(no subject)
I told myself I was going to stop posting snippets from my in-progress fics -- it feels oddly like cheating for some reason -- but, in the past, it has helped me get back on track when I've been stalled. Something about seeing my words in a published forum seems to jog stuff loose for me, I don't know why. I am stalled lately, for a variety of good and not-so-good reasons (including phase one of the remodel on our house and prepping for a half-marathon). So, what the hell? Here goes.
Given the nature of their work at Weasley Consulting (and Harry, frankly, was still having some trouble wrapping his head around that name), they had more than their fair share of peculiar and unexpected visitors. That particular day, though, brought one of the more unexpected of the lot.
“Hey,” Ron said, and Harry looked up abruptly from the large and very dusty pile of books that Percy had him sorting - first by subject, then by year, then alphabetically by author, then finally by title. Ron had his hands shoved into his pockets, a sure sign that he was uncomfortable. “So, uh, Hermione said you're doing some sort of school project here?”
“Something like that.”
“So, that's weird,” he said, waving a hand around at the place.
Harry frowned. “Hey, you ran off to Islington with Hermione. I needed something to keep me occupied.”
“Bollocks.” Ron shoved his hands into pockets again. “And, anyway, the thing with Hermione was... was... necessary. We're coming back on Friday.”
“Great,” Harry said, his frown disappearing, really meaning it. “I'll be really glad to have you back.”
“So are you trying to tell me that once we're back you're going to quit-” He looked at the stacks of books and frowned. “That you're going to quit doing whatever it is you've been doing here?”
Harry shrugged. “Probably not.”
“You do realize that my brother runs this place...?”
“I had noticed, yes.”
“My brother Percy, the one we all hate...”
“I'll concede that I'm not always the most perceptive guy in the world, but, yes, I did manage to notice that.
“And you're okay working for him? After all the things he said about you and Dumbledore and Dad and, well, everyone? He- He said you were unstable!" Ron said, looking caught somewhere between angry and incredulous. "He said you were dangerous!"
"Ron, I am dangerous."
“Does my mum know about this?”
Harry felt a flash of guilt. “Not exactly. She knows we're working on something, somewhere, but the details... Well, Luna and Ginny figured out how to charm the permission forms so that it looked like she was signing her permission for us to be junior apprentices at Flourish & Blotts until Hogwarts opens again...”
“No wonder Ginny had to tell Hermione the truth, because she would have trampled the two of you to death in her haste to get one of those apprenticeships for herself.” He shook his head.
“Something like that.”
“Harry, mate, I know things have been weird and confusing, and that with Sirius gone and Dumbledore... well, without Dumbledore you probably feel like you need to find a - oh, what did Hermione call it? A mentor? But Percy? If you think Percy is a good role model, then I think maybe the Prophet had a point about you being off your nut...”
“Look,” Hary said, feeling strangely calm. Ron meant well, he could see that. “Percy is a weapons-grade wanker. You won't get any argument from me on that point. But do you know what he also is? He's pretty decent at this whole 'champion for good' thing. I'm willing to put up with a lot if it means I might learn something that will help me defeat Voldemort.”
“Leaving aside the fact that defeating You-Know-Who is not up to you alone-” Ron said, and Harry felt another hot flash of guilt. He hadn't yet told Ron and Hermione about the prophecy, even though Ginny, Neville, Luna and Percy all knew. “Leaving that aside, I have a hard time imagining that Percy of all people would be the one to teach you. He can't even sit a broom properly!”
“Hey, nobody was more surprised than me - except maybe Ginny.”
“And speaking of my sister...” Ron began, working up a fine head of steam now. Harry needed a distraction.
“Want a drink?”
“What?”
“One of the side benefits of working here is that your brother keeps a pretty decent larder: cocoa, firewhiskey, biscuits, cheese, sausages, pickles... Take your pick.”
Harry watched as principle waged a brief but furious battle with Ron's infamous and perpetual hunger. Hunger, not all that surprisingly, won. Grinning, Harry raided the little makeshift pantry in Percy's office, coming back with cheese, sausages, bread and a bottle of Ogden's.
