Reviews:

Aniamifan1988 – thanks :D when I first wrote this, I wasn't sure how well it would be received (okay, so I sat in front of my computer waiting for the rotten tomatoes :P) but it seems to have been taken surprisingly well :)

Satan's Advocate – lol, thanks.  I'm not Jag's biggest fan (buzz! Understatement!) so when I realized I'd have to write him for this, I tried to shove his original attitude back down his throat, if only a little…glad to hear it worked :) And don't worry – Jay and Jag will keep "the heat" ;)

Jaina – thanks :D lol, I was just about fed to the masses on JC when I posted The Dream, so don't worry, your reaction is apparently "normal" ;) thanks!  And yeah, jag's very thick :P

Aaron – thank you! Just a warning, though – I'm going to treat Jaina and jag's relationship as realistically as I can…I hope you like the results, but I'll try to warn you ahead of time if the j/j'ers on JC went ballistic, lol

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Ok, this one is set during Dark Tide: Ruin. I didn't have the book on hand when i wrote this, so it's kind of from memory and what I saw in other vignettes about this scene

Anyway, it's been a year since Dav's death.

********

Coulda Woulda Shoulda


{Jaina's POV}

The squadron of strange ships swooped in and I immediately recognized them as clawcrafts, the Chiss' fighter ships. My breath caught; Dav…Dav could be in one of those ships! Perhaps the one to my left – the one that was doing so many impossible manoeuvres – Dav always had been a show off, after all, especially when he knew I was watching. A smile stretched across my face, despite the danger in the Rogues' current position.

As I was debating whether or not I should ask the name of the squadron, a conceding voice crackled over the comm, saying, "Don't worry Rogues, we have you now. We'll get you home safely."

It was the voice that brought me crashing down into reality. Dav had been the leader of his squadron, the Spikes. It should have been Dav that answered me. Dav should have been leading. Should have…but he wasn't here; he was gone. Gone, gone, gone, gone… The word echoed in my mind, taunting me. Gone, gone, gone, gone. He was never coming back. Never, never, never.

"Oh shut up," I muttered, wishing I had the security of a few moments to rub the sudden image of Dav's face out of my eyes. Taking a deep breath, I flipped my comm on decisively. "Who are you?" I demanded the clawcrafts. I was aware that my anger, at myself for forgetting, and at the Chiss commander for not being Dav, seeped into my voice, but I didn't care. It could easily be mistaken for injured pride; pilots were notoriously cocky, and few knew about my friendship with Dav. The fingers of my left hand tapped against my thigh as I awaited the Chiss commander's reply – if he deigned himself benevolent enough to grace us mere mortals with his enlightening reply. Why did you have to show up? Couldn't you have waited, say, fifty more years, when I might have been over Dav?

The returning voice was tinged with chilliness, and lathered in arrogance. "We're simply the best pilots in the galaxy." All the more reason to hate you, you supercilious son of a Hutt. Ever heard of the Rogues? An angry spark of static burst through the comm channel, as if reprimanding my own cockiness and language, then the voice continued. "We are a Chiss House phalanx, on loan to the New Republic by my father, General Baron Soontir Fel."

By my father…Oh Sith, no. I tried to shut down the branch of thought, but it was too late. Suddenly, I knew exactly who was in the fancy-flying clawcraft to my left. I flipped my end of the comm off abruptly, teeth clenched. Colonel Darklighter ordered the Rogues back to the Tafanda Bay and I shot at one more coralskipper, then jerked my joy stick and brought my ship around.

I had hoped that, with time, I would become distracted from my grief. My mother, noticing the change Davin's death had brought in me, had encouraged Colonel Darklighter to allow me to join the Rogues, despite my young age. It had helped – I was busy and could more easily keep my thoughts from straying in dangerous areas – but I had never been very good at mourning. I tended to ignore the problem within myself, which was, of course, only a temporary relief. There had been little time since the war to break the habit. I was on unsteady ground, and had been since Dav's funeral. The Spikes arrival threatened to send me tumbling through the glass-like support I was keeping myself afloat on.

Kriff it, Fel; why'd you come, anyway? I berated myself as soon as the thought wheedled into my mind; it was wonderful that the Chiss were here – even I wasn't cocky enough to deny it. The Empire, and the Chiss, especially, were incredible fighters; if they allied with us, the New Republic would almost certainly win this war – at least, more quickly and with less losses than we would alone. I should have been quietly ecstatic that the Chiss were willing to help.

I wasn't.

It almost killed me to admit it, but I was actually selfish enough to wish the Chiss would just stay in the Unknown Regions until I could finish, at least, my first round of grieving. Even more, I would have given anything – anything – to hear Dav call me 'sweetheart' again. The letter Jag had told me about, the one that was, in fact, currently under my pillow in my barracks, had helped. But it had also made the depth of what had happened sink in.

I was never going to hear from, see or touch Dav again. He wouldn't flatter me until I was blushing to the roots of my hair, he wouldn't hold me as tightly as he dared, as if he was going to break me, and I'd never feel the anticipation that would have come just before our first kiss. We had only begun to move beyond friendship – like all people our age, we had thought we had all the time in the world. We had agreed to take it slowly, to date other people before anything was settled.

All the things we would have, could have, should have had time to do…all the dreams were for nothing.

Gone, gone, gone…

I tried to force my mind away from it, tried to pretend that landing my X-wing would suddenly take monumental effort on my part even if I did focus. I concentrated on every, tiny sound, trying to drown my memories in inconsequential thoughts.

My landing was so smooth it would have made the Chiss gape in awe.

Dav and I had simmed together whenever we got the chance (not often) and he had always said, half-jokingly, "No matter how tough your flight, you can always come down in a perfect landing, and claim it was the guy next to you – the one that landed sloppily, of course – that flew so horribly. Despite their big talk, commanders tend to have the IQ of a tooth pick."

Realizing that I was slipping into the past again, I moaned, my head sinking until my chin hit my chest. Pulling my flight gloves and helmet off, I rubbed my eyes viciously. "Hey, you okay, Sticks?" someone yelled.

I realized one of the mechanics had already placed a latter against my X-wing. They'd be wondering why I hadn't gotten out yet. The overpart of my X-wing's cockpit was already unlatched, and I only had to push it open to get out. I paused, staring at the tiny holo I had wedged in a small compartment by my knee. It wasn't activated, and I didn't plan on turning it on. I was messed up emotionally as it was.

Still, I couldn't imagine flying without Dav's holo nearby. I had always flown better with him nearby; he had joked that he was my lucky charm.

Maybe he was.

I pushed the top of my X-wing up and hopped out, not bothering with the ladder, then pasted my cocky-as-sith-and-just-as-tough face on. Pilots milled about me, most headed for a quick nap. When I was just about to exit the landing bay, the Spikes flew in, and I turned to watch their landing. Spike Leader descended first. He didn't see me, but I tipped my head in acknowledgement anyway. Dav would have wanted me to. When Jagged Fel began his walk toward the door, I retreated to my barracks.

Danya came up beside me, walking briskly to keep up with me. "You okay, Sticks? You look pale," she noted, running a hand through her sweaty, violet hair.

I forced a grin. "I'm fine, Dan; just had a bad case of the 'coulda woulda shoulda's."

I didn't have to look at her to know I was getting the odd-ball eye.




~TJF