Ficathon: Rendezvous
Title: Rendezvous
Fandom: Star Wars
Characters: Fab Four, Koyi, Plourr, Dllr, and Elscol.
Pairing: Wedge/Elscol
Prompts: Hotshot, dressing-down and Whyren's Reserve
Word Count: 1, 300
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. Lucas is King. If he doesn't like me pilfering his characters, he can have his merchandise back.
Summary: Just because it's Force-bedamned o'clock in the morning doesn't mean that people can't hang out for a while.
Author's Notes: Two for two, this year with the being on-time and having my first idea gel into something readable! Woot! While I own all three omnibus volumes, I haven't had time to read/re-read them due to final assignments and exams, so I apologize profusely if I demolished any of the characters outside of the Fab Four. This was written for izzybeth. Sorry for not being able to get in the honourable-mentions of Mirax, Leia, Han and Ackbar. They just didn't work for me this time around.
------
Koyi had outdone herself this time; the Rogues' mechanic had used old crates to form a table and chairs in a corner of the hanger bay that was out of sight of everything from the security booth to the bridge's security sensors. Wes looked over it all appreciatively as he, Hobbie, Tycho, Plourr, and Dllr took their spots. The surface was large enough to hold a plasteel cup for each pilot and the mechanic, as well as two bowls of contraband munchies. When the six of them were settled and Hobbie began shuffling the Sabaac cards that he pulled out of his uniform pocket, Koyi produced the pièce de résistance of this little clandestine get-together: a genuine bottle of Whyren's Reserve.
The Twi'lek served everyone a measure, smiling at the appreciative noises being directed towards her, before capping the bottle and carefully putting it out of the way for safe keeping.
"You are too good to us, Koyi," Tycho said as he raised his glass for a toast. Everyone followed suit and once all the cups were held aloft, he added, "To friends past, friends present and friends future." They all clinked their glasses with a communal "hear hear" and took the ritual first sip.
They played the first few hands in silence, letting the quiet of the hanger bay sooth them into something resembling relaxation. Slowly, conversation picked up, and soon the six friends were chatting amiably amidst the general banter required by the game. Wes regaled the group with his and Hobbie's latest scheme, much to the chagrin of the often dour pilot. Tycho added his own narrative, having been on the other side of said scheme by being present when Wedge had finally caught the two pranksters red-handed. Speaking of Wedge...
"Hey, anyone notice the boss being a little more grumpy than usual?" Wes asked the group at large.
"Yeah," Plourr replied, locking one of her cards. "He's been a little on edge, what with Elscol still running reckless during missions. You saw how he was when we got back this afternoon."
Tycho shook his head in slight disbelief as he accepted another card from Hobbie. "I have never seen him dress down anyone, not even a raw recruit, the way he did to Elscol today."
After a moment's consideration, Dllr folded his hand and sat back to watch the rest of the hand. "I think her continued negligence for the safety of everyone is a detriment, but you have to admit she has been doing the work of an entire flight single-handedly. It's probably difficult to reconcile her behaviour with her results."
"I think Wedge has finally reached a breaking point with her," Plourr continued, putting her cards down and forcing everyone to do the same. She collected the pot and the next hand was dealt. "Can't keep turning a blind eye to her kamikaze-hotshot tactics despite those results."
Dllr held up a hand to forestall the conversation. When he had everyone's attention, he pointed to the other side of the hanger bay. They all recognized Wedge's form, and as he passed under the blue glow of the magcon indicator, they could make out his thoughtful gait as he passed through, hands shoved in his pockets. The group watched as their commander finished crossing the bay and disappeared into the hallway.
"Huh, wonder where he's going this late at night?" Wes wondered aloud. No one had an answer, so they simply turned back to the game and continued the hand.
*
Wedge hesitated over hitting the ‘send' button on the official reprimand he had just finished drafting and sighed. He hated to do this, but he knew the consequences of playing favourites. He couldn't be seen to be skimping on protocol, especially where Elscol was concerned.
Especially if people found out... He tramped the thought down and scrubbed his hands over his face. Wedge hit the ‘save' button instead and tossed the datapad into his "to-do" pile. He'd review the document in the morning and send it off after he had a chance to get a little more distance from the situation.
He pushed away from his desk and stretched. A glance at the nearby chrono said it was far past time he went to bed. Wedge locked up his office and decided to take the long way back to his quarters, if only to give his mind a chance to rehash the events from the afternoon before he crawled into bed. The mission had been a standard escort run with the usual threat of ambush, and events didn't disappoint; Rogue Squadron escorted and they were ambushed. It was all going well and they had seen the freighter safely into hyperspace and were about to follow, when Elscol had gotten it into her head to chase down one of the bandits on her six.
