oom: interlude?
He can’t talk about Milliways because he doesn’t know who else has been, who else knows about it. Maybe Wedge, maybe Face, since they were younger in the bar - but he’s not certain, he doesn’t know.
People already think he's delusional, after all -- why give them a reason to by talking about a bar at the end of the universe?
It's not like he cares, though. He was stuck there for almost three months. Bound. It's not as if he wants to go back. Not yet.
It's not as if he misses it.
Not really.
--
Hobbie's not been to Milliways yet. Wes knows this because -- well, because of a lot of things. But he knows.
It doesn't matter, though, because he's still his best friend, still his wingmate.
There's just this feeling of having everything so close, so close -- and so far away at the end of the universe.
--
There are a lot of doors on base. New Republic constructors love doors. Sliding doors, doors with passcodes, doors you need special keycards for; even old-fashioned hinge doors in some places. Usually generals' offices.
There are a lot of doors.
And every time Wes walks through one and nothing out of the ordinary happens, he smiles ruefully.
But it's not as if he misses Milliways.
--
The day after he got back, he went and got himself a credit slip from his account, for as much as he could withdraw. He knows it'll be enough for his tab, and it should cover Hobbie's, and maybe it'll dent Inyri's, too. He's not exactly known for saving his money, but he's got enough.
He carries the slip of flimsi in an inside shirt pocket, everywhere he goes.
You know. Just in case.
--
And then there's a mission, and he almost doesn't want to go on it, but he does. He wants to and he doesn't want to, he's scared and apprehensive and bored--
--not bored enough for it to be a perfect mission, though.
He knows how it turns out, that it'll all be okay. He knows Hobbie's alive -- oh, he knows Hobbie's alive -- but it still hurts. It hurts like hell to watch him go down, no matter how many times it's happened before, and he can't do a thing to stop it.
Afterwards, he's running on automatic, even when he knows for certain that his wingmate's alive. He grins, he laughs, he even makes his own jokes about how the hell Hobbie ended up in such an elite squadron anyway--
--but it hurts and he just gets that twisting pain of I want to go home, the same pain he got after Inyri left the bar for the last time, even though he is home. This, here, anywhere with Rogue Squadron -- this is home.
Isn't it?
It is.
But he's still heading for the pilot's lounge, somewhere he can get a drink, because he needs a drink. He walks through doors, more doors, and something inside him still hopes, still says, maybe this one, maybe that one, maybe the next one; but it never happens.
And when he runs into Inyri, something flickers in his memory. Something that might not be his memory: just something he's been told. Then it fades, and he shrugs to himself.
But the shard of memory pokes again, and maybe it's nostalgia, too. Inyri's cold, so he gives her his flight jacket, offers to buy her a drink. He doesn't mean anything by it; it's just a drink.
Not cookies.
But he still gets an odd feeling as he follows her through the door, and for a moment, just a moment, he thinks it might be something--
--and it is--
--but not like that.