I've told people here that Kylo Ren and his order blew up five planets and they're still willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. I've told them worse things he's done and gotten hardly any reaction. A lot of people here don't respond to things in a normal way.
Give it a week, someone will have knitted him a fuzzy scarf.
[Someone's bitter as fuck about these things, but at least it doesn't show over text.]
[ Which is, unsurprisingly, the cabin he's been at for the past couple of days: Sinjir's. The memory foam greatly helps his aching leg, and Wedge is a creature of habit.
He's sitting up, injured leg raised by a pillow, positively bored out of his mind.
[Luke sits gingerly--the bed is comfortable, he hadn't noticed that last time, and he thinks good for you, Sinjir because if the man was allowing himself something nice it was progress.]
Good. Because I don't know--whatever happened, it happens after our time and before Rey's. [Luke sighs.] I just know he hates me, and idolizes Darth Vader. [His eyes cut to Wedge's face, to take in how his friend has assimilated that bombshell. Certainly well enough to feel the need to reassure Luke.]
[ Wedge, for his part, isn't interested in this particular Skywalker-Solo saga. ] Whatever it was, it must've taken forces beyond anyone's control to turn him into... [ Well, that. Wedge trails off. This is not the discussion they need to have.
An awkward, suffering pause stretches before Wedge speaks again. ] When did you find out, Luke?
[Beyond anyone's control. Luke both wants to believe that, and doesn't. It's not that he wants it to be his fault. But if Kylo Ren was beyond anyone's control to create, then how can anyone bring him back?
And he needs to be. Luke believes that as firmly as he believed in Anakin Skywalker.]
Uh. Bespin. [He flexes his right hand, looking at it unseeing.] He told me. It's taken me a long time to admit it to anyone but myself. And here... [He shrugs helplessly.] Everyone just knows. You deserve to know the truth from me, not as an afterthought or a joke.
Bespin. [ After Bespin, so much changed. It'd been Bespin when Wedge realized his and Luke's path diverged. Where Wedge became Rogue Leader, and Luke became who he was always meant to be. ] There was a lot about Bespin you never told me. I never asked. I didn't think it was my place.
[Luke pulls a leg up onto the bed, hugging it with his arms. Everything still feels stiff and sore but he's never been one to take up space.]
I wouldn't have blamed you for asking. [He speaks softly.] But I probably wouldn't have told you. I'm not ashamed. [He looks up, fixing Wedge with his gaze.] It's not that. It's just a lot to adjust to. I had to understand what it meant to me before I could begin to tell anyone else.
I knew you wouldn't have told me. Which is why I didn't ask. [ There'd been so much Wedge wanted to askβLuke not showing up at the rendezvous. What was so much more important than Rogue, his own XO, not knowing he was dead. That'd been a nasty report to write up. It'd been nastier to receive the promotion to commander due to your commander, your best friend, presumed dead by the entire fleet.
And then Luke showed up, injured but alive, along with the Falcon.
It hadn't been the time for an argument.
It hadn't been the time at the briefing over Endor either.
Nor during a major fleet battle.
It was never the time. Because time kept ticking and, with it, distance grew. ] I get it.
Yeah. For what it's worth... I'm sorry. I should have been better about communicating. I... guess I was trying to be too many things at once. I shouldn't have left you hanging.
[He's not sure what he would have changed, but he does regret having to make a choice between competing loyalties.]
It's fine. [ Wedge forces his voice into steel. This isn't bitterness; it's pettiness. There's no need for it. ] You had more important things to do. [ Defeating Hutts and freeing slaves with Han Solo, rebel scoundrel, General Organa, and Lando Calrissian, who was cut from the same durasteel as Solo.
Wedge set up patrols. Wrote up flight sims. Recruited more pilots. Helped with the logistics of the attack run against the second Death Star.
It's all the same battle, just a different front.
(Wedge is, suddenly, reminded that he's not as old as he feels.) ] It all turned out fine.
[Luke doesn't take his eyes off his friend's face. He doesn't try to intrude, but he can pick up feelings from people, especially those he's close to. And he's been close to Wedge. He's had to be.
But not for a long time. Not really.]
It's not fine. Even if we'd both have done the same again, it's not fine. I... abandoned you. I abandoned my training. It's all right for that not to be okay, Wedge.
This is what Wedge wanted to hear all this time. Yet it brings him no closer to the catharsis he's sought this whole time.
Luke's (apparent) death affected Rogue's morale in ways Wedge hadn't been prepared to deal with. The position of CO, of course, was now cursedβjockeys were a superstitious bunch, prone to rituals. It didn't take an intelligence officer to figure out the pattern of promotion to Rogue Leaderβcommander dies, executive officer takes over. Dreiss, Narra, Skywalker, and now Antilles.
Everyone was miserable. The hero of the rebellion, gone. Cohesion in the 'fresher.
That night, after signing the report, Wedge shut himself in the cockpit of his x-wing, and cried in an empty hangar, alone.
Next morning, he'd put on his helmet, his flight suit, then walked into the squadron's briefing room with purpose to his steps. Announced his promotion. Delivered a short eulogy for their fallen commander, his closest friend.
Then took everyone through what was in store for Rogue.
[Two isn't a pattern, is it? But here Luke is, for the second time in Sinjir's bed, unsure whether to approach the person turning away.
Wedge Antilles is crying.
His first instinct is to reach out. Then he re-thinks, wonders if he's supposed to leave the man alone, knowing some people don't like to be seen in this state. But no, he thinks again--Wedge is crying being Luke hurt him and this is his to fix or break further. He won't abandon him again. And if Sinjir walks in, to be it. His fault for letting them in to begin with.
He slides up the bed, careful of the leg he hasn't seen Wedge move yet, and puts a hand on his friend's shoulder.]
I didn't know what you would be thinking. No, that's not good enough. I didn't think about what you'd be thinking, what you'd assume. I was selfish.
[ Wedge hates the way he cries, hates the process of crying; the tightening in his chest, the racked sobs, curling onto himself, not quite a fetal position, yet just as pathetic. ] Dβdon't eβever mβmake mβme eβeulogize yβyou again. [ The snot and the tears and the slobber and just all of it. Unsightly. Pointless. ]
[Luke doesn't hate crying, in himself or others. He naturally abhors its necessity but it's an honest outpouring of expression, and that part, he appreciates.
He moves from touching Wedge's shoulder to scooting up against he headboard and wrapping his arm around his friend, unmindful of bodily fluids or any sort of shame, aside from that due him from what he now realizes he's done.
What he will do again, he suddenly realizes, remembering what he's heard from Finn, from Poe, from Rey. What is wrong with him?]
I'm sorry. I'm sorry you had to do that. [He had been selfish, hadn't he? Not thinking what effect his divided loyalties would have on the others.] I never wanted that.
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