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“…And we’ll need to go that way otherwise…”
Returning from the bathroom, Wedge finds Biggs in the same position: staring into his drink and mumbling to himself. Except Biggs doesn’t notice Wedge sitting down beside him, his body language tenser than before, and worry twists in Wedge’s stomach.
“Hey, Biggs?” he whispers.
“…and I gotta triple-check Barret knows—”
When Wedge touches his shoulder, Biggs flinches, jumping like Wedge shoved ice down his back. His head swivels, meeting Wedge’s concerned gaze—and genuine fear shines in his eyes.
Biggs swallows. “Y-Yeah?”
“You’re worrying again.”
“I was?” Biggs sighs. “I don’t mean to. I’m just… just trying to go over our mission plan, but then I start, start doubting and wondering how it could go wrong and who might get hurt and then it’d be my fault if anything happened and… I-I…” His words tumble past his lips, the usually chill Biggs stammering, and his hand trembling around his glass. Biggs’ voice cracks on his final word, and he hunches forwards, dragging in a suddenly labored breath.
Wedge knows this sight well, uncomfortably used to a worried Biggs spiraling into a full-blown panic attack, trembling as his breaths come in shallow, jagged gasps. But at least being an expert in Biggs’ panicky episodes means he knows how to help.
Instantly, Wedge’s arm snakes around his back, giving Biggs a side-hug and rubbing a hand up and down his boyfriend’s arm. Although seeing Biggs like this makes him want to cry, Wedge forces himself to stay calm; Biggs needs him right now.
“Biggs, buddy, it’s okay,” he says, his free hand slipping between them and resting against Biggs’ chest. Eyes never leaving Biggs’ face, Wedge rubs gentle circles against his chest, just the way Biggs likes it. “Just breath for me, okay? We’re all safe—we’re at Seventh Heaven, remember?”
“Babysitting… right?” Biggs mumbles, smiling weakly at Wedge. He must recognize Wedge’s attempt at distracting Biggs from his nerves.
“Yep. The mission’s not for days and we’ve got plenty of time to sort stuff out. You don’t need to worry right now.”
“I know,” Biggs says. “But tell my br-brain.”
Wedge sighs, pulling him closer.
Biggs feels much better by the time Jessie returns from the back room, sighing as she says, “Jeez, I thought she’d never go to sleep. Why’d you jerks never come after me? You know Marlene likes Wedge’s stories best.” When she notices Biggs, still too tense and leaning against Wedge, Jessie’s frustration fades. “Oh.”
“I’m okay now,” Biggs says, not wanting a big fuss, but Jessie is already beside him, tugging him into a tight hug. “Whoa!”
“Sorry we left the bedtime stories all to you,” Wedge says, glancing at his girlfriend over Biggs’ bowed head.
“Don’t worry about it,” Jessie says, winking. “You really feeling better?” she asks Biggs.
He smiles, not meeting her eyes, grateful she didn’t ask about why he panicked. “Yeah, promise.” Heat rising to his thankfully obscured cheeks, Biggs adds, “Thanks, you guys.”