Mirax crept up behind a desk and tucked an unruly strand of short black hair behind her ear before peeking around the corner to confirm the whereabouts of her target. Mere meters away, her pray lay sprawled across his bed: sleeping, snoring, and unsuspecting. Confident, the huntress checked her weapon's firing capacity and waded in for the kill. The small commando prowled across the room, maneuvering around piles of laundry and exercise equipment with the grace and ease of a jungle cat. Her husband stirred and she froze suddenly, unwilling to be discovered so early. He rolled over, now facing her, but remained asleep. His eyes darted around behind his eyelids, pacified by psychological phantoms. The rifle rose soundlessly, aimed squarely at the man’s chest; she need only pull the trigger to accomplish her task.
     She sighed and dropped her weapon in annoyance, "You’re no fun!"
     Corran Horn popped his eyes open and sat up. "Is it that obvious?"
Mirax stood from her crouch and planted a fist on her hip. "If I'm not allowed to use my contacts to help me win, you shouldn't be allowed to use the Force. It's just not fair to compete with someone who already knows the ending."
"I’m sensitive, not psychic, and this is what I do for a living. I see no reason to practice a handicap just so that Wedge gets the pleasure of shooting Janson before I do."
"Corran!" She'd been through this with him time and time again. Somewhere in the passing years, he had grown more reliant on his Jedi inheritance and less inclined to restrict himself for the sake of normality. "Wedge rarely gets enough time off to shower, let alone date. I want today to be special for him. So, stop being childish; it's bad enough that I had to deal with Janson to get this arranged."
Corran arched an eyebrow as he contemplated his wife's scheming. "You sold him out to Janson?"
"No!" She leapt to the bed beside him, her dark top climbing slightly up her midriff in the landing. "Janson's too... crude. I found someone much more suitable for Wedge and he just so happened to know an intelligence officer who could track her down for me."
"I've got a bad feeling about this."
"Hush! It'll be fun." Stealing a kiss, she got to her feet and smiled. "Get dressed, silly! We're going to be late for breakfast."

     Wedge yawned and stared out the small cafe window at the combat course it perched above. The sunlight had slowly risen above the horizon and rolled lazily along the landscape. The light stung his eyes, but the warmth was a welcome addition to the morning. He peeled off his jacket and hung it on the back of his chair before sitting down.
     "Remind me why I'm up before the sun on my day off." He blew the steam off his cup of caf before venturing an experimental sip.
     "You love the pastries," Janson explained while swiping a plastic-wrapped pastry from a basket in the middle of the table. "They're best when it's too dark out to see what flavor the fruit colored goo is supposed to be."
"Ew," Wedge grumbled as Janson tore open the packaging and crammed the lump of sugar in his mouth. "Those things can kill you."
"So can women," he managed through the mouthful, "But they're so delicious!"
Wedge shook his head and quietly contemplated the stress relief his mug had to offer. Outside the window, Corran and Mirax had arrived and were running through a warm-up routine that made his joints ache from watching. They looked warm and happy, smiling and stretching in unison. They wore matching green and black outfits, too. Wedge glanced at his hyperactive partner; Janson wore a tunic that announced: 'Rogues do it from behind.' Feeling awkward and wishing he had something to go home to, he sighed, What have I done to deserve this?
"Oo!" Janson jumped out of his seat and pointed out the window. "They're here!"

