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Wes' afternoon has been a literal waking nightmare.
He's still reeling from it and somehow now has to find the words to explain everything to Wedge. He isn’t sure he can. Even now he isn’t sure he fully understands what happened, and what he does he doesn’t want to talk about.
He holds out the data card containing the sim recordings and his report of the day’s assessments and is pleased his hand doesn’t shake. It’s a small victory but he’ll take what he can get right now.
Taking the proffered card Wedge jerks his head at the chair opposite his own. “Sit.” The command is peremptory but there is concern in Wedge’s voice. Doing as he’s told, Wes drops heavily into the scrounged ejector seat. “What’s the matter?”
“There was an-” Incident isn’t the right word. Incident makes it sound like something terrible had happened when the only terrible things had been inside his own head. And he still isn’t ready to admit that, even to Wedge. He tries again. “Tainer and Runt had an interesting interaction in the sim this afternoon.”
Wedge’s eyebrows rise. “What happened?”
“Watch it and you can tell me.”
Wedge shoots him a look and slots the data card into the holoplate. The scene that flickers to life above the desk is the summary view Wes had watched from the Control desk during the sim; X-wings in an asteroid field, views of the pilots from the cameras in the sim cockpits arrayed along the edges, vital signs pulsing steady beside them.
Wes has watched and rewatched the recording of the sim run since the end of the afternoon’s training sessions and he’s no more comfortable with it than he had been as it played out in real time. He braces himself for what he knows is coming.
The tone of Tainer’s target lock on Runt’s fighter is still shocking.
His own voice cuts across the channel: “Green Five, what are you doing?”
He knows Wedge will hear the stress edging the query. They’ve been on different assignments for two years but they flew together long enough that they know every possible tone of each other’s voices. This knowledge of each other after so long apart is a small comfort in a day that has unnerved him more than he had thought possible.
Tainer, voice clipped as though irritated by the interruption: “Just trust me on this one, Control.”
Now, after multiple viewings have blunted some of the shock, the irony of Tainer of all people asking for his trust is not lost on him. None of the pilot candidates have earned his trust yet, but he doubts Tainer ever will regardless of how well he flies; for two people who barely know each other there is too much uneasy history between them for trust in either direction.
Runt, sounding puzzled more than concerned: “Six to Five, are you going to fire on us? What are you doing?”
His own target lock on Doran’s Y-wing all those years ago hadn’t jolted the man out of his panic as Tainer’s had recalled Runt from whatever it was that had been going on with him. If anything it had made it worse.
Wes, come on kid, what are you doing? You’re not going to fire on us. I have kids! My kids need me. This is a suicide mission.
Tainer, steady where his father had been frantic: “Getting your attention. Get back in formation. Do you read me?”
Doran, please, stop. Come back with us. Please don’t make me do this-
Sitting in Wedge’s office half a galaxy and almost a decade removed, Doran’s last minutes loop though Wes’ mind again, the memory as clear as ever and ending the same way it always does; until the recording is over again and everyone is alive. Today.
“Well,” Wedge says, “that explains why their wingpair was behaving so erratically.” Wes nods, wordlessly. Of course Wedge had seen the run from the other side, had piloted the TIE that had taken Tainer out. There is a pause before Wedge says neutrally, “Tainer’s making an impact on Runt.” Wes nods again because it’s true, he is. And if it was any other candidate he’d be delighted.
If it was any other candidate.
Wedge considers the now dark holoplate for a moment then looks up and asks abruptly, “Why did you bring this to me?”
Wes opens his mouth and realises the closest he can come to an honest answer right now is I am deeply unsettled and I want reassurance, and even that much of the truth isn’t something he can say outright to his commanding officer. Not even to Wedge right now, not as his brand new XO when they’ve been apart for so long and are still working out how to fit back together in this new combination. He wishes fiercely that Hobbie was here. Hobbie who would understand without needing words.
But Hobbie is lightyears away and Wedge is waiting for an answer so he says rather lamely, “I thought you should see it.” He just manages to stop the words becoming a question.
Wedge gives him a look that tells Wes it hadn’t sounded convincing to him either and clarifies his question. “If this had been any of the other candidates, would you have shown me this?”
Wedge has always had the knack of seeing straight to the point. Wes shifts uncomfortably in his seat but at least he can honestly answer the question if not the intent behind it. “Yes. As an example of effective, if unorthodox, personnel management by a candidate with command potential.”