Wedge had been the first to break off and follow her, and he ordered half the squadron to follow suit, while the other half went to continue with the mission. Elscol's escalating renegade behaviour during ops had challenged Wedge to a whole new level of expert-flying as he dared to watch her back. Usually Elscol's escapades brought about stunning results and minimal injury, so Wedge was able to turn a partially blind-eye to the entire thing. But this time the group had come close to wiping, and that was something that he couldn't tolerate.
It had killed him to dress her down like she was a green recruit fresh off the streets. He cared for her too much, possibly more than he should, but if he let this one slide the way he had the others, then people would talk. Everyone knew he hated needless risks, and failure on his part to let someone get away with the transgression would look strange. Elscol had enough problems to deal with, all things considered, though Wedge had hoped that the relationship they shared would be enough to put an end to her kamikaze runs. Apparently he had hoped wrong.
As the much colder air of the hanger bay washed over him, Wedge paused on the threshold and glanced around in mild surprise. The way to his quarters lay four turns back, so why the kriff was he here? The silent forest of X-Wings made him resume his thought-grinding and...Elscol. I was thinking about Elscol, and her quarters are on the other side of the ship. The fastest way over is through the hanger bay.
Oh well, he was half way there, so he might as well go see if she wanted to see him. So Wedge shoved his hands into his pockets and made his way across the flight deck. He heard the muted echoes of voices and figured the techs had set up one of their late night games; he decided to let them have their privacy, so he made the effort to ignore them and kept walking.
It wasn't far from the hanger bay to Elscol's door, and soon Wedge found himself knocking. He heard the shuffle of someone moving around before the door slid open and a weary-looking Elscol looked up at him.
"Come to yell at me some more?" she asked. Wedge tried not to wince at the slight injection of venom in her tone.
"No," he replied. "And I kind of hope I'm done yelling at you for a while."
"Good." Her smile melted away the venom. "Are you coming in or are you gonna stand out in the hallway all night?"
Wedge smiled ruefully, and then shook his head. Elscol stood aside so he could enter, and she was leaning up to claim his lips for a kiss before the door finally slid shut and sealed them inside the private world they could only share behind closed doors.
Fandom: Star Wars
Characters: Fab Four, Koyi, Plourr, Dllr, and Elscol.
Pairing: Wedge/Elscol
Prompts: Hotshot, dressing-down and Whyren's Reserve
Word Count: 1, 300
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. Lucas is King. If he doesn't like me pilfering his characters, he can have his merchandise back.
Summary: Just because it's Force-bedamned o'clock in the morning doesn't mean that people can't hang out for a while.
Author's Notes: Two for two, this year with the being on-time and having my first idea gel into something readable! Woot! While I own all three omnibus volumes, I haven't had time to read/re-read them due to final assignments and exams, so I apologize profusely if I demolished any of the characters outside of the Fab Four. This was written for izzybeth. Sorry for not being able to get in the honourable-mentions of Mirax, Leia, Han and Ackbar. They just didn't work for me this time around.
------
Koyi had outdone herself this time; the Rogues' mechanic had used old crates to form a table and chairs in a corner of the hanger bay that was out of sight of everything from the security booth to the bridge's security sensors. Wes looked over it all appreciatively as he, Hobbie, Tycho, Plourr, and Dllr took their spots. The surface was large enough to hold a plasteel cup for each pilot and the mechanic, as well as two bowls of contraband munchies. When the six of them were settled and Hobbie began shuffling the Sabaac cards that he pulled out of his uniform pocket, Koyi produced the pièce de résistance of this little clandestine get-together: a genuine bottle of Whyren's Reserve.
The Twi'lek served everyone a measure, smiling at the appreciative noises being directed towards her, before capping the bottle and carefully putting it out of the way for safe keeping.
"You are too good to us, Koyi," Tycho said as he raised his glass for a toast. Everyone followed suit and once all the cups were held aloft, he added, "To friends past, friends present and friends future." They all clinked their glasses with a communal "hear hear" and took the ritual first sip.
They played the first few hands in silence, letting the quiet of the hanger bay sooth them into something resembling relaxation. Slowly, conversation picked up, and soon the six friends were chatting amiably amidst the general banter required by the game. Wes regaled the group with his and Hobbie's latest scheme, much to the chagrin of the often dour pilot. Tycho added his own narrative, having been on the other side of said scheme by being present when Wedge had finally caught the two pranksters red-handed. Speaking of Wedge...
