Chapter Text
Wes prowled through the small confines of their new quarters on Home One like a caged animal, eyes locked on his datapad as his winding path took him around the few pieces of scattered furniture. His body buzzed with a nervous energy that, ordinarily, he would have worked off in the simulators or on a training dummy. But it was late in Home One’s day-night cycle and, well, he didn’t want to be alone right now. And he knew Hobbie didn’t want that either.
In direct contrast to Wes’s burning need to move, Hobbie had parked himself on the couch once they’d left the hangar bay and hadn’t budged for well over an hour. Like Wes, his focus was entirely on his datapad as he dug into a different, but equally important task.
“You know, Wedge really didn’t spend enough time as an Executive Officer,” Wes finally said as he read through the pilot candidate guidelines yet again.
Hobbie jerked slightly at the sudden comment, visibly twitching as he dragged his mind out of the dull text of the official Policy & Procedures documents he was reviewing. “What do you mean?”
“These candidate guidelines?” Coming to a sudden halt at the small couch bolted to the wall of their quarters, Wes shoved his datapad in front of Hobbie’s face. “Tons of holes in them. If I picked candidates based solely on this, I can guarantee a shooting fight would break out on Folor within thirty-six hours of the candidates arriving.”
Blinking, Hobbie dropped his own datapad and plucked Wes’s out of his hands so he could read it. “It can’t be that bad,” he replied.
“Oh, it’s not bad. It’s just… incomplete.” Letting out a sigh, Wes dropped down next to Hobbie and slumped against his arm with his cheek resting against his shoulder, eyes returning to the datapad. “It’s been years since Wedge picked candidates from anything but the best of the best. Nice, shiny pilots with lots of medals and awards. This time, he’s deliberately digging for pilots who’ve been looked over, ignored, or just need a hand to help them find themselves again, and that means reaching into the nastier bits of Starfighter Command.”
Almost absent-mindedly, Hobbie slid his arm around Wes’s waist as he peered down at the pilot-data criteria Wedge had written. “He blacklisted the obvious red flags,” Hobbie noted.
“But not the more subtle stuff. No cross-referencing civilian law enforcement records. No filters to pick up on some of the more common risk-correlations like having recorded incidents with military police and reports of poor socialization.”
“Have you run the criteria against the New Republic’s records?”
Wes made a face. “It’s running right now. Wedge’s authorization didn’t include permission to make adjustments to what he’d written.”
“So you’ll have to do all the weeding manually,” Hobbie realized. Shaking his head, he collapsed back against the couch cushions, pulling Wes back with him. “I don’t envy you. That’s going to be a massive undertaking.”
“Most of which I get to do while in transit to Folor Base. Wedge wants to leave as soon as possible.” Wes couldn’t help but shudder at the thought of spending the hours in-transit reviewing paperwork.
Shifting his weight, Wes settled himself more comfortably against Hobbie’s side, slipping his own arm behind Hobbie’s back. “Find anything useful in the P&P?” he asked.
“A few things. It’s not as though I haven’t debriefed a pilot before after a mission, but with an incident like this…” Hobbie’s voice trailed off, arm tightening slightly around Wes’s waist. Setting Wes’s datapad down, Hobbie picked his own back up. “It’s been good to review the guidelines for conducting debriefings. Even when missions fail, there’s a few steps squadrons tend to gloss over. For debriefing Donos, though, I want to be sure I get everything right the first time. Intelligence is going to want to talk to him once I’m done and I don’t want to have to make him repeat himself more than he needs to. This is going to be awful enough as it is.”
Glaring briefly at the list of suggested questions currently displayed on his datapad, Hobbie dropped it back into his lap and closed his eyes, letting his head rest against the top of Wes’s. He could smell the faintly fruity scent of the shampoo Wes preferred lingering on his dark hair. Turning his head, Hobbie buried his nose deeper into the wavy locks, desperate for a distraction from thinking about the Talons.
They’d turned their latest squadron loose barely two months earlier and had proudly taken time away from their duties in the temporary Rogue Squadron to attend the official ceremony commissioning them into active duty less than a week ago.
Learning that all of the Talons but Myn Donos were dead was horrific. They’d spent the past nine months with those young trainees, living with them, teaching them to be better pilots, and helping them learn how to trust each other when lives were on the line. The destruction of the Talons was more than just nine lost months - it meant losing friends and comrades in arms.
Worse, Hobbie knew it was making them both wonder if they were actually any good at teaching. They’d had so many doubts when they first started working with Gauntlet Squadron, but they’d done the best they could. The deaths of the Talons, though, could mean they hadn’t been good enough. That none of their squadrons would survive once the chips were down.
That would mean a lot of lives lost due to their incompetence. Hobbie wasn’t sure if he could survive the weight of that much guilt.
