rogueskeptic: (emo pilot)
After everything back on Terra, Hobbie would have been just as happy to never set eyes on the thrice-damned planet ever again. He wasn't quite ready to retire, but he also couldn't quite imagine returning to training squadrons any time soon. It was Wedge who'd suggested a long vacation, most of which Hobbie had spent on Ralltiir, getting to know what was left of his family once more.

He was finally back, though. As a hero of the New Republic, apparently there'd been a memorial service for Janson while he was gone. He wasn't entirely sure he regretted missing it. After all, he'd been there for the actual funeral. Everyone here who knew him seemed to be treating him with kid gloves. Those who didn't just looked at his expression and decided to tread softly.

He had to admit that his first day back could have gone better. Much better. The trainees didn't know what to make of him. Which wasn't entirely unusual, for Hobbie, but the effect seemed to have only increased.

At the moment, he couldn't much bring himself to worry overmuch about it. Maybe later.

At the moment, he was lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, willing sleep to come.

Somehow, he managed to slip from consciousness to sleep without even realizing it, which was really the way of things anyhow.

So imagine his surprise when he sits up in his bed, only to see a familiar form sprawled in the bed across from his. If he were actually awake, he'd realize that there was no second bed, being that he'd gotten a single room due to his status. The image, however, was powerfully familiar, like a reminder of home, and he accepted it without question.

rogueskeptic: (uhm...)
It should, thought Hobbie, be more difficult to procure a ship without any money. Of course, that's the nice thing about being friends with smugglers. Of course, the Terriks had always been good to the Rogues in their various incarnations. And it wasn't really procure since Booster expected his skiff back 'without a scratch' and all that jazz. And Hobbie was more than sure the wiley old smuggler (or whatever he was calling himself, these days) would expect a favor out of Hobbie in the future.

No matter. It was the only (quick and relatively easy) way for him to get transport out to Terra. He wasn't technically back on duty yet from his little vacation so he hadn't been given access to any military craft. And Hobbie was fairly certain once he was back on duty he wouldn't be given much of a chance to go jaunting off to Terra.

Unless he came up with a training exercise that involved the planet....

Hobbie filed that thought away for later. Anyway, this was his best bet since civilian craft didn't, as a rule, come out that way. He'd deal with whatever Terrik wanted whenever that came up but Hobbie trusted Booster enough not to make it a hardship. Or treasonous. That sort of thing.

And then he didn't have much time for random thoughts, since the ship was dropping out of hyperspace. He'd set it to enter realspace somewhere around the vicinity of Neptune's orbit. Close enough he could get a message in to Wes, but far enough away not to be noticed until he had his coordinates.

Leaning over the instrument panel, Hobbie keyed in the code for Wes' comlink.

"Janson, you there?"


He tried again, "Janson?"

Still nothing.

"Dammit, Wes, don't make me come all the way out here and then not answer your kriffing comms!" Hobbie rolled his eyes and waited a few minutes. It was possible Janson was in the shower. Or sleeping (what time was it where he was on Terra right now, anyway?). Or something. They probably should have coordinated this better (but then they wouldn't be them, would they?).

After about twenty minutes, Hobbie tried again. And still no answer. Which had him worried but he tried to tell himself he was just annoyed and frustrated. And then he spent a few minutes scrabbling around for wherever he kept extra numbers. Like Mia's. Wes had mentioned she was down there, right?

There really needed to be more Republic comms on that damn planet. It would make things easier.

"Mia?" He paused. "Mia, it's Hobbie. Klivian." Please answer so I can find out what the kriff is going on...
rogueskeptic: (laughing)
What does being in love feel like to you?

Almost every night they find a new bar. Almost every night they find new and inventive ways to get drunk. Some nights it's Hobbie who finds the fight, sometimes it's Wes. Some nights are spent quietly. Some with others, and sometimes they brin ghome "friends" and sometimes they don't, but one thing is always the same: they go home together.


They've flown together for so long that they can predict the other's moves before they happen. In or out of an X-wing, even. Alone, they aren't the best pilots out there, even if they're pretty damn good if Hobbie says so himself. But together? Together they're unstoppable.


Wes has come up with some new insane something or other and Hobbie rolls his eyes but doesn't protest any more than that. He'll always be there to help Wes out. With anything.


There are times in the dark of night when one or the other is beset by nightmares and old memories. Neither is ashamed to cry and the other isn't embarassed to open his arms.


Wedge looks at them both, exasperated yet secretly amused, as usual. "You are not the Solo twins. Stop that!"

It's Hobbie who grins at Wedge this time and comments cheekily, "I don't know, Wedge. There's something to be said for-"

"-finishing each other's sentences," Wes chimes in in perfect unison.


rogueskeptic: (Default)
Hobbie Klivian

April 2015



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