A/N: For Trickfortreat, who was IrrelevantIsKey, who requested this story in the first place. Thank you for reviewing - I hope you'll continue to enjoy the story!

past lives

"It seems you're not only a good bounty hunter but a pretty good-looking one, too."

In Jaina's eyes, Valia was inappropriately friendly with the Chiss-born, exiled ex-fighter-pilot-now-bounty-hunter who was currently sitting across from them. He'd taken off his helmet and cloak but kept on the beskar'gam. It probably was a sign of how much he mistrusted her, or he had simply grown so used to it he didn't even notice the weight anymore. With Jag, everything was possible. In the white light of Valia's storm flare, he seemed… Older.

It had been almost nine years since they had last spoken.

Or six, if one counted their conversation above the jungles of Tenupe where she had told him to eject after she had disabled his star fighter. When he hadn't followed her suggestion she had turned away and left, never looking back. She couldn't have said what she had been thinking at that time: they had been on different sides of a war, and both had given their best to make victory theirs. To protect what they had wished to protect. There had been no message after that last encounter, no rumors of his survival, and Jaina had – guiltily, perhaps – never tried to find out what exactly had happened after his fighter had been shot down. She hadn't wanted to know. Losing him had been painful, but it had been an old pain, even though the injury was fresh: It had been long over between them, after all.

And then he came back.

He had returned four years later, first in form of a rumor that stuck in her head and couldn't be chased away and then in form of a masked and armed warrior who could be observed on the surveillance tapes of the entrance halls of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, a man who had marched in and had asked for a meeting with the Grand Master. She hadn't met him then, though, so her image of him she carried with her even though she hated to be reminded of it did not change. He would, she had thought, always be young and arrogant to her: the fighter pilot she had first met before the Yuuzhan Vong war. The envoy from the Chiss Empire who had disregarded the high dignitaries and important politicians on a diplomatic meeting and had cut straight through the crowd to the female pilot who had shot him down in a simulator mission earlier. Jagged Fel, her onetime second-in-command, friend and lover.

He was older now. The lines in his face made his features look harder and bitterer. Strangely, he seemed less arrogant and more centered and she reminded herself why it probably was that way: he was an exiled fighter pilot without a home, a family and even a name who only had one thing left. It wasn't revenge. Revenge was a path into darkness; Jaina had been taught the maxim and had experienced it herself. Jagged Fel did not want revenge, otherwise Uncle Luke would never have taken him up on his offer. He wanted justice. He wanted to bring down the person that had been responsible for his family's dishonor and public shame. He had worked as a bounty hunter for almost a year before he had approached the Grand Master, asking for information and offering his help in the search for a rouge Jedi, and Uncle Luke had agreed. But even during the time he had been cooperating with the Jedi, during the days he had almost constantly been at the Jedi Temple, Jag had kept his distance from Jaina. He hadn't greeted her in the beginning and even after months of working with Zekk they hadn't exchanged more than a few words. It felt strangely intimidating now, being in the same room as him. Jaina couldn't remember the last time they had simply sat together and talked: human memory was selective like that. She remembered the first time they had met – the Chiss commander and the Princesses daughter – the first time he had kissed her, their first good-bye. Months, years at his side, flying and training and fighting. As you wish, Oh Goddess. He'd always had a particular brand of humor, one she had come to love dearly, but his self-deprecation and dry sarcasm had often hidden it. You're drawing yourself thin, and a weapon that is sharpened too much? It breaks, Jay. And he'd always been able to look straight through her. You have to come back, Jaina. Don't leave me. How long, how often, how many small and even smaller things-

And then his voice, crisp and cool, telling her that he would return to Csilla.

All of it, their history, their lives together – every single moment – seemed so, so far away now. Jag was sitting in front of her and memories raced past her inner eye. It was like her old life was on display behind a transpariglass window and she could only observe it. She shook herself, forced herself to return his stare and not think of the past. She had to focus. That life had belonged to another Jaina: a Jaina who had two brothers, a Jaina who had not known the horrors of war and fight, of death and deception. A Jaina who had not trained with the most notorious Mandalorian bounty hunter of the galaxy in order to bring down her twin. That Jaina had been young, hopeful and naïve: that Jaina was dead, she supposed, so it was only fair that her memories died with her. And this wasn't the Jag she'd known years ago but a stranger who looked at her now, wearily eyed her with a stranger's eyes and a stranger's suspicion edged into them. Three years in the jungle of Tenupe and one year on the lower levels of Coruscant and other Force-forsaken planets had changed him. He had been stocky before, not excessively tall but bulky and compact. Now he was lean like a whip, muscled, his face edged and drawn. The scar at his right temple had colored a strand of his dark hair silvery white. And Jaina knew the source of the determination that was glowing in his eyes.

