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Chapter Text

Folie A Deux - part one

Tycho stumbled through the door to the bedroom, his lips locked on Wedge’s, hands pulling at Wedge’s uniform. They halted by the bed, arms tight around one another, Tycho’s mouth working its way down Wedge’s throat and onto the area of chest exposed by his half-open shirt.
  “Mmm, yes, Tycho.” Wedge’s voice was husky with need.
Tycho straightened, grinned at Wedge for a moment, then pushed him backwards. Wedge fell across the wide bed and Tycho dropped on top of him, pinning him against the mattress. Wedge’s dark hair was still slightly damp from the post-flight shower, and his skin smelt deliciously of soap. Tycho yanked Wedge’s shirt all the way open and began kissing the tense muscles of his flat stomach. Wedge moaned, burying one hand in Tycho’s dark blond hair. The bulge in his trousers showed how much he needed release. Tycho wriggled off the bed, giving the bulge a squeeze in passing, and started stripping boots, socks and trousers from both of them.
Their lovemaking was so often like this after battle. Fast, urgent, sometimes rough. It was a very physical coming together, to reassure themselves that they were alive, intact. And after a fight like today’s, the need was even stronger.
  Very quickly, Tycho had them both naked. He bent his head to Wedge’s stiff penis, savouring it as Wedge moaned.
  “Ty, now. Please.”
Tycho would have liked to take longer, but he knew what Wedge needed at this moment. He spread himself full length over Wedge’s body for a few seconds, drinking in a deep kiss, then he picked up the lube from the bedside unit. Wedge spread his legs eagerly, drawing his knees up as Tycho reached down with slippery fingers. Tycho slid two fingers inside Wedge, drawing a louder moan of pleasure.
  “Yes. Please, Tycho, fuck me !”
Wedge was open and ready, his eyes dark with desire. Tycho grabbed his hips and pushed himself deep inside.
  Wedge’s body arched up against his as they lay face to face. Tycho grasped Wedge’s wrists and pinned his arms down as he started thrusting hard. Wedge’s mouth opened, begging attention, and Tycho filled it with his tongue. Hard and fast Tycho thrust into Wedge’s body as Wedge gasped, his hips moving in response. Their bodies synchronized, hips slamming together, lips and tongues meeting then breaking apart. Tycho bent his head against Wedge’s neck, his nostrils full of the scent of Wedge’s skin and sweat. He bit into the skin, tasting Wedge with his tongue. Wedge cried out and climaxed, his slender body spasming under Tycho’s weight. Moments later, Tycho was swept away in his own orgasm, thrusting, holding, biting.

They lay together afterwards, arms wrapped around one another to reassure and comfort. Tycho kissed Wedge tenderly and gazed at his face from a distance almost too close for him to focus properly. Wedge’s muscles were relaxed and heavy, but there was something distant lingering in his soft eyes that concerned his lover. Tycho rubbed one hand up and down Wedge’s spine.
  “Did I hurt you ?” he asked.
Wedge shook his head. “No.”
  There was a pause, then he let out a long sigh, and buried his face against Tycho’s shoulder, his hair brushing against Tycho’s skin. Tycho held him tightly, and wished there was more he could do. He and Wedge had been lovers for several years now, supporting one another through war and imprisonment and loss. In that time, Wedge had risen through the ranks from lieutenant to general, shouldering the burden of leading the New Republic’s most elite fighter squadron. Now, especially since Distna, Tycho sometimes felt that the burden was getting too heavy for Wedge.
  “It was that fight today,” Wedge said, his voice muffled by Tycho’s shoulder. “When my shields failed, and the X-TIE had me lined up, I thought I was dead. I thought I was going to die there, all alone in my X-wing, with nothing but vacuum around me. I don’t want to die alone, and I will.”
  Tycho thought for a moment. “Command keeps trying to get you into a fleet position,” he said. “You wouldn’t be alone on the bridge of a Star Destroyer.”
  Wedge raised his head and stared at Tycho with hungry eyes. “There’s no guarantee that Rogue Squadron would be assigned to me; we could be separated. Being here with you, like this, is the most important thing in my life.”
  “I’m glad you think so,” Tycho whispered, both honoured and humbled that a man like Wedge Antilles should need him so badly .Wedge sighed again, and rested his cheek against Tycho’s shoulder.

“I should like to die here, like this. In your arms.”
  “That wouldn’t be much fun for me,” Tycho replied.
  “But I’d feel happy, and safe, and loved. I’m not immortal, I’m going to die some day, somehow; it’s natural. We both will. If I could choose, I’d choose to die with you holding me and keeping me safe as I went.”
  Tycho thought about Wedge’s words. It was true, of course, that one day both of them would die, even if they did nothing more dangerous than stay in their quarters, eat and make love. And as professional soldiers, they both knew how suddenly death could come, with no chance to say goodbyes. As pilots, death might come swiftly in the strike of a laser that killed before you knew you’d been hit. Or it could be the result of vacuum exposure, hypothermia or oxygen deprivation. Tycho hated to think of Wedge ejecting from his X-wing and dying by inches as his body froze in the absolute chill of space. He tightened his grip on the warm body that nestled against his.
  “You won’t die out in space, Wedge. I won’t let you. I love you.”
  “I love…” Wedge’s reply was cut off by Tycho’s kiss.