“Don't think I don't know what you just did there,” Ron said, tossing back a shot of Percy's whiskey and coughing. Eyes watering, he said, “Look, Theo Nott walked around with antlers for a week last month because Dean caught him checking out Ginny's...” Whatever Nott had been checking out was lost in another fit of coughing. “Just be warned, my friend.”
“Where your sister is concerned, I've already got plenty of warning.” Fat lot of good it was doing him, though. Lately it was like he was a magnet and she was true north.
Harry poured a whiskey shot of his own.
“And, Harry? If you ever hurt her, you'd have more than Dean to worry about, you know?”
“You think I haven't noticed that she has six brothers, all of whom have about four inches and twenty pounds on me? Trust me, it hasn't escaped my notice.”
“I know,” Ron said, from around a mouthful of cheese. “I've just gotta say it, at least once. It's in the code.”
“There's a code?”
“Of course there's a code,” he said, moving on to the sausages. “Think about it. If I- If anyone ever messed Hermione around like that, what would you do?”
Harry smiled in spite of himself. “There wouldn't be enough curses in the world...”
“Exactly - that's the code.”
Bilbringi was fixed in his memory as the crisis point. Aves hadn't been at Wayland, a fact he wasn't sure whether to be thankful for or not, so it was Bilbringi instead that stood out to him as the moment it all started to go to hell.
The irony, of course, was that they'd actually won at Bilbringi.
The Republic had, anyway, with a healthy assist from them - which made what the Repubs had ultimately done to repay them all the shittier.
They'd left the shipyard gutted behind them, the Imperials retreating in controlled chaos while one of their biggest strategic assets burned away into the vacuum of space.
“That,” Wedge said over the comm, as they booked it out of there, “was awesome.”
“Completely,” said one of the other X-Wing pilots, whose designation completely escaped Aves. He never could make heads or tails of the Repubs' military structure, or lack thereof. “Not a bad day's work.”
“Aves,” Wedge said, “you and your team should follow us out. You can regroup with the fleet, and then head wherever it is you need to go. It'll be safer than way.”
“I don't know...” he began. He could feel Gillespee and Faughn watching him closely.
“Aves, don't even think about it...” Mazzic cut in. Apparently, he'd been listening on this channel the whole time. Aves ought to have known.
“Come on, we'll feed you the coordinates,” Wedge said, ignoring him. “The Republic owes you a proper thank you.”
“What? You gonna pin a medal on us?”
He could practically hear Wedge grinning through the feed. “It's not so bad once you get used to it.”
Aves had gone, and taken the others with him, over Mazzic's protests. Only the idea that the Republic military was likely to show its appreciation in some tangible fashion finally shut him up.
“They'd better pay up,” Mazzic had said, glowering, while they stood in one of the Republic's wide hangars on Azorr, the regular troops giving them a wide berth and the guards giving them the stink-eye. Aves had never seen a landing facility so clean, even the fixtures gleamed like new - which, he supposed, given that the Republic itself had only existed for a couple years, they probably were.
“They will. Keep your pants on.”
“Ha, you wish,” Mazzic muttered back.
Wedge caught sight of them from across the hangar, jumping down from his X-Wing and crossing the distance between them. “There you are!” He grabbed Aves enthusiastically, half-embrace and half-handshake. “Man, am I glad to see you all in one piece.”
“I'm glad to be in one piece, and glad to see to you, too.” Aves grinned at him. “It looks like you aren't going to be forgetting us this time.”
“How could I? That platform blowing to hell and back is one of the more spectacular things I've seen lately...”
“We didn't think it was going to make quite such a big boom, but I'm not complaining.”
“The Empire might have some complaints to register, though. Hey, let me buy you a drink.” He grinned around at Mazzic and Gillespee. “Hell, I'll buy the whole lot of you drinks.”
“I was under the impression,” Mazzic said coolly, “that we were here to discuss compensation?”
“Oh, of course. But surely that can wait? Folks here want to celebrate. All the rest of that stuff can keep until morning...”
Aves grimaced. “I think Mazzic here is in a bit of a hurry to get back.”
“Okay, okay,” Wedge said. “General Madine is here somewhere. I'm sure he can-”
“Mazzic,” Aves said, reconsidering, “today was rough. Have a drink, get your money in the morning.”
