She isn't surprised to find him in the Temple's food-prep area, in the middle of the night, with a mug of hot chocolate. Well, the chocolate surprises her, at least.
There's a small eating area near the kitchens where those who are eating between the main meals can sit and grab something to eat, and it's at one of the tables in that room where she finds Kyp.
It's been a month since her divorce. She can't sleep.
He remarks on it as she sits down with her own mug.
"My room feels a little . . . empty," she confesses softly. "I'm still not used to sleeping alone."
His green eyes search her face, then go back to his mug. "I know the feeling."
She remembers now that he'd had someone, before Darth Caedus. He had, according to her aunt and uncle-before Mara had died-had his hair long for the woman. What was her name? Right. Thelia. But after Jacen died, before that mess with Abeloth, Kyp had shorn his hair almost to his scalp. She'd commented once that she didn't like the look on him, and now it was back to the way she was used to, black-and-silver curls reaching to his collar.
Jaina knows why she has that power, and it makes her feel guilty and uncomfortable sometimes.
"I thought the insomnia went away," she says. "When I got out of that depression."
"You feeling depressed now?"
"Little bit."
He takes a sip of his chocolate. When he sets the mug down, she can tell it's an almost bitter chocolate, not quite as dark as caf. Her own is sweetened almost too much, which is funny because she takes her caf black.
"You know, I don't think I've really had a decent night's sleep since I was sixteen," she says. "I'm conditioned to wake at the slightest thing. It drove Jag nuts."
He smirks. "I don't think I have, either."
"Since I was sixteen?" she quips.
Those green eyes rake over her, a smart remark clearly on his tongue. The heat there makes her flush. He apparently thinks better of whatever he was going to say and murmurs, "No, since I was. I still dream about Carida."
"I dream about Jacen," she whispers.
Kyp huffs a breath, says, "To killing our brothers."
It's wry, sad, and as he holds out his mug, Jaina clinks hers against it, because she knows the feeling.
They sit in silence for a while. When Jaina's chocolate runs out, she spins the mug in her hands for a few moment, then stands.
"Well . . . Good night."
He salutes her with his mug, a silent farewell, and goes back to brooding.
She sighs as the transparisteel door slides shut behind her.
