fic: Unconventional Babysitting
Title: Unconventional Babysitting
Author: izzybeth
Rating: PG for consumption of alcohol and reckless endangerment of various Rogues
Summary: Wedge's ideas aren't always brilliant.
Word count: ~2480
Notes: For djcati, stealing her prompt wholesale for the title, who I hope enjoys this. I had stupid fun writing it. I really wanted to work in something about someone throwing something to the ground, but it just didn't happen, sorry. Thanks to Claire who told me it was funny, and Nat who told me it was in postable condition despite knowing nothing about X-wing jockeys.
"So basically that's it: meet our contact, make the exchange, and then get the hell out."
Hobbie shrugged. "Sounds simple enough."
Wedge raised an eyebrow. "It ought to be. There is a catch, though."
"Is this why you're briefing me separately?"
"Yeah." Wedge paused a moment. "Wes can't come."
"Really?"
"Ideally, he shouldn't even know about it, but I don't hold out much hope for that. It's only a three or four person job. The rest of the squadron hasn't been briefed yet; I wanted to tell you first."
Hobbie levelled a glare at Wedge. "What do you want?"
Wedge sighed. "I need you on babysitting duty."
"You're not serious."
Wedge made a face. "Sorry."
"Can't we just throw him in a cell until it's over?"
"Shockingly, he hasn't done anything lately to deserve that."
Hobbie's shoulders slumped. "I charge seven credits an hour, extra to feed him. And I have to be home by twenty-three-hundred or my mom'll be mad."
"You're a brave soul, Hobbs."
---
That evening, Hobbie sat cross-legged on his bunk, avidly devouring the latest Nav Palax adventure novelchip that was making the rounds of the base. He was just at a really good bit (Nav's crew was about to mutiny) when the door slid open and Wes barged into the room.
"All right. I give. What's going on that no one will tell me about?"
Hobbie tried not to look shifty. "Uhhh..." He let his attention drift back to the novel, hoping against hope that his friend would just leave. (Wes had already read it, and Hobbie very much wanted to remain unspoiled.)
Wes plucked the datapad from Hobbie's hand and tossed it on the blanket. "You know what I'm talking about. No one will talk to me, no one wanted to sit with me at dinner, no one wants to do sims with me--"
"Well, when you say that, you usually have an ulterior motive."
"Shut up-- I know there's something going on, and you, as my best friend in this entire galactic quadrant, have to tell me what it is!"
Hobbie frowned. "First, who are your best friends in the other quadrants? And second, no I don't."
Wes flung himself across the bunk, and incidentally, Hobbie's lap (narrowly avoiding crushing the datapad). "Hobbieeeee! Pleeeeeaaase?"
"Ow." Hobbie shoved Wes off of his legs. "Ask Wedge and Tycho."
"I did." Wes picked up the datapad and fiddled with it. "Wedge said to ask you."
"That bastard," Hobbie muttered. "Fine. But this is his idea, and it's basically an order, so don't be mad."
"Okay," said Wes, and settled back against the wall to listen.
"TheRoguesaregoingonamissionandyoucan'tgosoIhavetobabysityou."
"Wait." Wes put down the datapad. "What?"
Hobbie sighed. "The Rogues."
"I've heard of them."
"Are going on a mission."
"It was either that or surprise leave. And it's never surprise leave."
"And you can't go."
"What?!"
"So I have to babysit you."
"WHAT?!"
"So it's... kind of like surprise leave?" Hobbie tried to smile in as non-wincing a fashion he could. "Sort of?"
Wes glared. "You guys could have just thrown me in a cell."
"I suggested that."
"Knew I could count on you." Wes leaned toward Hobbie. "Now what's the real plan, Hobbs? Wedge is actually keeping us in reserve, like backup, right? Or wait, no, we're the key to his brilliant plan, whatever it is. Or--"
"No, Wes."
Wes sat up straight again. "Then what? What's the deal?"
