Title: Inner Demons, Outer Evils
Summary: A tragic event sets Rogue Squadron on the path to the truth...and sends one of the Rogues on a collision course with himself.
Disclaimer: Star Wars is, quite clearly, not mine, and no copyright infringement is intended. This story is not written for profit.
A Note: I know a lot of people will take issue with what I do with the main character, but it is entirely plausible. Wedge, Tycho, Wes, and Hobbie have all, at this point, spent fifteen years fighting to survive – and taking lives in the process. They've all lost friends and/or family, and all just push their pain (and guilt) aside. Sooner or later, that would be bound to catch up with at least one of them.
* * * * *
Chapter 2: On the Edge
* * * * *
Having tried several times – to no avail – to contact Tycho, Wedge decided just to head over to the home his friend shared with Winter – whenever the Intelligence agent was actually on-planet, that is.
By the time he arrived, Tycho's supply of Whyren's had been significantly diminished. The Alderaani pilot did not appear, at first glance, to be overly intoxicated, though no one would mistake him for being sober either.
After letting Wedge in Tycho dropped onto the sofa, offering his visitor a seat with an exaggerated wave of his hand. "What brings you here?"
Wedge sighed and remained standing. He was in no mood to play games. But then, neither was Tycho, he was sure. "I know you know the answer to that."
Tycho looked thoughtful for a moment before shaking his head. "No, can't say that I do." The slight slur to his words became more evident.
"Tycho—"
The Alderaanian jumped to his feet to look Wedge in the eye. "You're right. I do know why you're here. And I don't want to talk about it, so you may as well just go."
"Whether you want to talk about it or not, I think you need to."
"I'm fine, Wedge."
"You're drunk."
"Show me a pilot who doesn't drink."
"To this extent? You."
"I also just killed a good friend."
"You did your job."
"Yeah, well, right now my job doesn't exactly make me proud."
Wedge sighed. This was one battle he was not going to win – not now anyway. He didn't have the energy, the willpower, or the alcohol consumption to fight this out. "Fine, you want me to go, I'll go. But don't come in tomorrow. Report in so I know where you are in case I need you, but don't come in. Stay home, get some rest – Force knows you're going to need it after tonight – and just try to relax."
"You can't—"
"I can, and if I have to, I'll make it an order. You need a break after today. Besides, you'll be too hung over tomorrow to be in any shape to fly."
"Wedge, I—"
Wedge rested a hand on Tycho's shoulder. "Relax, Tych. Take a day off. When was the last time you had a day that you did nothing for the squadron?" When his friend didn't answer, he continued. "Exactly my point. You work yourself to death, just like I do." He saw Tycho flinch at his words but dismissed it. "Sometimes, I think we could take a lesson from Wes. He works just as hard as you and I but at least he enjoys himself. Of course, if you tell him I said that, I'll be obliged to space you both."
Tycho managed a half-smile. "I'll remember that."
"Good. Get some rest, and I'll see you in a couple of days." He turned to leave but stopped and turned back. "And remember, you can come to me for anything if you need it. No matter what."
* * * * *
The day after his ordered rest Tycho was back to work. Much to Wedge's dismay – and against the Corellian's very vocal wishes – he threw himself into the preparations for Rogue Squadron's reassignment to Lusankya once Wedge resumed command of the task force it headed. When that happened Tycho would return to being the Rogue's CO.
Late that evening Wedge sat alone in his office after Tycho had finally left for the night, trying to decide if the zeal with which his friend had worked was a good sign or a bad sign. He hadn't come to either conclusion when he was interrupted by a visitor.
Visitors to be more precise – three of them, in the form of Jesina Dreis, Wes Janson, and Hobbie Klivian. "Moment of your time, Wedge?"
Wedge frowned at Janson's words. The perennial joker's face was abnormally serious and there was an uncertain tone to his words that Wedge was sure he'd never heard before in the fifteen years he'd known the pilot. "Sure, sit down."
As they did, Jesina handed him a mug of caf. "Here. I get the feeling you're going to need it." She gestured to her own. "I know I could use something even stronger."
Wedge's worry deepened. This was getting worse by the second. "What's going on?"
It was, predictably, Wes who answered him. "We, ah, we think that Tycho ought to be removed from duty for now."
