Star Wars: Fic: Cloudchasing

[drabblewriter]

Title: Cloudchasing
Fandom: Star Wars (post-ROTJ)
Rating: G
Word Count: 2,798
Characters/Ships: Wedge Antilles/Luke Skywalker
Summary: After Wedge suffers a career-ending injury, Luke gets him a special gift.

Wedge used to wake up fast. Duty shifts for Rebels, especially pilots, could be unpredictable, missions coming up with little or no warning. He learned to lay his head down anywhere he could find room, fall asleep deeply immediately, and wake fully at once. Even with the advent of the New Republic and his various promotions, duty never wavered, and he never lost the habit.

But now...

The bed he lays in is big, big enough, he knows from past experience, that even if he splays his limbs and stretches his fingers and toes, he still can't reach the edges. The mattress is cloud-soft, the linens silky and luxurious. He doesn't have to worry about emergencies here, doesn't have to be ready to run to his ship and fight for his life and the lives of his friends and allies at any second.

His face turned into the coolness of his pillow, eyes still closed, Wedge listens. There's a window open in the room, admitting a light breeze, the sound of birdsong, the smell of fruit from the orchard outside. His lips curl into a smile.

There's a soft knock at the door, and Wedge stretches and sits – wincing at the sharp twinge that starts in his right leg and zings through his whole body as he moves. The injury that had taken him away from flying permanently and ended with him here, a member of Luke's court. The crash had been bad, one he knows he was lucky to survive and keep the limb at all, but there are still days he wonders if the alternative wouldn't have been kinder than losing such a big part of himself.

“Come in,” he calls, and the door opens to admit the Jedi and President of the New Republic. He's already bright-eyed and dressed, though in less fancy regalia then he would usually wear for a day of meetings, and carries a breakfast tray.

“You know, I can make it the kitchen on my own,” Wedge says mildly as his friend sets the tray in his lap. His mouth waters at the delicious smells of yet another delicious meal the palace chefs have prepared.

“I know, but I'm spoiling you.”

Wedge raises an eyebrow over a mouthful of food.

Luke grins. “This is just the start. I have a surprise.”

Wedge swallows. “Should I be worried?”

“Nope!”

Sensing he's not going to get any further answers, Wedge continues eating his breakfast. It's become abundantly clear in the months since Luke invited Wedge to move in here that his friend enjoys showing him with the finer things in life. It had made Wedge more than a little uncomfortable at first, but not that he's relaxed and grown into it a bit, it's something he appreciates. It's so different from the way he grew up, from the way he's lived all of his life up to this point, but he can admit most of the time it's a welcome change.

“Hurry,” Luke prompts after a bit. “They're waiting.”

“Who? Or is that a secret, too?”

Luke sticks his tongue out. “Come on, Wedge.”

Wedge laughs. “Who would believe you're the leader of the free galaxy? You sound like an impatient child.”

“And who would believe you're one of his most respected advisers,” Luke counters, “when your face is covered in porridge.” He leans in and swipes a bit of the substance off of Wedge's lip with a thumb.

For a second, there's utter silence, their eyes locked as Wedge tingles with the ghost of the contact. Luke breaks the gaze and wipes his thumb on a napkin. “Come on, please,” he repeats.

The moment past, Wedge finishes his food, being a little more careful now, and Luke takes the dishes back to the kitchen as Wedge dresses. He holds his cane in one hand, testing his leg as he waits for Luke to come back. It's sore, as it often is, but the sharp pain hasn't come back. Still, he'd better bring the cane to be safe.

Luke returns and excitedly beckons him. It doesn't take long for Wedge to figure out where they're going: Luke's private hangar. Wedge imagines he's going to be led onto a shuttle and taken somewhere, though he can't imagine where.

When they arrive, in addition to Luke's shuttle, there's a shiny new X-wing. Well, at least it appears to be an X-wing. The nose is a little shorter than normal, the cockpit elongated.

Wedge looks to Luke with a curious frown.

Luke is smiling. “It's for you.”

“For...” Wedge turns back to the ship, his heart twisting, words backing up in his throat. But I can't fly. You know. Why would you...? For me?

Luke touches his arm. “It's a modified Trainer-X. I'll manage the rudders. You'll do everything else.” He sounds hesitant suddenly, like he doesn't know how Wedge is going to react. “You'll be able to fly again.”

Wedge stumbles forward without saying anything. One step, two, a dozen. He lays his hands against the cool metal of the ship. For him. Luke had this made for him. So he can fly again. He closes his eyes, distantly feeling tears on his cheeks.

“Wedge?” Luke's voice, soft and uncertain, close behind him.

“When?” is Wedge's only answer.