Wedge’s mouth quirks slightly at the description of Tainer’s actions but his tone is serious as he replies. “Not because you thought the pilot was a danger to their squad mates?”
Under other circumstances Wes would bristle at the insult to his hard-won reputation as a trainer, but the day has rattled him to the point it barely registers. “You know if I thought that I’d flag it with you immediately.”
“But did you think that Tainer was going to fire on Runt?” Wedge presses. Wes stares helplessly at him instead of answering and Wedge’s tone turns gentle. “Wes, what did you think was happening?”
“I thought I was about to watch the son of the squadmate I shot down open fire on his wingman. I thought-” He stops short, the words sticking in his throat. He’d thought what have I turned this kid into? He can’t say it. It’s still too raw, too knotted up with horror he can’t articulate.
“It was a sim.” Wedge’s calm logic can’t change that it hadn’t felt like it. For a moment of panicky, frozen disbelief it hadn’t felt like a sim at all.
Wedge pauses, regarding Wes with a carefully neutral expression before asking, “Wes, is this about Tainer or you?”
Wes shakes his head wordlessly, because that’s the question, isn’t it? He’s terribly afraid the answer, and the problem, is him.
Wedge waits, not pressing him for an answer and eventually, Wes manages, “I don’t know if I should, if I can, assess him. I don’t know if I can be unbiased.”
“What was your response to his, what did you call it, unorthodox personnel management?”
Wes swallows back what might be a groan or desperate laughter and says, “I gave him bonus points.”
“I would have done too.” Wedge’s tone is matter of fact, as though this is obvious and not something that could possibly cause anyone to spend an afternoon second guessing themself.
Wes stares at him for a moment, incredulous, before saying a little wildly, “You didn’t kill his father, Wedge! I did! I shot down Tainer’s father, a member of my own squadron, and now I’ve given Tainer bonus points for threatening his wingman. What does that make me?”
“A good trainer who knows his job.”
“Or a monster who condones slaughtering his allies.”
What did I turn this kid into?
“Nothing you did makes you a monster, Wes. Not then, not now.” Wedge stares hard at him with that classic Antilles make-you-believe-despite-yourself sincerity. Wes looks away, refusing to be comforted now that Wedge is offering him some of the reassurance he wanted. Wedge sighs and changes tack, “Kell wasn’t threatening Runt, he was getting his attention. I don’t believe he would have fired, do you?”
“I- no, not in hindsight, but-”
“But you thought he would at the time?” Wes shuts his eyes and Wedge asks again, “Did you think Tainer was going to open fire on Runt?”
“He got a target lock on his wingman and I-” He doesn’t want to say any of this. He doesn’t want to confess to his moments of paralysed panic, to how compromised he fears he is. But his squadron commander needs to know if his XO can’t do his job, so he forces himself to meet Wedge’s eyes and says deliberately, “I remembered when I did the same to his father. Before I killed him.’
And there it is. It is about him after all.
He swallows and forces himself to continue, and he can’t hide the shake in his voice. “I remembered listening to his father die after he begged me for his life and I shot him down. I remembered all of it and I couldn’t- I can’t-”
At Tainer’s lock tone all the memories he’s always ignored as hard as he can had sluiced over him all at once in vivid, overwhelming detail; Doran’s frantic pleading; his own voice, ragged as he begged Doran to stop; the feel of the trigger against his finger as he made the shot; the strangled sounds of Doran dying, slow and painful.
The compressed eternity of horror had only lasted a few heartbeats before logic and training had overridden it, and he’d carried on and done his job. Just like he had when he'd shot down Tainer’s father; he'd done his damned job.
The sympathy in Wedge’s eyes doesn’t help at all.
“You didn’t kill Tainer’s father, Wes. Exposure did. You told me yourself he could have survived if his flight suit hadn’t failed.”
Wes bites his lip and looks away, unwilling to concede the point. Logically he knows that’s true, he always has. He’s not an idiot. But it doesn’t matter how much he’d tried to keep Doran alive; he’d failed. And regardless of what logic and all the surviving Yellow Aces told him, he’s never been able to believe his shot didn’t make him responsible for the man’s death in every way that mattered. He’s been carrying this alone for the best part of a decade; its going to take more than a couple of weeks of Wedge’s certainty to convince him.
And perhaps it doesn’t matter anyway, because Tainer believes he killed his father and Wes remembers the fury in his eyes. Tainer came to Folor Base with redemption in his heart, and maybe that had meant one thing when he arrived but who knows what it might mean in the end.
What has he turned the kid into?