Lovemaking the next morning was gentle and intimate. They spooned together, Wedge filling Tycho and rocking him with slow thrusts as his hand caressed Tycho’s penis. Wedge closed his eyes and lost himself in dream and sensation. Tycho’s fine hair tickled his nose; his lean, strong body pressed against Wedge’s chest and belly; his hard penis filled Wedge’s hand and his arse was tight and good around Wedge’s cock. Their legs tangled together as breathing got faster and the leisurely pace gradually increased out of control. Then Tycho cried out, his penis jerking in Wedge’s hand and his muscles tightening exquisitely around his Wedge’s cock as he came. Wedge gasped as sensation swept him from head to toe, losing him, too, in the rapture of orgasm.
  They lay joined for a minute, as they recovered, then Tycho eased himself from Wedge’s body and rolled over to face him. Today was a day off, with no urgency to get up. Wedge lay still and gazed at Tycho’s brilliant blue eyes.
  “You’re beautiful,” he said softly.
Tycho slipped a hand behind Wedge’s neck and pulled him close for a kiss. “You’re wonderful.” He let go, caressing Wedge’s hair, and smiled at him. Then the smile changed to a look of concern. “Oh, Wedge. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He gently touched a spot just above Wedge’s collar bone.
  Wedge felt the slightest sting of a bruise, and the sweet touch of Tycho’s fingers on his skin. Although he twisted his head to look down, he couldn’t quite see what Tycho was referring to.
  “What is it ?”
  “I bit you last night. It’s left a mark.”
Wedge smiled reassuringly. “It doesn’t matter; it didn’t hurt,” he said, remembering the sensation of being pinioned under Tycho’s body and the blissful sting of the bite that had tipped him into orgasm. “It was good.”
Tycho relaxed again. “What do you want to do today ?”
  “Lie here with you,” Wedge answered.
He wrapped his arms around Tycho and lay with his head on his lover’s chest, listening to the steady sound of Tycho’s heart beating.
  “I could stay like this forever,” Wedge said softly.


Wedge could only lose himself in the security of Tycho’s arms for a little while, however. The next day he was back on duty, and the afternoon included a meeting with Admiral Ackbar. The Admiral’s office was humid, as always, mimicking the climate of his oceanic home world. Normally it never bothered Wedge, but today he found the atmosphere oppressive, dulling his mind.
  After some talk about the political unrest that lingered after Grand Admiral Thrawn’s recent campaign, Ackbar rolled one large amber eye in Wedge’s direction.
  “We need to send a task force out to patrol near Fondor. I had it in mind to put you in command.”
  “What size of task force ?” Wedge asked.
  “Two assault frigates, a carrier cruiser with four starfighter squadrons, and the Liberator as your flagship.”
  The Liberator was a captured Impstar deuce, one of the largest ships in the galaxy. It carried a crew of just over 37,000 beings, with up to 10,000 troops. That ship alone would make nearly 50,000 lives his direct responsibility. Wedge did a rapid mental calculation, and realized that altogether, some 58,000 individuals would be under his command. 58,000 lives would depend on his ability to make the right decision at the right moment. He shook his head.
  “I’m sorry, Admiral. I’m not ready for this.”
Ackbar turned his head and swivelled his other eye to stare at Wedge.
  “You are an excellent commander, General Antilles. I am confident that your demonstrated ability with smaller vessels will transfer to command of capital ships.”
Wedge took a deep breath, drawing on his self-control to appear calm. “I appreciate your faith in me, Admiral, and I’m honoured that you want me to lead this force. But please, not now. I’m not…ready,” he repeated.
Ackbar didn’t respond at once, continuing to stare at Wedge with his glassy eyes.
“I suppose you would rather remain in command of Rogue Squadron ?” he said eventually.
Wedge nodded. “Yes, sir.”
  “I can afford to indulge you a little longer, General. I can tell the Council that you should stay with Rogue Squadron for the sake of continuity, as the new members, transferred in after your fight with Isard and her clone, finish their training. But really, there is no reason why Colonel Celchu should not take command.”
  “I know that, sir,” Wedge answered. “Tycho will be an excellent commander for Rogue Squadron. I’m just… not quite ready to commit myself to a fleet position yet.”
  “Noted,” Ackbar said. “Your reliability has been a great asset to the Rebellion, and the New Republic, General Antilles, and I shall continue to rely on your willingness to tackle new responsibilities.”
Wedge nodded, grateful that Ackbar still missed the finer nuances of human expressions and body language.
  “I have another mission in mind for Rogue Squadron,” Ackbar said. “I’ll have the details forwarded to you.”
  “Thank you, sir.” Wedge saluted, and took his leave.