Wedge's jaw dropped. Of all the things he might have been expecting, that certainly would not have been one of them. "Why?"
Jesina spoke next. "You were working with him today, so you didn't really get the chance to just stand back and watch him. We did. He's distracted, having trouble focusing. Not a good thing for a pilot." She hesitated, and Wedge noticed it.
"What else?"
"Well, I went over to his apartment last night, just to see how he was doing. He was drunk when I got there, and downed another bottle of Whyren's like it was water. Then he passed out." She paused, and when she spoke again there was an urgent edge to her voice. "Wedge, in all the time I've known him, he's never gotten that drunk. Not even after Alderaan." That was a meaningful statement – Jesina had known Tycho all his life.
"He was drinking the night before last, too," Wedge said, frowning. "Damn near threw me out."
Hobbie shook his head. "This isn't good, Wedge."
Their CO sighed. "No, it isn't." His gaze traveled over each of them in turn. "You really think I should relieve him from duty? I want your professional opinions, not your thoughts as his friends."
"These are our professional opinions, Wedge," Wes said seriously. "We don't have any real missions coming up – we're pretty much in limbo right now. We need him when we have assignments, but in this holding pattern we're in for the next few weeks, until Lusankya is back, we really don't."
That much was true. Unlike most squadrons, those that weren't commanded by a general, Rogue Squadron didn't have a two-person command. Rather, the Rogue command included, in addition to Wedge and Tycho, Jesina, who was a colonel, and Wes and Hobbie, both majors. It was an arrangement unique to the elites Wedge commanded, but it helped to make the squadron more effective – and less dependent on Wedge to make every decision.
"You two?" Wedge asked, turning his eyes to Jesina and Hobbie.
They both nodded. "He won't like it, but he needs a break. Corran's death is taking a toll on everyone, but especially on him. You've got to expect that, but he still has to deal with it."
Wedge ran a hand through his hair. They were right, and he knew it. In fact, they weren't saying anything he himself hadn't been thinking. "All right. Listen, I want to thank you for coming to me with this. And don't worry – you haven't pointed out anything I didn't notice myself." He paused and, if possible, his face grew even more serious. "Not a word of this to anyone outside the squadron. That could do a lot of damage to his career." He didn't have to say that, but did anyway. "I'll talk to the rest of the squadron tomorrow."
Hobbie and Jesina nodded and excused themselves. Wes, however, hung back. "You heading over there tonight?" When Wedge nodded, he said, "Do me a favor? Tell him I know what it's like, if he needs to talk."
"Oh, he needs to talk. I'm just not sure he wants to."
* * * * *
Wedge took a deep breath before depressing the buzzer outside Tycho's door. He had to press it twice more before it was answered.
It was clear to him the moment he saw Tycho that the pilot was well on his way to repeating the previous two nights. Wedge, not in the mood to battle it out with the other man, stepped inside before Tycho could send him away. "I need to talk to you."
Even through his slightly drunken haze, the Alderaanian caught the seriousness in Wedge's voice and seemed to sober slightly. "Sure, sit down." He sat on the sofa and Wedge sank into a chair directly across from him. "What is it?"
Wedge took another deep breath. This was going to be one of the most difficult things he'd ever had to do. "A few squadron members came to me this evening expressing concerns about your ability to do your job right now."
Tycho stared at him, incredulous. "Wedge, you can't be serious! You know I–"
"I know you need some time off."
Tycho ran a hand through his hair. "I am having a tough time, I admit that. But I'm only going to get over that if I keep working."
"I don't think so, Tycho. They think it might be best if you stepped down for a while, took a personal leave." He paused. "And I agree with them."
"Wedge–"
But Wedge cut him off again. "No, Tycho. Take some time off. Don't make me make it an order."
Tycho stared at him for a long moment before looking away, out the window, into the dark night. "That's not necessary. But I think you'd better go."
Wedge stood. He didn't really think that leaving was a very good idea. But staying and arguing struck him as an even worse choice. "All right."
When he'd reached the door he stopped and turned back. "Wes says he knows how it feels, and if you want to talk, he's around. I hope you know we all are." Tycho didn't answer, so Wedge let himself out.
As he left, he missed seeing Tycho lightly finger his blaster. But even if he'd stayed, he wouldn't have known the thoughts that passed behind the ice- blue eyes.
