Chapter Twenty-Seven: "You're a Fighter"

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Leia Organa Solo could pack quite the punch when she wanted to; no I'm-a-princess-so-I-need-to-be-genial-to-all thought pattern there.

Zekk winced, gingerly testing his tender jaw, only to surmise that he was going to have quite the bruise in a few minutes. "Hello, Mrs. Solo."

"Where is she?"

"You mean Jaina? I was hoping you could tell me."

A red-haired woman ran up, skidding to a stop just before she collided with Zekk. "I'm Cerasy," she said crisply. "Zekk?" Her eyes flicked over him in a business-like manner before she rested a hand on her blaster hilt. "One wrong move, and you're a dead man – clear?"

Krista sidled up beside him, and she swatted Cerasy's arm. "He's safe, Cerasy. Promise." The blonde gave a wide grin, showing her teeth.

Cerasy gave the girl an appraising look, rolled her eyes, then looked back at Zekk. "Like I said. If you so much as blink wrong, Zekk, I'll shoot you."

Krista frowned, looking put off. "I just said he's – "

"Let it slide, Kris," Miko murmured, placing a hand on his partner's shoulder.

"But she – "

"Be quiet, Krista, and this'll go a lot faster." Cerasy took a deep breath, measuring out her patience. "Jaina was assigned to a recon mission on Tirith with Krista's brother."

"Ooh, which one?"

The red-haired bounty hunter closed her eyes for a second before answering Krista. "Gryq."

"Eep!" Krista's blue eyes were wide. "Is he here? 'Cause, um, I'm not supposed to be. Here, I mean. I'm supposed to be on some backwater planet, considering nunnery, and planning other pure, safe activities for the rest of my life, and—"

"Krista…"

"Right." Krista pinched her fingers together and drew them across her mouth, mimicking the closing of a zipper. "Not talking."

"Anyway," Cerasy said, raising her hand from her blaster to her hip, "Jaina sent her information in, then apparently got a little sidetracked by something on-planet. No one's heard from her since. Since LOS here," she tipped her head in Leia's direction, "can't feel anything from Jay, we're assuming she was captured by Imperials."

Zekk stared hard at the durocrete ground, as if it held all the answers. "She said Kip thought Brakiss wanted to use her to get to me."

Cerasy and Miko exchanged glances. "I didn't hear about that," Cerasy mused. "It's so nice to be in the loop."

"Speak of the devil…" Miko nodded to the dark-haired clone who was running toward them.

"I am sorry I did not tell you, Cerasy," Kip apologized upon arrival, looking oddly winded. "It was only a theory, and Jaina did not seem worried about it."

"Jaina never worries about anything," Cerasy countered under her breath, grinning faintly.

Kip flushed. "I really am – "

"It isn't your fault," Leia said gently, placing a hand on Kip's elbow. "My daughter isn't known for her foresight." She regarded him for a moment, then frowned. "Are you feeling alright, Kip?"

"He's a clone," Krista said bluntly, brightly, before Kip could reply. "He can't be anything other than okay. Right, Kip? Right."

Zekk barely spared Kip a glance. "Is there someplace we can talk in private? This might take a while."

Cerasy shrugged. "We can clear the lounge out."

"Great." Without catching the attention of anyone other than a blushing Krista, Miko's arm had slid around the blonde's shoulders. "Shall we?"

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Easy does it… Through victory, Jaina kept her face straight as the cuffs beeped twice. The release code had four sets of numbers, but she had only been working on it for an hour. Two series down was a good thing.

She had just begun to play with the third series when the door clanked. Immediately, she relaxed, letting her hands dangle in their metal restrictions. Devnos walked in a second later.

"Comfortable?"

"Actually," she began cheekily, "I must complain about the service – "

"Good." He studied her for a moment, then said, "You called Sanar your sister. Why?"

Jaina returned his stare with contempt. "You have a lot more explaining to do than I."

"Perhaps, but I'm not the one who's chained to a wall. Stop avoiding the question, Colonel Solo."

