Ghost Story
Summary: Kyp ponders his relationship with Jaina, finally coming to a truth he's hidden from himself.
Disclaimer: Kyp belongs to Kevin J. Anderson. Jaina was created by Timothy Zahn, and the galaxy of the setting belongs to George Lucas. "Ghost Story" was written and sung by Sting. Lyscarion, however, does belong to me. Oh, joy.
Pairing: Read summary, s'il vous plait.
Rating: PG-13, just because I'm not quite sure it would make a PG cut.
Timeline: A few weeks after Rebel Stand.
Genre: Angst/Romance. Pachelbel, you should be pleased. ;)
Author's Note: Wow. This is the first thing I've posted all summer. (And yes, it's still summer. We don't start school until tomorrow morning.) Our computer crashed, and my father makes extremely infrequent backups, so I lost most of what I've written in the past, oh...four years? But I'm recovering. Slowly.
I'm not necessarily a Kyp/Jaina shipper, I just like romantic quandary. I wasn't satisfied with the "I just like her, I don't like-like her" explanation given in Rebel Dream, so I decided to write a more in-depth and slightly more tragic version, in which he realizes that maybe he spoke too soon. And I do wish Jag had been played up more in earlier books. Then perhaps he wouldn't seem like a boyfriend ex machina.
Please also note that the song is actually a part of the story, and parallels Kyp's thoughts.
Ghost Story
She'd left a week ago. She was on her way to Unknown Space, to parley with the Chiss for support the new Rebellion desperately needed.
And of course she had taken Jag with her. Kyp tried to reason it out: Jag's father was a baron who figured highly in the Chiss military, Jag was a commander in his own right, Jag knew the territory and the customs and the people.
But that didn't drown out the tiny voice in the back of his mind, whispering the real reason she'd taken Jag along, the real reason he'd been willing to come.
They were in love, and it was as simple as that.
Kyp tried to convince himself that it didn't bother him. After all, he'd long ago decided that he didn't love Jaina, he just liked having her around. A lot. And he would have liked getting...closer to her. A lot.
He sighed and noticed that he could see his breath. After losing Borleias, the "council" of the rebellion had relocated to an old Rebellion outpost on the northern continent of Lyscarion. The outpost was serving its third purpose – long before the Empire, it had been a palace of the native people. While that meant that it was an unusually beautiful outpost, it also meant no heating system. A few of the rooms had had personal units installed during the days of the original Rebellion; those had been parceled out to the top-ranking and better-liked members.
Kyp was not surprised to find himself in an unheated room. At least he rated a fireplace – primitive, but warm enough. He crouched down now to light the kindling that had been gathered for him (another unexpected gesture), and the room was washed with a pale orange glow that mimicked the sunset outside. He perched on the windowsill and watched Lyscarion's lone sun sink beyond the mountains in the distance.
I watch the western sky
The sun is sinking
The geese are flying south
It sets me thinking.
I did not miss you much
I did not suffer
What did not kill me
Just made me tougher.
Well, of course he missed Jaina, but that was natural. After all, he'd been flying with her for so long now that she'd been an almost constant companion. You couldn't spend that much time protecting and being protected by someone and not lament their absence.
Which made him wonder why he didn't really miss Jag at all.
He hadn't known Jag as long, that was certain, and although he respected him as a pilot and a person, he wouldn't exactly consider him a "friend." And lately, he seemed to have been almost as much of a rival as an ally.
A rival for Jaina's heart.
No, he told himself, cutting off the thought. Rivals for her friendship, perhaps, but never for her love. But then, she could have more than one friend, couldn't she? Why did he and Jag seem to think that such a relationship was an exclusive privilege?
He shivered, realized that the sun had set entirely now, and stars glimmered above a rising moon. The fire was burning down; he raised his hand, and a bundle of kindling settled itself into the fire. It was affection, that's all. Affection and nothing more, he told himself fiercely. A part of his mind laughed at the weak denial.
I feel the winter come
His icy sinews,
Now in the firelight
The case continues
He'd been in court before: on trial for that awful vigilante run through Carida, and for nearly killing Master Skywalker...he winced. Those were memories better left alone. But the trial he was going through now was entirely different: there were no menacing, silent Senators seated in a great hall – no somber judge, no weeping or shouting witnesses. This trial was taking place, as it had been for several quiet months, within himself, and he was left alone. The defense and the prosecution were one and the same: he was judge, jury, and defendant. He wondered if that was quite fair.
Another night in court
The same old trial
The same old questions asked
The same denial.
The shadows close me round
Like jury members
I look for answers in
The fire's embers.