Hobbie sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. "Wedge doesn't want you involved. He didn't say why." Probably because you're a liability, Hobbie didn't say.
Wes jumped to his feet and made for the door without a word. "Wes, wait!" Hobbie grabbed Wes's arm. "I'm sure there's a good reason, don't go yelling at Wedge. He'll only stare at you like he does."
"Fine." Wes pulled his arm out of Hobbie's grasp. "I'm an irresponsible child and you're my minder. When is this mission supposed to go down?"
"Tomorrow," Hobbie said carefully, not liking where this was going.
"Okay. As soon as they're gone, so are we. Hell if I'm staying on base like a good boy. We're gonna have some fun, Hobbs." Wes flashed a huge, manic grin, and left.
Hobbie sat back down on his bunk and tried very hard not to picture the court martial he knew was coming.
---
Humans mixed comfortably with Twi'leks, Quarren, Bith, and any number of other sentients in the crowded bar. A large, toothy Shistavanen shoved Hobbie into the bar as he passed, and Hobbie wisely decided not to make anything of it. This was the third bar on the crawl Wes had insisted upon, and Hobbie was beginning to feel distinctly fuzzy (if such a thing was possible).
"Hobbs, over here!" Hobbie turned his head around until he caught sight of Wes. He pushed his way through the crowd as politely as possible until he reached the tiny table Wes had managed to snag. "See, this isn't so bad, is it? You, me, drinks, a night out..." Wes traced the rim of his glass with a fingertip and smiled at Hobbie through his eyelashes.
"Knock it off, Wes. You realize Wedge is going to murder us when he finds out about this?"
"You're overreacting, Hobbie, it's just a bit of harmless flirting."
The glare Hobbie aimed at Wes actually shut him up for a couple minutes.
"He doesn't necessarily have to find out, you know."
Hobbie rolled his eyes. "He always finds out, Wes. He has a sense. A creepy sense. We're technically AWOL. He's going to bring back public execution just for us."
Wes drained his glass. "Look, we'll just let Plourr punch someone who doesn't deserve it when we get back, and he'll forget all about us."
Hobbie stared into his ale. "Sure. A foolproof plan. What could possibly go wrong."
"That's the spirit-- Hey. Speaking of Plourr." Wes up-nodded at a person in a shapeless cloak across the room. "That looks like her, doesn't it?"
Sith. Hobbie glanced at the figure. "Nope. Not at all. Let's go." He stood up, leaving his glass of ale barely touched.
"But you haven't finished your--"
"Don't care, let's go."
Out on the street, Hobbie kept a wary eye out for Plourr or anyone else familiar-looking while Wes grumbled about Hobbie wasting his money. From inside the bar, a blaster fired one shot through a window, and all hell broke loose. People poured out of the bar's main entrance, covering their heads, shouting for the local authorities. Both Wes and Hobbie went for their sidearms, which of course they didn't have. Out of the corner of his eye, Hobbie saw a few people slip through a back door and down a badly lit alley. They looked uncannily like Plourr, Tycho, and Feylis. He thought he even caught a glimpse of Feylis's blonde hair. Sith and sith again, Hobbie thought helplessly.
A couple seconds later, a tall figure in shabby clothing with a drawn blaster burst out of the same door and headed down the alley. Chaos and damnation already. "Wes?"
"Yeah?" Wes was amusing himself by watching the action on the street. The local police had shown up and were forcefully questioning the patrons of the bar. In a sudden case of mass memory loss and unobservance, no one had actually seen anyone fire a blaster.
"Nothing," Hobbie said. He was sobering up, unfortunately.
"Well, this is a drag," Wes said. "There's got to be a dive we haven't been to yet somewhere around here. Come on." He took off up the street, and Hobbie had no choice but to follow.
