"Luke?" Sometimes Wedge sees the rest of the Rogues as ghosts-in-action: in the mechanic who likes to prank the rest, he sees Wes Janson. There's a blond whose dignified, cold aristocratic demeanor has Tycho Celchu written all over it. And Hobbie, well, Hobbie is all over Zion.
But Luke? No, never Luke. No one compared. Wedge didn't mean it as an insult to the rest of the Rogues, but measuring up to their illustrious leader was an impossible task. He was just too moral, too caring, too daring, too...
Wedge steps forward. His fingers shake as they reach for Luke's shoulder, afraid to touch, to hope and be wrong.
"Sithspit." Wedge bites his lower lip, keeping it from quivering. "...leave it to a kriffing Corellian to beat the odds again."
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"Luke?" Sometimes Wedge sees the rest of the Rogues as ghosts-in-action: in the mechanic who likes to prank the rest, he sees Wes Janson. There's a blond whose dignified, cold aristocratic demeanor has Tycho Celchu written all over it. And Hobbie, well, Hobbie is all over Zion.
But Luke? No, never Luke. No one compared. Wedge didn't mean it as an insult to the rest of the Rogues, but measuring up to their illustrious leader was an impossible task. He was just too moral, too caring, too daring, too...
Wedge steps forward. His fingers shake as they reach for Luke's shoulder, afraid to touch, to hope and be wrong.
"Sithspit." Wedge bites his lower lip, keeping it from quivering. "...leave it to a kriffing Corellian to beat the odds again."