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You kick yourself for not noticing sooner. That Han was the first one to realize that Luke hadn't come back yet.
You're elbow deep in a snowspeeder's engine when you hear Solo arguing with the deck officer, only close enough to catch the heated exchange. And before you even have time to wipe your hands, he's on a tauntaun, riding off into the freezing cold, in search of his friend.
Your friend. Your commanding officer. Your lover, though neither of you have spoken the word. You should be the one rushing out there to find him.
And you're going to be, fumbling for your gloves, before you feel a hand on your arm, stopping you. It's Hobbie, his frown deeper than usual. If anyone in this frozen hellhole knows you better than Luke, it's Hobbie. "Wedge." His voice is quiet, gentler than you're used to. "Don't."
You've wondered if any of the other Rogues have cottoned on to the fact that there's another facet to your relationship with Luke. Enough of them know that the two of you share a bed, but so does nearly everyone else on base, trying their damnedest to keep warm. You swallow hard, trying to hide your panic. "Solo can't find him on his own. We need more people searching."
You pull your arm, but Hobbie doesn't let go. You want to call him out on insubordination, but the threat rings hollow before you can even voice it. Hobbie shakes his head. "If anyone can survive the night out there, it's Luke. You can't."
You grit your teeth, but don't argue. He's not wrong. There's no way you'd make it more than an hour past nightfall, but Luke is one of the most adaptable beings you've ever met. The consensus among the Rogues is that the Force is helping him cheat. But you doubt that even the Force can combat temperatures of negative sixty.
Solo will probably be dead long before he finds Luke.
You know in your gut that going out would be irresponsible, pointless suicide. But that doesn't make it easier to resign yourself to staying. With a frustrated noise, you manage to wrench your arm away from Hobbie this time, and put your hands up to stop him from grabbing you again. "The snowspeeders can handle the morning temperatures. Alert the Rogues that we're going out the second we're cleared." Without waiting for a response, you turn back to the snowspeeder. You're not leaving the hangar, and working will help keep you distracted.
You stare into the engine helplessly, as though you don't recognize the interior anymore. What the fuck had you been doing with it?
Hobbie lays his hand on your shoulder, and you fail to not flinch. "We'll find him, Wedge." He tries to sound hopeful, but you notice that he doesn't specify 'alive.' He never was an optimist.
You manage a listless nod before going back to working on the engine with a futile hope to get it functioning before the morning.
--
When the doors clang shut, you can feel Chewbacca's mournful howl reverberate in your chest. You haven't been able to look him or the princess in the face, not wanting to see the failing battle between hope and grief reflected back at you. Fighting the lump in your throat, you go back to the engine. Your fingers are freezing and fumbling, probably hurting more than helping at this point, but you're at a loss of what else to do.
Hobbie's there again, but this time Janson is with him. The younger pilot is smiling, but it's forced, not carrying up into his eyes. "Hey, Chief--" Luke is Commander, but Wes has always called you 'Chief' "--I managed to bribe some whiskey out of the guys who did the last supply run. As long as you promise not to tell the XO, I'll share."
You manage a small smile at the weak joke. "Your secret's safe. I hear that guy's a real hardass. But I think I'm going to skip out for the night."
Hobbie shakes his head as he reaches to close the engine hatch, giving you barely enough time to get your hands out of the way. "Nope. You're with us tonight. You don't have to drink--"
"Yes you do," Wes interrupts.
Hobbie ignores him, already tugging you away from the speeder. "But you gotta keep your mind in the base, not out there."
Wes takes up position on your other side, as though blocking you from making a run for it. "We only mutiny because we care."
You give up, and let them lead you to their quarters. The three of you sit on one bunk (it's obvious only one of them gets used), and despite what Wes said, you each only have one small drink. You're flying first thing in the morning, after all.
You watch a holo-recording of an anti-gravball game from several years ago -- it's not like you can get broadcasts out here -- but little is said. You just sit there under blankets, Hobbie's arm around your shoulders and Wes snoring in your ear, waiting for dawn.
--
Your hands shook when you heard Zev's comm that he'd found Luke and Solo, both of them alive even. Luke was already in bacta by the time you got back to base. According to Wes, you missed one hell of a smell.
It's quiet (minus the med droids' mechanical whirring as they monitor patients), late at night before you manage to get some time alone with him. You're not sure why it matters to you that there's no one else around -- he's unconscious in a bacta tank, it's not as though you can talk to him, or even sit next to him to squeeze his hand. But simply standing here to see with your own eyes that he's alive is enough. At least you don't have to explain to anyone why you can't look away from the tank.
You're shaking again. "Fuck." The word is a quiet exhale as you lean back against a console, careful to not hit anything. "Don't you ever do that again, Skywalker," you whisper.
"Sir?" one of the droids asks. "Do you need assistance?"
You shake your head, then slide down to sit on the ground, your back against the console, still watching him bob, even as your head starts to droop and you doze off. If anyone sees you there, they don't wake you, but you still don't sleep long.
--
He doesn't get the chance to return to your shared quarters (and bed) until the Empire is once again breathing down the Alliance's neck.
He does, however, stop you behind your snowspeeder, hand on your arm. "Wedge."
You look back at him. His face still looks gruesome, courtesy of the creature he'd run into out there, but you can't help returning his warm smile. "Luke."
There's a pause before he brings a gloved hand to the back of your neck, pulling you in for a kiss.
Eyes wide, you freeze.
As much time as the two of you have spent wrapped around each other in bed, undressed as much as you dare in order to feel skin pressed together, somehow in this moment, thick layers of clothes between every part of you except where your lips meet, you've never felt closer to another being.
It's the first time outside of that bed that the two of you have kissed, have shared anything more than a casual, friendly touch. Heat churning in the pit of your stomach, you return the kiss, hard enough to make him nearly stumble backwards.
"The first transport is away. Repeat, the first transport is away."
You both pull away at the same time, not in surprise, but to cheer with the rest of the rebels in the hangar. You grin at him before giving a playful shove. "Fly straight, Lead."
He's grinning back just as brightly. "You too, Three." And then he's running off to his own ship.
Wes is already settled as you climb into the pilot's seat. "Boss, did you know that the gunner's seat faces backwards? Not to mention a snowspeeder's got much shorter landing gear than an X-wing. Gives a great view."
You hear the smirk in his voice, can see it on his face without looking. But that great view means that he can't see the smile lingering on yours.
--
"Good luck, Luke! See you at the rendezvous!"