Title: Worse Ways to Go
Fandom: Star Wars
Characters: Jaina Solo, Jagged Fel
Timeline: Sometime in the future or something.

Disclaimer: Jaina Solo, Jagged Fel, and the rest of the SW galaxy do not belong to me. They belong to Lucas, Del Rey, respected authors, etc.

Summary: Well, really. There were worse ways to die than being husband to the Sword of the Jedi.

"What the kriffing hells do you think you're doing?"

He rolled over in the bed, one eye inching open just a crack through the muck and grime of sleep. That silky fabric of his wife's nightgown was gone, and his hand now rested upon empty sheets. There was still a warm crevice in the bed, indication that it had not been all that long ago that a warm body filled the spot. In fact, it could even have been possibly correlated with the swear-filled inquiry, his sleep-addled mind thought. That warm body of his wife that was now...wait, was that a glare?

"Wuh?"

Jagged Fel would swear to all the gods in the galaxy, and to the Force itself, that he had done absolutely nothing wrong. And that he was innocent as, well, as innocent as any man who only wanted to hold his wife in the middle of the night could be.

So why was she cursing like a Corellian mechanic from some cheap dock station now? Especially in the middle of the night.

"What? You know perfectly vapin' well what."

His eyes creaked open a little wider, so that a glimpse of green-eyed confusion could be seen by his wife. A currently clearly pissed off wife, standing there by the edge of the bed - why isn't she in bed with him? - arm's crossed over her chest and a glare and frown fixed on her face.

"You touched me!"

Blink, blink, blink. Now Jag was fully awake, eyes opened. He shuffled in the bed, attempting to move his body into a sititng position. He pulled the sheets and blanket with him. Although used to the cold nights on Csilla, Jag didn't want to lose the last bits of warmth from the blanket. They were comforting. Kriff it, they were safe.

A whole lot safer than that look he was getting from Jaina right about now.

He put on his 'patient I-love-you-bantha eyed face', smiling gently, and if not slightly confused, at Jaina. "All I wanted to do was hold you."

"Exactly."

"Jaina," Jag began in an even-tempered tone, not taking his eyes off of her. He looked at her evenly and steadily, pleading quietly in his eyes. But Jaina interrupted before he had a chance to continue. She scowled and shook her head, strands of her messy brown hair escaping the braid.

"Touching's what started this! Everything was stanging great till touching got involved. Touching and holding and kriffing," she continued, glowering at her husband and waving a hand for emphasis. "And now? Now I'm fat and sick and useless. No. More. Touching."

Jag had to admit to himself, she had gotten plumper in the days since he had seen her last – being away on a mission for the CEDF. But it wasn't a bad plump, it was a good plump. Especially the way it made her breasts look almost- No. Jagged Fel cut himself off mid-thought. If his mother even knew what he was thinking about right now, in this situation, let alone his wife…

Well, Jagged Fel had known the Sword of the Jedi long enough to know that her quick and harsh temper was one thing that might never change. He never exactly enjoyed being on Jaina Solo Fel's badside, and that wasn't about to start now.

"Jaina," Jag finally cut in, softly and soothingly. He reached out a hand toward her, only to be shunned by a stony gaze and a curt shake of the head. "Jaina, love. It'll be worth it."

But he was cut off again by another curt nod. With her arms once again crossed over her chest, and that pout on her face, Jaina almost looked like a petulant child. But Jag also knew better than to call her that. He was a quick learner, always had been.

With a frustrated sigh, he leaned his head against his hand. "Jaina, please? Trust me?"

"You're not the one eating enough for a whole shavit of a droyking rodder heard of a nerfs right now. You're just a kriff-crazed...man!"

Jag blinked and took a deep calming breath. Really, all he had wanted to do was hold her closer to him. He liked sleeping - and just sleeping - with her. Was that so bad? Besides, if anyone was, well:

"I beg to differ, Jaina. If either of us were the sex-crazed one, it would be you."

Now it was Jaina's turn to stand there speechless. But it only lasted for a second before a pillow came hurling at Jag from the floor, accompanied by a screech of "Nerfherder!"

A second later, it was quickly followed by: "You were the one that lost your – and my - virginity in a vapin' sabacc game. You were the one that suggested we go and well...kriff, in your clawcraft. Or did you forget?"

And the normally very-grim pilot couldn't help it. Very slowly, the slightest hint of a grin spread across his lips. It wouldn't look like a smile to most people, but Jag knew that his wife knew better. He knew it by the furious look on her face.

Another pillow came rushing at him and Jagged held up an arm in self defense. The pillow bounced harmlessly against it, falling on to the bed. With a furious snort, Jaina banged a foot on the floor. " Jag!"

"What?"

Tears started flowing from her eyes and Jag was caught off guard as Jaina fell into a heap on the bed against him, pulling her knees up to her chest and sobbing softly. Cautiously, he put an arm around his wife and began to draw small circles on her upper arm. Jag was only mildly surprised when she didn't pull away. Apparently he was forgiven for touching.

"It'll be okay," he whispered. "I promise we'll get through this."

She nodded and looked up at him, face tear-streaked. Gently, Jag wiped at one cheek with his thumb and dropped a small kiss on her forehead, nose, and lips. "I promise."

And after that, after their first child was born, he'd rethink that whole big family thing again. Unless Jaina had quadruplets or something, Jagged Fel didn't know how many of these pregnancies he could survive.

Still, despite everything, he had to admit: there were worse ways to go.