It was the same reason why Jaina was on Tatooine, after all.

"Why did Master Skywalker send you?" Jag finally broke the silence that had descended upon them like a stifling blanket. "I told him Alema Rar was my prey."

"There was no time," she replied coolly. "We received news that she had been sighed on Tatooine. We had to react immediately. Besides, Uncle Luke told you, didn't he, otherwise you wouldn't be here."

His eyes shrank to slits. "You could have waited for me."

"What part of there was no time didn't you get?"

Her acidic reply heralded an uncomfortable silence. It always was the same with the two of them, Jaina thought bitterly. What they really were capable of was arguing. She'd never before encountered a person that was able to get to her as much as Jag could: his words, even his looks alone had been able to rub her in the wrong direction. Sparks on dry tinder. Two missiles on collision course, a blazing supernova. And the worst thing was-

"I really hate to interrupt your fruitful discussion," Valia broke the silence. "As your guide, I would like to know: What will happen next? Will you return to Mos Eisley tomorrow, or continue on?"

"This is not your hunt," Jaina said.

"Try to stop me."

She could. Jaina could knock him out then and there, and both of them knew. Both of them knew, too, that it would cost her. She glowered at him.

"Don't provoke me."

"You won't do anything to me," Jag replied, as icily as her glare was fiery. "You left me behind once, you know what will happen if you do it again."

It stung. It shouldn't have been able to – she had done so much more, had hurt so many people – and still. It felt like a physical blow to her solar plexus, and Jaina had to take a deep breath and draw on the Force in order to calm herself.

"It makes no sense to send two hunters when the prey –"

"It is Alema Rar," Jag interrupted her. "You might need help." Deliberately, he touched the beskar'gam that covered his chest, the crush gauntlets next to him. "You should use all the help you can get, and I will help you defeat her. I just ask to be the one who delivers the killing blow."

"She was one of us, once." Jaina's arguments were flailing, lose threads in the wind, and she hated it.

Alema Rar's story was one of terrible loss, grief and rage, and the rage had burned within her until it had resulted in her succumbing to the Dark Side. Oh, and Jaina could understand. Not the being-a-slave-part, not the having-to-sell-herself-part. Not the loneliness and desperation of growing up without parents that protected you. This was something she couldn't understand, only guess, and guesses were never accurate enough to gauge the full extent of a person's feelings. But there was one thing Jaina got completely: Alema had lost her sister. Anakin's death had brought Jaina to the edge, had her almost tumble over it and into the grasps of the Dark Side. But Jaina had resisted, or maybe had only resisted because she had been held back. Because she had the support and the love of her family (and Jag's, too). Alema, whom had Alema had? Jaina hadn't known her well enough to be sure there had been anyone in her life after the loss of her sister and her Master, as well. As it was, she had succumbed to pain and grief, which had led in her being more susceptible to the whispers of the Sith Lomi Plo and her Dark Nest and her playing a crucial role in the Swarm War. The Chiss hated her. Alema was one of the reasons why Jag had been exiled from his home and had been denied his family heritage and honor. She was the reason why he had been working as a paid assassin for a year, and then had turned to the Jedi Temple to offer his services in exchange for help in finding her. And despite his frequent visits to the Temple, despite the many times she had seen him in his meetings with Zekk and Corran, Jaina had not been able to draw out more than a stiff greeting from him. She also hadn't dared to talk to him when he ignored her so pointedly. Maybe it was shame that had made her avoid the man who was now sitting cross-legged on the other side of her small fire. Maybe it was what she had read in his eyes, that first time they had seen each other again in the Temple. It had been hurt, but there had been anger, too. Hate. She hadn't thought it could still hurt like that, even after all these years. It was that hate, the unchecked emotions in his eyes – so little like him – that had made her avoid him at all costs, even to the point that she had disobeyed the Grand Master when he had ordered her to work with Zekk and Jag on trying to find Alema again. She just couldn't. She couldn't stand the pain in his eyes and, at the same time, the pain in her heart. Why did she feel hurt? She had no right to, she knew. She was the one who had betrayed him, after all. But hadn't he betrayed her, too?

