Chapter Forty-Six: Running on Instinct

-x-x-x-x-x-

"Aye, that is a kiss: A powerful thing."
— Slightly, "Peter Pan" (2003)

-x-x-x-x-x-

Well, Jaina thought after a beat. That went…smoother than expected. Something nagged at her, but she dismissed it quickly, not one to worry about details.

/Thanks, Jaya./ Kyp's voice was sleepy, and not entirely all there, either.

/Oh, yes, for my monumental part in your resurrection—stuff me with gratitude./

/You would have done it, if you had had to; that's all that matters./

She began to inquire after his health, but he seemed too tired to so much as blink, let alone communicate – a skill he had never particularly cared for, or specialized in. Jaina pushed down her undefined concerns; this was a no-talking hour.

Pulling out, Jaina blinked until normal vision returned, and then checked to make sure Kyp was physically fine. "Well, that was an adventure," she said out loud, and the room's two non-Force sensitives jumped.

Sanar rolled her eyes. Jaina looked up to see Zekk, appearing tired and strained, smiling down at her. "Great job."

"Is something wrong?" she asked, quietly but out loud in sympathy for Cerasy and Garik.

Zekk shook his head, but his expression was melancholy. "I'm going to miss you."

She faltered. "Oh." Of course. He was going to leave again. What did you expect? she chided herself. He has amends to make. The voice of practicality was not currently welcome in Jaina's head. "I'm going to get Kyp a glass of water, and maybe some food," she told the room in general. "He'll be drained. If he wakes up, reassure him, and don't let him out of bed."

Jaina flicked her eyes up to Zekk, remembering how she had been just after her death. Sleepy, then angry, then strange. But maybe Kyp, who had had more warning, would pull up the façade more quickly than she.

With that hope in mind, Jaina slipped out of the room. Her hands trembled, just a little.

Kyp had been dead much longer than her; a small, hidden part of Jaina couldn't help but think, Lucky.

-x-x-x-x-x-

In face of new life, he found only his instincts, his most basic needs and wants.

Where is she? Where is she? Where is she?

Find her. Find her. Find her.

Unconsciousness smothered him, pushing him down, so very unlike Death's shores and the River's seductive waves. He panicked, and reached—

Where are you? Where are you? Where are you?

There was strength in saying something three times; the number three was magic. Not as holy as the number seven, true, but nothing else was.

Seven was sacred.

Seven hundred seventy-two years after my creation, you arrive, a voice slithered into his mind. Wait five years, man; your time will come.

He fought. It was so cold; so hard to breathe; so hard to see.

But he pushed back the blackness, the smothering unconsciousness, until he could search her out.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Sanar pushed herself as hard against the far wall as she could, and glared at the restless figure of Kyp Durron, her father's murderer.

I hate you, she thought, and hoped that he could hear her. He was alive now, and in tangible physical form. Sanar was going to enjoy pummelling the life right back out of him.

Jane—Jaina…is going to ask you to do something, Brownie, and no matter how you feel about it, or…who it's about…you have to do it. Devnos had told her to do what Solo asked, and Sanar had. So, why? She could see very little of particular interest to her—true, someone had just been brought back from the dead, but, well, boring. Been there, seen that, got the extra person in her head as a result.

She was barely aware of Cerasy exiting the room – something about staving off the doctors, and any suspicious persons. People just didn't appreciate what could be classed as miracles (even if they involved Kyp Durron) anymore.

"Ahhhhha!"

Sanar looked up, scowling as she noticed that Durron was now awake and struggling desperately. Seeing that Solo's politician friend – Jarik, was it? – made no move to do anything other than look confused, Sanar reluctantly walked to Durron's bed side. "Hey! Stop that," she ordered as Durron tossed his arms in the air, nearly knocking over a lamp. "You're going to break something."

He froze, limbs in the air and all. "Sanar?" he whispered, very hoarsely, and Sanar realized that he was definitely going to need that glass of water Solo had left to fetch.

"Yeah," she snapped in reply, rolling her eyes but leaning over a little to get a better look at him. "Are you…" she dragged the word out, "okay?"

He stared at her, then—astonishing her completely—flew up into sitting position and kissed her.

