So. After a year, I've come back to this fic. I had actually planned to leave it the dust, for the same reason I left behind Phoenix—grad is approaching, and if I want to publish…well…I can't really "dabble" excessively in fanfic. However, I was rereading this…and I have more than what I posted, and I miss FD2D. So I'll go up a little further. Because this "fic" is really more a collection of vignettes than a novel, and because it is EU compliant, even when if I disappear for a while, there shouldn't be any real loose ends. And maybe, when KB is well on its way, or even finished, I'll follow through right to my muse's foreseen destination. Meanwhile, I give you…a new post.

x-woman1: Thanks!

Flights of Fantasy

(Jaina's POV)

"What they have done there is unusual."

I turn at the voice, and freeze momentarily when I recognize its owner. Jag – and he looks nervous; probably wants to talk about Davin, Chewie, or some other painful subject. Shavit.

"Pretty much everything the Yuuzhan Vong do is unusual, as far as I'm concerned," I manage, crossing my arms defensively and turning back to the deck. This isn't how I wanted to meet up with Dav's brother again. This morning was a big enough surprise, with him talking to me in the middle of the reception on the TafandaBay. At least then I was surrounded by people – there was no chance of a personal conversation or any clumsy attempts to console me, or whatever Chiss-wannabes do when they meet their dead brother's best friend/girlfriend.

"They've spent an hour scanning the thing," I continue, gesturing at the 'Vong shuttle (they really call that thing a ship?) that has been causing a mild panic amongst the NR's checkers-of-weird-stuff. "I can't imagine there is much more they can learn without cracking it open," I finish. Good, Solo – just keep the conversation fake and completely impersonal. How can anyone get from 'Vong ships and NR paranoia to Dav?

"There isn't. That's not what they are doing." Jag comes up and stands beside me, his reflection visible in the transparitsteel over the viewport.

He looks so much like Dav – and yet, not at all. Same eyes, but Dav's were warm and almost perpetually dancing. Dav didn't have that scar, or a white streak in his hair. Dav's hair was a few shades lighter; his nose was a little crooked – the consequence of having his nose broken as a child one too many times.

Still, the resemblance is downright uncanny and not what I need to see right now.

He glances at me, then looks away quickly, his eyes latching firmly ahead of him. I wonder if he is really seeing the 'Vong ship and NR mechanics. Somehow I doubt it.

"They don't know what is in there," he continues, "and they're just making sure that if it's harmful, they don't get blamed for releasing it."

Dav would have smirked or winked at me, grass-green eyes laughing. Jag won't look at me, but I know his eyes are impassive. I wonder what Soontir thinks about Jag's solemnity outside of the military.

"You say that as if it's a bad thing to be cautious," I remark.

Jag shakes his head and his lips purse slightly. He has Dav's mouth. "They know they cannot be certain of what is in there," he explains. "All they can do is reduce uncertainty to statistically insignificant levels. What they are wasting is time." His grip on the railing in front of him tightens momentarily, causing his knuckles to turn white.

I wonder if he always keeps his emotions in like this. Dav said that Lissa's death a year ago turned Jag into the perfect Chiss colonel, but, still… I sigh. Well, Dav did warn me about the almost monumental differences between Jag and himself.

"We are at war," he continues and I force myself to pay attention to him. C'mon Solo, Dav liked Jag best – there must be a reason, a common ground they shared. Look for it. Give him a chance. Dav would have wanted you to.

"There is no absence of risk. There are times when one just has to do what needs to be done to win." He sounds almost smug about his insight. Jerk.

I turn to look at him, eyebrow raised. "In theory, you're only two years older than me, but you're talking like you're old enough to be my dad." Or, you know, like you're a phalanx leader, come to enlighten us poor Rebel dumbnuts.

He nods once. "Forgive me. I was judging you based on your accomplishments, not your age."

I blink and my jaw drops. Okay, screw being nice to this stuck-up…Chiss. Who does he think he is? "What is that supposed to mean?" I demand. Don't mess with me, bub. If you're going to act like this, you can't hide behind my love for Dav.

The flesh around his eyes hardens. "You are a Jedi. You are a superior pilot in an elite squadron. The dedication and skill required for these things are well known. I made the mistake of assuming too much about you."

I frown, momentarily bewildered. If anyone understands this guy (who must be from another galaxy), would you please give me a hand here? "I'm reading your tracking data, but I still don't have a lock on your target." And if you act all superior because I don't get what you're saying, screw public/Fel relations – I'll send you back to Nirauan sporting a nasty black eye.

He sighs. "In Chiss society, there is no adolescence. Chiss children mature early and are given adult responsibilities quickly. Those of us humans living with them were raised as they were raised." Hello? I was best friends with your brother – I saw it happen. Tell me something I don't know. "Intellectually I knew things were not the same here in the New Republic, but – "

"You think I'm a child?" Black eye, definitely. And how do you feel about a broken nose, Mr. Chiss Wannabe? Maybe your ego will get popped on the snapped bone. "You think I'm soft or something?"

