#hi hello i spent my entire work day either bent over a balance that goes down to 10 micrograms

[dreamerinsilico]

If I ever have to do another chemical stability stress test like the one I am trying, and failing to start this week, I'm making the damn synthetic chemists downstairs weigh out the fucking samples. They can do it on their own time and I won't give a damn how long it takes them to get me the material for the study. Do not hand me six bulk vials when we talked about three and act like the 486 samples you just asked me for are in any way easy to set up.

[a-memory-of]

Ellere Valahan approached the dusty ruins of Qarn, a bag slung over her shoulder. She looked around, finally spotting a head of blonde hair in the distance. Giving a wave, she hopped up and over a fallen wall, calling out, "Hello, dear!"

Ruran Vas was tugging on his gloves, having discarded his usual armor for the occasion. Upon hearing her call, he peeked up. "Ah--hello," his quiet voice called as far as his mask would allow. "You look prepared."

Ellere looked down at herself, shrugging, "Do I? I suppose a skirt would do me little good in a spar, hm?" As she approached, she let the bag off her shoulder, and leaned it up against a nearby wall. "Most of this is for tonight, honestly. I figured I may as well steal a spot near your fire again, than try and trek all the way home after."

He perked at that, his head canting. "Oh? You know I never mind your company," he replied in agreement to this plan. "I ought to show you my progress in my travel journal, later."

Ellere smiled, giving a nod as she wiped her brow. "I would very much like to see it," she bent to dig about for something in her bag a moment, "Now, how did your studies go? Would you like to show me before we get started?" Finally, she withdrew her mother's carefully folded starglobe and straightened.

"Ah--yes, actually. I have...gotten quick at the basic runes you showed me." He put his hand on the hilt of his sword, which seemed to help him focus. Taking a breath, he lifted his opposite hand and began to form a runic pattern in the air: protection. It did not take long for a golden shimmer to veil in front of him. He waited to see her reaction before he continued, his hand pausing in the air.

She stepped a bit closer, holding the globe between her hands. "Look at you," she marveled at the barrier, not doubting it's strength. It was so different than her own, gold against the blue.

Ruran peeked between her and starglobe, something curious in his eyes, but he didn't voice it. His hand lowered, and he fidgeted. "There was something else I learned. I--I was helping Renaud. We fought a voidsent, and...it grabbed me and began to drain my aether." 

His brow furrowed at the memory. "I escaped, but... I could not think clearly, it was all a blur..." The words were slow and thoughtful. "I recall moving my hand, but it was as if Ari'doram was...directing my aether as well. Forming runes I did not recognize..."

Ellere waited for the barrier to fall away between them, frowning at the tale. But she knew better than to scold him. It was what he did, after all. What they all did. "And, I shall assume Ari'doram was not inclined to share when asked? It... has taken control of you before. Perhaps it was merely showing what potential you have yet?"

"Perhaps so," he sighed, uncertain. "Ari'doram has knowledge within that goes back to the Belah'dian age, perhaps even farther. It just...does not know how to express it, I think." He rubbed the side of his neck, sheepish. "The runes were complex, and they...summoned a bolt, like lightning--but holy. I have been trying to replicate it, with little success..."

She furrowed her brow in thought, "I suppose it could have been instinctual... Without fully understanding Ari'doram and what kind of entity it truly is, it is hard to say. I would not let it dishearten either of you, though." She took a step to the side, almost starting to pace, "If Ari'doram cannot teach you, we must simply find something that can. I have inquired to my own contacts already about writings that I did not personally have. There may be something yet."

Ruran canted his head. "Truly..? I had thought to seek out the golems that I found in Qarn... They have...runes carved all over them. Perhaps they might be useful, at least for reference." He scratched the side of his mask. "B-but, ah--shall we? Spar, I mean, though it has been a while since my last..."

Ellere turned back, nodding her head with a smile, "I did specify any information they had especially on things of this area, and of Qarn's time. If you made copies of the inscriptions on the golems, perhaps we might be able to cross-reference them." She gave a bit of a laugh, "And I never have, so I shall still refer to you for proper etiquette."

