- - I hurt myself today, to see if I still feel.
I focus on the pain, the only thing that’s real.- -Hurt
Two months later:
"Oh, I don’t believe this!"
Cardeb Qos, Sentinel Squadron’s Exectutive Officer, looked up at me, startled. "I thought you wanted to fight Zsinj."
Umm... "I do. I just can’t believe they’re actually sending us." Cardeb looked at me, confused, then shrugged his shoulders and went back to studying the datapad.
Of course I wanted to fight Zsinj; I’d been frothing at the mouth to have a go at him. And of course some joker god (I pictured him with Wes Janson’s face) found just the right place for me. Assigned to the Mon Remonda. With Rogue Squadron, and Wraith Squadron, and their CO, Commander Wedge-frickin’-Antilles; bless his soul, I hoped his little panties weren’t still in a wad.
"Reporting directly to General Solo," General Crespin had said, "under Cmdr. Antilles." Thank you, General, that’s a position I’m well used to.
I sighed, knowing that seeing him after our last meeting could be tense. But Wedge...Commander Antilles, was good at his job. So was I. As long as we remembered to be entirely professional, there shouldn’t be a problem.
No problem whatsoever.
- - - - - -And there weren’t any, really. Commander Antilles was very professional, just bordering on cold but not enough so that anyone else would notice. Wes was true to his word; he was as friendly and obnoxious as he’d always been, and never mentioned that incident at the Hawk-Bat base. There wasn’t much fighting going on. We mostly waited for news of Zsinj and got antsy.
Antsy was the nicest way to describe me when I walked into the officer’s cafeteria a few days after Sentinel Squadron joined the Zsinj-hunting party. Everyone had become bone-tired and irritable, and someone had come up with the idea of a little ‘mutiny’. I’d heard about it from one of my Flight Officers and had to check it out. The idea was that everyone could be anonymous, without rank, and have a little fun. I’d been told to bring Spot, so he could have some R and R too. I cautiously peeked into the cafeteria before I entered. Astromechs raced up and down a corridor, officers sat with enlisted soldiers and mechanics, everything was relaxed and open.
I left Spot twittering with Commander Antilles’ droid, Gate. Hmm, sabaac, or Wes’s drinking game? I didn’t drink often, but the game only consisted of tossing a credcoin into a cup, and drinking only if I missed the toss. How hard could that be? Anyway, the sabaac stakes had to be too high for me.
An undetermined amount of time (and several more undetermined amounts of alchohol) later, I leaned back and looked around the ever more crowded room. People were spilling into the noncom cafeterias and auditioriums. Almost everyone not on duty had joined the mutiny and was full of laughter, good cheer, and liberal amounts of whiskey and lomin-ale. My gaze fell on Gen Solo’s table, and the man who sat next to him. The sabaac hand finished, he sat back in his chair and passed his hand over his eyes in a weary gesture, then glanced around the room.
I looked back down. I didn’t suppose it would do to have Cmdr Antilles catch me staring. He seemed to be in a better mood than I’d seen him in for a long time. I wondered if someone else had pulled him through that rough spot, if that someone else was female, and felt a hard knot of jealousy in my stomach. I’d tried to work through my feelings for him but failed miserably. I missed him; I missed his companionship and conversation; I missed the sex. More than anything, though, I missed knowing that he was out there somewhere, and he cared that I was out there too.
Wes tugged my braid to get my attention and gestured to the game. I shook my head. I’d obviously had too much to drink already; I was having utterly ridiculous thoughts. I stood up unsteadily, made my excuses, and headed out the door, more or less (mostly less) in a straight line. I was glad to see that I wasn’t the only one three sheets to the wind. I felt someone watching me and decided that whoever it was could just kiss my rear, and added as much of a shake as I felt balanced enough to manage.
Hah. Eat your heart out, Commander Wedge. Oops, damn boots. No, thank you, Hobbie, I’m just fine. Go sniff a Bothan. I didn’t say that out loud, did I? Poodoo. Who is he motioning to? Stupid Janson, stupid game, stupid glass that’s too little to flip a credcoin into. Stupid Commander Wedgie.
I turned a few corners at random and and leaned against an unfamiliar wall to catch my breath. The air was very warm and I felt like I had a raging fever. The top button of my uniform was already undone, so I opened the next one. Or two. Anyway, I was still hot and I’d completely lost my bearings. My knees went gooey and I slid down the wall to sit on the floor. I was in luck, there were no people in sight; while no one could give me directions, no one could witness my current state of inebriation. Oh, Sithspit. Someone is coming. I couldn’t stand up. I kept my eyes glued to the floor and willed myself to dissapear.