The mission was to the remote Dubrillion system, close to where one of Thrawn’s generals had set himself up as a pirate-warlord. Rogue Squadron was installed in an old Rebellion-era base on an asteroid, with orders to harass General Edimon’s forces through hit-and-run attacks. The underground facility was somewhat basic: the corridors and larger spaces had walls of bare, grey rock that reflected sound back and forth, and the power system was prone to surges and sudden drop-offs. There were no viewports anywhere, just the solid walls of rock that seemed to cut them off from the rest of the galaxy.
  Intelligence had planted agents in General Edimon’s command, and the Rogues acted on the information leaked to them. Even Wedge didn’t know who the agents were, or where they were based. The information they sent had to be taken on trust. In the first seven days after Rogue Squadron’s arrival at Dubrillion, they flew three missions, sustaining minor damage to two X-wings. By the third mission, it was clear that Edimon’s forces were fighting back harder and more effectively. They were expecting trouble now, and it wouldn’t be long before the general’s fleet would be actively searching for the Rogue’s base.
  Wedge didn’t like the Dubrillion base. The bare rock walls depressed him, and the roar of engines reverberating in the hangar gave him headaches. He undertook his duties efficiently, and escaped to the quarters he shared with Tycho as often as possible. Their suite included a small living room with a kitchenette, and Wedge preferred to do his data work there, rather than in the bleak office allocated to him.
  He was in their quarters, curled up on a shabby two-seat chair scavenged from the crew lounge of a freighter, when Tycho returned, with a rolled-up towel draped round his neck.
  “You said you were going to join me in the gym,” Tycho reminded him.
Wedge felt his face warm with guilt. “I’m sorry.” He gestured with the datapad he was holding. “I guess I lost track of the time.”
Tycho smiled, and plucked the datapad from Wedge’s hand, hitting ‘save’ before setting it down on the kitchen counter.
  “You need a break, General.”
Putting the towel beside the datapad, he sat down beside Wedge. Wedge turned to him as Tycho leaned close and kissed him. Tycho’s mouth was warm, soft and firm at the same time. His tongue pressed against Wedge’s lips, demanding entrance. Wedge opened his mouth to him, letting Tycho deepen the kiss. Tycho kept up the kiss till Wedge was almost dizzy, then moved his mouth lower, trailing kisses onto Wedge’s throat. Wedge let himself melt into Tycho’s hold, yielding to the sensations Tycho was creating.
  Tycho had one hand on the back of Wedge’s neck, the other one on the small of his back, supporting him as Tycho’s kisses weakened him. Wedge felt wrapped in Tycho’s strength and love. Tycho lifted his head, his crystal blue eyes searching Wedge’s face.
  “I surrender,” Wedge whispered.
Tycho stood, then bent and carefully lifted Wedge, cradling him against his chest. Wedge rested his head against Tycho’s shoulder and let himself be carried into the bedroom. Tycho laid him carefully on the bed, and took control. Wedge lay passively, his heart pounding with anticipation, as Tycho stripped both of them naked. He made no protest as Tycho produced the restraints and fitted them to Wedge’s wrists and ankles. When he was done, Wedge was spread-eagled on the bed, unable to resist whatever Tycho might wish to do to him. Wedge surrendered all control, all decisions, to Tycho, and with that came a tremendous sense of release.
  Tycho climbed onto the bed and knelt astride Wedge’s torso. He kissed Wedge on the mouth again, then worked his way down Wedge’s throat and to his nipples. Wedge moaned as Tycho’s teeth nipped at the hard stubs. His body was already burning with need, and his penis was hot and rigid. Slowly, Tycho kissed his way down Wedge’s chest and belly, his sweet mouth coming tauntingly close to Wedge’s groin. Wedge lifted his head, watching, panting, as Tycho brought his mouth closer to the tip of his penis. Then the warm mouth closed over his penis and Wedge groaned with pleasure. Tycho caressed Wedge’s balls, and started to rhythmically suck him off. Wedge let his head drop back onto the pillow as he started to build towards climax.
  The dizzying sensations stopped suddenly, and Wedge let out a moan of frustration. Tycho sat up and grinned at him.
  “Not yet,” he said.
He opened the pot of lube and dipped his fingers in. Wedge watched impatiently as Tycho delicately licked his finger with the tip of his tongue. Slowly, Tycho lowered his hand between Wedge’s outstretched thighs. Wedge bit his lower lip as Tycho’s fingers slid inside him. Exquisite sensations shot through his body as Tycho expertly tickled his prostrate. Wedge writhed against the restraints as Tycho began working him towards climax again.
  “Yes ! Oh, Ty. Mmmm… don’t stop. Don’t stop !”
The fingers pulled out and the tension of pre-orgasm slipped away for a second time. Wedge made a growling, frustrated sound, pulling at the restraints that held him helpless to Tycho’s whims.
  “You’ll thank me later,” Tycho promised.
He stroked the inside of Wedge’s thighs, running his hands up to Wedge’s groin. His fingers lingered against the arsehole displayed for his pleasure.
  “Fuck me,” Wedge begged. “Please, Tycho.”
Tycho slicked more lube onto his hard penis and pushed himself slowly inside Wedge’s body. Wedge’s erection dug into Tycho’s belly as the other man lay on top of him. Tycho kissed Wedge hard, and began thrusting. Wedge was swiftly lost in the intimacy of their union. He welcomed Tycho’s weight on him, the sensation of his lover on top of him and inside him. Skin to skin for the length of their torsos. The joy of giving ecstasy to Tycho with his body. He finally came in an orgasm that exploded through his body like a supernova.
  When Tycho was done too, he hit the button that released the restraints. Wedge wrapped his arms and legs around Tycho and clung to him as they returned to the here and now.
  “I’ve changed my mind,” Wedge whispered. “I want to die while you’re making love to me like that.”
Tycho blinked at him. “How could I make love to you if you were dying ?”
  “It would be beautiful.” Wedge’s eyes shone. “How much better than dying of disease, or old age, or getting vaped ? Slipping from ecstasy into everlasting peace. Oh, Tycho, I want peace.”
Tycho kissed him. “We’re peaceful now, aren’t we ?”
  “But for how long ?” Urgency flooded Wedge’s voice as he gazed at Tycho’s face. “Soon we’ll be back out fighting again, worrying about the rest of the squadron. I don’t have to think about any of that when I’m here with you, Tycho. I’m safe here; I want to be safe forever.”
Tycho frowned, thinking. “I don’t want to lose you. Wedge. Not to the Imperials, or disease, or…” His voice trailed off.
  Wedge tightened his hold on Tycho, and kissed him avidly. “I love you,” he said, his mouth against Tycho’s. “I need you; I couldn’t function without you. I couldn’t bear it if you were killed.” Fear clawed his stomach at that thought.
Tycho sensed his panic, and stroked Wedge’s hair soothingly. “Then let’s not think about it. I’ll fetch something to eat, and then we’ll sleep. You’ll feel better when you’re refreshed.”
Wedge nodded acceptance, but he knew he’d feel the same in the morning.

The next few days were busy for the Rogues, with raids to plan and execute and ships to repair. Tycho welcomed the work as a distraction from his concerns about Wedge. The morning after that lovemaking session, he’d wondered whether Wedge was fit to continue his duties as commander of Rogue Squadron. But the Rogues were needed here, and if Wedge relinquished command, he’d have to return to Coruscant alone. Tycho knew how badly Wedge needed him, and hated the thought of being separated from him, especially when he was so vulnerable.
  He was reassured by the calm, competent way Wedge went about his duties as Rogue Leader. His briefings were as clear as usual, his grasp of the datawork in the running of the squadron was good and his plans for the missions were as thorough as ever. When they went into combat, Wedge flew with his accustomed ability, issuing orders with a voice that betrayed nothing of his feelings. In the next three missions, they destroyed two of General Edimon’s starfighter bases, along with a squadron and a half of TIEs, and saved a pair of freighters from an ambush by the general’s ships. Myn and Inyri both garnered minor injuries in the fights, but both were back in action as soon as their X-wings were repaired. There was no doubt that the overall mission was going well.
  Off-duty, things were different. Most of Tycho’s spare time was spent on the sofa in their quarters, holding Wedge. After the evening meal was done, Wedge would nestle up against Tycho and rest his head against his chest or shoulder. He said little, but simply sought refuge in his lover’s arms. Tycho filled some of the empty air, talking quietly, telling Wedge that they’d take a long vacation together when this job was done. Wedge sighed, a sound of emptiness that almost broke Tycho’s heart. He kissed the top of Wedge’s head and held him tighter, wondering how he could take the pain away.


“Tycho !” Wes’ voice reverberated around the rocky walls of the corridor.