The scent of Wes’s shampoo suddenly wasn’t enough to block out the growing swirl of pain spreading through his brain. Without looking, Hobbie grabbed the two datapads and shoved them onto the floor. Then, twisting slightly, he stretched out on the cramped couch, tugging Wes down on top of himself.
Wes went tense for a brief moment before relaxing and rearranging himself slightly to be more comfortable lying on Hobbie’s lanky form. And Hobbie had to be mindful where his hands ended up. For all Wes was bright, flamboyant, and generally flirty with most other beings he met, he actually had a very strong sense of propriety and instinctively expected the same from those around him, no doubt the result of his upbringing surrounded by the reserved attitudes so common on Taanab.
That occasionally almost prudish attitude was the only reason their superiors hadn’t flat out booted him out of the training facilities that had been home for the past two and a half years. Because whatever his faults were and whatever hijinks he got up to, no one could ever accuse Wes of being inappropriate with another officer or a subordinate.
And as much as that same attitude occasionally drove Hobbie up the wall, he also respected it. Even if he did find himself thinking about what it would be like to let his hands drift lower along that strong body or to pull Wes’s face closer to his.
This was probably a bad idea, but he’d rather fill his senses with everything to do with Wes and deal with any potential side effects than keep grieving over the Talons right now. So, hands resting lightly on Wes’s waist, Hobbie did his best to finally turn off his brain.
Wes combed a hand through Hobbie’s short hair, the thin strands sliding across his fingers. He was glad Hobbie couldn’t see his face because he could feel the flush that had spread across it. Below him, Hobbie’s leaner body almost seemed fragile. Knowing that three of his limbs were artificial only added to that feeling. Wes had an unmistakable urge to protect him during these rare moments of vulnerability.
He also found himself picturing scenarios where he and Hobbie were… well, engaged in some rather improper acts for men in their former positions of Commanding Officer and Executive Officer.
They were back on equal footing now, a traitorous voice whispered to him, before he resolutely shoved it away. Hobbie had never given him any indication that he was interested in any kind of relationship. And moments like this had grown out of a very real need for comfort and security as friends fell to the wrath of the Empire over and over again, not out of some misplaced firing of hormones.
With a hand still absently petting Hobbie’s hair, Wes relaxed and enjoyed the warmth of the embrace. Just for a short while, they could share their grief once more and try to find a way to move on.
Wes emerged from his small bedroom early the next morning, garbed in his flight suit with his travel bag slung over his shoulder and ready to be stowed in the small storage compartment of his X-Wing. Surprisingly, Hobbie was sitting on the couch of their small stateroom, working resolutely away at his datapad. Dark circles under his eyes hinted at a long, sleepless night.
“I’m almost done on the preliminary version of the simulator run,” Hobbie informed him with a rough voice. “I’ll finalize the details once I’ve debriefed Donos. I’m supposed to see him this afternoon. Intelligence should be ready to send him to Folor Base in a week or two if you’re sure you want him.”
“Sithspawn, Hobbie, did you stay up all night working on that?” Wes asked, appalled.
Pausing in his work, Hobbie looked up at Wes, his usual dour expression haggard after spending hours bent over a small datapad. “I want to be able to send this to you as soon as I can. We might be able to save a few lives this way.”
Dropping his bag on the floor, Wes marched over to Hobbie and snatched the datapad out of his hands. Saving the open program, he shut the device down and tossed it away. “You’re not going to be able to help anyone if you don’t sleep,” Wes insisted. Grabbing Hobbie’s arm, he dragged him to his feet and started steering him towards his bedroom.
Hobbie went stiff right outside his door, refusing to move any further. Pulling his arm free, he turned to Wes. “Just be careful while you’re off with Wedge and this new squadron. I’m not going to be there to watch your back anymore.”
Wes took a deep, shaky breath, and nodded slowly. He and Hobbie had been a team ever since Yavin. Even when the original Rogue Squadron had been dissolved, they’d managed to stick together. This separation was going to be jarring for both of them after the last six years. “You do the same.”
Instead of replying, Hobbie gave him an intent look, his hands reaching up and suddenly cupping Wes’s face.
The touch was electrifying, and Wes felt his heart start to pound in his chest as Hobbie traced his cheekbones with his thumbs.
The moment stretched on, time frozen between them as they stared at each other - Wes, with wide eyes, and an exhausted but focused gaze from Hobbie. Unthinkingly, Wes reached up and curled his hand around one of Hobbie’s wrists. He didn’t pull the hand away, instead standing still, all his attention focused on the small points of physical contact.
His thumb was pressed firmly against the beating pulse at Hobbie’s wrist. Even through the confusion racing through his own mind, Wes could tell that Hobbie’s heart was pounding almost as fast as his own. He clutched tight to that limb, Hobbie’s only remaining organic limb, and waited to see what was going to happen.