Sanar's limbs stopped, and she couldn't move through the shock. The most surprising thing was not the kiss, nor the lava that now screeched through her veins, nor even the fact that some far away, most definitely unacknowledged part of her…well, it didn't respond, but there was something there. It was none of those things, although each was unbelievable.

The most astounding part was that, as Kyp cupped her face in his hands, his touch was gentle, though his lips were not. More than that, this felt familiar – not in the way of an old friend, or even an enemy, but just…familiar.

And something was leaving her—that, she felt more strongly than she could have imagined. Something was being taken from her, but she could have sworn that Kyp—no, Durron!—didn't even know he was taking it.

Kyp Durron was acting on instinct, pure and simple—raw, animal instinct, which was instilled in every mortal being. And, though she didn't want to believe it, though she wanted to say that he was doing this on purpose, she knew it better than she knew her own name.

Years, centuries, later, Kyp pulled back, and she saw the surprise in his eyes, in the way he snapped away like a frightened animal. She could see the question in his every movement:

What did I just do?

She slapped him hard—as hard as she could—across the face, trying to remove the question, and, at the same moment, the reason for it. "You—you—" she spluttered. "How dare you?" Her voice raised in pitch, and Sanar realized she was afraid at the level just above her being's core, but the core of her accepted this all.

Something was wrong—or right, but without her acceptance.

Unbidden, Devnos' words came back to her: Don't—believe—the love story… Please, Brownie. Her instinct was trying to tell her something; she wished she could understand its confused gibberish.

Sanar felt her knees give way, and she fell to the ground in a pile of stunned bewilderment.

"Sanar—" Durron reached out as if to help her, but she crab-walked backwards as quickly as she could, until she was crunched up in the corner.

"Leave her alone, Durron," Zekk snapped from the other side of the room. "What's wrong with you?"

Instantly, Durron's attention was diverted, so swiftly that Sanar wondered if the Force was being merciful, giving her room to breathe. "Zekk," the dead-two-minutes-ago man growled.

Zekk raised an eyebrow, nonplussed by Durron's show of temper. "Kyp," he sang back irritatingly.

Durron couldn't seem to find the words for a moment, but then he said, "You—you are in so much trouble—"

Green eyes widening, Zekk turned and ran, with Durron close on his heels.

Garik, or whatever his name was, seemed to consider calling after them—probably to say that Durron was supposed to stay in bed—but he thought better of it. Instead, he walked to Sanar's corner and helped her up. "Are you alright, Sanar?" he asked kindly.

She started to reply, but then she stopped.

On the bed.

There…on the bed, right next to where Kyp's imprint remained.

It was…

No. It couldn't be.

To lay just there, to be the real thing, that sword…with its plain, raw gold hilt, and its death-sharp blade, and the inscription on the metal…

That sword, the one that lay on the bed, the one that Durron must have touched, matched exactly the description of the Sildar.

Matched right down to the broad, almost clumsily—but very dangerous—etched wordVENGEANCE on its blade. If she had turned it over (if she could), Sanar knew she would see the merciless inscription of JUSTICE.

And yet Kyp Durron had touched it—had touched the sword that no one, except for one person, could touch.

Sanar's legs gave underneath her again, and Garik's exclamations of surprise were lost to her in the utter disbelief that shook her entire body.

This isn't happening.

-x-x-x-x-x-

"Hey!"

Garik looked up and smiled at Jaina, who was looking indignantly around at the mostly-empty room. Her eyes lingered briefly on Sanar, who was still staring at the bed, but mostly stayed on the empty bed. "Where'd everybody go?" she demanded. "Honestly, I leave for a few minutes, and everyone decides to scram? Where's Kyp? He should be resting."

"Oh, Kyp came back to life—he looked quite fine, by the way—and now that he's kissed your look-alike, he's beating your boy-toy senseless," Garik reassured her sunnily.

Jaina gaped, then dropped her tray in favour of smacking him on the arm. "Thanks a lot!"

Garik chuckled as she raced down the hall, shrieking at Kyp. Solo hadn't changed, he thought. Not really – not like she thought.

It was nice to have a complete family again.

-x-x-x-x-x-

.Tjz