Two bars, five propositions, an equal number of rejections, and an unknown quantity of alcohol later, Hobbie stumbled out of the dive and leaned against its outer wall. What the hell had he been thinking, going along with a Janson Plan? He should have just tossed Wes in a cell on his own initiative, and defended himself to Wedge later.
Wes tripped over the nonexistent doorstep, cocktail glass still in hand, the viciously fuschia dregs sloshing about in the bottom. He'd switched from ale to fruity candy drinks at the fourth rejection (a pretty Rodian with shiny green skin) and was the worse for it. "Hobbs. Y'r m'bess friend. In all th' quadrants."
"I'm honored." Hobbie felt not so much 'honored' as 'like throwing up in the gutter'.
"We hadda great time tonight, yeah?" Wes draped himself half against the wall, and half against Hobbie.
"Sure." Never again, I swear.
Wes tipped the last of his cocktail down his throat, dropped the glass to the pavement and pulled Hobbie against him in a clumsy hug. "Dance wi' me!"
Hobbie winced. "No, I'll vomit."
"Do that later, dance now!" Wes dragged Hobbie into the street, and started spinning them both around in wobbly circles. He hummed a tune Hobbie vaguely recognized as a Taanabian wedding song, and wondered in which cultures they were considered married now.
Wes clutched Hobbie firmly and dipped him. As Wes yanked him back up, he threw their combined weight into a passer-by. A tall, shabbily dressed passer-by. With a blaster. Who tumbled to the ground, shouting.
"Whoops, sorry!" Wes laughed as he pulled them both away from the man.
The man slowly got to his feet. "Watch it, idiot," he growled, and shoved them out of his way.
"Hey!" Wes sprang foward, ready to clock the guy a good one. Or, he tried to, but Hobbie held him back and stomped on his foot.
"Sorry, friend, can we buy you a drink to make up for it?" Hobbie put on his I'm-harmless-really face and placed himself between Wes and the man.
The man narrowed his eyes at them. "Not your friend. In a hurry." He looked around as if trying to track something, and then rushed off down the street.
"Well, that was weird. What a buzzkill." Wes wriggled his foot out from under Hobbie's. "Next bar? What are we up to, anyway?"
Hobbie wanted to hit his head against a wall. "No."
"That's not a number."
"We're going back to base."
"Why?"
"Because you're out of money--"
"No, I'm not--"
"Check your pockets."
Wes grinned and patted himself down. He dropped the grin, thoroughly searched all his pockets, and swore. "What the frak! That guy pickpocketed me!"
"Indeed he did. And I've had it with this bar crawl, and watching women reject you, and your expensive fruity drinks, and--"
"Tell us how you really feel, Hobbie."
The pair stood in the street, not looking at each other.
"Fine, we'll go back," said Wes. "Think the local transports are still running?"
"You could use the walk."
"Are you saying I'm fat?"
"I was just thinking you could do with sobering up, but now that you mention it..."
Wes turned and headed back to the main strip without a word. Hobbie sighed and followed.
---
"So then the guy shot up the place, and we had to bug out, but he just kept following us," said Feylis, cuddled under Avan's arm in the corner of a cushioned bench in Downtime.
"He seemed to think we were trying to cheat him." Plourr sneered and waved to the server 'droid for another round.
Tycho snorted. "We were trying to cheat him, or did you forget that part?"
"It doesn't count," said Plourr. "We're the good guys."
"Good to know your moral standards are as high as ever," said Tycho, leaning back as the server 'droid delivered their drinks.
"So what happened?" Ibtisam asked.
"We ran a lot," said Plourr, her words dripping with sarcasm.
"It took a while, and some hiding, but we finally lost him," said Feylis. "You're quiet, Wes."
Wes sat at a neighboring table, his face buried in his arms. "Hrnggh," he said.
"He's fine," said Hobbie, sitting at the table with Wes and stirring the swizzle stick in his glass of carbonated water. "Just disappointed he missed out on all the running. And hiding."
"And cheating," said Wes, muffled from inside his arms.