With @weepingknight

He nodded, a soft light of interest in his eyes. "I shall do that, then," he agreed. "And ah...it may not be advised to do a proper spar just yet. You are still learning offensive spells, yes? H-how about we exchange some practice? I shall focus on my shields, and you try to destroy them..?"

Ellere looked down at her globe a moment, hands tightening around her hold slightly. She might not admit to being nervous, but she knew where she was lacking, after all. "Yes, still learning much. I spent a good amount of my life trying to forget astromancy. I think that sounds like it shall work well." Taking a breath, she moved to give them some space.

"Forget..? W-well, I am...glad that you are attempting again." His voice quieted, and he stood a little taller to focus. "Simply pretend I am not here--just a wall. I shall not judge you, this is practice." Assuming the same position as before, one hand on his blade and one extended, he began to form the rune. However, instead of allowing it to shimmer and disappear, he placed his hand on it to bolster and maintain its strength.

She flowed a bit aether into the globe, and it came to life in her hand. As it hovered above her palm, she smiled, "You are very sweet, but turning a spell on you, as ill-practiced as I am is still worrying. But I also am very much confident in your new abilities." She took another deep breath, before channeling again, a small burst of blue aether, just as she had done when he walked upon her that day at the beach.

Ruran braced himself, spreading his feet apart a bit more. He seemed focused, and behind the shield, there was even a flicker of gold in his eyes. The shield remained strong, even shone a little brighter, as Ellere's spell struck its surface and fizzled out.

She had quite expected that honestly. She was far too hesitant to let loose something of greater strength. But, she knew she would be doing him a disservice if she did not. No voidsent or best would hold back, after all. Another spell was sent toward the barrier.

Ruran's barrier held fast against the next burst of astral energy; the knight was getting familiar with at least this one rune. That she was casting--that was the purpose, yet he felt her hesitation in the way it glanced off his shield. "You can do it," Ruran assured. "Imagine the barrier is not mine. Imagine you...must break through in order to save me."

Ellere watched the spell burst into little flecks of starlight, and bit down on the inside of her cheek. But as he spoke, she gave a nod. Feeding more aether through the globe, she once more directed the spell at the barrier, doing her best to imagine as he said. "Well, I shall still applaud your ability to maintain something like this so soon."

Ruran concentrated, but he was still quite new at this. The next volley of aether collided into his barrier, and this time, he felt the balance of energy shift. A crack had formed. He did not yet know how to fix it. The crack webbed across his shield, and it shattered. "Oh--"

She held back on firing another spell, wishing to still make this a lesson. "Do not panic, remain focused. A shield is reliant much on your will. Try the rune of power I showed you, strengthen it, repair."

He nodded, taking a breath and focusing on the spell again. The stone around his neck flared, and he moved his hand to form another rune, one of power. It added to what he had, as well as caused another spark in his eyes.

With the barrier re-enforced, she too drew out more aether into another spell, but this time a force. He likely had seen her do it many times, walls of aether, a gravitational force. It pressed against one of the sides of the wall. "One does not often get the chance to choose where their barrier will be struck. Where can you lessen the strain? Where must you strengthen?"

Ruran's eyes flared. As she pushed, he succeeded in feeling where it was weakest. The top-right, furthest from his hand. "There," he murmured, and his hand moved, directing more aether to the thinnest point, and focusing less on the area immediately in front of him.

Ellere smiled proudly to herself, knowing it was likely unseen in his focus, "Good, dear, good." He was doing remarkably well. It took a bit to divide her own focus, but keeping directed force against that upper point, another small blast of aether as before targeted somewhere else.

Writing an arcane rune was one thing, but building and maintaining a barrier was another matter entirely. One he was not experienced enough in doing. He was so focused on keeping the top repaired, that he did not notice the small burst below. And once he did, he quickly reacted--but too much. It all became uneven, and it shattered from top to bottom. The force blew Ruran back just a few paces, and he landed on his back.

She gave a startled gasp, folding the astroglobe back and jogging over to his side. "Ah... are you all right? I am sorry, that was probably too much for our first try." She offered her hand to him, to help him back to his feet.

Ruran seemed fine, though he was exhausted. He fought to catch his breath. "I spent...far too much. That was too ambitious on my part, I think." His tone was good-natured, he seemed satisfied with the outcome, and he waved a dismissive hand to the one she offered. "I...think I shall lie here a bit. Have a seat?"