He breaks eye contact and something that looked a sith of a lot like a blush rises on his cheeks. Okay, so embarrassment… Keep this up, and I might find myself having too much fun to send my fist into your face.

He raises a hand to stop my comments, then shakes his head. Somehow, the gesture makes him look more his own age. "Not soft, no, not at all," he corrects. "You have determination and courage, but you lack – "

"Lack what?" I challenge. Just say it, Fel – go ahead, make my day.

He frowns and glances out at the shuttle. "You're not grim."

I'm not – I – what? – oh Sith, now that's almost funny. This guy aughta be on the stage. "Um, no, I mean," I stutter, trying to smother a chuckle. "There are times, yes, but being grim takes such a toll." For instance, are those crow eyes you're sporting?

"It does at that." He points toward two men walking across the deck and I recognize them immediately. "My, ah, uncle…when he hugged me at that reception… We'd met barely an hour before, privately, and he was surprised to learn who I was, but in no time after that… Where I come from, there are men that I have never seen smile before, and here he was, in the midst of a difficult situation, and he was happy to meet me. Not because I was an ally, but because I was his sister's son."

Well, duh. Sorry bub, but you can't blame this weird mentality of yours on the Chiss. Dav turned out fine – it's just you. Jag turns to me earnestly, green eyes as confused as his iron spine will allow. "And he accepted me despite the fact that my mother's departure from the New Republic hurt him deeply," he finishes, eyes a little wider than usual.

Alright, I'm not completely immune to the (momentarily) vulnerable bewilderment in those green eyes – so sue me. I reach out and rest a hand on his shoulder. He's the same height as Dav. "Wedge is like that. Most people are," I explain, as if Jag was a child. But perhaps he is, despite his arrogance. He really doesn't understand this, and, realizing that, my earlier anger disappears. I always was a sucker for green eyes. "Life is too harsh not to take what pleasure you can find in it, and certainly learning of his sister and how her life has gone would be wonderful to him. No matter how bad things might be, a joke, a smile, a pat on the back help break the tension." Which I really should start to remember. Kriff. I'll add it to my 'To Do' list.

He raises his chin and I feel his defences repair themselves. "Among the Chiss, celebration is saved until the job is done." He sounds like he's trying to convince himself of that – or am I just putting Dav into his brother? Oh, great. This is bad – this is very bad.

"Even if it is never-ending?" I ask, raising an eyebrow at him.

"If it isn't ended, the celebration is false."

I shake my head. Does he have any idea how silly he sounds? Obviously not. "No, it's necessary." I look at him, at the determination on his face, and have to fight back a shiver. He's no Davin or Ganner, but he's handsome enough, I suppose, in a stern way. Sith, his cockiness might even have its own kind of appeal to someone, somewhere, though it will never hold against Dav's charm. If he could put his arrogance aside, I might even like him.

But he's not Davin, and never can be, no matter how hard he appears to be trying. Despite how he tries to do what he thinks Davin would do – regardless of how he tries to be nice to me.

He looks over at me when I pull my hand away, and half smiles. "The Chiss, despite the impression I might have given you, are a thoughtful people. Deliberate, calculating, but not above a flight of fantasy or two. They are not averse to wondering where they would be, had life been different. Whom they would have met, how they would have met, what would have become of them."

What would have happened if I had never met Dav? I shy away from the question immediately. I don't want to think about it. Regardless of the grief I'm fighting through, do I regret knowing him, loving him? No. Definitely not.

Jag's looking at me expectantly and though I want to follow my trail of thought, I ask, "And you mention this because?"

"Because…" He hesitates, then looks out at the deck, avoiding my eyes. "I was wondering what Uncle Wedge would have thought of my older brother."

I picture Dav – the way he looked at me while we danced that night so long ago; his grin, which flashed so often; his laugh, which always made me smile. I see, too, how his brow would crinkle when he looked over something that bothered him. The way he commanded his squadron and the respect of his pilots.

I know exactly what Wedge would have thought of Dav.

I smile and look out at the deck. "The only problem with those flights of fancy is that life never works as cleanly as we'd like. Sometimes a meeting is just a meeting." I remember how Dav looked, face pressed against the bars of that jail cell years and years ago, when we first met. How quickly we had become friends when I distracted the guard by showing him my mom's lightsaber, so Dav could escape. "Other times," I continue softly, gazing not at Wedge on the deck, but at the ghosts of yesterday, "it's a prelude."

He laughs lightly, bringing me out of my reverie. "Had I said that, you would have accused me of talking as if I were your father's age again."

I smile gently. When Jag smiles, I can see Dav in him. Though I might regret it later, I'm glad I didn't punch him; I would have missed his smile if I had. "I might well have, but probably not." I don't glance at him, but I do look at his reflection. "The nice thing about being an adolescent is being able to make mature decisions when you need them and being able to just flow along with life when you don't."

I know he's looking at me, but I continue to stare into the distance, remembering.

When he leaves, I barely notice.

-Tjz