Tycho turned and saw both Wes and Hobbie approaching. They were in the living quarters, and he’d been on his way back to his rooms. Tycho turned to face his two friends as they caught up to him.
  “What is it ?”
Wes and Hobbie looked at one another; Tycho noticed that Wes’ face was uncommonly serious. Wes cleared his throat and spoke.
  “Um…I know it’s none of our business, but is everything all right between you and Wedge ?”
Tycho tilted his head to one side, surprised by the question. “Why do you ask ?”
Wes glanced at Hobbie, who spoke.
  “Wedge isn’t himself. You both seem stressed, but it’s Wedge…”
  “He’s lost his sense of humour,” Wes interrupted. “I can’t remember the last time I saw him smile. If he’s not focussed on some work he seems…distant.”
Tycho thought frantically, unwilling to lie to his oldest friends, but unable to tell the truth. He should have realized that Hobbie and Wes would know when something was wrong. “This is likely to be Wedge’s last mission with Rogue Squadron,” he said, finding a truth that fitted the situation. “Admiral Ackbar wants him to transfer to a fleet position, commanding a star destroyer.”
Hobbie looked doleful, while Wes’ eyes widened.
  “But Wedge is Rogue Leader !” Wes protested. “He’s better at starfighter tactics than anyone else in the galaxy.”
  “He’s a pilot,” Hobbie said simply.
Tycho shrugged. “That’s why Wedge isn’t happy. He’s a general now though, and Ackbar believes he’s got the potential to be a great capital ship commander too. You remember how well Wedge did commanding different ships and units to get Isard off Thyferra ? High Command want to see him doing more of that, especially after we lost other high-ranking officers during the Thrawn campaign.”
Wes made an exasperated sound, though Hobbie was nodding slowly, accepting the logic of Admiral Ackbar’s decision.
  “Wedge will always be happiest in a starfighter,” Wes said resolutely.
Tycho thought of Wedge’s growing belief that he would die alone in his X-wing.
  “I don’t know,” he said softly. “I don’t know.”


Isolated from the rest of the galaxy on their lonely base, living and working in close quarters, Tycho was drawn ever closer into Wedge’s illness. He sometimes woke in the night and would watch Wedge as he slept, thinking how peaceful he looked, eyes closed and body relaxed almost as if dead. When Wedge climbed out of his X-wing after a mission, Tycho saw a bleakness in his eyes, untempered by relief at surviving the mission. Only fierce, hard sex would break through the barrier, followed by sleep, wrapped in one another’s arms.
  Tycho would remain awake after Wedge had gone to sleep, holding him safely. Lying there in the dark, the idea of ecstasy followed by the peace of eternal sleep no longer seemed so wrong. No responsibilities, no worry, no more fear. Wedge would be released from everything that burdened him. The last thing he would know would be love. Tears formed in Tycho’s eyes and trickled across his face to soak into Wedge’s hair.


New Republic Intelligence had identified a TIE fighter assembly plant on one of General Edimon’s planets. The date and time of a convoy of components intended for the factory was passed on to Rogue Squadron, and Wedge planned an ambush. When they came out of hyperspace, it was clear that the General had made sure his forces were ready for trouble. A squadron of TIE’s, and another of modified Z-95 Headhunters, swarmed around the blocky freighters of the convoy, with their carrier in the far distance.
  “One, Two flights on the TIE’s. Three keep the Headhunters busy,” Wedge ordered, his voice calmly professional in Tycho’s helmet speakers.
Tycho followed Wedge as he hit his thrusters and accelerated towards the enemy. Their X-wings swooped and dived together, their battle-tested partnership enabling them to fly almost like two halves of one mind. In spite of the uneven odds, the numbers of TIE’s and Headhunters steadily fell. Wedge chased a TIE in front of Tycho’s guns, and Tycho nailed it with a single blast. As Wedge rose through the explosion, he torpedoed a surprised Imp who’d assumed the X-wings had been too busy to notice him. The battle zone gradually increased in area as the sets of fighters became engrossed in their own duels.
  Wedge led Tycho to a knot of four TIEs, who apparently followed the belief of ‘safety in numbers’. Wedge’s first laser blast was a feint; it passed to port of the eyeballs, but the two nearest to his shot ducked away from it, and closer to their squad mates. Tycho’s paired missiles hit the group dead centre. Only one exploded, though the uneven flight of its singed neighbour suggested stabilizer damage. Wedge and Tycho looped away from one another, drawing the remaining eyeballs apart. With the group of four split up, the TIE pilots seemed less confident.
  Reversing thrust and rolling back, Tycho made a pursuing TIE overshoot him. It jinked abruptly upwards as soon as it found itself in front, but Tycho was already bringing the nose of his fighter up. A single quad-linked blast illuminated the ball cockpit for a moment before it exploded. With that eyeball scratched, Tycho rolled to see what Wedge was doing. One TIE was diving at him from above, while the damaged TIE was trying to get at him from below. Wedge jinked hard starboard, almost getting the higher TIE to shoot the other. The damaged one tried to roll and whipped into an erratic spin, that almost made Tycho feel sorry for the pilot inside.
  Wedge wrenched his X-wing around in a flat turn that pushed both ship and pilot to their physical limits. The diving TIE tried to pull up into a climb, in order to avoid passing in front of his cannons. The three ships were so close they showed almost as one signal on Tycho’s sensor board. The spinning TIE clipped the other, and both erupted in a brilliant explosion. The blast reached out to Wedge’s X-wing, snapping the slender fuselage.