Summary: A tragic event sets Rogue Squadron on the path to the truth...and sends one of the Rogues on a collision course with himself.
Disclaimer: Star Wars is, quite clearly, not mine, and no copyright infringement is intended. This story is not written for profit.
A Note: I know a lot of people will take issue with what I do with the main character, but it is entirely plausible. Wedge, Tycho, Wes, and Hobbie have all, at this point, spent fifteen years fighting to survive – and taking lives in the process. They've all lost friends and/or family, and all just push their pain (and guilt) aside. Sooner or later, that would be bound to catch up with at least one of them.
* * * * *
Chapter 2: On the Edge
* * * * *
Having tried several times – to no avail – to contact Tycho, Wedge decided just to head over to the home his friend shared with Winter – whenever the Intelligence agent was actually on-planet, that is.
By the time he arrived, Tycho's supply of Whyren's had been significantly diminished. The Alderaani pilot did not appear, at first glance, to be overly intoxicated, though no one would mistake him for being sober either.
After letting Wedge in Tycho dropped onto the sofa, offering his visitor a seat with an exaggerated wave of his hand. "What brings you here?"
Wedge sighed and remained standing. He was in no mood to play games. But then, neither was Tycho, he was sure. "I know you know the answer to that."
Tycho looked thoughtful for a moment before shaking his head. "No, can't say that I do." The slight slur to his words became more evident.
"Tycho—"
The Alderaanian jumped to his feet to look Wedge in the eye. "You're right. I do know why you're here. And I don't want to talk about it, so you may as well just go."
"Whether you want to talk about it or not, I think you need to."
"I'm fine, Wedge."
"You're drunk."
"Show me a pilot who doesn't drink."
"To this extent? You."
"I also just killed a good friend."
"You did your job."
"Yeah, well, right now my job doesn't exactly make me proud."
Wedge sighed. This was one battle he was not going to win – not now anyway. He didn't have the energy, the willpower, or the alcohol consumption to fight this out. "Fine, you want me to go, I'll go. But don't come in tomorrow. Report in so I know where you are in case I need you, but don't come in. Stay home, get some rest – Force knows you're going to need it after tonight – and just try to relax."
"You can't—"
"I can, and if I have to, I'll make it an order. You need a break after today. Besides, you'll be too hung over tomorrow to be in any shape to fly."
"Wedge, I—"
Wedge rested a hand on Tycho's shoulder. "Relax, Tych. Take a day off. When was the last time you had a day that you did nothing for the squadron?" When his friend didn't answer, he continued. "Exactly my point. You work yourself to death, just like I do." He saw Tycho flinch at his words but dismissed it. "Sometimes, I think we could take a lesson from Wes. He works just as hard as you and I but at least he enjoys himself. Of course, if you tell him I said that, I'll be obliged to space you both."
Tycho managed a half-smile. "I'll remember that."
"Good. Get some rest, and I'll see you in a couple of days." He turned to leave but stopped and turned back. "And remember, you can come to me for anything if you need it. No matter what."
* * * * *
The day after his ordered rest Tycho was back to work. Much to Wedge's dismay – and against the Corellian's very vocal wishes – he threw himself into the preparations for Rogue Squadron's reassignment to Lusankya once Wedge resumed command of the task force it headed. When that happened Tycho would return to being the Rogue's CO.
Late that evening Wedge sat alone in his office after Tycho had finally left for the night, trying to decide if the zeal with which his friend had worked was a good sign or a bad sign. He hadn't come to either conclusion when he was interrupted by a visitor.
Visitors to be more precise – three of them, in the form of Jesina Dreis, Wes Janson, and Hobbie Klivian. "Moment of your time, Wedge?"
Wedge frowned at Janson's words. The perennial joker's face was abnormally serious and there was an uncertain tone to his words that Wedge was sure he'd never heard before in the fifteen years he'd known the pilot. "Sure, sit down."
As they did, Jesina handed him a mug of caf. "Here. I get the feeling you're going to need it." She gestured to her own. "I know I could use something even stronger."
Wedge's worry deepened. This was getting worse by the second. "What's going on?"
It was, predictably, Wes who answered him. "We, ah, we think that Tycho ought to be removed from duty for now."