     Mirax beamed at the approaching figure of her long-time friend. "Wedge!"
     "Myra!" He smiled and hugged her, and nodded to Corran. "You dragged me out here, what's the plan?"
     "Oh! It's simple. Corran and I do this all the time. It's fun." She reached into a large duffle bag and began pulling out equipment: goggles, guns, and kneepads. "We get to dress up funny, run around the course and shoot each other. The guns aren't lethal, they just shock you a bit."
     Corran pulled a medium sized blaster out of the duffle and shot Janson, who howled in protest of the demonstration.
     "I've wanted to do that for years," Corran explained with a straight face, while Janson hopped around cursing.
After the shock wore off, the round-faced pilot stared, entranced by the game's concept. "Oo. I can't wait to get started!"
     "Interesting. We're taking blaster-burn to a new level of entertainment," Wedge commented, "I'll assume there are teams?"
     Mirax's smile coiled into a devious grin. "I'm glad you asked! There's going to be three teams: Corran and I make up one -- "
"Wait, Wes may have enough personalities to constitute a team, but I'll need a partner."
"Your partners are just arriving." She pointed to the distance where a new vehicle was pulling up, something small and government.
     A man and a woman, their faces covered by helmets, climbed out of the landspeeder and waved. The man pulled off his helmet and made his way toward the group. Wedge recognized him immediately: a former squad mate of his who had since become Wraith Lead, Garrik Loran. The man known as Face smiled slyly and exchanged loud commentary with Wes as he introduced himself to Corran, then punched Wedge in the shoulder. "I tell you, Wedge, I'm jealous. When someone plots against me it never involves a beautiful woman. Janson and Mirax can con me any day."
     Wedge arched an eyebrow at Wes and Mirax, who failed to look innocent, then turned back to see the woman. The fit figure removed her helmet and tossed it in the landspeeder, then raked her fingers through a mass of blonde hair. She turned and smiled. His heart sunk in a bizarre mix of emotions; he felt betrayed and ecstatic at the same time.
     Corran greeted his former partner with a weapon and set of equipment, "Nice to see you, Iella."
     "I'm just happy to be away from work for a moment. It will be nice to be able to shoot someone without filing a mound of paperwork about it." She examined her weapon and checked its sight by firing at a nearby rock. Satisfied, she holstered it. "Whose side am I on?"
     "Ah! That would be mine," Janson exclaimed excitedly.
     Wedge coughed in attempt to compose himself. "I choose her."
"Damn!" Janson half-heartedly sighed, "Face, baby, it's you and me!"
     "Ok, but I get to be the girl this time," Face teased in the highest pitch he could muster. "Let's kill em, tiger."
     "Roar."

     The matches went on into the late afternoon, with each team doing their share to keep up the pace. Janson and Face's team was always sure to die the loudest while Corran and Mirax were the most difficult to sneak up on. It was the most non-lethal exercise that Wedge could remember ever having, but the cramps in his muscles were instantly washed out of his mind every time Iella would praise him about a shot. When they'd lose, she'd laugh like a small child and, in turn, he couldn't help but laugh with her. She teased him about his stint as an intelligence officer and they compared stories about working with Corran. She reminisced about growing up on Corellia and he fought the growing urge to beg her to stay.
     "Wedge?"
     Her voice was music to him, but his gaze remained studying his surroundings. "Yes?"
"Why don't we do this more often?"
"I'd imagine there's a limit to how many friends you can shoot before they start getting suspicious." The words escaped him before he had a chance to think. Quickly, he turned to see her reaction and was disheartened. He had wanted to be funny and reminded her of her husband’s accidental murder instead. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I meant..."
"I meant this, Wedge." She gestured at the space between the two of them. "Why do our friends have to plot against us for us to be able to talk?"
Thoughts swam around his mind and refused to land on anything substantial. "We have busy lives," he offered lamely.
"Yeah." She wiped a tear away from her face and the silence that followed was awkward for the both of them.
He needed to see her smile again. "Iella?"
"Yes, Wedge?"
"Let's win this so we can go have a celebratory dinner?" He chanced the thought, hoping she would agree.
She looked up at him, her gaze distant. He held his breath in anticipation and feared the worst as she raised her weapon. The blue bolt whizzed past his person and his heart skipped a beat. A yelp in the background confirmed a direct hit and her face brightened. "Alright."

     Steam flooded into the room as Corran exited the refresher and adjusted the towel around his waist. "I've got to admit," he rotated his shoulders, trying to work the ache out of them, "As long as Rogue Squadron is around, I don't want to be a bad guy."
     Mirax glided over to him and massaged his neck. "Awh. Did they beat you up?"
Corran snorted in amusement and wrapped an arm around his wife, pulling her closer. "So, how did your plan work out?"
"Hmm." Mirax examined the various bruises and burns on her husband. "I'm not sure what it is about violence that inspires romance, but did you see how quickly they took off together when we were done? I'd have to say it was a success."
"Great!" He kissed his wife gently, then wandered behind a screen to his dresser. "Did Loran have a place to stay?"
"Yeah, he and Janson were going to go mess around with the li..." She paused, chewing her lip nervously while pondering the repercussions her scheming was about to present. "They were going to work something out."
Corran sensed the sudden guilt rising within her and, rifling through his sock drawer, felt increasingly panicked about the parties involved. "...Honey?"
"Yes?"
"Where's my lightsaber?"