Chapter Text

“Wedge ! Eject !” yelled Tycho, his heart standing still as secondary explosions tore through the shattered craft. He held his breath, trying to pick out the ejection seat from the mass of debris and fire that expanded outwards. After a moment, Tycho thought to look at his sensors.
  “Zap, can you get a signal from Wedge’s ejection seat ?”
When his astromech’s message flashed up on the small screen, Tycho finally let out a long breath.
  “Thank the Force,” he murmured, before changing frequencies on his comm unit. “Forbidden: Rogue Lead is EV, possibly injured.”
  “I’ve got his signal,” Nawara replied, from the support shuttle that had been keeping away from the action. “I’m on my way.”
  “Thanks.”
  Try as he might, Tycho still couldn’t get a visual on Wedge. Without the subspace radio of Wedge’s destroyed X-wing to relay comms to Wedge’s helmet, there was no way for Tycho to communicate with him. He had to blindly hope that Wedge had ejected in time; that he wasn’t hurt. The light magcon field, that kept a layer of oxygen around a pilot in his ejector seat, provided no protection against the absolute zero of deep space. Ten minutes from now, Wedge would be unconscious from hypothermia; in another five, he would be dead.
  “Zap, can you give me an estimate of how long it will take Forbidden to reach Wedge ?” How long would Wedge have to wait, trapped alone in his seat, aware of his body gradually freezing ? Tycho longed desperately to speak to him, to reassure and comfort him. This was the fate Wedge had foreseen for himself and dreaded: a lonely, silent death.
   “Two: break port !”
  Tycho acted without conscious thought, only realizing that it was Inyri who had given the warning after he had rolled his X-wing sideways. Green laserlight slashed past his canopy window, bringing an electronic squeal from Zap. Tycho’s heart was racing as he brought the X-wing round, studying his sensor boards to see how the battle had developed since Wedge had gone EV.
  “Thanks, Twelve,” he said.
  Battle-honed instincts took over as Tycho began assessing the situation. His conscience belatedly reminded him that with Wedge out of the fight, he was now in command, and to do anything less than his best for the squadron would be a betrayal of Wedge’s faith in him.
  “For you, Wedge,” he whispered, turning his X-wing back to the fight.

Back in the hangar, Tycho shut down his X-wing’s systems as fast as possible, and scrambled out of his cockpit. He wrenched his helmet off as he sprinted towards the Forbidden, which had landed a couple of minutes earlier. Relief flooded him as he saw Wedge making his way awkwardly down the ramp, a thermal blanket about his shoulders. Tycho threw his arms around him and held him tightly.
  “You’re all right !” he said, somewhere between an exclamation and a question.
  “Cold and stiff,” Wedge answered quietly. “No lasting damage.”
  Tycho abandoned military etiquette and kissed him there and then. In spite of the ten minute jump back from the battle, Wedge’s lips and skin were still cool to the touch. His skin was pale, exaggerating the darkness of his eyes. Before Tycho could say anything else, cheery voices broke into their privacy.
  “Wedge ! You lost your fighter; you buy the drinks.”
  “I said we were due for someone to get blown out of their ship.”
Wes, Hobbie and the other Rogues had gathered round, anxious to see for themselves how their leader was. Wedge managed to summon a weak smile for them.
  “I’ll be…fine,” he said. “Gh’zal told me to drink hot fluids and rest. I’m under medical orders to take tomorrow off.”
Corran snorted. “There has to be a less drastic way of getting a day off.”
  “Yes, but Wedge chose a Corellian way,” Wes said, earning himself glares from Corran and Myn.
  “Don’t you lot have work to do ?” Tycho growled, his arm protectively around Wedge's shoulders.
With further expressions of relief at Wedge’s survival, the Rogues moved away, only Wes and Hobbie lingering behind. Hobbie looked at Wedge, then at Tycho.
  “I can get on with the debriefings and rough out a mission report,” he offered.
Wedge didn’t seem to hear at first, then he focussed on his old friend. “Yes. Thank you, Hobbie.” He looked acutely at Wes too. “Thank you, both of you. I couldn’t have asked for better friends.” His attention drifted inwards again as he stood quietly at Tycho’s side.
  “We’ll see you in the morning,” Wes said bracingly. “You’ll be ready to fly again by then.”
  “Sure.” Tycho answered for Wedge. He nodded to the others, then turned Wedge and carefully guided him away.
Back in their quarters, Tycho told Wedge to take a hot shower, while he brewed up some caf. Wedge did as Tycho told him, eventually emerging from the bathroom in his robe, his hair still rumpled and damp.
  “You need to dry off thoroughly,” Tycho told him, fetching a hand towel from the kitchenette. “You’ve got to keep warm.”
  As Wedge sat on the couch, Tycho stood behind him and rubbed his hair dry. That done to his satisfaction, he handed Wedge his caf and settled down next to him. Wedge sipped his drink, not looking at Tycho, but looking across the room without seeing it. Tycho didn’t press him to speak, but waited for the words to come. He watched and waited, his heart aching at the lost look in Wedge’s eyes.
  “It was worse than I thought,” Wedge said softly. “I hit the eject automatically, then I wished I hadn’t. If I’d died with my ship, it would have been quick. No time to say goodbye, but no time for fear and regret. Instead, I was out there on my own, knowing you were somewhere near, but I couldn’t talk to you.” He paused and sighed.
  “I was helpless, strapped into that little couch in open space. I couldn’t communicate with anyone, couldn’t hear your voice. Sith, Tycho, it was cold ! I couldn’t stop shivering at first, then I started to go numb. I was trying to think of you, imagining that we were in bed, and you were holding me, but I was too cold to think straight. I wanted so much to be with you. Then I started getting sleepy, and I knew I was about to lose consciousness and die out there, all alone.” He moaned, a sound of pain and despair.
  Tycho wrapped his arms around him, pulling Wedge tight against his chest. “You didn’t die out there. You won’t die alone !”
Wedge tilted his head back to look into Tycho’s eyes. “Promise me that ! Promise you’ll be with me.”
Tycho held his breath for a moment, considering what he was about to commit himself to. “I promise.”
  Wedge put his hand behind Tycho’s neck and drew him down for a hungry kiss. Tycho buried himself in the sensations of Wedge’s lips and tongue, tasting him as though for the first time. Wedge was softly caressing the back of his neck, sending shivers down his spine. Wedge slowly broke off the kiss.
  “Tonight,” he whispered. “Make love to me, Tycho, then let me sleep forever. I want to feel utterly surrounded by your love and never wake up from it.”
  Tycho moaned low in his throat, but he couldn’t refuse the desperate appeal in Wedge’s eyes. He shifted his grip, holding the back of Wedge’s neck to steady his head for another kiss. Wedge put his hand over Tycho’s and moved it so it was gripping his throat. He tightened his grip, tightening Tycho’s hold on his neck. Tycho looked into Wedge’s eyes and saw no doubts.
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you, and I surrender to you,” Wedge answered.
  Tycho picked Wedge up and carried him into the bedroom, handling him as carefully as if he were a newborn child. Tenderly, he stripped off the robe and fastened Wedge into the restraints. Wedge’s breathing had speeded up, but he showed no fear as Tycho took away his freedom to move or struggle. Tycho’s body was aching with a mixture of sexual excitement and fear. Wedge was so beautiful, displayed there on the bed, and so vulnerable. His body throbbed with life that Tycho had agreed to end. His eyes were brighter, more eager than Tycho had seen in weeks.
  Slowly, Tycho stripped off his own clothes, and climbed onto the bed. His first, light, kiss, was met eagerly by Wedge’s hot mouth. Tycho nuzzled Wedge’s neck, inhaling the familiar musk of his skin as he expertly worked the spots that drew moans of pleasure. Tycho’s doubts faded as he applied himself to the task of building Wedge’s pleasure. Taking his time, he kissed Wedge from fingertips to toes, bathing him in sensual stimulation. He poured his love into every touch and kiss, expressing more than he could say with words.
Wedge groaned, hardly able to bear the sensations any longer. “Ohhhh, Tycho; I love you.”
Tycho saw the expectation in Wedge’s eyes.
  “I’m ready,” Wedge said.
  Tycho applied lube and entered Wedge’s body. Wedge gave a great moan of satisfaction as Tycho filled him and lay on top of him. Tycho kissed him, seeking the intimacy of his mouth. With his mouth still locked on Wedge’s, he slowly began thrusting. As Wedge’s body rocked beneath his, Tycho put his hand on Wedge’s throat and gripped it. He closed his eyes and his mind, giving himself over to the feel of Wedge’s body against his, and the growing delirium of approaching orgasm. Pure, animal need began to take over. He was gasping for breath as his thrusts became faster and he tightened his grip on Wedge’s throat without realizing what he was doing.
  He felt Wedge’s body jerking, felt the tension within it. Wanting a kiss, he turned his face towards Wedge’s and opened his eyes. Wedge’s lips were bluish, his tongue swollen and his face was red with congested blood. Tycho automatically released his grip, just as Wedge’s body bucked in a tremendous orgasm. He gave a harsh, strangled cry, his chest heaving as his body sucked in oxygen. Moments later, Tycho was swept away too, crying out in ecstasy and anguish.
  When the orgasm passed, he buried his head on Wedge’s shoulder. Wedge moaned in despair, unable to slow or stop his frantic gasping as his body gulped in life-giving air. When Wedge’s breathing had finally slowed to a normal rhythm, Tycho raised his head and looked at him. He was relieved to see that Wedge’s face had returned to a more normal colour, but his reproachful eyes shone with tears.
  “Why did you let go ?” Wedge asked, his voice hoarse.
Tycho withdrew himself from Wedge’s body and released the restraints. Settling down again, he stroked Wedge’s face.
  “I couldn’t stand the way you looked; your face was…distorted. I couldn’t bear it.”
  Wedge swallowed, the movement uncomfortable. “Oh, Tycho. It was just as I imagined it would be. You were in me and on me; there was nothing else but you. I felt so totally and utterly loved. And I was starting to lose consciousness and it felt so good, knowing I’d never have to wake up again.” He paused to wipe the back of his hand across his eyes, leaving his lashes spiky with tears. “I can’t cope any more, Tycho. Ackbar wants me to command a star destroyer and a task force. 50,000 people all depending on me; all those lives and deaths on my conscience. I can’t do it. And even if I left the military, there’s already been too many deaths. Too many of my friends have died alone, no chance to say goodbye or kiss their loved ones. I want peace, Tycho. I just want to fall asleep in your arms and never wake up. Help me, Tycho,” he pleaded.
  Tycho folded his arms around Wedge, unwilling to let go. “I want a little longer with you. Another day.”
Wedge kissed him softly. “Tomorrow night. Promise me you’ll do it tomorrow night.”
Tycho nodded. “Tomorrow.”