“I don't trust-”
“You can,” Wedge said, his exuberance fading a little. “You'll get repaid for your trouble. I can promise you that.”
“Great,” Aves said. “Now everyone's happy. Let's go have that drink with our new friends.”
In better times, Azorr, with its wide beaches and long seasons, had been a popular vacation spot. Since then, its strategic location made it prime real estate for military bases, both Republic and Imperial. The Repubs had it these days. They'd pounded the Imperial outposts to dust, right after Endor, hit them hard and then paved over the wreckage, leaving those key stretches of coastline on the main continent looking unspoiled and outwardly peaceful.
There were remnants of the better days along the waterfront - seafood shacks and nicknack shops, once glossy nightclubs faded from their former glory. They wound up in a little beachside bar, one that was clearly designed to cater to military clientele.
“You come here often?” Aves asked, casting a leery eye around the place. It was a dump - and he'd been a smuggler for awhile now, he knew from dumps.
“This place is a total dive,” Wedge said. “But...” The bartender produced a bottle with a flourish. “It's the only place this side of Selonia that stocks this.”
“Am I supposed to know what that is?”
“If you did,” he said with a grin, “I'd be impressed.” He took charge of the bottle, popping the top and pouring a careful measure into each of the glasses the bartender had lined up on the bar. “Corellians tend to keep the best for themselves, and export the rest. This stuff doesn't usually make it this far from home.”
They made a motley crew at the bar - half fighter jocks, still looking spit-shined and straight-laced, even out of uniform; half men of apparently questionable morals, looking exactly the opposite. Still, they'd found some common ground, found a way to work together. It made Aves happy somehow, like this was the shape of things to come.
They'd had one hell of a good day.
“Thank you,” Wedge said, raising his glass and looking around at their strange little group. “I know you had your individual reasons, but what you did out there made a real difference.”
“Here, here,” one of the other pilots said. “Couldn't have done it without you.”
“Well, I wouldn't go that far,” said another, “but it would have been a hell of a lot harder.”
Gillespee laughed at that, seeming to warm up to them a little thanks to the promise of free booze. “Here's to being useful, then.”
Glasses clinked together and a good two-thirds of them knocked the drink back immediately - and promptly choked.
“Sip it!” Wedge said, with a laugh. “Slowly. It's not very forgiving if you don't take the time to enjoy it.”
“Hot damn,” Aves said, pounding a fist against his chest. Wedge put a hand on his back, still laughing.
They'd finished the first bottle in record time, and somehow he and Wedge had wound up side-by-side, sharing a second, sitting on the beach close to the water's edge.
“You fellas throw a decent party,” Aves said.
“It's not Endor, but I'm not complaining.”
“A party with Ewoks? I'll pass, thanks.”
“I could have done without the Ewoks myself, but it was a hell of a night,” he said, passing the bottle back to Aves. “This is a big deal,” he continued after a moment. “We needed a win. We were starting to lose hope. It was starting to feel like all the years of fighting, all the people we'd sacrificed, like it was all for nothing.”
Aves took a drink, looking out at the water. “I can't even imagine.”
“I'm glad you can't. No one should have to.”
Aves had tended, back then, to think of Wedge as nice enough, but just another starry-eyed kid who'd lucked into the right side of a stupid war. So it gave him something of a jolt to look into the other man's eyes and see something familiar there - a weary bitterness, like he was tired of the whole universe. Wedge hid it well - under a kind of boyish, nice-guy charm - but that night the whiskey had stripped away a little of the surface, providing a glimpse into some of the battle scars underneath.
“That sucks. I'm sorry.”
“You get used to it, but there's a limit, you know?” he said, sounding like an old man. Then again, Aves himself was only a few years older, and most days he felt pretty ancient. At least Wedge had something to show for the damage.
“Well, let's do our best to make sure it doesn't all go down the shitter. How does that sound?” Aves said, standing and offering Wedge a hand up.
Wedge laughed and slung an arm across his shoulders, both of them a little less than graceful on their feet by that point. “You hang around blowing up enough Imperial bases, and we might just have a chance at that.”