A pair of boots stopped right in front of me. I knew those scuffed boots, size disproportionate to the rest of the body. I looked up.
"D’ya know whaddey say ’bout men wi’ big feet?"
Wedge sighed. "Come on, Soral."
"G’way."
"Commander Zurek, get up. That’s an order." Uh-oh, that was his offended officer voice. I tried to move and found my legs still useless.
I managed a salute, though. "Sorry, C’manner. Can’t."
"Why not?"
"Don’t have any legs." I uncrossed my arms and gestured toward my knees as if to illustrate my lack of stems. My shirt fell open. I know I didn’t open it all the way...
"Oh, Sithspawn. Here," he grabbed my hand and hauled me to my feet, "let’s get you to your bunk before you come completely out of your clothes."
"I was hot!" I answered indignantly and pulled away, swaying. "I don’ needdeny help. Thanky sir." Then the ceiling came crashing down on me.
The next thing I knew, I had a good view of the floor as I hung upside down over Wedge’s shoulder. My head bounced against his back as he trotted throught the corridors to my room. He entered the door code without asking me what it was, laid me down on my bed, and none too gently tugged my boots off.
"How do you feel?"
"Ungh."
"That’s what I thought. Get up." I sat up woozily. Wedge looked away, then quickly fastened a few strategic buttons on my shirt. I really can’t remember how long he walked me around the room, his arm around my waist, pausing occasionally to force a glass of water down my throat, lecturing the whole time.
"What were you thinking? I can count on one hand the number of times you’ve had a beer. What made you think you could toss back whiskey like it’s water? I’ll have Wes’ head for letting you..."
"He din’ let me do nuthin’, Wedge. M’a big girl. I can... um, ‘fresher, please."
Finally he let me lay down, and I closed my eyes for just a moment. When I opened them again, the chrono by my bed read that it was almost morning. Wedge was asleep in a chair across the room.
I groaned and pulled my pillow over my head. Wedge stirred, then rose and sat on the bed beside me.
"Now how do you feel?"
I mumbled something into the pillow.
He leaned down. "What?"
"Why do you care?" I whispered.
He sat back, looking uncomfortable. "I couldn’t leave you there."
"That’s not what I asked, flyboy."
He stood up and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Listen, if you’re OK now, I’ll get back to supervising the mutineers. I think we’ll let them sober up, then go back on alert status tomorrow."
I turned my head to watch him leave and had a sudden flashback. "Don’t you walk out on me." He turned, startled. "I know, it sounds wierd when I say it." I sat up, fighting a wave of nausea. "Why do you care?"
"You’re drunk. Go back to sleep."
"Wedge. Don’t you dare."
"Well, why do you care if I leave now?"
"'Because," I struggled to gather my thoughts, "we used to be friends and I want to know what happened to us." I felt my eyes fill with tears and hated myself for it. I felt like such an idiot. "Who are you?"
He’d taken up his defensive posture, arms crossed, feet apart, but he hadn’t expected that question. "Wha...?"
I swung my feet off the bed, mimicked his pose, and bellowed, "Who are you?" Lowering my voice just slightly, I continued. "’Cause you aren’t Wedge, not the one I know."
"People change."
He was unreadable, and I was out of patience. "Go on, then. I don’t care anymore."
I turned my back to him, heart pounding in my ears. I couldn’t pin down what hurt the worst: that he was leaving, or that I’d thrown my pride after him. The door slid shut and a strangled sob tore from my throat.
I jumped when I felt hands gripping my arms. "Why won’t you just hate me and let me go?" His fingers dug into my flesh and I had to suppress a yelp.
I jerked away and turned on him angrily. "Every time you push me away with one hand, you pull me back with the other. I can feel your despair. How can you expect me to hate you? Why would you even want me to?" He stepped back and I turned in time to see the mask descend over his features again. "Don’t do this to me Wedge, don’t do it. I deserve an answer."
"You do," he said, and swallowed hard, "and if I had an answer to give you I would. You won’t understand; I don’t understand, I only know what I feel, and it doesn’t make sense." I kept silent, hoping he would continue if I didn’t interrupt. Whatever he was feeling must have been fierce; his face tightened and little beads of sweat appeared on his skin. He reached out with one hand, then turned away, shaking. "Do you ever think that pain is the only thing left to feel?"