The next morning, Tycho was woken by delicate kisses along his spine. He sighed softly and stretched as Wedge’s hand slid along his flank, warm and loving.
  “I love you,” Wedge whispered, his breath stirring the hair by Tycho’s ear.
  Tycho closed his mind to everything but the tender touch of his lover as Wedge kissed and caressed him. He relished the sensations, feeling himself to be as loved as Wedge had felt the night before. Time faded into nothingness as he lost himself in the pleasure that Wedge was giving him. At last Wedge entered him, nestling from behind with his arms around Tycho. The hold was reassuring and intimate and Tycho began to feel that he too, wanted nothing more than to slide into oblivion, with this bliss as his last conscious experience.


Only Tycho left their quarters that day. Wedge stayed put, unwilling to leave his refuge against the reality that had overwhelmed him. Tycho met with Hobbie and Wes, listening to their reports, but not really hearing them. He rejected a suggestion that they should come by later and visit Wedge, saying Wedge didn’t want to be disturbed. He didn’t notice the puzzled looks of his old friends, as he went through the motions of attending to business. He told Hobbie to keep running things a little longer, then dismissed them. After picking up some food from the canteen, Tycho returned to quarters.
  They spent the rest of the day together on the battered couch, saying very little with words. Hugs, caresses, kisses and eyes said more. Tycho held Wedge against himself, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. He slipped his hand beneath Wedge’s shirt and pressed it against his chest, feeling his heart beating strongly within. Tycho treasured those sensations, storing them in his memory for when Wedge was no longer alive and in his arms. Every touch, every look into Wedge’s eyes, was the more precious for knowing they would soon be gone. These were the last hours of Wedge’s life and Tycho clung to every moment of them.

