Part 2

Winter looked away as the Trandoshan pulled the trigger. This was the sixth execution she, Iella, and Airen had seen in the last week; she couldn't bear to watch another, especially not when the dying man was someone she'd known and cared about as long as Hobbie.

When she allowed her eyes to return to the screen, she caught just a glimpse of his body on the ground before the image cut out. The first to move or speak was Janson, jumping to his feet and darting out of the office. Wedge hesitated, looking between the door and Tycho, but went after Janson when she nodded, before turning her attention to her husband.

She knelt by his chair, placing a hand on his knee, as Cracken and Iella left the room to give them some time alone. "Tycho?"

He stared past her, a tear slipping down down his cheek. She reached up to wipe it away, but he caught her hand. "Leave me alone."

She started at his reaction, though she really should have expected it. "Tycho…"

He pushed her away from him roughly and as he stood, she fell back, hitting her head on the desk. She sat on the floor for a second, a little stunned, rubbing the back of her head. Then, scrambling to her feet, she went after him and grabbed his arm just as he reached the door. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sure your apology means a lot to him." Then he shook her hand off and left.

Watching him go, she dropped into the chair he'd vacated, burying her face in her hands. He had every right to be angry… at her, at Cracken, at NRI. She was.

She raised her head, wiping away the tears and looked toward the door as the General walked in. "He never had a chance."

"Didn't he? If we had gone in the moment we found out—" With her eyes, she pleaded for him to… what? Tell her they could have done something but didn't? Tell her there really wasn't any way they could have saved him? Neither answer would bring him back.

"Every person we sent would have ended up the same way. If Ydraz had been willing to publicly allow us to help, it might have been a different story. But they weren't, and you know there was nothing we could do." It was typical Cracken, but, as much as he hated to admit it, he was right.

She did know. But that sure as Sith wasn't going to help Hobbie. And it wasn't going to help Janson, or Wedge, or Tycho. She glanced toward the door, wondering if they were all right.

Wondering if Tycho was all right.

"I need to go."

He nodded. "I'm going to speak to Mon Mothma about holding a memorial service for all the men and women who died on Ydraz. I'll let you know what we decide."

"Thank you." She stood slowly, glancing toward the silent screen, wishing she had even the minutest hope to hold onto that he wasn't really gone.

But she didn't.

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Tycho looked up as the door opened and Winter came in. "Hi," she said softly, setting her bag on the bench by the door.

He didn't speak, just stood and headed toward the kitchen, turning his back to her. He was in too much pain, and too angry, to speak to her.

Hobbie was dead. He glanced toward the calendar display on the wall. Four days. Four days since Wes had shown up and told them Hobbie was missing.

Three since NRI had learned where he was.

Two since Winter had told him they weren't going after him.

One since he'd given up arguing with her.

And now… Winter's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Tycho?" He rested his hands on the counter, refusing to turn, to face her, to talk to her. She didn't seem to get the hint, though – or she didn't care. "Tycho, please, talk to me." He felt her hand graze his shoulder and jerked away as if her touch burned.

"Leave me alone," he growled, spinning to face her.

She blinked, recoiling, hurt flashing through her eyes for a brief second before the NRI mask slid back into place. "No. Tycho, I know you're hurting, but shutting me out won't do any good."

"I'm not so sure," he spat at her, and this time he saw, with just the slightest twinge of satisfaction, tears spring to her eyes.

"Tycho?"

"Did you watch that?" He took a step toward her, and she backed away from him until she couldn't go any further. "Do you think he even knew what was happening?" Her eyelids fluttered rapidly and she looked a little scared. "Do you think he was afraid?" He moved forward quickly, pressing his arm across her chest and shoving her up against the refrigeration unit. As his fingertips brushed her throat, he heard her whisper his name.

"Tycho, you're hurting me."

"You hurt Hobbie," he said coldly, stepping back. As he moved away, her hand strayed to her neck and she stared at him, shock and even more fear on her face. "You knew that if you didn't do anything, he would die. And you did nothing. You didn't even try!"

"There was nothing we could do!" The tears in her eyes started to spill over, tracking down her cheeks. "Tycho, I know this hurts. He was my friend too."

"Then how could you turn your back on him?" How dare she stand there and pretend she knew how he felt?

"It wasn't my decision to make!"

"You didn't even try!"

"I did everything I could!" She was shouting now, openly crying. "I wish I could have done more, but it was out of my hands. Airen wouldn't send more people to die for a lost cause and I couldn't ask him to."

"Shut up!" Tycho snapped, striking her across the face with the back of his hand. As she stumbled backward under the force of the blow, staring at him in shock, he froze in place, hand still raised.

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Winter barely felt the sting as he hit her, too stunned by what he'd done to feel much of anything. Raising her hand gingerly to her face, she pressed herself back against the wall. "Tycho?" She whispered his name, afraid to do any more than that.

Staring at her in shock, he froze in place, hand still raised. "I…" He reached out to her but she shrank back into the corner; it was the farthest away from him that she could get. "Winter…"

She shook her head, feeling more tears run down her cheeks, but he stepped toward her anyway. "Winter, I—" Before he could say any more, she ducked under his outstretched arm and ran from the kitchen, locking herself in the refresher. Leaning against the wall, she sank down to the floor, hugging her knees to her chest, then ran her fingertips over her cheek and up toward her eye. The skin where he'd struck her was warm to the touch and stung, already starting to swell.

She tilted her head back, drawing a shaky breath and willing herself to stop crying. She'd seen Tycho angry, been on the receiving end of more than one display of his temper. But he'd never so much as raised a hand to her.

Yelling she could handle; Force knew she did her fair share. But…

Closing her eyes, she could see his face in front of her. She could see the exact moment he snapped. She could see his expression change as he raised his hand, see the anger flashing in his eyes.

Not that she could fault him for being angry.

When she'd stopped shaking, she reached for the sink board and pulled herself up. The moment she looked in the mirror, her eyes went straight to the bruise beginning to form. It would take some kind of makeup job to hide that.

For a moment, she wondered if she should bother. She could call Wedge, tell him what happened. He'd believe her, she knew that much. And then he could talk to Tycho, and…

No. She met her own eyes in the mirror once more. Wedge had enough to deal with, and he probably had his hands full with Janson. She could handle herself fine, and Tycho wasn't exactly the abusive type. "Just a one-time thing," she mumbled. "That's all." No sense causing problems over something like this.

Besides, Tycho was right. She should have done more. There had to be something else she could have said or done, someone else she could have talked to. But she hadn't done anything, just let Cracken convince her that saving Hobbie was a lost cause. And now he was dead.

Maybe they wouldn't have been able to save him. But they should have tried.

"Turn your back… didn't even try." His words echoed through her mind. They hadn't tried hard enough. They hadn't done anything but sit back and wait for the holovid to arrive. "Every person we sent… nothing we could do." She pushed Cracken's voice out of her mind.

Tycho was right. She was partly to blame for Hobbie's death. And if a bruise or two, she rubbed the back of her head where she'd hit it on the desk, were her penance for it, well, she could live with it.