Then, Hobbie leaned forward, pulled Wes’s head closer to his own, and kissed him.
If the touch of Hobbie’s hands had been electric, the feeling of his lips was like a sun going supernova.
Wes had kissed his share of partners over the years, but that had always seemed almost perfunctory, simply a task to be completed as he went through the motions of taking someone on a date. On some level, he’d always thought the other person seemed to be getting more out of it than he was.
But this - this was completely different.
The flutter he’d often felt when sitting close to Hobbie turned into a wild, dizzying maelstrom. The wrist he was clutching was an anchor under his hand, a lone refuge in a sudden storm. The sensation of Hobbie’s lips pressed against his own had lit up senses and an array of sensations he couldn’t even begin to describe any better than just saying “good”.
At some point, he’d shut his eyes as he returned the sudden kiss. When Hobbie finally pulled away, he found himself gasping for air and desperately wanting that contact back. Opening dazed eyes, he blinked rapidly, his vision swimming from the intensity of… everything.
Hobbie stared back at him, eyes shifting slightly like he was searching for something.
For once, Wes couldn’t get any words out. Everything was tangled up inside him.
“Just… be careful. As much as you can be.” Gulping down a sudden breath, Hobbie stepped back, causing Wes’s hand to slip off his arm. Then, before Wes could do or say anything at all, he disappeared into his room.
Wes only had vague memories of the journey to the hanger bay. He was pretty sure he’d walked into a wall or two along the way and knew he’d gotten off the turbolift on the wrong floor more than once.
It was just so hard to focus on the present. His head was full of a confusing swirl of thoughts and emotions. Everything from the past twenty-four hours kept running through his head - the ceremony welcoming back Rogue Squadron, the news about the Talons and Myn Donos, hurting and trying to find comfort with Hobbie, not to mention what had just happened with Hobbie. As he continued to make his way to the hanger, he tried to put the chaos in his head in order.
The still stabbing pain caused by the loss of the Talons overshadowed everything that read “military” to him. He couldn’t stop worrying about Gauntlet and Corsair Squadrons, couldn’t stop the what-if scenarios from spilling out a hundred different ways they could meet the same fate as the Talons, leaving a single solitary survivor to carry the burden of pain and guilt that was no doubt weighing Myn Donos down right now.
Then there was this new squadron Wedge was building. They wouldn’t be dealing with new pilots, but they’d need the same care and guidance he and Hobbie had been providing to all their other squads. And this time, there would be other, more frightening challenges to confront (because the candidates would arrive with the kind of baggage that was rarely physical) and he wouldn’t have Hobbie there to provide the broad structure he’d come to rely on while dealing with the day to day drama.
He also didn’t have the words to even begin to describe how terrified he was that this squadron would turn out to be the Talons all over again, that their deaths were partially his fault.
Then there was Wedge.
He loved Wedge as much as he loved his own family, believed in him and trusted him to lead any task force through any assignment. But it had been well over two years since they’d seen each other for more than a few minutes, let alone spent any time together. Wes knew he’d changed. Presumably, Wedge had changed. And Wedge was stepping directly into Hobbie’s shoes, taking on the task of leading and guiding a new squadron.
Was Wedge ready for that? For the fighting and scrambling for rank and prestige? For the bouts of lost self-confidence and sycophants trying to please their superiors? And most of all, for helping their pilots accept themselves and learn to trust their team?
This squadron wouldn’t be like the squadrons from the days of the Rebellion where everyone learned in a trial by fire. At the same time, it also wouldn’t be quite the same as what he had gotten used to. And that vast unknown element was terrifying.
He wouldn’t even have Hobbie to balance him out, to keep him grounded when the noise in his head started to get too loud. He and Hobbie had been practically attached at the hip for six years. Losing him was like losing a part of himself.
Thinking about the other pilot made his lips tingle and a familiar heat crept over his face, thankfully somewhat camouflaged by his darker skin. That final moment with Hobbie had been… what? Shocking? Amazing? Confusing? All of those things, and more.
Was Hobbie actually interested in a relationship? Or had he simply been reacting to Wes’s departure and overdid things a bit because he was exhausted and hurting because of the Talons? Or maybe the kiss had been a Ralltiirian custom he hadn’t encountered before because this was the first time since they’d first met that one of them was leaving?
The possibilities were endless and starting to make his head hurt.
As he passed through the large hangar doors, Wes did his best to shove the confusing mess to the back of his head as he glanced around, looking for Wedge. They were scheduled to depart soon and would be leaving Home One behind and docking with a transport that was en route to Commenor. Thankfully, this meant they wouldn’t have to spend the entire trip in their X-Wings with only the occasional planned break giving them an opportunity to stretch their legs.