You left him to die. Of course he hates you.

So here they were again.

"You know there is no redeeming possible when they are gone like that." He looked at her, steadily. "You know sometimes people fall, and never can be brought back again."

Jaina had thought his earlier words had been painful. Now, she didn't even have breath left to reply.

Jag was not looking at her any longer, either way. "I suppose we have the same destination from now on."

"Not that this isn't interesting," Valia said. "But a trek through the desert should never be undertaken lightly. You will need provisions for at least ten more days, for starters."

Jag nodded, slightly mollified. "I brought my own provisions. I will have to fill up on my water rations now and then, but then, probably, so will you."

"Correct." The old woman eyed the bounty hunter one last time appraisingly, then turned away. "I guess that's settled, then. I will get some sleep."

Without another word, she burrowed into her bed roll and turned her back on them. The storm flare shone steadily, white light in an otherwise dark room. Jaina took a deep breath, and another one, but the pain did not subside. Jag's last words – they can't be brought back, you know that – echoed in her head, again and again. It grew worse with every second, Jacen's face dancing in front of her mind's eye. Darth Caedus, Jacen but not Jacen, her twin but her enemy, and she had fought him, she had-

Be calm, little one.

The touch was soothing, calming, ancient and wise, and Jaina clung to it with every fiber of her being. The calm the presence seemed to radiate filled her like warmth, drove away her anger and her terror and helped her to concentrate. She focused, deliberately, and tried to analyze the situation. When she had been a teenager, she had been prone to bursts of stubbornness. One day, Aunt Mara had told her, half-amused and half-exasperated, one day you'll encounter someone who is as stubborn as you are, and then you'll understand. And oh, stang, Jaina did understand. She cursed, silently, then loudly. Valia's lips twitched upward, proving that, despite her closed eyes, she was far from having fallen asleep. Jag's eyes, dark and steady, answered hers unwaveringly. And the worst thing was: she even wanted him to be the one to take in Alema Rar so he could purge the shame that was resting on his family and his family's name. She figured she owed him that much, at least. But the thought of spending the next few days in Jag's company made her resolve shrivel. Before she could find more reasons to refuse his request, she cursed again, colorfully, and turned away.

"Valley of the Spirits," she said. Not telling him was the worse option, since she was pretty sure he would leave as soon as the storm ended if she didn't allow him to join them. He would make his own way through the Dune Sea and across the Jundland Wastes, and he stood far better chances if he had a guide and someone to have his back. And she hated seeing him, but she didn't want him to die. It was crazy. But it was logical, too.

His reaction to her abrupt change of topics was barely a twitch of his brow.

"What a fitting name."

"Wonderful!" Valia snorted, still not asleep. "Seems like we are three now." She stared at Jag, long and hard. "At least you're not stupid enough to insist on making it there by yourself."

Jag looked slightly insulted. Jaina sighed.

"Get some sleep, children," Valia said, matter-of-fact. "We still have days of trekking before us, and trust me, the Dune Sea does not have places like this. You'd better use the time right now."

As if, Jaina thought scathingly, she would be able to sleep with Jag in the same room. It worked surprisingly well, though. The wind was still lashing against the old walls of the abandoned moisture farm, the storm flare burned steadily, and on the other side of the room the rustling of Jag stretching out for the night could be heard. Jaina fell asleep quickly. This time she killed both Jacen and Jag in her dreams. We're twins, Jaina. Jacen's eyes held the light they had carried when they had been children at the Academy and their only worry had been how to best avoid the meditation sessions. I love you, Jag said. More than my life. But it won't ever be enough, will it? And Jaina woke up gasping and sweating and cold at the same time. The wind had subsided, as Valia had predicted. From the other side of the almost extinguished fire, no sound was heard.

The next day dawned, calm and clear. No sign hinted at the fact that just twelve standard hours before a storm had raged. Sand had long ago covered their tracks from the day before. Even shortly after sunrise, the warmth already seemed to seep into the ground. Jaina, wrapped in her sand-colored robes, donned her mask and goggles, shivering, and tried to warm herself with the knowledge that she would be cursing the heat only a few hours later. Jag was strapping on his crush gauntlets – had he slept in his armor? – and was glancing at the sky. Two suns, bright and burning.