Ellere blinked down at him, unable to shake the worry, still. She too, had a bit of sweat on her brow, but merely nodded her head in agreement. "That was quite amazing, really," she praised, lowering herself beside him in the sand. "Sensing weak points in a barrier as you did, and adapting. I am proud."

"And you, for breaking through it," he complimented. "I...hope it was helpful. We ought to try again, but perhaps something less...taxing. I pray I do not need to maintain a barrier of that size or duration anytime soon..."

She laughed, nodding her head and gently laying the globe in her lap. "I believe something you said struck a chord with me. I should use every spell I have at my disposal to help others. Not only in healing, but  should someone depend on me to attack..." She reached over, placing a hand on his shoulder, "Even I would struggle to maintain something so large, for so long. I believe I have an idea for our next meeting."

Ruran studied her a moment and tilted his head. "Oh? What shall we do?"

Ellere hummed, shifting the hand at his shoulder to her chin, "Well, as good as an exercise it was, the times you shall need a sheer wall of defense are rare. Perhaps a more... rapid-fire test will help you focus. I can sling spells, aiming for different areas, and you can focus on a smaller shield."

His brows rose. "Oh--" He nodded, for all it was worth with his head on the ground. "That seems very--practical for me. It is what I oft try to do, with...flattening the orbs, as you taught me. Perhaps there is a way to combine the two..."

"Yes, and you mentioned making progress with such," she agreed, then gestured a bit with her arms, mimicking a shield to one side. "You struggled with their size, but that is not the case with your rune, as shown today. We just need to work on covering yourself, allowing strength to be diverted where you need it."

Ruran took a slow breath and nodded again. "I am certain it will get easier with time... I--I do not know how you do it, managing to maintain and adapt as you do. I have a new appreciation for it."

Ellere slowly flopped beside him in the sand, hands resting on her stomach. "We all have our strengths, sugar. I still cannot pick up a sword, hm? My whole life, I studied hard so that I could heal others, protect people. Beginning with my mother. It is a feeling I know that we share, so I have little doubt, in time, you will do the most amazing things."

He quietly hummed, thinking on all that was spoken. "If I do, it will be because I have an amazing teacher." He peeked her way, then up at the sky again.

Ellere smiled, moving one hand over and seeking his out blindly. "You flatter me. But I shall do my very best. Ah, look... the here come the stars."

[drinkupthesunrise]

Hi! Wedge has a notebook with rather good pen sketches of everything (he makes them seldom in minutes between battles and duties). Luke occasionally finds it (sorry for mistakes and grammar, it's not my native language). And thank you for your so beautiful fics!

Hello!! This is a delightful prompt and should have been a lovely happy fic to write; it instead delved into drawing-as-a-coping-mechanism for mental health issues. and Luke being supportive. So, I hope you like that? (Also, not kidding about the mental health issues, please tread carefully) (also on ao3)

Wedgeisn’tsure quite where he picked up the habit. He was always known forscribbling in things, over things, doing anything he could to keephis hands busy. When he’d decided that he wanted to be anarchitect, it had turned into a useful study, observing people fromlife, places, things.

Sohe keeps a notebook of flimsi and a real ink-pen in the pocket of hisflightsuit at all times, and he doodles in it when he can. It keepshis hands busy in meetings, at least, when he finds it difficult tostay concentrating and listen no matter how hard he tries. Beforelong, he’sbuilt up a book of sketches of the upper brass, everyone who comes tobrief them. He knows the way their ships are built from observingthem, putting pen to paper and marking out lines and shadows wherethe seams of metal fit, finding a way to represent them cleanly.

.

“How’dyou get away with it?” Hobbie Klivian whispers sharply, when Wedgepulls the notebook out during a briefing and balances it on his kneeto try and capture Jan Dodonna’s serious face.

They’dtold him to stop once, and Wedge had spent a week in briefings beinga constant figit, leg bouncing up and down restlessly, the sound ofhis boot hitting the floor echoing through the briefing room. He’dnot taken in a single word they’d said. A near-miss with twofighters later, and everyone had agreed to rescind the restriction.

