Lightyears From Here Rating: NC-17 / Slash
Cerebel

The second guard was new.

That was the first thing that Wedge noticed. She was tense underneath her uniform, her hand drifting a little too close to the blaster at her waist. And she looked at Tycho like he was something she'd rather crush under her toe.

The other guard Wedge knew already — he'd seen the man often enough. One of Tycho's regulars.

Wedge felt a stirring of guilt, and he finally looked at Tycho.

Force, but Tycho looked so calm, so relaxed. Wedge felt edgy, like there were things crawling underneath his skin that he couldn't see, couldn't get rid of.

"Could we have some privacy?" he asked the guards.

The woman stood, her jaw set, but the man nudged her shoulder. "He's Wedge Antilles," the man hissed, but she still looked reluctant. Nonetheless, soon the door closed behind them.

Tycho looked up at Wedge.

"Are these quarters okay?" Wedge asked, so that he'd have something to say. He examined the room more closely — sparse, of course, but Tycho didn't have much in the way of personal possessions. None of the ex-Rogues did, really.

"They're fine, Wedge," Tycho said, tiredly.

"Good," and Wedge sat down, across the small table from Tycho. The distance might as well be measured in light-years.

Tycho watched him, waited for him to explain why he'd dragged Tycho into a transfer, all the way to this base.

"I'm re-forming Rogue Squadron," Wedge told Tycho, and something loosened inside his chest.

Tycho leaned a little forward. Not much of a reaction, but for Tycho, that was something major. "New pilots?"

"Fresh from training," Wedge confirmed. "Tycho, I want you to be my XO."

Tycho shook his head. "They won't let me."

"I don't care," Wedge shot back.

"They won't let me, Wedge," Tycho repeated.

Wedge exhaled, a huff of helpless irritation, and he crossed his arms. "I need you," said Wedge.

"Wes and Hobbie—"

"Training squadrons," Wedge cut him off.

Tycho shrugged, palms outward. "I don't know, Wedge."

"Don't know what?"

"What you're supposed to do," Tycho emphasized. "I don't know who you're supposed to pick or how you're supposed to take care of the new pilots."

"A lot of them are going to get killed," Wedge said softly.

"Yeah." Tycho wasn't offering any comfort, and Wedge took a slow breath.

"They might let you," said Wedge. "If you submit to certain restrictions—"

Tycho gritted his jaw. "No," he snapped. "I've had enough of that, Wedge. I don't want to bend over backwards for a military that doesn't want me there. I don't want to be more of a burden then I'm—"

Wedge touched Tycho's hand, and Tycho swallowed his words, closing his eyes. Wedge slid his fingers up, curled them around Tycho's, and Tycho gripped back.

"I love you, Tycho," he said, almost in a whisper.

"Wedge," and Tycho's voice was strained, "don't make this hard. I'm just going to resign, it's better for everyone this way."

"Please, Tycho." Wedge didn't really register moving around the table, next to Tycho, but then he was. "Please."

Tycho took a shuddering breath, and he leaned in and kissed Wedge, almost shyly. And Wedge knew, he knew this about Tycho, that Tycho wanted to fight for the Rebellion, that he wanted to help fix the galaxy. Wedge just needed some way, some way to convince Tycho that he still could help, because Tycho would take any reason at all to stay.

It was so achingly familiar, the way Tycho's tongue slid against his, the unwrapping of the clothing from his frame, the way Tycho curled up against him on the bed. They had done this so many times before.

When Wedge pushed inside Tycho, he felt the gasp against his neck, the desperate way Tycho clutched at him. He felt Tycho slowly go out of his mind underneath Wedge, and he felt the tremors that meant Tycho was close, so very close. Wedge was probably hurting Tycho, because it had been a while since they'd done this last, but when he gasped, "I love you," into Tycho's ear, Tycho cried out and clenched all around him.

Minutes later, Tycho rested, his head on Wedge's shoulder.

Wedge stroked Tycho's cheek with the edge of a finger. "Will you stay with Rogue Squadron?" he asked.

Tycho's eyes flicked up to Wedge's face. "For you?" Tycho asked, and there was a tinge of bitterness to his tone.

Wedge swallowed. "For the Rebellion."

Tycho was silent for a long moment, his eyes staring into space, and Wedge wondered what he was thinking about. A patrol, maybe, and a huge gap in his memory. What he knew of the prison Lusankya. Or maybe what he'd suffered at the hands of his own military since then.

Finally, Tycho nodded against Wedge's shoulder. "I'll stay."

Wedge closed his eyes.

The Empire had better watch out. Rogue Squadron was coming.


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