He glared into the guttering flames, but there were no answers to be found. Not a single clue as to what he had been looking for in Jaina, why he suddenly felt so lonely, so empty, and so old. He shut his eyes, but even so the fire seemed to dance before his vision, maddeningly inescapable.
Why was I missing then
That whole December?
I give my usual lie,
I don't remember.
He did remember. He'd spent a winter tracking Jaina down, trying to get her to join up with his Dozen-and-Two Avengers. But why Jaina? There were plenty of qualified pilots, qualified Jedi pilots even, whom he could have chosen.
But he wanted only the best for his squadron, and so he had tried to recruit her. And it had stung for a long time when she had spurned his offer and become a Rogue instead. Especially after that incredible run in Lando's Folly...
*Was that when it happened, then?* came a cold voice in his mind. *Was that when you started to –*
"No!" His eyes blazed with defiance. "It doesn't make any sense. She's far too young for me, she's too virtuous, she never made the mistakes that I did." He laughed bitterly. "She's too good for me, and thinking anything else would be folly."
It was with these thoughts in mind that he had formed their friendship, with the knowledge that they were too different – in age, in talent, even in social status – to ever be anything more. He distanced himself from her, and she had seemed to get the point.
Then she started seeing Fel. Not that it bothered Kyp, of course. He was happy that Jaina was happy, even if Jagged Fel wasn't a Jedi or as good a pilot as she was. He was certainly closer to her in status, and in age. They could go off and get married if they wanted to – it made no difference to him.
But the cold of the room had seeped into his heart, and with it came the first bit of doubt in his conviction.
Another winter comes
His icy fingers creep
Into these bones of mine
These memories never sleep
And all these differences
A cloak I borrowed
We kept our distances
Why should it follow that
I must have loved you?
A haze of memories swept over him.
Jaina, striding into the viewing room after her run on the Folly, tugging off her helmet to reveal the most dazzling grin he'd ever seen.
Her thrilled laugh as she ran a drill, pushing the X-Wing's capabilities to the absolute limit, drinking in g forces like they were nothing.
Sparring with her in the cargo bays of a dozen different ships.
Teasing her, a thousand little grins and half-innuendos. Had he meant them? Even he wasn't sure.
Lying to her, feeling her slap and then the Force-fed rage that hurt so much more. Why hadn't he been honest with her? Had that been the end of his last hope, the last chance that Jaina would choose him over Jag?
*Who said anything about choosing?*
The pain behind her eyes now, the pain of Anakin's death, of Jacen's disappearance. She was good at hiding it now, at smiling and pushing back the tears. But she wasn't good enough. Kyp could see right through the shields, into the grief and the anger and the guilt. He understood better than anyone how it felt to lose a brother, to feel as though his blood was on your hands, but he couldn't share it with her. She wouldn't let him in, wouldn't let him get that close...or was he the one protecting himself?
He slammed his fist against the windowsill in frustration. He was thinking in circles, stepping around a conclusion he'd never dared to admit. Why bother, anyway? It was too late for thoughts like these.
He stared out at the sky again, at the constellations so different from those of Deyer, of home. Had he come so far, through so much trouble, only to hide from himself?
What is the force that binds the stars?
I wore this mask to hide my scars
What is the power that pulls the tide?
Never could find a place to hide
What moves the earth around the sun?
What could I do but run and run and run?
Afraid to love, afraid to fail
A mast without a sail.
He had been afraid to tell her. Afraid to hear the mocking sneer in her voice, the laughter. Afraid to see the anger and betrayal and disgust in her eyes.
Or worse, the pity.
He was nothing but a coward, feigning indifference when everything he did and said was for her. It was too late now – he'd missed his only chance to tell her. But he could no longer keep the truth from himself. The feelings were there, and always had been. Through all the anger, the hurt, the fear and the silence, he had been willing to do anything for her. He would be willing to die for her, with no regrets save one: that he had never really been honest with her.
It seemed as though he sat there for only moments, holding this new truth in his mind, turning it over and wondering if he could ever bear to utter it. But when he started at last from his reverie, the sky was graying with dawn, and the stars were fading into morning.
The moon's a fingernail
And slowly sinking
Another day begins
And now I'm thinking
That this indifference
Was my invention
When everything I did
Sought your attention
You were my compass star
You were my measure
You were a pirate's map
Of buried treasure
If this was all correct
The last thing I'd expect
The prosecution rests
It's time that I confessed...
Kyp smiled sadly as the words fell from his lips. "I must have loved you," he murmured.
I must have loved you
I must have loved you
I must have loved you...