LetWedge keep his coping mechanisms, because when they work, they makehim one of the finest pilots the Rebellion has seen yet.

“I’mjust that good,” Wedge replies, like if he says it it will be afact.

.

There’sa boy in this briefing with the most radiant golden hair and stunningvibrant blue eyes, and Wedge’s fingers are itching to draw him. Butthe black ink in his pen would never do this boy justice, and themood in the briefing room is electric enough that Wedge is pulled toattention.

Everyoneknows this is the big one. This is where the Rebellion with stand orfall, and the weight is born on the shoulders of starfighter pilots,on single-man craft. They are the underdogs, and apparently thesolution to beating the Empire’sgreatest weapon is to put a proton torpedo down an exhaust port.

Wedgemanages to get the gist of the briefing, but the boy besides him isdistracting. Wedge finds himself using his eyes to trace the boy’sfeatures, wondering if he can commit them to memory well enough toget the boy down later. It’s never the same as drawing from life,but Wedge isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to capture this boyanyway.

Hesparkles with something more.

.

Inhis grief, Wedge tries to draw everyone who flew that day. He pullsthe pictures from his mind, desperately trying to get it down beforehe forgets how Biggs’mouth used to curve as he smiled, how Piggy’s cheeks wobbled, howDreis’s eyes were strong and worn after years of service. He tearsholes in the paper of his notebook where he tries to get the ink downtoo quick, drawing too fast to try and get these things out of hishead, the faces of the twenty-one pilots who went to their deathsthat fateful day.

Hedoesn’tdraw in meetings any more. The distraction doesn’t work like itused to; now, when he draws, he gets lost in it, lost in his grief.Instead, he dedicates himself to using every ounce of his brain powerto keep his concentration on what’s in front of him, to keep theghosts from bleeding in at the edges of his memory. Luke takes tositting as close to Wedge as he can manage, his entire body lined upby Wedge’s side, giving Wedge something to focus on. He’ll stilltap his hands over anything he can get – he starts making sure hebrings caf to the meetings just so he can play with the mug, drum hisfingers over the sides of it.

Narradrags him aside one day, having noticed Wedge’snervous habits. He asks Wedge if he’s fit to fly. Wedge says he is,without hesitation. Narra gives him a look of complete disbelief,hauls him into the sims for three hours until Wedge vapes him fourtimes in a row.

Heunderstands Narra’sconcern, but flying is the only thing he’s ever done where thereisn’t something eating at the back of his brain. It’sinstinctive. His ship feels like an extension of himself, and hismind is clear, and he can see what he needs to do with a clarity heisn’t blessed with anywhere else in his life.

Hefeels free, up there amongst the stars.

Hisbrain is definitely wired a little differently, he knows that now. Hehas to have a full medical work-up every three months, and see acounsellor every one to retain his flight clearance. He’sconstantly on the edge of having it revoked, of being told that hecan’t fly anymore. If there wasn’t a war on, Wedge doubts he’dbe allowed to fly. He doesn’t tell anyone about it. It’s just whohe is.

Whenthey give Skywalker a squadron, he asks Wedge to be his second.Immediately, the panic starts eating away at Wedge’sbones, but he chokes out a yes. Because he can do this. He standsalongside Luke and Narra in that first briefing that they give, handsbehind his back, a thumb stroking the palm of the other, and suddenlyknows that he can.

.

It’sa lot easier to give a briefing than to listen to one.

Lukeis a brilliant CO who hasn’tthe first clue how to do all the behind the scenes work a squadronrequires; Wedge can do it all but only when he’s reminded andpresented with a list of exactly what needs doing. They findthemselves without the requisite parts, supplies and weapons a coupleof times in those first few months, before they work it out betweenthem.

Wedgepicks up drawing again, though now it’soften as he files datawork, allowing himself five minutes every timehe completes a new task to put a few more lines down. Luke becomeshis favourite subject, often because he’s the only person in theroom when Wedge gets out his pen these days. If he notices Wedgescribbling away, he doesn’t say anything. Luke’s good at that, atknowing when to intervene and when to keep his head out of otherpeople’s business. He’s inexhaustible sunshine, but he knows thatnot everyone wants that all the time.