Wedge's jaw dropped. Of all the things he might have been expecting, that certainly would not have been one of them. "Why?"
Jesina spoke next. "You were working with him today, so you didn't really get the chance to just stand back and watch him. We did. He's distracted, having trouble focusing. Not a good thing for a pilot." She hesitated, and Wedge noticed it.
"What else?"
"Well, I went over to his apartment last night, just to see how he was doing. He was drunk when I got there, and downed another bottle of Whyren's like it was water. Then he passed out." She paused, and when she spoke again there was an urgent edge to her voice. "Wedge, in all the time I've known him, he's never gotten that drunk. Not even after Alderaan." That was a meaningful statement – Jesina had known Tycho all his life.
"He was drinking the night before last, too," Wedge said, frowning. "Damn near threw me out."
Hobbie shook his head. "This isn't good, Wedge."
Their CO sighed. "No, it isn't." His gaze traveled over each of them in turn. "You really think I should relieve him from duty? I want your professional opinions, not your thoughts as his friends."
"These are our professional opinions, Wedge," Wes said seriously. "We don't have any real missions coming up – we're pretty much in limbo right now. We need him when we have assignments, but in this holding pattern we're in for the next few weeks, until Lusankya is back, we really don't."
That much was true. Unlike most squadrons, those that weren't commanded by a general, Rogue Squadron didn't have a two-person command. Rather, the Rogue command included, in addition to Wedge and Tycho, Jesina, who was a colonel, and Wes and Hobbie, both majors. It was an arrangement unique to the elites Wedge commanded, but it helped to make the squadron more effective – and less dependent on Wedge to make every decision.
"You two?" Wedge asked, turning his eyes to Jesina and Hobbie.
They both nodded. "He won't like it, but he needs a break. Corran's death is taking a toll on everyone, but especially on him. You've got to expect that, but he still has to deal with it."
Wedge ran a hand through his hair. They were right, and he knew it. In fact, they weren't saying anything he himself hadn't been thinking. "All right. Listen, I want to thank you for coming to me with this. And don't worry – you haven't pointed out anything I didn't notice myself." He paused and, if possible, his face grew even more serious. "Not a word of this to anyone outside the squadron. That could do a lot of damage to his career." He didn't have to say that, but did anyway. "I'll talk to the rest of the squadron tomorrow."
Hobbie and Jesina nodded and excused themselves. Wes, however, hung back. "You heading over there tonight?" When Wedge nodded, he said, "Do me a favor? Tell him I know what it's like, if he needs to talk."
"Oh, he needs to talk. I'm just not sure he wants to."
* * * * *
Wedge took a deep breath before depressing the buzzer outside Tycho's door. He had to press it twice more before it was answered.
It was clear to him the moment he saw Tycho that the pilot was well on his way to repeating the previous two nights. Wedge, not in the mood to battle it out with the other man, stepped inside before Tycho could send him away. "I need to talk to you."
Even through his slightly drunken haze, the Alderaanian caught the seriousness in Wedge's voice and seemed to sober slightly. "Sure, sit down." He sat on the sofa and Wedge sank into a chair directly across from him. "What is it?"
Wedge took another deep breath. This was going to be one of the most difficult things he'd ever had to do. "A few squadron members came to me this evening expressing concerns about your ability to do your job right now."
Tycho stared at him, incredulous. "Wedge, you can't be serious! You know I–"
"I know you need some time off."
Tycho ran a hand through his hair. "I am having a tough time, I admit that. But I'm only going to get over that if I keep working."
"I don't think so, Tycho. They think it might be best if you stepped down for a while, took a personal leave." He paused. "And I agree with them."
"Wedge–"
But Wedge cut him off again. "No, Tycho. Take some time off. Don't make me make it an order."
Tycho stared at him for a long moment before looking away, out the window, into the dark night. "That's not necessary. But I think you'd better go."
Wedge stood. He didn't really think that leaving was a very good idea. But staying and arguing struck him as an even worse choice. "All right."
When he'd reached the door he stopped and turned back. "Wes says he knows how it feels, and if you want to talk, he's around. I hope you know we all are." Tycho didn't answer, so Wedge let himself out.
As he left, he missed seeing Tycho lightly finger his blaster. But even if he'd stayed, he wouldn't have known the thoughts that passed behind the ice- blue eyes.