Too soon, it seemed, Wedge kissed Tycho hard and then looked at him with expectation in his eyes. Tycho cupped Wedge’s face in his hands and kissed him deeply in return.
  “I’m ready,” he said.
  “So am I,” Wedge answered steadily.
  Once more Tycho carried him into the bedroom, stripped him and fastened him to the bed. Wedge had earlier placed a vibroblade on the bedside unit. Removing his own clothes, Tycho picked the blade up and thumbed the switch. He looked at Wedge, who had willingly let himself be restrained so he couldn’t fight or struggle. Wedge was looking at the softly humming blade, his face full of anticipation. Tycho climbed onto the bed and knelt astride Wedge’s torso. He switched the blade off, and lowered it until the tip rested against the lower ribs on Wedge’s left side. A quick thrust would bury the blade to its hilt in Wedge’s chest. The blade would slice open his heart and maybe one or more of the major blood vessels, like the aorta. With the increased pulse rate of sexual excitement, blood would pour from the gash in his heart at terrifying speed. It would be over swiftly.
  “Yes, there,” Wedge said. “Put the blade into me there.”
  Tycho bent forward and kissed him. Wedge’s response was hot and hungry and Tycho allowed himself to be swept into his urgency. Wedge’s pupils were dilated with excitement and his body was already tense with need.
  “I want to see blood,” he said fiercely. “I want to see you draw blood.”
Tycho obeyed, using the tip of the blade to slice a shallow cut from Wedge’s chest down to his belly. Bright blood showed in a thin line, slowly seeping across the skin. Wedge sighed with satisfaction.
  “Fuck me hard, Tycho; I need to feel you inside me.”
  Tycho couldn’t bring himself to hurry. He kissed Wedge’s face, kissing his eyelids tenderly, and brushing his lips across Wedge’s skin. He moved his attentions across Wedge’s trembling body. Each caress was a farewell; every inch of skin he could reach was saluted with his lips. The bruises on Wedge’s throat were brushed with loving softness. Finally, Tycho kissed the bloody line he’d drawn with the vibroblade as silent apology for marring his lover’s perfection.
  “Tycho.”
Wedge’s mouth was open, seeking his touch. As Tycho closed his mouth over Wedge’s, he felt Wedge’s tongue on his lips, tasting the blood. The kissing was rich and sensuous. Tycho’s body ached with the need to enter Wedge and reach climax but his heart wanted to delay that final act. When he finally broke the kiss, he looked into Wedge’s eyes and knew it was time.
  As he applied the lube, Wedge, fastened helplessly like a sacrificial victim, said.
  “I love you.”
Tycho moaned softly, then buried himself in Wedge’s warm body. He pressed himself against Wedge’s torso, maximizing the contact between them. Wedge’s face was radiant as his body twitched in response to Tycho’s hard presence within it. Now Tycho had committed to the last act, he didn’t want to delay any longer. He began thrusting hard and deep, pushing Wedge towards his climax. Wedge’s body trembled, straining against his bonds as his gasping cries grew louder.
  Tycho shifted his weight slightly to one side, picking up the vibroblade and positioned the tip against Wedge’s ribs. Wedge gasped urgently at the touch, a sound that might have been ‘yes’. Then his body arched upwards in orgasm, and Tycho pushed the blade in. It sank in effortlessly, and Tycho gave it a quick side-to-side wriggle, scything the deadly blade around inside Wedge’s chest.
  “I love you,” he gasped.
Wedge shuddered with the throes of orgasm, crying out with ecstasy, not pain. Tycho let go of the blade and clung onto Wedge, urgently seeking his own climax. He thrust harder and deeper into Wedge’s body as it began to relax.
  “Don’t go; don’t go !” Tycho whispered, wanting Wedge to feel the last climax he would ever have in his body.
  Wedge opened his eyes and turned his head slightly, his mouth moving into a weak smile for his lover. Tycho moaned and came hard, rocking Wedge’s limp body as he spent himself. When Tycho could see and think again, Wedge’s eyes were closed, his expression peaceful. Tycho could feel faint and erratic breathing in the body beneath his, but when he kissed Wedge, there was no answering response in his lips. He clung to Wedge until the breathing faded away and there was no heartbeat to be heard when he pressed his ear to Wedge’s chest. Tycho gazed at Wedge’s tranquil face, and gently kissed him on the cheek.
  “Goodnight,” he whispered.

There was some comment about Wedge and Tycho’s absence from breakfast the next morning.
  “Ooryl was understanding that the general was back on duty today ?” Ooryl turned his compound eyes towards Hobbie.
  “Maybe he and Tycho decided to breakfast in their quarters,” Hobbie answered casually.
  “Even Wedge’s cooking has to be better than this glop,” Wes said, lifting up a spoonful of yellow paste and letting it drop back into the bowl.
   “I expect they ate the glop last night, and are in bed with stomach ache now,” Hobbie suggested mournfully.
Wes glared balefully at him as the others laughed.

In spite of their casual words, both Hobbie and Wes were concerned about Wedge and Tycho’s non-appearance. After breakfast, they went to Wedge’s office, where they had been working, and waited for him. After half an hour, there was no sign of either of Rogue Squadron’s two senior officers. Wes was pacing up and down in the small room, working off nervous energy in the turns of a Taanabian dance. Hobbie was sitting down, drumming his fingers on the desk.
  “Have you checked your messages ?” Wes asked.
Hobbie glowered. “Twice. The last time was two minutes ago. And stop that kriffing twirling.”
“Stop drumming your fingers !” Wes snapped back. He paused and sighed. “Sorry.”
Hobbie fished out his comlink. “Maybe they’ve just overslept.”
From his expression, Wes didn’t believe the excuse either.
  Hobbie called both Wedge and Tycho’s comlinks, without getting an answer from either. He switched his own off and looked at Wes, who nodded. Together, they left the office and headed for Wedge’s quarters.
Wes hammered on the door, while Hobbie fidgeted beside him. Neither man could say exactly what they thought might be wrong, but both were uneasy. Wes hammered again, and heard a voice from within. The door slid open and Wes felt a moment’s relief at seeing Tycho standing within. Then the details sunk in. Tycho was wearing his robe, loosely belted. There were dried, rusty-brown smears on his exposed chest and traces of the same stuff around his mouth. His fair hair was dishevelled and he blinked as though he’d just woken.
  “Tycho ?” Wes said tentatively. “Uh…can we come in ?”
Tycho looked blankly at them for a moment, then responded. “Of course.” He moved over to the double seat as Wes and Hobbie entered.
  “Where’s Wedge ?” Hobbie asked.
Tycho smiled. “He’s sleeping.” He sat down, looking at his visitors with mild curiosity.
Hobbie and Wes exchanged worried glances. Wes headed towards the bedroom as Hobbie sat down beside Tycho.
  “Would you like caf ?” Tycho asked. “We haven’t had breakfast yet.”
  “No thanks.”
Tycho seemed relaxed, more so than when Hobbie had last seen him, but Hobbie wasn’t reassured. Already nervous, he jumped and bit his tongue at Wes’ cry of horror. Leaping to his feet, he hurried to the bedroom as Wes came out, his face pale. Wes propped himself against the doorframe, staring at him with eyes wide with shock. Hobbie took a deep breath and walked into the bedroom.
  Wedge lay in the centre of the bed, arms and legs spread-eagled and held by restraints. Dried blood was smeared across his chest and belly, and around his mouth. As Hobbie stared, he saw the vibroblade handle protruding from between Wedge’s ribs, and the blood that had seeped from the wound and pooled beneath him. The blood had long since dried, but Hobbie’s first instinct was still to check for signs of life. As soon as his fingers touched Wedge’s cold skin, he knew there was no hope. He bowed his head and stood still for a minute, fighting down the need to scream in anger and disbelief.
  “Tycho said he was sleeping,” Wes said hoarsely.
Hobbie opened his eyes and blinked, trying to look at the ghastly scene objectively. There was a dent in the pillow beside Wedge’s head, and when he touched it, the cloth was still warm.
  “Tycho slept here all night.” He swallowed, tasting acidic bile. “After he killed him.” Hobbie looked down at Wedge’s calm, expressionless face, and had to turn away. He looked helplessly at Wes, who was shaking his head in denial.
  From the living room came the smell of fresh caf.