Wedgelearns Luke, in that time, learns the curl of his hair, the curve ofhis nose, the dimple on his chin. The hollows of his cheeks as theycome into sharp lines as he grows a little older. He’sa pleasure to draw, in every way.

Wedgecatches himself staring. No one else does; Wedge has a reputation fora focused gaze, for holding his eyes on something too long, andeveryone lets it pass on him where they wouldn’tnecessary let it on anyone else. But he’s drawn to Luke, the softsmile he always has on his face, specially for Wedge at the end of along day.

Wedgeprobably shouldn’tbe surprised that one day he can’t quite clamp his impulsivenessdown quickly enough. Kissing Luke is like clear skies after rain,cleansing and beautiful and oh so right.

Lukekisses back.

.

Everythingis fine until it isn’t.

.

Eventually,something always breaks. That’sthe reality of life. Wedge can count the fractures in his life,retrospectively, awareness of them only coming after the fact.

Thisone creeps up on him. He stops sleeping properly, waking up in fitsand starts during the night and then wide awake before his alarm goesoff. That goes unnoticed because everyone else is doing it too. Hedevelops a fit of short temper, but again, half the Rebellion isrunning on a hair trigger, and Wedge is fineas long as he only talks to his squadron and certain members of HighCommand. He’sback to fidgeting, and his pen strokes never land quite the way hewants them too, and the shots he fires don’t either, and his X-Wingfeels clunky in his hands, directionless and aimless.

Thewar isn’tgoing well. It’s turned everything upside down, every person thisway and that. Any semblance of a routine has been thrown out oforder.

Andwith it goes the rest of Wedge’ssanity.

Notthat anyone realises that until they find him, tearing apart hisX-Wing, shredding wires with his bare hands as he tries to dig deeperinto it to fix a single switch that won’tlight up properly. In his frustration, he’s torn away half thecabling that makes his dashboard work in the process, smashed a pieceof glass, and bent several tools out of shape.

He’scursing up a storm and he’s practically vibrating with excessenergy as he tears things apart, pulling out to look for a tool,finding one, smashing it repeatedly into the box before deciding it’ssatisfactory, and returning with it. Luke, Hobbie and Tycho watch,wondering who spirited their friend away in the night and replacedhim with the half-version of himself. “Wedge, are you alright?”Luke asks.

“I’mfine,” Wedge forces out, in perfectly level tones, almost soundinglike himself only he clearly isn’t.

“Wedge,do you want to come out of there? Whatever’s going on one of themechanics can fix it,” Hobbie says. Concern spreads all over hisface; he knows that there’s history with Wedge, something thatmeans commanding officers have a tendency to watch him like a hawk,but he’s never been sure what. But Wedge is clearly not alright. Hedoesn’t respond to Hobbie at all. Hobbie draws back, letting Lukeapproach Wedge, and tells Tycho to go for medical help. This isbeyond them.

“Wedge.”Luke crouches besides him. “Come on. Lets go get breakfast – haveyou had breakfast?”

“Idon’t want breakfast, I want this to work—”Abroken sob enters Wedge’svoice, and Luke puts an arm around Wedge, wanting to help soothe hisfriend, a man he cares for more than that. Wedge throws Luke off,violently, not caring about what hurt he does. Luke furrows his brow.“It doesn’t, and I need it to, cause I can’t fly without it—”Luke doesn’t mention the fact that Wedge’s X-Wing was fit forservice the last time he saw it, and very much is not now. “Whywon’t it work?”

Wedgecollapses into violent, heaving sobs. Luke, wary of how his touch hadbeen taken earlier, is cautious in how he moves, but this time whenhe wraps an arm around Wedge, Wedge falls into the embrace. Luke justholds him, and then slowly removes the tools from his hand, fingersgrazing over all the little cuts Wedge has given himself in his pathto destruction.

Hemanages to help Wedge up. A tall women in her forties with a medicalinsignia on her uniform is standing beside Tycho, her arms crossed.When Wedge looks up at her, he sighs. “Iknow,” he says, before she can say anything. He’s two days offhis standing appointment with her, when all this would have come outeventually.

Sheshakes her head. “Myoffice, now. Skywalker, which of you is Skywalker?” Luke raises hishand, and she nods, like she’s not at all surprised. “You too.”