"Hey, anyone notice the boss being a little more grumpy than usual?" Wes asked the group at large.
"Yeah," Plourr replied, locking one of her cards. "He's been a little on edge, what with Elscol still running reckless during missions. You saw how he was when we got back this afternoon."
Tycho shook his head in slight disbelief as he accepted another card from Hobbie. "I have never seen him dress down anyone, not even a raw recruit, the way he did to Elscol today."
After a moment's consideration, Dllr folded his hand and sat back to watch the rest of the hand. "I think her continued negligence for the safety of everyone is a detriment, but you have to admit she has been doing the work of an entire flight single-handedly. It's probably difficult to reconcile her behaviour with her results."
"I think Wedge has finally reached a breaking point with her," Plourr continued, putting her cards down and forcing everyone to do the same. She collected the pot and the next hand was dealt. "Can't keep turning a blind eye to her kamikaze-hotshot tactics despite those results."
Dllr held up a hand to forestall the conversation. When he had everyone's attention, he pointed to the other side of the hanger bay. They all recognized Wedge's form, and as he passed under the blue glow of the magcon indicator, they could make out his thoughtful gait as he passed through, hands shoved in his pockets. The group watched as their commander finished crossing the bay and disappeared into the hallway.
"Huh, wonder where he's going this late at night?" Wes wondered aloud. No one had an answer, so they simply turned back to the game and continued the hand.
*
Wedge hesitated over hitting the ‘send' button on the official reprimand he had just finished drafting and sighed. He hated to do this, but he knew the consequences of playing favourites. He couldn't be seen to be skimping on protocol, especially where Elscol was concerned.
Especially if people found out... He tramped the thought down and scrubbed his hands over his face. Wedge hit the ‘save' button instead and tossed the datapad into his "to-do" pile. He'd review the document in the morning and send it off after he had a chance to get a little more distance from the situation.
He pushed away from his desk and stretched. A glance at the nearby chrono said it was far past time he went to bed. Wedge locked up his office and decided to take the long way back to his quarters, if only to give his mind a chance to rehash the events from the afternoon before he crawled into bed. The mission had been a standard escort run with the usual threat of ambush, and events didn't disappoint; Rogue Squadron escorted and they were ambushed. It was all going well and they had seen the freighter safely into hyperspace and were about to follow, when Elscol had gotten it into her head to chase down one of the bandits on her six.
Wedge had been the first to break off and follow her, and he ordered half the squadron to follow suit, while the other half went to continue with the mission. Elscol's escalating renegade behaviour during ops had challenged Wedge to a whole new level of expert-flying as he dared to watch her back. Usually Elscol's escapades brought about stunning results and minimal injury, so Wedge was able to turn a partially blind-eye to the entire thing. But this time the group had come close to wiping, and that was something that he couldn't tolerate.
It had killed him to dress her down like she was a green recruit fresh off the streets. He cared for her too much, possibly more than he should, but if he let this one slide the way he had the others, then people would talk. Everyone knew he hated needless risks, and failure on his part to let someone get away with the transgression would look strange. Elscol had enough problems to deal with, all things considered, though Wedge had hoped that the relationship they shared would be enough to put an end to her kamikaze runs. Apparently he had hoped wrong.
As the much colder air of the hanger bay washed over him, Wedge paused on the threshold and glanced around in mild surprise. The way to his quarters lay four turns back, so why the kriff was he here? The silent forest of X-Wings made him resume his thought-grinding and...Elscol. I was thinking about Elscol, and her quarters are on the other side of the ship. The fastest way over is through the hanger bay.
Oh well, he was half way there, so he might as well go see if she wanted to see him. So Wedge shoved his hands into his pockets and made his way across the flight deck. He heard the muted echoes of voices and figured the techs had set up one of their late night games; he decided to let them have their privacy, so he made the effort to ignore them and kept walking.
It wasn't far from the hanger bay to Elscol's door, and soon Wedge found himself knocking. He heard the shuffle of someone moving around before the door slid open and a weary-looking Elscol looked up at him.
"Come to yell at me some more?" she asked. Wedge tried not to wince at the slight injection of venom in her tone.
"No," he replied. "And I kind of hope I'm done yelling at you for a while."
"Good." Her smile melted away the venom. "Are you coming in or are you gonna stand out in the hallway all night?"
Wedge smiled ruefully, and then shook his head. Elscol stood aside so he could enter, and she was leaning up to claim his lips for a kiss before the door finally slid shut and sealed them inside the private world they could only share behind closed doors.