand, and was glad when he didn't pull away from her. "Nothing. You had every right to be angry at what they did to you. You just shouldn't have taken it out on me."
He nodded. He was still angry at Wedge and Tycho. But that wasn't an excuse. "Normally I wouldn't have."
She laughed bitterly. "These are hardly normal circumstances."
"True." He looked away, then looked back and swallowed hard. "Inyri, what's going on?"
She didn't try to hide her confusion. "What do you mean?"
With his free hand he gestured toward her, and then back at himself. "You and me. What's going on?"
Silence reigned. Slowly, she shook her head. "I don't know." She chewed her bottom lip for a second. "Hobbie, I'm not good at trusting people."
"And I'm sure today didn't help."
"It wasn't the best thing that could have happened," she admitted, "but it could have been worse." That was the truth. Having him come centimeters away from hitting her hadn't exactly endeared him to her, but he hadn't done it, and he was genuinely upset that he almost had. That went a long way. She couldn't imagine Zekka ever showing so much remorse for anything he'd put her through.
"I'm sorry."
She shook her head. "Don't be. It'll be all right. I'll get over it."
"But you shouldn't have to. I shouldn't have put you in a position where you need to get over anything."
"It'll be all right," she repeated.
He moved to sit next to her on the cot and, hesitantly, put an arm around he shoulder. She stiffened slightly, unaccustomed to close physical contact, but forced herself to relax against him. Despite everything that had happened earlier, and despite how much he'd frightened her – though she wouldn't admit that to anyone, him included – she felt safe with him now, which was something she hadn't felt in a long time.
She felt him brush his lips against her cheek, and felt a few tears on her cheek. As she brushed them away, it occurred to her that she wasn't sure if they were his or hers.