.

Wedge’scounsellor, who’s name is Dr Elan Monri, has a two-one-bee droidwaiting in her office to clean up all the damage that he’s managedto do to himself. It cleans the cuts on his hands, and bandages theworst ones. Luke sits close to him, still not really understandingwhat’s going on, whilst Dr Monri hauls a reasonably thick flimsifile out of a locked cabinet.

“Wedge,are you back with us?” Dr Monri asks, her voice perfectly calm andlevel. Her chair is pulled out in front of her desk. Luke and Wedgeshare a sofa that runs along one wall of her office. Wedge nods.“First things first; I’m revoking your flight clearance.”

“Ifigured.” Wedge is surprisingly accepting of that fact; given whatLuke saw, he thought for sure his friend would rail against it. “AmI off active duty as well?”

“Notyet. A repeat of an incident like this morning’s, and it will beconsidered.”

“Excuseme—” Luke butts in. He thinks he probably shouldn’t, but he’sconfused about this entire situation. “Look, Wedge, sorry, this isawkward, but as your CO I have to know – when can he have hisflight clearance back?”

“Whenhe’s gone four weeks incident-free, and not a moment before,” DrMonri replies. “And I’ve signed off on it. I suspect we arelooking at six-to-eight weeks. Wedge?”

“Thatsounds about right.” He sighs. “Sorry Luke. It’s for everyone’ssafety.” Wedge is fidgeting with his hands again, picking at hisnails, and Elan picks a piece of flimsi and a stylus off her desk andhands it to him, and then gives him a book to lean on. He glances atLuke and then starts putting marks to paper.

It’sabundantly clear that he’s drawing Luke, and Luke just looks onmystified. “Actually, Luke – I do need to speak to you, but wouldit be possible for you to swing by later? I think Wedge and I need totalk first.”

“Yeah,sure.” Luke stands up. He clasps a hand on Wedge’s shoulder.“Stay safe, okay. I’ll see you later.”

Wedgedraws on, barely cognisant of Luke’spresence. As Luke leaves, door falling closed behind him, he hears DrMonri say, “Are you sure you don’t want to take that medicaldischarge?”

.

Wedgemight not be able to fly, but that doesn’tstop him from being an active participant in every other part ofsquadron life. Dr Monri had explained to Luke that the most importantthing he can do is to keep a routine for Wedge, make sure he sleepsand eats properly, so Luke attempts to keep the squadron on schedulefor the first time in its life.

It’ssurprisingly hard, but easier after the first week, when everyone’sgetting on board and used to it; drills at oh-eight-hundred hours,patrol from twelve-hundred to eighteen-hundred. It won’t lastforever; the life of a fighter pilot is unpredictable at best. ButLuke watches Wedge closely these days, and he seems better for it.

Wedgeis still not the best at taking care of himself, so Luke findshimself dragging his friend out of their shared office when he findsWedge still in there working, long past the time they’dagreed everyone should stop.

“Haveyou eaten?” Luke asks, well aware he’s sounding like a mother henbut not trusting for a second that Wedge has. A shake of the headconfirms Luke’s suspicions. “To the mess hall with you, then.”

“No,”Wedge says, and Luke stops. “Urgh. Sorry. No, food is okay, but Ican’t face the place.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “Fuck.I’m sorry Luke.”

“Hey.”Luke leans over to take Wedge’s hand, pull it away from where he’sdangerously close to tearing his own hair out. “I’ll go getsomething for you. And you can eat in our quarters. How about that?Sound manageable?”

Wedgeconsiders it for a moment. “Yeah.I can do that. If you would do that for me.”

Lukereally doesn’tmind; he hates seeing Wedge like this, and will happily do anythinghe can to help Wedge out. Dr Monri had made it quite clear that therewas no miracle cure, no amount of therapy or medication that wouldever make Wedge ‘normal’, that he’d always be managing thisthing, but there was a lot they could all do to help mitigate hissymptoms.

Sohe fetches some food, and returns to find Wedge sitting on his bed,cross-legged, a notebook on his knee and a pen in hand. Wedge flickshis eyes up when the door opens, and drops the pen and moves thenotebook to take the tray off Luke. Luke settles down beside hisfriend. He picks up the discarded notebook. “Mindif I have a look?” he asks.

