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No Further Anguish

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2-1B keeps insisting on looking over Luke, but Luke won't hear of it until he's seen Wedge accounted for and eased into a bacta tank.

The brown-haired man is barely conscious, still absent-minded from pain and lack of oxygen, though he manages a sluggish smile and a slurred thanks before the the medical droid injects the drugs that will keep him unconscious during his immersion.

“Now, Commander Skywalker-” the droid says once Wedge is squared away.

“One more thing,” Luke insists as he pulls out his comlink. “If I could have some privacy?”

The droid makes a huffy sound. “I will return in five minutes,” he says in a tone the brooks no argument, then he moves to check on another patient.

Luke activates his comlink and waits for the other end to pick up, smiling when he hears the familiar voice say, “Hello?”

“Hey, Tycho, it's Luke. I need you not to panic, but our boyfriend did something brave and self-sacrificing.”

“That sounds like Wedge,” Tycho answers cautiously. “Is he okay?”

“He will be. Come down to medical; I'll explain everything.”

Luke can feel Tycho approaching long before he arrives, radiating anxiety despite their short conversation. When he enters the medbay, he's out of breath, no doubt having run the entire way. His sharp gaze quickly takes in Wedge in the bacta tank, then shifts to Luke. He folds his arms.

“What happened?”

Luke explains as concisely as he can: how Wedge had been on patrol when he accidentally activated the incoming drone's self-destruct. The way he had leapt from his X-wing without hesitation to insert his hand between the crushing crystals and kept them from touching and activating an explosion that would have damaged or destroyed the fleet.

Tycho frowns, taking a step closer to the tank and looking at Wedge's bobbing body more closely. His fingers gloss the glass above Wedge's heavily bandaged hand.

“The prognosis?” he asks quietly.

“Good,” Luke answers. He steps up beside Tycho, letting himself realize perhaps for the first time how close they came to losing Wedge today. How close his luck had come to running out even after the greatest victory they've known. It's a sobering thought. “2-1B was able to save all his fingers, and the exposure was minor. He'll be back on his feet by tomorrow.”

Tycho lets out a breath, and his pensive face eases into a smile as he turns to look at Luke. “I guess I won't give him too much guff when he comes out of it, then. He saved us all – again – and didn't even do permanent damage to himself.”

“Right. No use dwelling on might have happened,” Luke says aloud, needing reassurance.

“No,” Tycho says decidedly, pushing that concern, that fear, away. None of them was lost today; they can keep celebrating. No use for dark thoughts. “He had you to watch out for him, after all.”

“Yeah, well...” Luke rakes a hand through his hair, embarrassed by even the inferred praise, but he knows Tycho is right. Things might have been so much different if he hadn't been the one to go after Wedge. What could someone without his Force powers have done in that situation?

“Anyway,” Tycho plows ahead, “I can see 2-1B giving you dirty looks from over there. Are you okay?”

Luke winces, giving the droid a weak glare of his own. His five minutes are probably more than up by now. “I'm fine. A little tired and sore, but fine.”

Tycho pins him with a look, gentle concern radiating from his presence in the Force. “What you told us about what you went through yesterday...that can't have been good for you.”

“No,” Luke admits. “I definitely feel it.” And he hasn't shown his partners the scars yet. They'd all been too tired and sore for more than kisses after the victory celebration last night, but it won't be long until they've discovered the marks, and he can about imagine their responses.

“You're supposed to be the responsible one among us,” Tycho admonishes gently. “Let the nice medical droid look you over. For me, if nothing else.”

Luke manages a smile. “All right. Twist my arm.”

Probably having overheard the end of the conversation, 2-1B waddles back over and gestures him to a gurney as he brandishes a handheld scanner.

Luke sits, and then Tycho is beside him, taking his hand. “I'm not going anywhere,” Tycho says, and Luke feels a little of that residual fear there that Luke might not be okay, that frustration that his lovers are hurt and Tycho can't do anything to help.

Luke twines their fingers together and rests his head on Tycho's shoulder, letting his exhaustion seep out for a moment. “Me either,” he murmurs as 2-1B runs the softly-beeping scanner over him. “I promise.”