"Desert, huh?" Jaina asked, just to fill the silence. He glanced at her and shrugged, wordlessly.

The start of another beautiful day.

"Ready, children?" Valia waved, almost enthusiastically. A few minutes ago she had emerged from the shed where they had left the speeder, carefully pocketing something. When Jag has asked her whether she would leave her vehicle just like that, she had smiled. "I might leave it, but it will be of no use for whomever might find it."

Jag's brows had wandered into his hairline. "Won't the farmers just forage the parts?"

Valia waved off his concerns. "You have to watch the strangers in the desert, not the foreigners. They don't live after the Old Codex. No moisture farmer would take someone else's belongings as long as the other one has a need of them."

Which was a pretty wide-spread definition, actually, but Jaina had already accepted that this was somewhat common on Tatooine. And then she found herself walking, her pack settled between her shoulders. In front of her, Valia's small figure in her grey and brown robes all but was invisible in the uniform surroundings. Merely her silver hair shimmered. She was also carrying a rifle across her back. Without a further word, Jag started off, his boots making crunching noises in the sand. His cloak covered his armor completely, his helmet covered his head. Jaina wondered what kind of weapons he carried with him right now, and whether one of them was meant for her. Then he turned his head and caught her staring at him, and something flared up inside her.

"You speculated on catching up to Valia and me."

It came out harsher than she had intended it, but she had intended it to sound harsh in the first place. The Chiss bounty hunter answered her challenging gaze without emotion, not even pretending he didn't know exactly what she was talking about. "Why do you think that?"

"Because you're not stupid," she said, trying to be reasonable. "You knew you wouldn't be able to cross the Dune Sea all by yourself. And still you came to Orion City without a guide. You were planning on catching up, and on continuing on with us."

His eyes were unreadable under his helmet's visor. "You would have done the same."

Jaina bristled. "You could have contacted me first."

"I apologize," Jag answered, his voice icy as the breath of Hoth. "I should have realized you were waiting for a message."

"You were the one who refused to even talk to me since you returned to Coruscant," she shot back.

"You left me to die on a jungle planet," he said, his voice so taut it would have snapped had it been a string. "Maybe you understand, Solo, why I don't really feel like talking to you."

The deliberate use of her last name was a blow to the gut. And it made her angry – made her furious. Jaina's fists tightened and she pressed her lips together, hard, opening her mouth to respond sharply-

He was hurt, and so were you. Do not lose yourself in darkness, child.

With iron self-restraint, she reigned in her temper. Being angry at Jag was of no use. The success or failure of a relationship always depended on the people actually in the relationship. Theirs had always been explosive and final: a supernova, a black hole. Extremes, like the two of them, and while they sometimes fit together perfectly they had clashed often enough on other days. And Jag had decided on leaving when Jaina needed him most. And Jaina had left Jag behind to die on a jungle planet. If it was about balance – and it wasn't, not in this aspect – they should have been even by now. But the pain in her heart told her differently. If she still hurt from the rejection suffered at his hand, he had every right to feel hurt and angered by Jaina's actions. And it was of no use right now; being angry at her situation did not help. Rather the opposite: if she encountered Alema the way she was now, she would most likely fall prey to the Dark Side as the Twi'lek had. Oh, it was so easy, just letting go. But when had Jaina ever taken the easy way out? Not in the past, and she did not want to do so in the future, either. Closing her eyes, she emerged herself in the Force: swirling and alive and so, so familiar. Painfully familiar, beautifully familiar, on the verge of burning her in its intensity but still warm and welcoming. With every breath, the darkness receded. When she had calmed down sufficiently she realized Jag had started to follow Valia, leaving her behind.

Probably don't deserve any better, she thought with bitter humor.

Then, she ran over her mental checklist one last time: first aid kit, water, ration bars. A blaster and ammunition. Flint and tinder, her comlink. She doubted she would be able to contact anyone, but still it felt reassuring. A small assortment of knick-knacks she always carried with her, some tools. The weight of the light saber at her side – still hidden, in case they came across Tusken Raiders or caravans – was familiar and comforting.

"What are you waiting for, girl?" Valia called. Jaina took a deep breath, drew on the Force for hope and followed her guide and Jag into the desert.