“Goahead.”

Lukeopens the book. He’sseen Wedge drawing a lot, it’s something he does – a copingmechanism, Luke now understands. But he had no idea that Wedge wasactually any good. Luke’s own likeness stares back at him,bright-eyed and intense; on another page, Hobbie, Wes and Tycho jumpout at him. There’s technical drawings of X-Wings and Y-Wings andA-Wings, helmet designs that Luke recognises. A page of just hands inmotion. And Luke. More of Luke. From every angle, in about everyoutfit Luke owns. “You’re good,” Luke gasps. “Really good. DoI really look like that?” He finds himself resting on a portrait ofhim, with a soft smile, that Wedge seems to have taken a little moretime over than some of the other sketches in this book.

“Tome, you do.” Wedge uses his fork to gesture at his footlocker.“There’s more in there, if you want to look. This is just themost recent.”

Lukefinds half a dozen notebooks stashed there. He lifts them out andcarefully flicks through them. It’spossible to date them just from the faces that appear in them, peoplewho are long dead. He has to stifle a sob when Biggs turns up; ittakes Wedge a few tries, but he manages to capture Biggs’s wrysmile with a deftness that makes Luke ache for the loss of Biggs. Andthen Luke shows up again, again and again and again, Wedge clearlydetermined to work out his face, how to try and capture his spirit.

“Youdraw me a lot,” Luke comments.

WhenWedge doesn’treply, Luke lifts his eyes and finds Wedge blushing.

“Ilike it,” Luke says. “Though I still think you might have takenliberties with how pretty I am.”

“Notat all.”

Lukeleans across and kisses Wedge. It’shardly the first time he’s done that. But this time it’s backedup with quiet desire, and a want for more,because this beautiful man is battling so much and still, stilldoesn’tknow how wonderful he is.

.

Wedgegets his flight clearance back seven weeks and two days after hisincident in the hangar.

Luketakes him out, just the pair of them in their X-Wings, to check thatWedge’sflying skills are up to scratch; it’s pretty clear that they are,but Luke has them stay out for the full length of their allottedtime, playing around and having fun under the guise of testing everypart of Wedge’s flying skill.

He’smindful of how Wedge said that flying helps, that it clears his brainand for those moments, it feels like he’s normal.

Whenthey return, Wedge is exuberant with joy and twirls Luke around in anembrace, whilst the rest of the squadron converge and envelop themboth in a group hug, glad to have Wedge back.

.

They’reall better about managing Wedge, these days. It’s a collectiveeffort, one that Luke spearheads but is backed up by the rest ofRogue Flight. Wedge’s bad days are spotted and dealt with beforethey blow up to become issues. He’s still antsy sometimes, butTycho will tug him off to the gym to run laps, or Wes will take himfor target practice. When his brain won’t stop replaying hismistakes, Hobbie will sit with him and talk about the good old times,when they were just kids trying to do what they could for theRebellion.

AndLuke? Luke is besides Wedge in all things, these days.

Thatmeans giving him space sometimes, and picking him up and refusing tolet him wallow at others. Luke learns Wedge’shiding places, and how to tuck in there with him and just hold himwhilst Wedge watches the world go by. He’ll drag Wedge away fromhis work and back to bed, redirect Wedge’s intensity onto pleasingLuke and then echoing it back up at him.

Itturns out that sex is a good way to break Wedge out of his worstmoments, and that works for both of them.

Lukeholds Wedge as they fall asleep, comforted by each other. Wedgeusually wakes first, and Luke becomes accustomed to waking to thescratching of Wedge’spen, Wedge finding a new angle to draw Luke from, another piece ofhim that he hasn’t studied in detail.

(There’san entire separate notebook that isn’t fit for public consumptionthese days.)

Hestill has bad days; he’llalways have bad days. But he works through them. He’s got people toturn too, knows how to fight, and when he needs to just step awayfrom it all.

Whenthe war is over, maybe he’llhave a chance to live a normal life. The cost of freedom for thegalaxy, though, is a price Wedge thinks is worth paying. He’llsoldier on through the bad times. One day, it’ll be worth it.