“No promises on that one - but if you're in trouble, you can always call.”
They stumbled back toward the base, a few paces behind the other pilots, who'd begun by that point to sing a very off-color song.
“Kids these days, right?” Aves said. “Can't handle their liquor.”
Wedge gave him a grin, laughed, and slung an arm around him again... which was interesting. Aves had been around enough to know that he probably wasn't putting any particular signals out there on purpose - just friendly and open, not to mention pretty heroically drunk - but it was kind of nice to pretend. He put an arm around Wedge's waist in return, and just went with it.
“We're not exactly old fossils yet, you know,” Wedge said. “I should be so lucky.”
“You and me both.”
“Hey, Wedge,” one of the pilots said from up ahead of them. “What do you say to a quick game of cards?”
They crossed the threshold into the hangar, and Wedge groaned. “I feel bad enough taking your money while you're sober...”
“Oh, very funny,” the pilot - Janson, maybe? Aves would get them straight eventually - said.
“Cards?” That was Gillespee, bringing up the rear and sounding way too excited about the prospect.
“Oh, boy,” Aves said softly.
“Trouble?” Wedge asked.
“Maybe. Is your boy any good?”
“Not too bad.”
“He'll be okay, then - just as long as they don't let Faughn play.”
“How come?”
“She cheats.”
“She does not,” Gillespee said, overhearing, “cheat.”
“Maybe it's not technically cheating, but she does have an unfair advantage...”
“And what's that?” Wedge asked, looking amused.
“One hell of a nice rack, and a very tight tank top.”
“Manners, Aves,” Gillespee said, but didn't deny it.
“Sure, you haven't got any problem with it. She cuts you in.”
“On the winnings or the rack?” Wedge asked, and Gillespee actually laughed.
“I like you, kid. I'll try not to take too much of your money.”
“I think I'm going to pass,” Wedge said.
“Yeah, me too,” Aves said. He let go and Wedge swayed ominously on the spot. Ah, mystery solved. He could barely stand up by himself. He put a hand on Aves' shoulder and managed to stay upright.
“Have it your way,” Gillespee said, following the others toward Mazzic's ship.
“I need the galaxy's biggest glass of water and then some sack time...” Wedge began. “Ah, hell. I am old, aren't I?”
This entry was originally posted at http://viola-dreamwalk.dreamwidth.org/3061.html
Given the nature of their work at Weasley Consulting (and Harry, frankly, was still having some trouble wrapping his head around that name), they had more than their fair share of peculiar and unexpected visitors. That particular day, though, brought one of the more unexpected of the lot.
“Hey,” Ron said, and Harry looked up abruptly from the large and very dusty pile of books that Percy had him sorting - first by subject, then by year, then alphabetically by author, then finally by title. Ron had his hands shoved into his pockets, a sure sign that he was uncomfortable. “So, uh, Hermione said you're doing some sort of school project here?”
“Something like that.”
“So, that's weird,” he said, waving a hand around at the place.
Harry frowned. “Hey, you ran off to Islington with Hermione. I needed something to keep me occupied.”
“Bollocks.” Ron shoved his hands into pockets again. “And, anyway, the thing with Hermione was... was... necessary. We're coming back on Friday.”
“Great,” Harry said, his frown disappearing, really meaning it. “I'll be really glad to have you back.”
“So are you trying to tell me that once we're back you're going to quit-” He looked at the stacks of books and frowned. “That you're going to quit doing whatever it is you've been doing here?”
Harry shrugged. “Probably not.”
“You do realize that my brother runs this place...?”
“I had noticed, yes.”
“My brother Percy, the one we all hate...”
“I'll concede that I'm not always the most perceptive guy in the world, but, yes, I did manage to notice that.
“And you're okay working for him? After all the things he said about you and Dumbledore and Dad and, well, everyone? He- He said you were unstable!" Ron said, looking caught somewhere between angry and incredulous. "He said you were dangerous!"
"Ron, I am dangerous."
“Does my mum know about this?”
Harry felt a flash of guilt. “Not exactly. She knows we're working on something, somewhere, but the details... Well, Luna and Ginny figured out how to charm the permission forms so that it looked like she was signing her permission for us to be junior apprentices at Flourish & Blotts until Hogwarts opens again...”