Maybe he needs to bow out now. Step down, trade places with Hobbie and let Wedge run this little experiment of his without the risk of his XO getting blown up in a dark corridor without warning. Or maybe that’s what he deserves. There’d be a symmetry to it after all.
Wedge sighs quietly at Wes’ silence and says, “Do you want to swap with Hobbie? I’ll authorise the transfer if this is too hard for you.”
And there’s his chance to run, but he can’t take it. He can’t run from his own memories and besides, he deserves to have to deal with the consequences of his actions, even actions he hadn’t wanted to carry out. Because he’d made a choice all those years ago. He’d made the shot.
He’s always done his job, he won’t stop now.
“No.” He shakes his head and tries not to sound reluctant. “No, I’m a better fit for your mission parameters. I’ll stay unless it becomes really necessary.”
Wedge nods slowly. “Okay. Then I want you to set up extra sessions with the psychs.” Wes grimaces but nods. He’s not stupid enough to protest. He’s not stupid enough to think he doesn’t need to. Wedge regards him thoughtfully for a moment then asks, “Is there any chance Tainer won’t make the squadron?” As though he isn’t totally aware of how well every candidate is performing.
Wes shakes his head, a little reluctantly. “You’ve seen all the progress reports. Unless he does something spectacular to mess up — which, includes blowing up a senior officer, by the way — he’ll make the squadron.”
“Don’t worry, Wes. If he kills you I’ll make sure he doesn’t make the cut.”
He knows Wedge is trying to lighten the tone but Wes can’t manage even false cheer right now and says flatly, “Thanks, you’re a real pal.”
Wedge sighs at this refusal to be distracted. “Wes, you know if I thought you were in danger from Tainer he wouldn’t be here. He wouldn’t be suitable for the squadron. And I wouldn’t risk you.”
Wes rather wishes that last point had come first, even though he knows it isn’t even true. Wedge will risk him for a mission, just as he has every time they’ve gone into combat together. At some point in Wedge’s internal calculations his loss becomes some degree of acceptable. It’s never bothered him before. They’re soldiers. This is how it is.
Ignoring the anxious unease twisting in his chest he tries for practical. “Look, Wedge, I might feel happier if there was a valid performance-based excuse to wash him out but there isn’t. I wasn’t kidding when I said he was a brilliant pilot. What we’ve seen from him in the sims here has been as good as his records say. I’ve rarely seen better and he's got the other skills you need. And if he does wash out it’ll be my fault somehow. I almost want him to make it just to prove I don’t hate him.”
“Do you hate him?”
“No! I feel bad for him and I can’t grudge him not liking me. I don’t enjoy being around him but I don’t hate him.” All true, but not the complete truth. He doesn’t hate Tainer but he is starting to hate the sight of him. Tainer has always been a walking reminder of things Wes has never been able to forget but now he’s terribly afraid that every time he sees him he’ll be right back in that Y-wing, nineteen and terrified, listening to the man’s father die, freshly a killer.
Just the thought of it is exhausting.
“But you’re still worried that you shouldn’t be assessing him or in his chain of command?” Wes hasn’t said that exactly but of course this unspoken fear has occurred to Wedge too. He’ll be thinking of the squadron. He’s always thinking of the squadron.
“I don’t know if I can give him orders without-” He can’t let the memories stop him doing his job. He has to remember ordering a junior officer is not the same as pleading with a frightened squad mate. “What if I overcompensate to prove I’m not picking on him?”
“Are you likely to?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” He’s a good trainer, a good officer. He knows this, but now- Now he’s miserably unsure he can trust himself.
“I don’t believe you will. I’ve reviewed your reports and the sims and I don’t see any evidence you’ve been biased in either direction so far.”
“You’ve been checking up on me?” Its a stupid question. Wedge is the CO of a newly forming squadron, he’s obviously reading all the assessment reports his XO has prepared. Watching sims of the candidates he will have to command is part of the process. Wes knows his reaction is childish but while it’s one thing to doubt himself, the unexpected feeling that Wedge might not fully trust him hurts.
Something of that must be visible in his face because Wedge leans forward, looking serious.
“Wes, I have absolute faith in you. I trust you implicitly, don’t ever doubt that. But if I need to justify to Crespin why I should keep you as my XO I have to be able to defend you.”
Wes gapes at him, too surprised to be reassured. “Crespin’s trying to get rid of me?”