Wedge was standing near their waiting X-Wings speaking with Tycho. Hurrying over to join them, Wes caught the tail end of Wedge giving some final orders.
“-won’t need reports any more frequently than once a month unless something comes up,” Wedge was saying when Wes reached them. Glancing over, he gave Wes a small nod of acknowledgement. “Good morning.”
“Morning,” Wes replied. “So Hobbie didn’t sleep last night, apparently. I shoved him into his room before leaving, but I think he’s going to be pretty scattered until the situation with Donos is settled.”
Tycho nodded sympathetically. “Wedge told me what happened. This can’t be easy for you two.”
Grimacing, Wes nodded. “I’m looking forward to reading the final report and finding out exactly what happened. And if it could have been prevented.”
“I’ll keep an eye on Hobbie,” Tycho promised. “And Wedge has promised to keep an eye on you.”
“Me?” Eyes going wide, Wes gave Tycho a look of mock hurt that he hoped camouflaged the very real hurt that lay underneath. “Hobbie and and I have done a perfectly fine job taking care of each other for quite some time now. We,” he said pointedly, “will be just fine. If we should be worried about anyone, it’s Wedge.”
The thoughtful expression on Wedge’s face melted into one of confusion. “Excuse me?”
“This new squadron of yours is going to be just a bit different from reforming Rogue Squadron,” Wes pointed out. “It’s been awhile since you’ve done anything like this and I’m not completely sure you know just what you’re getting yourself into.” Reaching out, Wes patted Wedge’s arm in a consoling fashion. “Don’t worry. I’ll be there to pick up the slack. You just focus on standing around and looking pretty.”
Tycho laughed softly as Wedge gave Wes a stonefaced look. “I’m looking forward to hearing how all this works out. But it looks like it’s coming time for you both to go.”
Following the jerk of Tycho’s head, Wes saw that the fuel lines were being removed from his and Wedge’s X-Wings.
“I can’t wait,” Wes sighed. “Four days of weeding Wedge’s candidate list into something workable. Yay.”
“The criteria I gave you-“
“Was a good starting point,” Wes interrupted. Digging into his duffle, he pulled out his flight gear and started strapping it on. “But I’m going to need to do some finagling to narrow the results down from several thousand hits to just a few hundred. From there, I’ll have a workable set of candidates to go through and pick from. I should be able to start making contact and arrange transportation in a day or two, and have a working list of pilots to interview by the time we reach Folor.”
Wedge blinked, looking startled, then laughed. “I think I’ve underestimated all the work you and Hobbie have been doing the past few years. It sounds like you have a good handle on things.”
“Yeah, well,” Wes shrugged as he finished settling his life support gear on his chest, a flicker of embarrassment running through him, “we had to do a lot of data wrangling putting together our squadrons.”
“It seems so,” Wedge agreed. Taking a deep breath, he took a long look around the hanger, then locked eyes first with Wes, then Tycho. “I think it’s time.”
“Good luck, both of you,” Tycho replied, reaching out to clasp hands.
Their goodbyes were far too short for Wes’s tastes. He’d hardly had any time to catch up with Tycho and the obvious lines of strain he wore were just one sign of the horrendous turmoil he’d endured over the last two years. Wes wanted nothing more than to drag him to an amusement park or a zoo where Tycho could relax and put the horrors of Lusankya behind him. Or perhaps just find a time and place where they could just sit and chat. Anything to get both their minds off their different troubles.
But the needs of the New Republic marched on, which meant there’d be no time for such comforts anytime soon.
Once he was settled into his fighter, Wes went through the pre-flight check with the speed of experience, careful not to skip a single step even with the short flight to the transport ahead of him.
And when he took off after Wedge, tucking close to his flank, he couldn’t help but mourn the lost opportunities being left behind: time to mourn the Talons, time to meet the new Rogues Wedge had chosen, time to rejoice in reclaiming old friendships.
Most of all, though, he mourned losing Hobbie. His closest friend, his confidant, and brother-in-arms. And maybe, just maybe, something more.
Unknown to Wes, deep in the heart of Home One, Hobbie Klivian let out a soft sigh as Wes’s astromech sent him a final farewell on behalf of its pilot. Scrubbing his hand across tired eyes, he dropped his reclaimed datapad and collapsed back onto his bed.
It was just his luck that the one time he worked up the courage to kiss Wes, it would be when the other man was on his way out the door and off on a mission that could last for months, if not a year.
He didn’t know if he’d done the right thing. All he could do was remember holding Wes close, the feeling of his warm skin under his hands, and the lips that had kissed him back.
“Just come back alive,” Hobbie whispered to the dark room. Draping his arm over his eyes, he let himself begin to drift off to sleep. “Just stay alive.”