“Right now, if that's what you want.”

Wedge can only nod. He does his best to swallow emotion, dashing wetness from his cheeks. Finally, he turns around, meets Luke's concerned eyes with a little nod.

Luke smiles at him and makes a gesture. A pair of techs step forward and help them into the appropriate gear. By now, Wedge is practically vibrating with excitement. This already feels like coming home again.

One of the techs rolls a ladder over, and Luke gestures for Wedge to go ahead. He drops into the second seat and looks around the cockpit as Luke joins him, letting his fingers play lightly over the modified controls that will allow them to fly in tandem. They're different than Wedge is used to, but intuitive as well. Luke and whoever he had working on this project knew what they were doing.

The tech pulls the ladder away, and Luke gives Wedge a nod over his shoulder. Wedge hits the button to close the canopy, then starts the engines. He's gratified to feel the slight vibrations in the ship's frame as they come online.

Four lit and in the green, he thinks to himself, automatically looking over the status displays.

“Where are going?” he asks, and even the crackle of Luke's voice over the comm system as he lays out the flight plan he'd had cleared is achingly familiar.

They’re given clearance to depart, and Wedge flips on the repulsorlifts. The ship eases into the air more fluidly than anything he’s ever flown, and he feels another surge of joy knowing he’s one of the only people to ever fly her.

Luke rudders the X-wing toward the hangar’s exit without being asked, and Wedge kicks in the sublights. He glances at the displays again and has to smile as he sees he inertial compensator already at his preferred setting. Luke remembered.

Luke sees him looking. “I know you don’t want to think about it now, but you might consider turning it up a little and avoiding doing anything too crazy so you don’t aggravate your leg. I promised your medic I’d bring you back in the same number of pieces I found you.”

Wedge huffs as he turns a knob just a fraction. He knows Luke is right - his body isn’t what it used to be - but he’s not going to hold back any more than absolutely necessary.

They reach the edge of the hangar, and Wedge loses his breath as the ground drops away beneath them, the familiar sight made exhilarating by too-long absence.

Together they angle the ship away from the palace and toward the fluffy white clouds currently hovering above Galactic City as warm and inviting as open arms.

“You’re lead, Wedge; I’m your wing. What are you thinking?”

Wedge considers for barely a second before raising the X-wing’s nose toward the nearest cloud. Luke understands almost immediately and moves to help.

If you’d asked Wedge back on the ground what he’d wanted to do today, cloudchasing probably wouldn’t have been his answer, but now it calls to him. A pastime from a more innocent age - or at least a more innocent headspace. How many times over the years had his friends and squadmates dragged him out of bed at sunrise on a precious day off because the skies were perfect for it? How many lectures on wasting their fuel ration had he planned while smiling as Wes insisted they guess the image he was trying to create with air currents and water vapor and Tycho waxed philosophical about the impermanence of weather?

Now, Wedge doesn’t bother holding back his grin as the ship he flies with Luke slices into the cloud, and for magical seconds the rest of the world, the rest of the galaxy, goes away, and it’s just the two of them and the ship alive around them, everything as it should be. Then they burst from the other side of the cloud, vapor streaming from the tips of the ship’s S-foils, and Wedge feathers the engines, watching as the backwash all but obliterates the remains of the cloud.

“If you want to play with clouds, I’m sure the weather corps would love to have you,” Luke teases, and Wedge barks a laugh as they head for the next one without needing to discuss it.

Minutes later, they’ve cleared a sizable chunk of sky, and Wedge feels an odd sense of accomplishment watching new sunbeams gleam through the remaining wisps onto the sprawling city far below.

“I reserved a training course,” Luke says after a few moments, “in cast you wanted to practice some more precision maneuvers.”

“A training course?” Wedge repeats. It’s been years since he saw one of those, set-ups meant for the instruction of absolute rookies.

Luke eyes him over his shoulder. “It was just an idea.”

Wedge shakes himself. He’s out of practice and flying a new ship in an unfamiliar configuration. There’s no use for pride here, no reason not to get back to basics.

“Let’s do it.”

For the next hour, they thread rings, weave between columns, and dodge under and over obstacles. Wedge is glad he said yes, because it turns out tandem flying in close quarters is somewhat more strenuous than its open-air equivalent. Luke’s ideas about Wedge taking the lead quickly go out the window as they find working together is far more effective. They call their moves to each other, negotiating and coordinating as flawlessly as they ever did back in their Rebel days.

It’s still strange. Wedge’s feet tap invisible rudder pedals with every maneuver. It still chafes that he can’t do this by himself and likely never will again. But Luke is here supporting him and making this possible, and Wedge is here, in the air where he belongs.