“No.” Wedge shakes his head. “But you know he doesn’t approve of this project. He’s already keeping it under much higher scrutiny than he would a normal training squadron and he wasn’t happy after I explained the Tainer situation to him. He’ll pounce on any problem it creates.”
“Am I a liability to you?” A new and horrifying thought. Perhaps- “Do you want me to swap with Hobbie and leave?”
He hopes for an immediate, emphatic denial. Instead, Wedge sits back and just looks at him for a moment before he answers with a question of his own. “Wes, why did I pick you as my XO for this squadron?”
Wes blinks in surprise at the question and falls back on sarcasm, too shaken to trust himself with honesty. “I assumed because I’d look good in the propaganda holos.”
“Right.” Wedge replies readily. “I’m picking pilots based entirely on appearance. I don’t know why we’re bothering to run assessments.” He smiles slightly and shakes his head. “No, you idiot, I picked you for your skills. Not just for assessing and training this bunch, Hobbie could do that just as well. And not just your varied space and ground mission experience. I picked you instead of Hobbie because you’re flexible and inventive in ways he isn’t. I need the way you think, Wes.”
Wes is afraid the way he thinks right now is a mess, but even so he feels a faint echo of the same stupid pride he’d felt when Wedge had picked him as XO. It is a relief, after everything he has confessed, to know Wedge still values him. Needs him. That means more to him than he knows how to say.
Trusting that Wedge knows, or he wouldn’t have said so much, he says instead, “I’m not going to tell Hobbie you said that.”
Wedge smiles briefly before dropping back to completely serious. “I’m not saying anything against Hobbie. You’re different people and he’s got skills you haven’t. If necessary, he’ll do a good job here. But like you said, you’re a better fit for what I’m trying to do with this squadron. I will fight to keep you here if I need to, Wes, trust me on that.” He hesitates, an expression Wes can’t quite identify flickering across his face. “Unless you want to leave. I won’t force you to stay if the memories are too painful for you. If they’ll make it too hard for you to perform your duties.”
So Wedge has picked up on that fear too. A mix of relief and irritation makes Wes’ answer sharper than he intends. “You didn’t seem to have a problem with how I felt when you were manipulating Tainer into staying.” Its not entirely fair — his reaction today has taken him by surprise, there’s no reason Wedge should have anticipated it — but Wedge nods anyway, looking regretful.
“I’m sorry Wes. When I said I needed your skills more than you needed to be free of the memories I didn’t realise how hard it would be for you. I should have thought. I should have given you an opportunity to object, to leave, but I-” he hesitates again, oddly uncertain, “I thought you wanted to stay.” It isn’t quite a question but it isn’t quite a statement either.
“I did. I do. I just-” What? Genuinely thinks he’s going to be blown up? Or can’t face hearing Doran die every time he looks at the man’s son?
Wedge bites his lip, eyes troubled, as he waits for the end of the sentence Wes doesn’t know how to finish. Eventually he asks, “Can you at least stick it out until we have a unit roster? Then see how you’re doing?”
For a brief, guilty moment Wes wonders if it is his turn to be manoeuvred into staying. But even if it is he’s already made his choice and he’ll stand by it. He nods and says, “Yes sir.”
Chagrin flashes across Wedge’s face. “Wes, I’m not ordering you. I want you to stay, want you to be my second in this, but I don’t want you to suffer. You can walk away. If you want.”
Wes is painfully aware of the flip side of Wedge’s concern; the I can’t run a squadron with an impaired executive officer that remains unspoken. But even though Wes is acutely aware that after everything he’s laid in front of him it should be his commanding officer’s first concern, it is unspoken.
“Wedge, I know.” He meets Wedge’s gaze and puts as much conviction in his voice as he can manage. “I’m staying. My choice, not yours.” A choice Wedge shouldn’t have offered him really. But they are friends after all.
Wedge nods slowly, and if his expression is not as full of the relief Wes might have expected a few minutes ago at least he doesn’t question the assurance Wes is trying to offer. “Okay. But if it gets too hard you have to tell me, alright?”
“Yeah. Okay.” Friends or not, if his XO can’t perform his duties Commander Antilles will have no choice but to stand him down, that's a line they can't cross and they both know it.
“Good.” Wedge nods again, more decisively. “It’ll be alright, Wes.”
“Sure. Whatever you say.” But Wes wants so badly to believe him that he can’t manage any real sarcasm. And Wedge sounds so earnest — properly earnest, not the commanding-officer-reassuring-his-subordinates sincerity he slips in to so easily — that he almost does. Except-
What did I turn the kid into?