“No wonder Ginny had to tell Hermione the truth, because she would have trampled the two of you to death in her haste to get one of those apprenticeships for herself.” He shook his head.
“Something like that.”
“Harry, mate, I know things have been weird and confusing, and that with Sirius gone and Dumbledore... well, without Dumbledore you probably feel like you need to find a - oh, what did Hermione call it? A mentor? But Percy? If you think Percy is a good role model, then I think maybe the Prophet had a point about you being off your nut...”
“Look,” Hary said, feeling strangely calm. Ron meant well, he could see that. “Percy is a weapons-grade wanker. You won't get any argument from me on that point. But do you know what he also is? He's pretty decent at this whole 'champion for good' thing. I'm willing to put up with a lot if it means I might learn something that will help me defeat Voldemort.”
“Leaving aside the fact that defeating You-Know-Who is not up to you alone-” Ron said, and Harry felt another hot flash of guilt. He hadn't yet told Ron and Hermione about the prophecy, even though Ginny, Neville, Luna and Percy all knew. “Leaving that aside, I have a hard time imagining that Percy of all people would be the one to teach you. He can't even sit a broom properly!”
“Hey, nobody was more surprised than me - except maybe Ginny.”
“And speaking of my sister...” Ron began, working up a fine head of steam now. Harry needed a distraction.
“Want a drink?”
“What?”
“One of the side benefits of working here is that your brother keeps a pretty decent larder: cocoa, firewhiskey, biscuits, cheese, sausages, pickles... Take your pick.”
Harry watched as principle waged a brief but furious battle with Ron's infamous and perpetual hunger. Hunger, not all that surprisingly, won. Grinning, Harry raided the little makeshift pantry in Percy's office, coming back with cheese, sausages, bread and a bottle of Ogden's.
“Don't think I don't know what you just did there,” Ron said, tossing back a shot of Percy's whiskey and coughing. Eyes watering, he said, “Look, Theo Nott walked around with antlers for a week last month because Dean caught him checking out Ginny's...” Whatever Nott had been checking out was lost in another fit of coughing. “Just be warned, my friend.”
“Where your sister is concerned, I've already got plenty of warning.” Fat lot of good it was doing him, though. Lately it was like he was a magnet and she was true north.
Harry poured a whiskey shot of his own.
“And, Harry? If you ever hurt her, you'd have more than Dean to worry about, you know?”
“You think I haven't noticed that she has six brothers, all of whom have about four inches and twenty pounds on me? Trust me, it hasn't escaped my notice.”
“I know,” Ron said, from around a mouthful of cheese. “I've just gotta say it, at least once. It's in the code.”
“There's a code?”
“Of course there's a code,” he said, moving on to the sausages. “Think about it. If I- If anyone ever messed Hermione around like that, what would you do?”
Harry smiled in spite of himself. “There wouldn't be enough curses in the world...”
“Exactly - that's the code.”
Bilbringi was fixed in his memory as the crisis point. Aves hadn't been at Wayland, a fact he wasn't sure whether to be thankful for or not, so it was Bilbringi instead that stood out to him as the moment it all started to go to hell.
The irony, of course, was that they'd actually won at Bilbringi.
The Republic had, anyway, with a healthy assist from them - which made what the Repubs had ultimately done to repay them all the shittier.
They'd left the shipyard gutted behind them, the Imperials retreating in controlled chaos while one of their biggest strategic assets burned away into the vacuum of space.
“That,” Wedge said over the comm, as they booked it out of there, “was awesome.”
“Completely,” said one of the other X-Wing pilots, whose designation completely escaped Aves. He never could make heads or tails of the Repubs' military structure, or lack thereof. “Not a bad day's work.”
“Aves,” Wedge said, “you and your team should follow us out. You can regroup with the fleet, and then head wherever it is you need to go. It'll be safer than way.”
“I don't know...” he began. He could feel Gillespee and Faughn watching him closely.
“Aves, don't even think about it...” Mazzic cut in. Apparently, he'd been listening on this channel the whole time. Aves ought to have known.