"The cheating was pretty fun," said Feylis with a grin.
Hobbie's comlink beeped, and summoned him to Wedge's office. "Oooh," said Wes into his arms, more out of tradition than anything else.
Wedge was sitting at his desk when Hobbie entered the office. "Close the door," he said neutrally. Hobbie did so, trying to discreetly look for the firing squad he knew must be hidden away somewhere. "Have a seat."
Hobbie sat in the one other chair. "You're probably expecting me to say something, but I have no idea what that should be, so maybe you should start." He swallowed. "Sir."
"I'm not angry, Hobbie." Wedge looked resigned. "Okay, I'm a little angry, but I'm not going to do anything to you two. Other than put you both on KP duty for a week."
Hobbie met Wedge's eyes. "Sorry, Wedge."
"Don't be. From what I gather, you two might have inadvertently saved the mission." Wedge quirked an eyebrow at Hobbie. "Don't get a big head now."
"I take it you talked to Wes."
Wedge nodded. "He tried to take responsibility for the whole debacle. I told him you were at fault for going along with his stupid plan, and I was also at fault for leaving him out of the mission and asking you to go along with my stupid plan."
Hobbie digested this for a moment. "Okay. So are you gonna do kitchen duty with us?"
"Nope."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm the commander."
The next week, Hobbie found himself alongside Wes, scrubbing tubers in the mess. "Why are we scrubbing them if they're just going to get peeled later?" Wes asked.
Hobbie shrugged. "Maybe the skins absorb water or something."
"Maybe this is the dumbest thing we've ever had to do," Wes said. Hobbie couldn't argue with that. They scrubbed in silence for a while.
Wes tossed a freshly scrubbed tuber into an enormous pot. "I think Wedge deserves some retaliation for this."
"Like what?" Hobbie scrutinized his tuber. It looked a bit like Garik Loran in The Black Bantha.
"Well, we do have kitchen duty for a week. There are any number of things we could do."
Hobbie raised an eyebrow, and they began to plot.
Author: izzybeth
Rating: PG for consumption of alcohol and reckless endangerment of various Rogues
Summary: Wedge's ideas aren't always brilliant.
Word count: ~2480
Notes: For djcati, stealing her prompt wholesale for the title, who I hope enjoys this. I had stupid fun writing it. I really wanted to work in something about someone throwing something to the ground, but it just didn't happen, sorry. Thanks to Claire who told me it was funny, and Nat who told me it was in postable condition despite knowing nothing about X-wing jockeys.
"So basically that's it: meet our contact, make the exchange, and then get the hell out."
Hobbie shrugged. "Sounds simple enough."
Wedge raised an eyebrow. "It ought to be. There is a catch, though."
"Is this why you're briefing me separately?"
"Yeah." Wedge paused a moment. "Wes can't come."
"Really?"
"Ideally, he shouldn't even know about it, but I don't hold out much hope for that. It's only a three or four person job. The rest of the squadron hasn't been briefed yet; I wanted to tell you first."
Hobbie levelled a glare at Wedge. "What do you want?"
Wedge sighed. "I need you on babysitting duty."
"You're not serious."
Wedge made a face. "Sorry."
"Can't we just throw him in a cell until it's over?"
"Shockingly, he hasn't done anything lately to deserve that."
Hobbie's shoulders slumped. "I charge seven credits an hour, extra to feed him. And I have to be home by twenty-three-hundred or my mom'll be mad."
"You're a brave soul, Hobbs."
---
That evening, Hobbie sat cross-legged on his bunk, avidly devouring the latest Nav Palax adventure novelchip that was making the rounds of the base. He was just at a really good bit (Nav's crew was about to mutiny) when the door slid open and Wes barged into the room.
"All right. I give. What's going on that no one will tell me about?"
Hobbie tried not to look shifty. "Uhhh..." He let his attention drift back to the novel, hoping against hope that his friend would just leave. (Wes had already read it, and Hobbie very much wanted to remain unspoiled.)
