forflight-archive:

☠  five times my muse thought about hitting yours, and the one time they did

FIVE TIMES:

i. One time they were at a cantina and Wedge made the mistake of trying to set Zella up with someone. She very nearly channeled Ben Kenobi and cut the man’s hands off, but she managed to restrain herself. She would have slapped Wedge over the head if she hadn’t been shitfaced.

ii. (Zella lost a bet. Once.) “I’m pilot right-all-the-time, and this is my friend, pilot horrible pilot.”

iii. “Yellow is a stupid color.”

iv. “I cannot believe that you had the audacity to insult these cookies, they’re a recipe from my home planet—” “THEY TASTE LIKE SHIT, ANTILLES.”

v. Zella was more concerned than she’d like to admit about Wedge during the attack on the second Death Star. She had her own problems, flying cleanup over Endor, but the incessant radio chat announcing deaths and hits made her blood run cold. When she finally found Wedge on Endor, he said something snarky and not at all reverent of the moment, and instead of hitting him, she hugged him a little too tightly and patted him a little too hard on the back.

AND THE ONE TIME:

“Hey, Braxion, I bet you can’t do six barrel rolls in a row—”

Fifteen minutes later, after she’s landed and finished throwing up, she marches straight over to where he’s gotten out of his fighter and is laughing his ass off, and punches him right in the face.

☆ ━━━  five one almost, one actuality
                                       selectively accepting

the first time wedge antilles meets poe dameron, he recognizes him immediately. he’s got kes’ strong chin, bound to be raised in defiance in the years to come. the eyes, though; those steady eyes were shara’s mark. sharp, determined, level, as a pilot should be.

and it was the eyes that awoke a pang in his chest. though shara hadn’t been lost in action, wedge still felt an obligation to pay his condolences to her family.

❝ I’m sorry about your mother. ❞

silence sits between them and for a moment, he wonders if the boy’s grown tired of repeated sentiments from different voices. his head dips against his chest in a solemn bow before he steps past the boy to join his father.

later, when he’s left standing alone before shara’s a-wing, nostalgia infects his thoughts as he recalls the memories of flying with her. the boy joins him but he doesn’t say a word. from the corner of his eye, he keeps checking him, waiting for any hint that he wants a moment alone. nothing.

❝ your mother was a great pilot. ❞  a beat and a smile later, he adds,  ❝ unforgettable. ❞

he turns on his heel, satisified with the few words and not wanting to intrude on whatever moment the boy was having with his mother’s ship. the only thing that stops him is the tug at the end of his sleeve. the fist he didn’t realize he’d had tightly clenched relaxes, but he makes no move to grasp the boy’s hand. instead, he meets poe’s eyes and sees the question there before he hears it.

❝ how did you know her? ❞

it’s not a question he can completely answer then and there. to speak of shara bey meant sharing the stories he had; any abridgment would not do her justice.

in the years that follow, poe dameron’s eyes never fail to light up when wedge tells him of his mother’s piloting exploits. ( and maybe some part of him thinks he can keep that light alive by telling the stories. )

━━━━━━━╼ ★

reckless, he’s told him before. reckless and stupid and ━ it’s not true, though. it wasn’t carelessness that drove poe, but dedication. wedge couldn’t think of anyone who had a better record of mission completions nor the same record of ( very frequent ) med bay assessments.

❝ he’ll be fine. he always recovers fast, ❞  the doctor tells him but as he stands over the young pilot’s sleeping form, he starts to doubt that. fighters are stronger in the places that they’ve been broken, but they never truly heal. and there’s no such thing as rest for a pilot, not when the sky waits for them. poe dameron is one part fighter and one part pilot. ( draw your conclusions there. )

he’s already outlived one dameron pilot, told her stories. damned if he outlived another one. ( poe’s stories are his to tell. )

eyes slowly open and wedge’s gaze snaps to them. he doesn’t greet him with a smile ━ even a mirthless one would feel like a lie. relief washes over him, but there’s concern too. he’s not in the clear yet.  ❝ you look like ━ ❞

❝ hell? ❞

that, at least, gets a scoff out of him.  ❝ no. you look like you gave them hell. ❞

as if the words mean he’s garnered a reward, poe leans back and rests his eyes for a moment. he releases a slow sigh and wedge wonders if this is where he mentally prepares himself before he forces himself back into the action.

❝ hey, ❞  he presses a fist against the pilot’s arm in a gentle nudge.  ❝ you did good, lad. get some rest, all right? ❞

❝ is that a command, sir? ❞

a dry chuckle escapes wedge’s lips. ❝ no, pilot, not unless it needs to be. ❞

already, he can see poe fading into sleep. his hand slips into poe’s, grasping it in reassurance while he speaks. ❝ we’ve got it from here. ❞