“Come on, we'll feed you the coordinates,” Wedge said, ignoring him. “The Republic owes you a proper thank you.”
“What? You gonna pin a medal on us?”
He could practically hear Wedge grinning through the feed. “It's not so bad once you get used to it.”
Aves had gone, and taken the others with him, over Mazzic's protests. Only the idea that the Republic military was likely to show its appreciation in some tangible fashion finally shut him up.
“They'd better pay up,” Mazzic had said, glowering, while they stood in one of the Republic's wide hangars on Azorr, the regular troops giving them a wide berth and the guards giving them the stink-eye. Aves had never seen a landing facility so clean, even the fixtures gleamed like new - which, he supposed, given that the Republic itself had only existed for a couple years, they probably were.
“They will. Keep your pants on.”
“Ha, you wish,” Mazzic muttered back.
Wedge caught sight of them from across the hangar, jumping down from his X-Wing and crossing the distance between them. “There you are!” He grabbed Aves enthusiastically, half-embrace and half-handshake. “Man, am I glad to see you all in one piece.”
“I'm glad to be in one piece, and glad to see to you, too.” Aves grinned at him. “It looks like you aren't going to be forgetting us this time.”
“How could I? That platform blowing to hell and back is one of the more spectacular things I've seen lately...”
“We didn't think it was going to make quite such a big boom, but I'm not complaining.”
“The Empire might have some complaints to register, though. Hey, let me buy you a drink.” He grinned around at Mazzic and Gillespee. “Hell, I'll buy the whole lot of you drinks.”
“I was under the impression,” Mazzic said coolly, “that we were here to discuss compensation?”
“Oh, of course. But surely that can wait? Folks here want to celebrate. All the rest of that stuff can keep until morning...”
Aves grimaced. “I think Mazzic here is in a bit of a hurry to get back.”
“Okay, okay,” Wedge said. “General Madine is here somewhere. I'm sure he can-”
“Mazzic,” Aves said, reconsidering, “today was rough. Have a drink, get your money in the morning.”
“I don't trust-”
“You can,” Wedge said, his exuberance fading a little. “You'll get repaid for your trouble. I can promise you that.”
“Great,” Aves said. “Now everyone's happy. Let's go have that drink with our new friends.”
In better times, Azorr, with its wide beaches and long seasons, had been a popular vacation spot. Since then, its strategic location made it prime real estate for military bases, both Republic and Imperial. The Repubs had it these days. They'd pounded the Imperial outposts to dust, right after Endor, hit them hard and then paved over the wreckage, leaving those key stretches of coastline on the main continent looking unspoiled and outwardly peaceful.
There were remnants of the better days along the waterfront - seafood shacks and nicknack shops, once glossy nightclubs faded from their former glory. They wound up in a little beachside bar, one that was clearly designed to cater to military clientele.
“You come here often?” Aves asked, casting a leery eye around the place. It was a dump - and he'd been a smuggler for awhile now, he knew from dumps.
“This place is a total dive,” Wedge said. “But...” The bartender produced a bottle with a flourish. “It's the only place this side of Selonia that stocks this.”
“Am I supposed to know what that is?”
“If you did,” he said with a grin, “I'd be impressed.” He took charge of the bottle, popping the top and pouring a careful measure into each of the glasses the bartender had lined up on the bar. “Corellians tend to keep the best for themselves, and export the rest. This stuff doesn't usually make it this far from home.”
They made a motley crew at the bar - half fighter jocks, still looking spit-shined and straight-laced, even out of uniform; half men of apparently questionable morals, looking exactly the opposite. Still, they'd found some common ground, found a way to work together. It made Aves happy somehow, like this was the shape of things to come.
They'd had one hell of a good day.
“Thank you,” Wedge said, raising his glass and looking around at their strange little group. “I know you had your individual reasons, but what you did out there made a real difference.”
“Here, here,” one of the other pilots said. “Couldn't have done it without you.”
“Well, I wouldn't go that far,” said another, “but it would have been a hell of a lot harder.”
Gillespee laughed at that, seeming to warm up to them a little thanks to the promise of free booze. “Here's to being useful, then.”
Glasses clinked together and a good two-thirds of them knocked the drink back immediately - and promptly choked.