Wes plucked the datapad from Hobbie's hand and tossed it on the blanket. "You know what I'm talking about. No one will talk to me, no one wanted to sit with me at dinner, no one wants to do sims with me--"
"Well, when you say that, you usually have an ulterior motive."
"Shut up-- I know there's something going on, and you, as my best friend in this entire galactic quadrant, have to tell me what it is!"
Hobbie frowned. "First, who are your best friends in the other quadrants? And second, no I don't."
Wes flung himself across the bunk, and incidentally, Hobbie's lap (narrowly avoiding crushing the datapad). "Hobbieeeee! Pleeeeeaaase?"
"Ow." Hobbie shoved Wes off of his legs. "Ask Wedge and Tycho."
"I did." Wes picked up the datapad and fiddled with it. "Wedge said to ask you."
"That bastard," Hobbie muttered. "Fine. But this is his idea, and it's basically an order, so don't be mad."
"Okay," said Wes, and settled back against the wall to listen.
"TheRoguesaregoingonamissionandyoucan'tgosoIhavetobabysityou."
"Wait." Wes put down the datapad. "What?"
Hobbie sighed. "The Rogues."
"I've heard of them."
"Are going on a mission."
"It was either that or surprise leave. And it's never surprise leave."
"And you can't go."
"What?!"
"So I have to babysit you."
"WHAT?!"
"So it's... kind of like surprise leave?" Hobbie tried to smile in as non-wincing a fashion he could. "Sort of?"
Wes glared. "You guys could have just thrown me in a cell."
"I suggested that."
"Knew I could count on you." Wes leaned toward Hobbie. "Now what's the real plan, Hobbs? Wedge is actually keeping us in reserve, like backup, right? Or wait, no, we're the key to his brilliant plan, whatever it is. Or--"
"No, Wes."
Wes sat up straight again. "Then what? What's the deal?"
Hobbie sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. "Wedge doesn't want you involved. He didn't say why." Probably because you're a liability, Hobbie didn't say.
Wes jumped to his feet and made for the door without a word. "Wes, wait!" Hobbie grabbed Wes's arm. "I'm sure there's a good reason, don't go yelling at Wedge. He'll only stare at you like he does."
"Fine." Wes pulled his arm out of Hobbie's grasp. "I'm an irresponsible child and you're my minder. When is this mission supposed to go down?"
"Tomorrow," Hobbie said carefully, not liking where this was going.
"Okay. As soon as they're gone, so are we. Hell if I'm staying on base like a good boy. We're gonna have some fun, Hobbs." Wes flashed a huge, manic grin, and left.
Hobbie sat back down on his bunk and tried very hard not to picture the court martial he knew was coming.
---
Humans mixed comfortably with Twi'leks, Quarren, Bith, and any number of other sentients in the crowded bar. A large, toothy Shistavanen shoved Hobbie into the bar as he passed, and Hobbie wisely decided not to make anything of it. This was the third bar on the crawl Wes had insisted upon, and Hobbie was beginning to feel distinctly fuzzy (if such a thing was possible).
"Hobbs, over here!" Hobbie turned his head around until he caught sight of Wes. He pushed his way through the crowd as politely as possible until he reached the tiny table Wes had managed to snag. "See, this isn't so bad, is it? You, me, drinks, a night out..." Wes traced the rim of his glass with a fingertip and smiled at Hobbie through his eyelashes.
"Knock it off, Wes. You realize Wedge is going to murder us when he finds out about this?"
"You're overreacting, Hobbie, it's just a bit of harmless flirting."
The glare Hobbie aimed at Wes actually shut him up for a couple minutes.
"He doesn't necessarily have to find out, you know."
Hobbie rolled his eyes. "He always finds out, Wes. He has a sense. A creepy sense. We're technically AWOL. He's going to bring back public execution just for us."