Solo leaned against the wall. "Maybe Sanar helped me out of a tight spot. Or maybe I'm just messing with your head."

His eyebrows met in a glower. "I'm warning you, Solo." Then, sceptically, and as if he was hating every word, "How did you know Zekk?"

Jaina blinked at the change of subject. "What?"

"How did you meet Zekk?"

Seeing no harm in it, she answered, "We were friends as children."

Devnos' eyes bugged, but then he stilled. "He turned to prove himself. To you."

Was that where this was going? To Zekk's weakness? "Maybe. Maybe not," she said defiantly.

As he marched out of the room, Jaina thought she heard him mutter, "Unbelievable."

Then she wondered why he hadn't loosed the ysalamiri on her again.

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Sanar hadn't been able to make the journey from Devnos' office to her room yet, so she was currently lying on the hover-couch, recovering her strength. Devnos watched her for a moment, thinking.

He wished…

Devnos wished a lot of things.

"How are you feeling?"

Her eyes opened a little more with each attempt. "Hunh?"

"I asked how you're feeling."

She struggled to sit, then gave up with a sigh. "I'm dying. How…the hell do you think I feel?" Her breath came out, then slowly back in. "You'd tell me if – if you were poisoning me, right? I mean, then you could brag."

It isn't me. But he would never be able to say it, if the words would jeopardize Falat's mission. Instead, Devnos sat with his back against the hover-couch, the air below it tickling his back. "You know me, Sanar – always making things difficult."

"I used to like you."

He didn't reply.

"What do you think Daddy would say now, if he was here?" Sanar's voice was very soft, and Devnos couldn't decide whether or not she wanted an answer.

If he was here, we wouldn't be in this mess, he replied silently. Not you, anyway. "You're the one most like him – you tell me."

She laughed, but the sound was quieter than a breath. "Devnos, haven't you figured it out yet? We're the galaxy's joke. Both of us. We aren't like anyone normal, let alone anyone good."

Silence stepped between them – or maybe she only pushed the years away. Devnos hadn't felt so far, or so close, to his sister in a long time. "We've made a good run of the joke, though, haven't we? Thirty years."

With a quiet shuffling, Sanar propped herself up on an elbow and poked his shoulder. When he turned around, she shook her head. "You did, anyway."

"It all evens out – quantity and quality."

Hesitation, then, "Why do you hate me?"

Devnos let the question hang in the air for several long minutes. "I don't," he whispered finally.

Sanar never cried, that Devnos knew of; that the tears now pooled in her eyes warned him of her mortal danger. Of his weakness. Of his constant failure. "Then why?"

"There is no such thing as love, Sanar," he said slowly, repeating his words from a week ago. "Not for people like us." Not for me.

Quiet blared in his ears, unbroken by anything other than their breathing. When Sanar ended the silence, he breathed a sigh of relief. "It's so cold," she murmured.

Remembering his goal, Devnos stood, but made no move to retrieve a blanket for his sister. There was only so much that IT would allow. "You're a fighter," he named her. "Don't take anything lying down; you never have before."

"There's a first time for everything."

"But not today." He watched her, memorized the contrast in her face – skin that had once been tanned, but was now white against her dark eyes and lips. Hers was not the visage of one destined. It was one that looked death in the face. Maybe the two were the same, now.

But Devnos would fight beyond death to make sure it wasn't.

"Not today."

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Accepted.

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Sanar had been too hot – then too cold; hallucinating – then nearly blind. Lost her depth perception, her mind. Most of what she lost was returned, if sporadically, but her sanity was more than up for questioning.

So maybe she imagined the conversation. Maybe Devnos hadn't tried to warn her. But she liked to think that maybe he had. That maybe the past years' cruelty was just another nightmare.

It was nice to pretend, as Death began to wrap its arms around her.

Such a relief, a comfort.

Sanar wouldn't forget it.

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"Hurt him. Hurt him to save him. There's no other way. …We're creatures of the underworld. We can't afford to love."

- Harold Zilder, "Moulin Rouge!"

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Please R&R :)

.Tjz