“Sip it!” Wedge said, with a laugh. “Slowly. It's not very forgiving if you don't take the time to enjoy it.”
“Hot damn,” Aves said, pounding a fist against his chest. Wedge put a hand on his back, still laughing.
They'd finished the first bottle in record time, and somehow he and Wedge had wound up side-by-side, sharing a second, sitting on the beach close to the water's edge.
“You fellas throw a decent party,” Aves said.
“It's not Endor, but I'm not complaining.”
“A party with Ewoks? I'll pass, thanks.”
“I could have done without the Ewoks myself, but it was a hell of a night,” he said, passing the bottle back to Aves. “This is a big deal,” he continued after a moment. “We needed a win. We were starting to lose hope. It was starting to feel like all the years of fighting, all the people we'd sacrificed, like it was all for nothing.”
Aves took a drink, looking out at the water. “I can't even imagine.”
“I'm glad you can't. No one should have to.”
Aves had tended, back then, to think of Wedge as nice enough, but just another starry-eyed kid who'd lucked into the right side of a stupid war. So it gave him something of a jolt to look into the other man's eyes and see something familiar there - a weary bitterness, like he was tired of the whole universe. Wedge hid it well - under a kind of boyish, nice-guy charm - but that night the whiskey had stripped away a little of the surface, providing a glimpse into some of the battle scars underneath.
“That sucks. I'm sorry.”
“You get used to it, but there's a limit, you know?” he said, sounding like an old man. Then again, Aves himself was only a few years older, and most days he felt pretty ancient. At least Wedge had something to show for the damage.
“Well, let's do our best to make sure it doesn't all go down the shitter. How does that sound?” Aves said, standing and offering Wedge a hand up.
Wedge laughed and slung an arm across his shoulders, both of them a little less than graceful on their feet by that point. “You hang around blowing up enough Imperial bases, and we might just have a chance at that.”
“No promises on that one - but if you're in trouble, you can always call.”
They stumbled back toward the base, a few paces behind the other pilots, who'd begun by that point to sing a very off-color song.
“Kids these days, right?” Aves said. “Can't handle their liquor.”
Wedge gave him a grin, laughed, and slung an arm around him again... which was interesting. Aves had been around enough to know that he probably wasn't putting any particular signals out there on purpose - just friendly and open, not to mention pretty heroically drunk - but it was kind of nice to pretend. He put an arm around Wedge's waist in return, and just went with it.
“We're not exactly old fossils yet, you know,” Wedge said. “I should be so lucky.”
“You and me both.”
“Hey, Wedge,” one of the pilots said from up ahead of them. “What do you say to a quick game of cards?”
They crossed the threshold into the hangar, and Wedge groaned. “I feel bad enough taking your money while you're sober...”
“Oh, very funny,” the pilot - Janson, maybe? Aves would get them straight eventually - said.
“Cards?” That was Gillespee, bringing up the rear and sounding way too excited about the prospect.
“Oh, boy,” Aves said softly.
“Trouble?” Wedge asked.
“Maybe. Is your boy any good?”
“Not too bad.”
“He'll be okay, then - just as long as they don't let Faughn play.”
“How come?”
“She cheats.”
“She does not,” Gillespee said, overhearing, “cheat.”
“Maybe it's not technically cheating, but she does have an unfair advantage...”
“And what's that?” Wedge asked, looking amused.
“One hell of a nice rack, and a very tight tank top.”
“Manners, Aves,” Gillespee said, but didn't deny it.
“Sure, you haven't got any problem with it. She cuts you in.”
“On the winnings or the rack?” Wedge asked, and Gillespee actually laughed.
“I like you, kid. I'll try not to take too much of your money.”
“I think I'm going to pass,” Wedge said.
“Yeah, me too,” Aves said. He let go and Wedge swayed ominously on the spot. Ah, mystery solved. He could barely stand up by himself. He put a hand on Aves' shoulder and managed to stay upright.
“Have it your way,” Gillespee said, following the others toward Mazzic's ship.
“I need the galaxy's biggest glass of water and then some sack time...” Wedge began. “Ah, hell. I am old, aren't I?”
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