ChapterThree: Settling Down?
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"Well, you got your wish—Tenel Ka's Queen Mother." Sanar smirked down at Jaina.
"It wasn't my wish," the Jedi protested. "She's miserable—you think I don't know that? I simply said that it was time. Don't shoot the messenger."
Sanar's mood swung toward compassion, as if she sensed Jaina's misplaced guilt. "That girl is always miserable," Sanar said. "Just because you reminded her that she's a princess, and the only good person for the job—"
"She isn't 'always' miserable," Jaina retorted. "She's just very self-contained."
Sanar snorted, crossing her arms over her chest. "Tenel Ka," she told Jaina succinctly, "needs to get a boyfriend."
Abruptly, Jaina's face shuttered. "She almost had one."
Sanar raised an eyebrow. "Oh really. Who?"
"Jacen."
Eyes widening, Sanar sat back in her couch. "Oh. Shavit." She drew a hand through her hair and gave a sigh. "Jay, I didn't—"
"The Freak Connection didn't let you in on that, huh," Jaina said with a wobbly smile.
Sanar shifted awkwardly; even after five years, Jacen's death was a sore point for Jaina. "Jay, I'm sorry, I—I didn't think."
Jaina regained her composure and gave a sunny, if fake, grin. "Don't worry about it; you didn't know."
"I should have."
Shrugging, Jaina told her, "It can't be helped. Neither of us are thinkers."
Curiosity won over discomfort, and Sanar asked, "So, how were Tenel Ka and Jacen 'almost' together? Was this an off and on thing?"
"My dimwit brother fell madly, head-over-heels in love with Tenel Ka at first sight. She 'cared greatly' about him a second after he did." Jaina pulled a red afghan over her lap, as if cold. "Both of them were too stubborn or blind to admit it, and he died before either could finally 'fess up." She picked at a loose thread in the blanket. "You should have seen Tenel Ka's face when I gave her Jacen's holo-disc…I think if she had any less self-control, she would have fallen apart."
"So Animal Nut knew something about love," Sanar mused lightly, leaving her armchair in favour of sitting next to Jaina on the couch. "Must have been why he got himself together enough to give you a push on Zekk."
Jaina blushed at the mention of her boyfriend. "Well, I guess. And he wasn't a nut—slightly eccentric, sure, but his heart was more than in the right place. He was more like Mom."
"And you're all Dad Solo," Sanar teased.
The younger woman laughed. "Incorrigibly so. At least Mom has little Mikhai now. With any luck, he'll be a happy medium."
"Well, between Jacen's mooning heart and your stubbornness, it worked out okay."
Jaina was quiet for a moment, and Sanar knew she was thinking about the sacrifices and consequences that had come with that happy ending. With her sister's guard down, Sanar snatched Jaina's afghan. "Well," she pressed, "it did. I mean, you completely screwed up my cynical way of life, and you turned Onyx into Zekk into your personal PDA hero boyfriend, and you brought Durron, of all people, back to life, but that isn't so bad. I mean, look, I'm not bleeding to death. That has to be good. I can live with a little functional relationship stuff."
Sanar got a laugh for her effort, which she had wanted. "Glad to help, you twisted soul," she heard Jaina mutter.
"Resigned to normality, and fighting herofication," Sanar retorted, looking around the living room of their apartment.
The two women had settled into comfortable silence, lost in their own thoughts, when their front door whizzed up to reveal none other than Kyp Durron. Sanar felt an allergic reaction coming on.
"Well, if it isn't the weirdo and the spitfire, both in their little Freak Connection position," Kyp teased.
Sanar frowned, then looked around to see that she and Jaina had ended up sitting back to back, the afghan wrapped around them both. She scowled. "Don't you ever knock, Durron?"
"Oh, but knocking is so…unneighbourly, isn't it, Jaina?" Grinning, he crossed the room to hug his former apprentice. Jaina smirked up at him.
"Oh, but knocking is also so…polite." Jaina smiled sweetly. "What if Sanar had found a boyfriend, and was making out with him on this very couch?"
Kyp startled, then gave a weak grin. "You would warn me about something like that, wouldn't you, Jaina? Like a good friend, of course you would. Besides, it's more likely I'd walk in on you and Zekk than Miss I-Don't-Trust-the-Male-Gender and a hapless boy."
"You never know," Jaina replied in a sing-song voice, and Sanar realized that the younger girl was teasing Kyp with a specific target in mind. She resolved to ask the Jedi about it later, so that she too could exploit Kyp's weakness.
"And you, my spirited Lady," Kyp said extravagantly, turning to Sanar. Twirling in a mock-pompous bow, he took her hand firmly, kissing the air above it. "You are looking far too pristine, too goddess-like, to waste your time with some random lout. I know I wouldn't come in to find you doing something silly."
She took her hand back, giving him a look. "Can't you go bug someone else?" she asked archly.
He grinned, his face holding an expression that would have been charming on anyone else, then expanded his attention to include Jaina. "Where's the sugar, neighbours? I'm in dire need of an energy fix. Training, you know."
"Liar," Jaina said, standing and stretching.
"I am not," Kyp replied, insulted. "I was working very hard."
"You're getting old," Jaina and Sanar chorused in unison.
He glared at them. "Jaina, shut up. Sanar, is that a grey hair I see on your head?"
"Sorry, no."
"Where's that candy you two hoard," he asked when he had no further wisecracks.
"I think we're almost out," Jaina sighed mournfully. "Kyp, could you add it to the shopping list? It's just on the side of the cooler unit…"
The Jedi Master shook his head in disbelief. "Jaina, someday you're going to look down…and realize you can't see your feet. What will Zekk say then?"
"Well, whatever he says, he'll know I'm pregnant," she retorted. "C'mon, Kyp—if we didn't stuff our faces with calorie-inducing foods, we wouldn't have anything to burn off in training. Sanar and I don't just sit around in Council meetings like some people I could mention."
"Hey," he defended. "I am helping rebuild the Jedi Order. What are you doing? Stuffing your face, making out with your boyfriend, and occasionally getting into a cockpit."
"'Helping rebuild the Jedi Order'," Sanar mused out loud. "Translation: Sitting on your butt, looking around at other washed up heroes, and counting grey hairs."
"Settling down isn't 'sitting on your butt'," he groused back, unable to find a proper retort.
"Settling down? You?" Jaina snorted. "If there was a lightsaber duel to be had, or some super-world-destroyer to annihilate, you would be up faster than a Calamarian on coals."
"Hey, calming down is the cool thing to do," Kyp mock-pouted. "Everyone's doing it—even you, Miss I'm-young-and-pretty-and-my-boyfriend-tells-me-so. May I remind you of the ring on your left hand and ring finger?"
Jaina blushed. "Well, I've waited nine years; I think I'm entitled to a little cooling of my heels. And it's not like anything's really settled—the jury still hasn't come back with Zekk's verdict."
"You're already counting the days to the wedding," Sanar teased.
"Please." Jaina rolled her eyes. "Like it could be that easy. Zekk keeps insisting that he get his name completely cleared before he 'drags me into his mess'. