Title: Over You
Author: sea102883/BigFatty
Time Frame: 2 years after TUF
Summary: What Jag has been up to after the Vong War
A/N: This is the companion piece to my story "Overkill" (link to that is in my profile). I own nothing related to Star Wars. Everything but the character Nawra is under the Empire of George Lucas.

If there was one thing the Alliance mess always got right, it was caf. Sadly, that was about the only so-called food they could get right most of the time, but at least the mess realized that the energy-giving substance was the thing most needed to the officers. Jag had managed to return to Chiss space with some of the famous caf and used it to fortify his days. And this was one of those days where he needed the fortification.

Her name was Chon'awr'afauro. In the native Chiss tongue it meant "Red Lady". Her family was one of the few who openly welcomed the Fels to Csilla. Nawra was the same age as Jag's older sister, Cherith. They had become sisters over time attending school and then went on to room together at military training. Not only had she become a sister to Cherith, but to the other Fel children as well. Before Jag entered his own military training he had asked Cherith some questions to get a feel for how it would be. Not wanting to give her little brother an edge, Cherith refused to answer his questions as her older brother, Davin, refused to help her when she asked the same questions of him. It was Nawra who had pulled him aside one evening after they had finished the family dinner, where she was often a common guest, and answered all of his questions and assured him he would do well. She had been there with his family when they helped him move into the Academy and there she introduced Jag to a family friend of hers named Shawnkyr.

When Cherith had been killed, it was Nawra Jag had turned to when he needed to grieve. He felt blessed that even though he had lost Cherith, he still had Nawra. She kept in touch with him during his time in training on through his time fighting in the war against the Vong. He still missed Cherith, deeply knowing she could never be replaced, but Nawra was there to ease the pain.

Two years ago he had received a vintage Chiss communication: brief and free of extra details. It was a request to return home and to take on the role of guatharak. A loose translation into Basic would be "caretaker". It was quite a noble title to take upon. It meant you were responsible for the care of someone else, usually an elderly member of the family who was close to death. His heart sank to his boots when he saw the name of the person he was to care for: Nawra.

Upon arrival Jag learned the details of Nawra's situation. She had been diagnosed with a rare muscular degenerative disease. Hers would be a slow, painful death as her body atrophied to a fatal state. It would be his job to care for her health, comfort, and wishes until that day came.

"Jagged Fel, remove that pitiful expression from your face this instant," were the words Nawra said to greet him. But he couldn't help it because in his heart he knew it was only a matter of time before he lost the third woman he loved dearly. Years ago and first to leave was Cherith; months ago and second to leave was Jaina. He wasn't sure if when she turned down his offer on Zonama Sekot it meant she wasn't ready to meet his parents or if she was terminating their relationship; frankly, he was terrified to ask.

And now he would lose Nawra. He wondered as he cared for her over the next couple of years how many chunks of his heart could be torn away before it would stop functioning. Because there was no way he was going to get over these women.

He finished off his caf and sat in silence. For the past couple of years it was Nawra who would at least attempt to have a conversation with him every morning. Before that Jaina and he would discuss strategy and flight plans over caf. And years ago over juice, Cherith and he would strategize on how they would torment their youngest and oldest siblings—Wyn and Davin—that particular day.

But this morning he was alone.

On days that Nawra would kick Jag out of her house so he would take a break, he would go spend time with his parents. On one of those days he walked into the house and froze in the doorway. His parents, too lost in each other, hadn't heard his entrance. They were too busy dancing a Corellian waltz that Syal had taught all of her children. Jag didn't know which memory's assault was the worst: learning the waltz with Cherith as a partner, dancing the waltz with Jaina on Hapes, or know that Nawra's body would never let her dance again. Jag quietly slipped out the door and returned to his guesthouse at Nawra's estate.

"I thought I kicked you out."

He looked up to see Nawra glide into his living room. "You aren't supposed to go outside."

"The repulsorchair has a heating unit, and quit treating me like I'm two." Nawra spat back at him. Both of the room's occupants sat in silence for a few moments before Nawra spoke up: "Are you going to tell me her name?"

"Whose name?" He tried to respond innocently but they both knew who the "she" was.

"The one who kept your heart when you left the Alliance."

"If you had read the letters I sent you during the war you would know the answer to your question."

"I did read them, but shapes on a datapad hold no emotion. I want to hear you say it."

"Jaina."

"Lovely name; what is she like?"

Jag struggled to phrase a worthy answer, "Beautiful, feisty, stubborn, intelligent, and the closest pilot to outfly me in a long time."

"She sounds perfect for you. What happened?"

"Aren't I the one who's supposed to be taking care of you?"

"Quit whining and answer the question. Humor the sick lady."

Jag tried to hide the grimace at the reminder that his dear friend was sick and did his best to come up with a response. "I wish I knew for certain. All I know is that I saw her on Ithor and before I even shook her hand or heard her speak I knew she was the one for me. I wish I could explain how, but I just knew." He paused and waited for her reply; when none came he continued speaking. "I was unable to see her for a while and when we were reunited it was a dark time for her. She had just lost two of her brothers on the same mission, one died and the other was captured but believed to be dead. I wanted to promise her that I would make everything okay for her again, but I was scared that I would not be able to keep that promise. I did my best to try and make her happy, and to my surprise, this amazing woman said that she liked me back. Even when the war was over I wasn't as happy as I was when she said those words to me."

It was at this point that Nawra began to chuckle to herself. "What do you find so amusing?" Jag asked her.

"Who knew the rigid Jagged Fel was such a softie?"

"Shut up."

"Why do you think she turned you down?"

"I wish I knew."

"I highly doubt she turned you down, just your offer. Think about it, she was sixteen when this whole thing started, she lost family members, and the planets she was raised on were mutated into strange places. Unlike you, Jagged, not everyone can be so fast at adapting to change. She probably needed to find out who she is now."

Jag sat in silence looking at the floor and begging Nawra's statement to be true.

"Of course, you could always just ask her and find out for yourself, but that would mean you would have to act like a man and—"

"Shut up."

"Well, you just sit here and mope. I am going to go read."

Jag thought over her words. Why was he so scared to reach out to Jaina? He reached for the nearest datapad and started to write down his thoughts, but quickly found out that he could not organize them properly. With disgust he threw the datapad onto the couch and headed for the flight simulators to clear his head.

"Stop being stupid."

It was the only words Nawra would say to Jag for a time. She had grown tired of his unwillingness to do anything about his relationship with Jaina. Whenever he asked her questions like "Are you comfortable?" or "What would you like to eat for dinner?" those three words would be her sole response.

He would sigh and attempt to come up with any excuse to satisfy her: he didn't know where she was, what she was doing, how she would respond to a message from him. There was always that other possible outcome, the one he could never bring himself to vocalize. But surely someone would send him a message if she had been hurt—or worse.

The two of them would play their game: Jag would attempt to make conversation; Nawra would say, "Stop being stupid."

This went on for weeks, until one afternoon when Jag was unable to wake Nawra from a nap. Fearing the worst, he immediately looked for a pulse and breathing, and was grateful to find both. He called the nearest medcenter and was forced to do his least favorite thing—wait.

The doctor on duty emerged to inform Jag of the situation after two hours. Nawra had developed a viral infection that usually could be fought off before it took any effect by activity of the body. Since Nawra's body had now grown to be nearly paralyzed, her system could not do the necessary battle. She would have to remain at the medcenter for a few days, but after that she would be able to return home and be back to what her version of normal health was.

Jag sat by her bedside as she slept. When she awoke, he asked her she was feeling. Before she could respond he made sure to add, "And do not say 'stop being stupid'. I need you to be honest with me."

She mustered the largest glare she could in her state and replied, "I will tell you if you make Jaina promise to name your first daughter after me."

It was then that Jag knew she would be fine and then that he was able to fully breath again. He laughed quietly to himself, not wanting to think too much about the statement, just accepting it as a sign that she would temporarily recover. He settled back in his chair hoping Nawra would catch his signal and go back to sleep, but she was not as satisfied as he.

"You didn't promise."

"Nawra, I have no idea where—"

"You didn't promise."

After a battle of stares, Jag conceded. "I promise, now get some rest."

Once she fell asleep, Jag let his mind wander. On days where Twin Suns was sitting around waiting for a klaxon to sound, he and Jaina would occasionally talk of what they hoped their futures to be. These conversations were rare and usually reserved for dark times; it was a means for them to keep a floundering grasp onto a peaceful hope for the future. They would talk about settling down and raising a family, but they had never dared to say that each hoped that they would be raising the same family.

Nawra's words caused him to replay those conversations in his mind and to rethink the futures they had hoped to have. Days of spending lazy afternoons watching children play, late night chats with his wife over hot chocolate which had nothing to do with squadron assignments or strategy, and having as normal of a life as war heroes could have.

As he reluctantly fell asleep in the uncomfortable chair, his dreams began. Part of him wondered if he had suddenly become a Jedi and was seeing premonitions in the Force. He dreamt of a large house in the middle of a temperate countryside, sounds filtering through the rooms of children's laughter. A woman was standing in the kitchen. He couldn't quite make out her image since the sun was shining through the window in front of her and the light silhouetted her body.

Just as he was about to discover the identity of the woman he knew was his wife, he was awaken by the tech checking Nawra's monitors and his rounds.

Had it been Jaina? Was he scared to assume it was she? Would this be his future?

After the tech assured him that Nawra would remain asleep for a few more hours, Jag headed for the cafeteria hoping some caf would help quell his soul. But he knew that nothing would help until he finally started taking Nawra's advice and stopped being stupid.

Jag finished his caf, wanting to talk but having no one to share a conversation with. Instead he went to his room to get dressed. This was the day he had been dreading for nearly two years: Nawra's funeral.

He opened the doors to his closet, reaching for his dress uniform and laying it out on his bed. He was about to go get a shower when something on the uniform caught his eye. It was a medal with a silver feminine form hanging from a purple ribbon. He had to snicker to himself when he realized what it was. The last time he had worn his dress uniform was a few weeks after the war with the Vong had ended. It had been a reception for anyone—pilots, mechanics, astromechs, and so on—who had worked for or with Twin Suns Squadron. That night, Jaina had awarded several guests with honors, both official and unofficial. Once she had made it through the serious awards, promotions and medals for courage, she began moving onto the not-so-serious awards. One lieutenant was given a medal that resembled a credit for going through the greatest number of X-Wings and therefore costing the government the most in currency. Another medal, this one shaped like a mug of lomin ale, was awarded to a flight officer who was notorious for losing bets and had been forced to buy myriad rounds of the drink as a result. For the last awards of the night, Jaina called up the two men of her shield trio: Kyp Durron and Jagged Fel. Each was given the medal in the shape of a woman for the "I Survived the Goddess" award.

Jag reluctantly unclipped the Goddess award from the uniform and set it on his dresser. He knew Nawra would have gotten a kick out of him wearing it to the funeral, but not the rest of the Chiss and especially his father.

Standing under the hot spray of water, the events of the past week filtered through his mind. Three months after Nawra's visit to the medcenter Jag had brought her back; this time they both knew she would not be leaving. Jag knew he should follow the advice Nawra had given him, but her health dictated otherwise. Her health had rapidly declined in the past three months. Jag only had time to care for his friend and occasionally get some sleep.

A week ago they sat together and watched the evening news as they did every night. Once the show, finished Jag asked if she was ready to go and she said she was. Nawra had told him earlier in the week that it was only a matter of time before she would admit herself into the medcenter for a medical staff to takeover her care for the last few days, and now it was happening. She had tried to convince Jag that she wasn't doing this because she thought he was a failure in his care taking duties. As loyal as Jag was to her, Nawra was just as loyal to him. She did not want him to bare sole responsibility for her care in the darkest days of her illness.

Eight months ago Nawra's speech had disintegrated enough that most people could no longer understand her. Two months ago was the point when Jag could no longer understand her. Using what little muscle movement she could, Nawra would blink her eyes in the patterns of the Chiss Dot-Dash form of communication.

Three days after being admitted into the medcenter, Jag was sitting by her bed in the when his comlink notified him he had received a priority two message—a message from someone he had listed as a family member. He went over to the comm station in the wall next to Nawra's bed and accessed his message account. When he saw the sender's name he froze. Nawra grunted at him to get his attention.

From? she blinked. She could barely hear his response.

"Jaina."

Read it to me.

He paused for a second, and then began to read:

"Jag-

I try to think of greetings to insert here, but nothing seems to fit, so I'll cut to the power source.

When I said I wasn't ready to meet your family two years ago, it didn't mean that I wanted to get rid of you. I needed to catch my breath. I needed to see what my life had become after the war. I didn't know who I was, so how could I have presented myself to your parents so they could get to know me?

I never meant to lose contact with you. I don't know how it happened, well, yes I do. After thinking about things for a while I realized where my life needed to go. It needs to be with yours. I say that in the present tense, but you may have moved on and sealed thoughts of me in the past.

I was scared. I've been independent forever and for me to acknowledge that I need a wingman outside of my cockpit was terrifying. So I ran and hid, what a mistake.

I don't know what your life is like now, but if there is any room in it for me, I would gladly take it. Whether you want me there or not is up to you, and I would understand either way. I'm just tired of debating what my life could be. I need to know what it will be.

Please don't think you have to hurry with your response. I leave tomorrow on a mission for the Council and will be gone for 4 weeks minimum. Don't worry, nothing dangerous, just some… well I'm too tired to remember right now, but it will be easy and harmless.

I hope you are well, and that your family is as well. I'm sure if Wedge and Iella knew I was writing this they would send along their greetings, so take them anyway.

I miss you Jag.

-Jaina"

Now as he toweled himself dry he wondered for the millionth time since receiving the message, How could she think that?

Nawra's response had been, From what I have heard about her temper, I do no think it would be a good idea to tell her that you left for another woman, even if it is true.

Jaina's message was a catalyst. As soon as he finished reading the message for the third time to ensure he had it memorized, he and Nawra went to work strategizing his mission. After two hours the parameters had been set with contingencies in place. The excitement and joy of feeling useful again caused Nawra to grow tired. Jag noticed her exhaustion and told her to get some sleep. She then convinced him to go home and sleep in an actual bed and not a chair in her room. As he was walking out the door he heard Nawra grunt and he turned to face her.

Nawra Fel—what a great name.

Ten minutes after leaving the medcenter Jag's commlink began to make noise. It was Nawra's doctor informing Jag that Nawra had passed away.

Traditional Chiss burials were simple. The body was cremated, the ashes pressured into the form of a synthesized precious jewel, the jewel embedded in a glacier covering the one-third of the northern hemisphere of Csilla. Jewels were arranged in lines with each row representing a family name. Each family within that name had its own section in the line. When Davin had died, Nawra's family had taken in the Fels as the next family under their name in their row. The jewels were placed right to left within the family subsection in order of passing. Since Nawra was the last in her section to pass away, she was in the farthest left place. On her left marked Davin and on his left marked Cherith.

Jag knew Davin would be eternally cringing at the thought of being placed between Cherith and Nawra. A certain memory of Davin chasing the two girls through the house vowing to kill them both rose in Jag's mind when he thought about the situation. Davin had kept immaculate models of starfighters and capital ships. While he was away on a trip with his class Nawra and Cherith went into his room and began to rearrange a thing or two. Jag looked into the room to find Cherith gluing TIE Bomber solar wings to the detached bridge section of an Imperial Star Destroyer. Nawra was busy covering the bridgeless body of the Star Destroyer with as many S-foils as she could find in the room. Jag decided to get away from the crime scene as soon as possible so he couldn't be accused of being a witness or participant of the crime.

Two things jolted him from the memory: realizing that he was the only one still alive and seeing that his speeder leading the procession of mourners had arrived at Nawra's spot in the glacier.

Few words were said at the service and none by Jag. He stood and let the cold air bite at his face while thinking about one of his last conversations with Nawra.

To call it a conversation was a loose term. He had received dress downs from commanding officers at the Academy that had been less blunt and derogatory. Nawra had made her feelings about his relationship with Jaina abundantly clear. But the night before she died she explained why.

What will you do when I die? She blinked.

"I have yet to think about it."

Go to her. Jag sighed at her order and looked away, causing her to continue once he returned to making eye contact with her. If you are scared she will not want you anymore, you are an idiot.

"You haven't even met her."

No one writes messages like that to a man she only sees as a wartime fling.

"I never read you those messages."

I was bored and sliced into your comm account.

"Nawra—"

I had to see if she was worthy of you.

"And?"

I approve. And I must say that the message she sent to you while you were on a temporary stint with another squadron—

"Nawra!"

I am pointing out that if someone were willing to do that with me I would not be sitting next to someone else's bed on the other side of the galaxy. Glare at me all you want, just know that if you do not go and at least talk to her in person three months after I die, those messages will be forwarded to your father. Don't you think he will enjoy reading those kinds of messages from a Rebel girl with the last name of Solo to his upstanding son?

"I thought blackmail was beneath you."

You obviously have forgotten who are talking to.

He sighed, "Three months?"

To the second. And do not even begin to think about putting it off till the last second.

"I am afraid to ask why."

Because one month after I die, the messages will be forwarded to your little sister.

"That is low, even for you."

Thank you. She paused to let him know it was time to be serious again. Promise me when this is over you will take a break.

"I am fine."

Hardly. Jagged, you have been taking care of people since Davin died. And while your loyalty to your family and friends is something I admire the most about you, it is time you take care of yourself. Or better yet, let someone else take care of you.

Go live, Jagged. Live the life Cherith, Davin, and I will not. Return to your love, marry her, have children, grow old. You have seen too much sadness and violence in your young life. You have happiness sitting in front of you face—seize it. Promise me you will.

"I promise."

As the service came to a close Jag removed the jewel from his pocket and placed it in the holder under the name Chon'awr'afauro. As he did so he leaned toward the ground and whispered, "I keep my promises."

After the funeral, he informed his parents of the mission he and Nawra had concocted. His mother hugged his neck for joy and his father didn't look too disappointed. He went to the CEDF headquarters to inform them of his permanent leave. He packed up his belongings and headed for Denon.

Sitting in a cockpit reviewing a mission made him start to feel like his old self again. Granted he was still the most exhausted he had ever been in his life, but he was flying to Jaina. He knew that his body would never find rest until he could look in her eyes, hear her voice, smell her hair, and kiss her lips.

Looking at the instruments he saw he had just enough time to go over everything one last time before exiting hyperspace and approaching Denon's orbit, so he got to work.