Wes drained his glass. "Look, we'll just let Plourr punch someone who doesn't deserve it when we get back, and he'll forget all about us."
Hobbie stared into his ale. "Sure. A foolproof plan. What could possibly go wrong."
"That's the spirit-- Hey. Speaking of Plourr." Wes up-nodded at a person in a shapeless cloak across the room. "That looks like her, doesn't it?"
Sith. Hobbie glanced at the figure. "Nope. Not at all. Let's go." He stood up, leaving his glass of ale barely touched.
"But you haven't finished your--"
"Don't care, let's go."
Out on the street, Hobbie kept a wary eye out for Plourr or anyone else familiar-looking while Wes grumbled about Hobbie wasting his money. From inside the bar, a blaster fired one shot through a window, and all hell broke loose. People poured out of the bar's main entrance, covering their heads, shouting for the local authorities. Both Wes and Hobbie went for their sidearms, which of course they didn't have. Out of the corner of his eye, Hobbie saw a few people slip through a back door and down a badly lit alley. They looked uncannily like Plourr, Tycho, and Feylis. He thought he even caught a glimpse of Feylis's blonde hair. Sith and sith again, Hobbie thought helplessly.
A couple seconds later, a tall figure in shabby clothing with a drawn blaster burst out of the same door and headed down the alley. Chaos and damnation already. "Wes?"
"Yeah?" Wes was amusing himself by watching the action on the street. The local police had shown up and were forcefully questioning the patrons of the bar. In a sudden case of mass memory loss and unobservance, no one had actually seen anyone fire a blaster.
"Nothing," Hobbie said. He was sobering up, unfortunately.
"Well, this is a drag," Wes said. "There's got to be a dive we haven't been to yet somewhere around here. Come on." He took off up the street, and Hobbie had no choice but to follow.
Two bars, five propositions, an equal number of rejections, and an unknown quantity of alcohol later, Hobbie stumbled out of the dive and leaned against its outer wall. What the hell had he been thinking, going along with a Janson Plan? He should have just tossed Wes in a cell on his own initiative, and defended himself to Wedge later.
Wes tripped over the nonexistent doorstep, cocktail glass still in hand, the viciously fuschia dregs sloshing about in the bottom. He'd switched from ale to fruity candy drinks at the fourth rejection (a pretty Rodian with shiny green skin) and was the worse for it. "Hobbs. Y'r m'bess friend. In all th' quadrants."
"I'm honored." Hobbie felt not so much 'honored' as 'like throwing up in the gutter'.
"We hadda great time tonight, yeah?" Wes draped himself half against the wall, and half against Hobbie.
"Sure." Never again, I swear.
Wes tipped the last of his cocktail down his throat, dropped the glass to the pavement and pulled Hobbie against him in a clumsy hug. "Dance wi' me!"
Hobbie winced. "No, I'll vomit."
"Do that later, dance now!" Wes dragged Hobbie into the street, and started spinning them both around in wobbly circles. He hummed a tune Hobbie vaguely recognized as a Taanabian wedding song, and wondered in which cultures they were considered married now.
Wes clutched Hobbie firmly and dipped him. As Wes yanked him back up, he threw their combined weight into a passer-by. A tall, shabbily dressed passer-by. With a blaster. Who tumbled to the ground, shouting.
"Whoops, sorry!" Wes laughed as he pulled them both away from the man.
The man slowly got to his feet. "Watch it, idiot," he growled, and shoved them out of his way.
"Hey!" Wes sprang foward, ready to clock the guy a good one. Or, he tried to, but Hobbie held him back and stomped on his foot.
"Sorry, friend, can we buy you a drink to make up for it?" Hobbie put on his I'm-harmless-really face and placed himself between Wes and the man.
The man narrowed his eyes at them. "Not your friend. In a hurry." He looked around as if trying to track something, and then rushed off down the street.
