Title: The Only Way
Fandom: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Rating: G
Word Count: 880
Characters/Ships: Wedge Antilles, Luke Skywalker
Summary: "I can't stop thinking about the Death Star,” Wedge admits. “I know we had to destroy it. I know, and I didn't hesitate while I was up there but... There had to be so many people onboard, Luke. And I just murdered them all."

Wedge gets in one hug when Luke lands on Endor, a brief, tight embrace that's an exchange of I'm glad to see you, so relieved you made it through again before they part, and then he doesn't see him for hours. Wedge understands: there are things Luke needs to do, people he needs to talk to, more important and closer to him than Wedge.

It gives him some time by himself. Briefly, he lets himself soak in the light of the fire, the celebration with the Ewoks and his fellow Rebels. It's a more solid triumph than they've ever had, and it feels good, but Wedge can't keep back the encroaching dark thoughts. Eventually, he takes himself away, finds a seat on a deserted platform outside the ring of firelight, gazing out into the night, feeling a little shiver every time an errant piece of debris sparks in the moon's atmosphere.

“Hey.”

Wedge doesn't know how long he's been lost in thought when Luke's soft voice filters in, and he looks up as the Jedi sits down next to him, dark clothing nearly blending into the night, still smelling of smoke.

“Hey.” Wedge lets himself smile just a little as he leans toward his friend. It feels better not be alone, but that didn't mean he was going to seek someone out.

“You're upset.”

Wedge sighs. Luke has always been able to read him so well, and his command of the Force just makes it more unfair. “So are you.” Because even if he doesn't have that same sense, Wedge can tell Luke isn't sitting here in the dark just because he is.

Luke huffs softly, looks away into the night. “A lot happened up there,” he says softly. “I'll tell you about it sometime...not now. It's too fresh.”

Wedge nods. He isn't bothered by it; Luke is entitled to his secrets.

“You can talk to me, though,” the Jedi goes on. His hand finds Wedge's shoulder. “If you want.”

Wedge opens his mouth, but then they're both distracted by a bright flash in the sky: another piece of detritus sparking as it rebounds off the atmosphere. Wedge shudders, knows Luke has felt it when his grip tightens.

“I can't stop thinking about the Death Star,” Wedge admits. “I know we had to destroy it. I know, and I didn't hesitate while I was up there but...” He trails off, trying to gather his thoughts, and Luke lets him. He knows he has to go on, though, has to say the rest. “There had to be so many people onboard, Luke. A lot of them were high-ranking officers and soldiers and gunners and people actively engaged in combat, but there were also office workers and construction beings, maybe even slaves...” He bites his suddenly-trembling lip. “And I just...murdered them all. Who knows how many people are dead because of me. Some of them might have been there against their will or defected given half a chance or-”

“Wedge, try to calm down, okay?” Luke's voice is gentle, and Wedge can feel tendrils of the Force behind the words, encouraging him to do just that, and tries not to fight them.

He hauls in a breath, staring down at his own trembling hands. He's killed so many people over the course of this war. Most of the time he didn't have a choice, it was him and his people or them, but that doesn't ease the guilt in this moment. He tries to breathe, deep and even, refocusing on Luke's presence beside him.

“I felt the same way after the first Death Star,” Luke tells him quietly. “Honestly, it's never gone away, but it will get better.” He takes one of Wedge's hands in his own. “Think of many people you saved today, Wedge. How many more planets like Alderaan might have fallen if that weapon was allowed to survive. The Empire was never going to give it up; it was the only way.”

“Should that make me feel better? All those people...”

“No.” Luke squeezes his hand. “This is what makes you a good person, Wedge. You care. You grieve for the real losses, when the Empire would never consider them more than unavoidable collateral damage.”

Wedge takes his hand back, dashes at the moisture in his eyes. “I'm sorry for being melancholy,” he manages. “Everyone else is celebrating and being happy, and even then, other people are hurting too. I'm being selfish.”

“You're not,” Luke assures him. “You never could be.” He smiles softly. “Consider this: if talking like this can help you, it makes my own stuff a little less painful. So you're helping me in a way.”

“I'm more than happy to return the favor when you're ready,” Wedge tells him earnestly.

“I know, and I appreciate it. For now, though...do you maybe want to go back to the party? Sounds like a little celebrating could do you some good.”

Wedge looks back toward the bonfire where a handful of pilots are drinking and carrying on, laughter echoing back to him through the trees. He bites his lip. “Maybe, but not quite yet. You can go on, though. I'm fine.”

Luke shakes his head and wraps a companionable arm around Wedge's shoulders. “I'll stay until you're ready.”