A forensics team and a psych-med left Coruscant for the Dubrillion system within an hour of receiving Hobbie’s holomessage. Rogue Squadron returned to Coruscant with them, pilots and support staff alike barely able to believe what had happened. Tycho, still in his dream-world, was committed to a specialist hospital.
  It seemed no easier, two days later, as Hobbie and Wes sat down to talk to Dr Kayta, the psychological specialist assigned to the case. The room was intended to be informal, with comfortable chairs, potted plants, low tables and holoscreens on the walls showing serene landscapes. For all that, both pilots expressed tension in their postures.
  “Will Tycho be tried for murdering Wedge ?” asked Wes, whose face seemed to have aged with unaccustomed grief.
Kayta shook his head. “At the moment, Colonel Celchu is not mentally fit to stand trial. If there is a trial, there can be no doubt that his mind was disturbed at the time of General Antilles’ death, so he would not be tried for murder.”
  “I still can’t believe Tycho would do something like that. I thought something was up with Wedge, but Tycho seemed perfectly okay, up until the day it happened,” Hobbie said.
  “He loved Wedge; why should he kill him ?” Wes asked plaintively.
  “I think that the answer is that he loved General Antilles too much,” Dr Kayta said. “There is a rare condition known as Shared Psychotic Disorder. Presentation varies, but most usually, one individual develops a psychosis or delusion, which is transmitted to someone they are in very close contact with: a lover, sibling, child or parent. When the second person is removed from the influence of the first, their disorder usually resolves itself.
  In this case, General Antilles seems to have been suffering from clinical depression, following the events at Distna. He developed a belief that he would be killed in his X-wing, that he would die alone. His only source of comfort was his relationship with Colonel Celchu and he became fixated on the idea that the only way to avoid dying alone in space, was to die in his lover’s embrace. Over time, he passed that fixation to Colonel Celchu, who came to believe that helping him achieve that goal was the right thing to do.”
Dr Kayta finished his explanation and looked sympathetically at the two pilots.
  “You’re sure Wedge really wanted to die ?” Wes asked softly.
  “His judgement was affected by his mental condition, but yes, I know it’s what he wanted.” The doctor picked up a remote and aimed it at a holo-unit built into a small table. “His thinking was clear enough that he understood that Colonel Celchu might be blamed for his death. The forensics team found mini holocameras that he had set up in the bedroom of his quarters.”
  Dr Kayta touched a button and a close-up of Wedge’s face appeared above the table. Wedge cleared his throat and started speaking.
  “I’m planting these cams to protect Tycho; he doesn’t know they’re here.”
Wedge was gazing straight into the lens, his eyes solemn. “I’ve had enough; I can’t cope any more. I just want to sleep forever. And I don’t want to die alone. I want to be with Tycho, feeling him hold me, feeling loved and secure. I can’t cope with any more responsibility, so I want Tycho to do it. I just want to slip away as he’s making love to me. These cams will film what happens in this bedroom, so you can see everything that happens. You’ll see that it isn’t murder; that I’m consenting to whatever happens. Please don’t be hard on Tycho; he’s only going to do what I want.”
  Dr Kayta paused the recording, leaving the image of Wedge’s face frozen in the air. “General Antilles’ recordings of what happened in the bedroom between himself and Colonel Celchu helped us considerably in our analysis. It may be some comfort to know that he did achieve the kind of death he sought. I don’t think he felt any pain or fear in his last moments.”
 Hobbie sighed softly.
  “What will happen to Tycho now ?” Wes asked. “You said that Wedge was influencing him, but when the second person is removed from the influence, their disorder usually resolves.”
 Dr Kayta nodded. “I believe that Colonel Celchu will soon begin to recover from his delusion and understand the reality of his actions.”
  “It’ll eat him up,” Hobbie said miserably.
  “Colonel Celchu will remain in psychiatric care for as long as he needs support in coping with what has happened,” Dr Kayta reassured them.
  Wes leaned forward. “Is there any way we can help ?”
  “Can you forgive him for killing your friend ?”
Hobbie nodded slowly. “Yes, Tycho didn’t know what he was doing.”
  Wes hesitated, and when he spoke his voice was harsh. “I’m angry with Tycho for killing Wedge. I’m angry at myself for not seeing what was happening, and I’m angry at Wedge for doing this to us; for not asking us, his friends, for help.” He paused again, and swallowed. “But I can’t blame Tycho. Wedge was ill: he wanted Tycho to kill him. Tycho’s a victim too.”
  “That’s good,” Dr Kayta said. “If you can forgive Colonel Celchu, that will help him to forgive himself.” He looked seriously at the two pilots. “All members of Rogue Squadron have been ordered to attend counselling sessions. You’ll find details in your message boxes. We’re here to help you as well.”
  Wes gazed at the image of Wedge still displayed above the holoprojector. He saw the face of a man who had desperately needed help, at his breaking point and only able to see one way of escaping his problems. Blinking away tears, Wes whispered:
  “Rest in peace, Wedge.”