"Well, that was weird. What a buzzkill." Wes wriggled his foot out from under Hobbie's. "Next bar? What are we up to, anyway?"
Hobbie wanted to hit his head against a wall. "No."
"That's not a number."
"We're going back to base."
"Why?"
"Because you're out of money--"
"No, I'm not--"
"Check your pockets."
Wes grinned and patted himself down. He dropped the grin, thoroughly searched all his pockets, and swore. "What the frak! That guy pickpocketed me!"
"Indeed he did. And I've had it with this bar crawl, and watching women reject you, and your expensive fruity drinks, and--"
"Tell us how you really feel, Hobbie."
The pair stood in the street, not looking at each other.
"Fine, we'll go back," said Wes. "Think the local transports are still running?"
"You could use the walk."
"Are you saying I'm fat?"
"I was just thinking you could do with sobering up, but now that you mention it..."
Wes turned and headed back to the main strip without a word. Hobbie sighed and followed.
---
"So then the guy shot up the place, and we had to bug out, but he just kept following us," said Feylis, cuddled under Avan's arm in the corner of a cushioned bench in Downtime.
"He seemed to think we were trying to cheat him." Plourr sneered and waved to the server 'droid for another round.
Tycho snorted. "We were trying to cheat him, or did you forget that part?"
"It doesn't count," said Plourr. "We're the good guys."
"Good to know your moral standards are as high as ever," said Tycho, leaning back as the server 'droid delivered their drinks.
"So what happened?" Ibtisam asked.
"We ran a lot," said Plourr, her words dripping with sarcasm.
"It took a while, and some hiding, but we finally lost him," said Feylis. "You're quiet, Wes."
Wes sat at a neighboring table, his face buried in his arms. "Hrnggh," he said.
"He's fine," said Hobbie, sitting at the table with Wes and stirring the swizzle stick in his glass of carbonated water. "Just disappointed he missed out on all the running. And hiding."
"And cheating," said Wes, muffled from inside his arms.
"The cheating was pretty fun," said Feylis with a grin.
Hobbie's comlink beeped, and summoned him to Wedge's office. "Oooh," said Wes into his arms, more out of tradition than anything else.
Wedge was sitting at his desk when Hobbie entered the office. "Close the door," he said neutrally. Hobbie did so, trying to discreetly look for the firing squad he knew must be hidden away somewhere. "Have a seat."
Hobbie sat in the one other chair. "You're probably expecting me to say something, but I have no idea what that should be, so maybe you should start." He swallowed. "Sir."
"I'm not angry, Hobbie." Wedge looked resigned. "Okay, I'm a little angry, but I'm not going to do anything to you two. Other than put you both on KP duty for a week."
Hobbie met Wedge's eyes. "Sorry, Wedge."
"Don't be. From what I gather, you two might have inadvertently saved the mission." Wedge quirked an eyebrow at Hobbie. "Don't get a big head now."
"I take it you talked to Wes."
Wedge nodded. "He tried to take responsibility for the whole debacle. I told him you were at fault for going along with his stupid plan, and I was also at fault for leaving him out of the mission and asking you to go along with my stupid plan."
Hobbie digested this for a moment. "Okay. So are you gonna do kitchen duty with us?"
"Nope."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm the commander."
The next week, Hobbie found himself alongside Wes, scrubbing tubers in the mess. "Why are we scrubbing them if they're just going to get peeled later?" Wes asked.
Hobbie shrugged. "Maybe the skins absorb water or something."
"Maybe this is the dumbest thing we've ever had to do," Wes said. Hobbie couldn't argue with that. They scrubbed in silence for a while.
Wes tossed a freshly scrubbed tuber into an enormous pot. "I think Wedge deserves some retaliation for this."
"Like what?" Hobbie scrutinized his tuber. It looked a bit like Garik Loran in The Black Bantha.
"Well, we do have kitchen duty for a week. There are any number of things we could do."
Hobbie raised an eyebrow, and they began to plot.