Wedge wakes five minutes before his alarm goes off. He feels rested physically, all of the aches and pains from yesterday's battle gone. The same can't be said for the rest of him. Grief and anxiety, mental exhaustion, still pull at him. So much of him just wants to turn his face back into the pillow and sleep until it all goes away.

He knows he can't. He knows he chose this life, has known from the beginning that fighting a war is never easy. He has lost and will lose more people he cares about. Has and will hurt more than he cares to think about, sometimes more than he thinks he can bear.

He can bear it, though. He always has, and he will. Because this cause is worth fighting for, and there are so many people out there who still need him. He doesn't kid himself that his singular loss would doom any of them, but he acknowledges he's doing far more good out there in the battle than in here agonizing over it. He chose this life, and he's not stepping down now.

Wedge watches the minutes on the chrono tick by, wincing when the alarm goes off, shrill and grating in his ears. In a moment, though, he's reaching to switch it off. He lumbers himself out of bed, rights the sheets and blankets behind him. Showers and puts himself into his uniform.

Feeling a little more refreshed, he takes a deep breath and pushes his door open, daring to face another day.