Wedge's sleep shirt is soft beneath Tycho's cheek, his chest radiating warmth. His heart beats strong and steady in his ear. Tycho could listen to it all night.

“Hey.”

At the soft word, Tycho's eyes flicker open - and he blanches at the sight of the lump beneath Wedge's shirt. A bacta bandage covering an ugly wound he can still see all too clearly in his mind. Almost of their own accord, Tycho's fingers drift to it, his palm covering the area lightly as if he can add his own will to the healing process.

“Tycho.” Fingers brush his cheek, and he looks up finally, meeting soft brown eyes that look down at him with warmth. “I'm all right.”

“I know.” Tycho is glad when his voice doesn't tremor. He's done enough of that today. He can still hear the noise of the lightfight, blasts and shouts and running feet - the punched-out gasp Wedge made when he was struck and the thud of him hitting the floor. The sounds echo over and over in Tycho's mind, and he turns his face against his lover's body, trying to drown them out. “Force, Wedge, I thought I lost you out there today.”

Fingers ease into his hair and stroke gently. “You didn't, though. It's nothing a little bacta can't fix.”

Tycho only nods, because the image of Wedge on the ground, the blood that had run between his hands as he tried to staunch the wound, is one he won't soon forget. He makes himself focus on him again, his heartbeat, his breathing. Wedge is alive. Wedge is still with him.

Wedge's fingers curl around his neck and guide him to look up. The soft smile he finds on his face melts just a little of the ice around Tycho's heart. “Come up here, won't you?”

Tycho does, sliding up the bed though he resolutely keeps one hand on his lover's chest, the faint vibrations of his heartbeat reassuring. Wedges draws him in for a kiss then wraps his arms around him, a tight embrace that Tycho gladly sinks into, soaking in the warmth and comfort.

“You don't need to worry about me so much,” Wedge tells him softly, and Tycho would laugh if the trauma wasn't still so fresh.

“And how would you be reacting if it was me?” he asks, because they both know Wedge would probably be even worse.

Wedge pauses, then admits with a sigh, “Okay, fair point. But I am fine.” He catches the hand still on his chest and drags it away, brushing a kiss across the knuckles. “You probably saved my life out there, you know.”

“I wish I wouldn't have had to,” Tycho answers, blinking away the memories of blood-covered hands, the way his voice shook as he'd yelled for a medical droid when the fight died down. He hides his face in Wedge's neck, listens to his pulse, heavy and even.

Wedge's fingers smooth his hair again. “Me, too. But if I had to be with anyone in that moment, I'm glad it was you, Tycho. You thought fast, and you did what you had to, and here we are. There's nothing to worry about now.”

Tycho sighs, because Wedge is right. There's no use dwelling on what might have been, whether good or ill – that's certainly a conversation they've had more than once before. “Does it hurt?” he asks instead.

Wedge shrugs as much as he can while lying down and tangled with Tycho – and winces, clearly answering the question. “Another bacta dip tomorrow and I'll be back in fighting shape.”

Tycho murmurs agreement. If only they didn't have to worry about such things. If only they had time to rest and recover and not have to run back to their cockpits and stations and fight a constant war.

“Look on the bright side,” Wedge tells him. “You'll get to join the others in teasing me about the bacta tank diaper.”

“That's what's really important, isn't it?” Tycho makes himself chuckle, but his grip on Wedge as the two of them drift off to sleep still remains tighter than usual. And if he wakes with a start hours later, Wedge's blood on his hands and the droid having arrived too late, can you really blame him?