Mission Impossible?
The Rock and a Hard Place was almost empty, though abandoned glassware and bundles and muted hollers from downstairs indicated that it had not been in that state long. But at the moment, only one man in a white uniform sat at the bar, talking to the bartender, when the door opened and a young man with sandy blond hair and dusty white clothes walked in, then stopped, confused.
"Uh…sorry," he said, taking a step back toward the door. "I was looking for some food…I thought Wedge pointed me here, but…?"
"Not at all, young hero! Come, sit!" The bartender gestured expansively, and the young man, bemused, came and slid onto one of the barstools. "Luke Skywalker, meet Captain Pete Mitchell." She nodded at the man in dress whites, then quickly pushed a plate of food across the bar top.
Luke shook the Captain's hand, then quickly started eating. "You flying the mission, too, Captain?" he asked between bites.
"Call me Maverick, kid. And no, not your mission—but probably one pretty similar, right, Calliope?"
The bartender smiled broadly and glided away.
"Yeah?" Luke asked.
"Low run through a canyon? Small target, dogfight all the way home?"
"Pretty much. But you're not on the Death Star run?"
"Nope. We're probably not even from the same place or time. That's just how the Rock and a Hard Place is, I think."
"Oh."
Luke ate in silence for a bit while Maverick sipped his drink.
"It's just, you know," Luke said, suddenly, "it can't be too different from Beggar's Canyon shooting womprats, right? Nothing to worry about?"
"Don't worry about it, anyway," Maverick advised. "If you're flying it, you can do it. What's at stake for you?"
Luke snorted. "Everyone I got left in the galaxy."
Maverick winced. "Yeah."
Quickly finishing off the rest of the food, Luke slid off the stool and glanced around for Calliope. Not seeing her, he looked at Maverick, motioning at his dishes. "I need to—" he gestured toward the door—"can you…?"
"Sure thing, kid. Go fly your mission—you got it."
"Thanks, Maverick."
"Oh, and one more thing!" Luke paused at Maverick's call. "Don't think—just do."
Luke nodded slowly. "May the Force be with you," he returned solemnly, then stepped out of the door.
Maverick sighed heavily, returning to his drink.
"Well, mentor-figure," Calliope asked, materializing and whisking away Luke's dishes, "what do you think?"
"I think I'm glad my pilots got the chance to train. And that they're not as young as Luke Skywalker." Maverick sighed. "Someone needs to pull his papers from the mission roster."
"Oh, no! He's their only chance, of course! You wouldn't deny him his heroic journey?"
Maverick quirked a grin. "I guess not."
"You're both the mentor-figure and the hero, Captain Mitchell. Don't cling too tight; Rooster needs his wings. But love and care?" She reached over and gently patted him on the cheek. "Those you can have. Use them well!"
Maverick nodded. "Thank you. I'll try."
Calliope's grin broadened. "Do or do not, Maverick—there is no try. Don't you know what kind of story you're in?"
A/N: Since it didn't come up in the story (as it did for Melpomene in the last one), Calliope is the muse of epic poetry.
Please let me know if I'm mistaken in calling Mav's uniform for that night dress whites!