So he lets himself relax and enjoy it, relishing the way turning a sharp corner pushes him into his seat and obstacles flash by mere centimeters from the tips of their S-foils. At one point, Luke comms his contact at the academy and asks for the course’s high scores, and Wedge is gratified when after only a few tries, they manage to blow them all out of the water.

Eventually, it has to end, and they’re gently ushered off the course in favor of an actual class. Wedge accedes to Luke’s quiet suggestion that they head back to the palace. He’s had such a good time, but he’s starting to feel it, too. Along with the usual results of a good flight are the indicators that he’s pushed past the new limits his battered body is still trying to teach him: cramping in his lower back, the ache in his bad leg flaring to actual pain. It’s frustrating, but he can only fight it for so long.

Wedge lets out a soft sigh as the hangar swallows them and the sky disappears from view. They set the ship down expertly, and he pops the canopy. Immediately, the techs are there with the ladder and taking their flight helmets and other accouterments.

Wedge doesn’t hide his wince as he rises from his seat; he’s sure Luke can feel his pain through the Force anyway. Luke doesn’t comment, though, just offers steadying hands to help him down the ladder. At the bottom, a tech returns Wedge’s cane then melts away, leaving the two of them alone.

Luke doesn’t remove his hands until after he’s sure Wedge can stand on his own, and Wedge misses his warmth and gentle strength immediately.

“May have overdone it a little,” Wedge admits into the quiet between them. “My fault.”

“We’ll know better for next time.”

Warmth blooms in Wedge again. Next time. His flying days aren’t as over as he feared, and it’s such a relief. As is knowing Luke will be at his side next time as well.

“Thank you,” Wedge says, the most heartfelt words he’s spoken in a long time. “I know ships aren’t cheap, especially one like this, and-”

“Wedge.”

Luke’s voice is soft but stops Wedge in his tracks.

Luke smiles at him. “I wanted to. You deserve this.” He raises a hand to indicate the palace, Wedge’s place in it, everything he’s given him since the crash, and repeats, “You deserve this.” His eyes are big and blue and so earnest. “I’ve only ever wanted to take care of you. I like seeing you happy and safe. I like having you here.”

Wedge looks at him. At Luke Skywalker, who despite being the last of the Jedi and President of the New Republic is still just a man. Luke, one of the few who would know exactly how much this means to Wedge. Luke, who Wedge has spent so much time with, who’s seen him grow from the scared kid he was on Yavin 4 to the man he is today. Luke, who has always seen all of him, his strengths and his weaknesses, his bravery and his fear, and liked him anyway. Luke - his friend, wingmate, commander, caretaker. Luke, who has saved him time and time again. Luke, who touched him this morning and made them both freeze. Luke, who is everything and yet at the end of the day is still just /Luke./

And Wedge kisses him.

Luke kisses back, warm and sure, one hand moving to cup Wedge’s neck. “I don’t need you to thank me like this,” he says when they part, though his tone makes it clear he doesn’t actually think that’s what this is about.

Wedge’s heart is slamming against his ribs, but he manages a smile. “And you didn’t have to buy me a ship to show me you - care,” he answers, a bit of the old cowardice slipping through at the last moment.

Luke frames Wedge’s face in his hands and smiles again, welcoming and soft and just for him. “I love you, Wedge Antilles. Never doubt that for a moment.”

On some level, he’d known. For years, maybe. And yet to hear the words said aloud now, the gentle, eternal promise of them, makes Wedge tremble and all his broken pieces start to knit back together at once.

“I love you, too,” he says, and it’s easier than he thought. “I should have said it sooner.”

“I knew,” Luke tells him. “And I knew you would tell me when you were ready.”

Wedge isn’t sure what to say to that. Perhaps this isn't the paradigm shift in their relationship he first thought.

Luke beckons him forward, and Wedge steps into his arms without hesitation, letting Luke take some of the weight off his now-screaming leg. Luke holds him not like a friend or teammate assisting an injured comrade, but like a lover, cradled and comforted.

“You’re trembling, love,” he murmurs against Wedge’s temple. “You’ve had a big morning. Maybe you should go lie back down for awhile.”

Loathe to leave Luke’s arms now that he’s finally in them, Wedge asks, “Will you come with me? If you’re not busy, of course.”

“Not busy,” Luke assures. “Only other thing going on today is dinner with some representatives. I’d love to have you by my side if you can make it.”

“Depends on how I’m feeling,” Wedge says honestly, knowing it may in fact be worse after he’s been stationary for awhile, “but I’ll certainly try.”

Luke nods and kisses his forehead. “That’s my Wedge.”

Wedge hides a smile in Luke’s shoulder, his heart full. My Wedge.

My Luke.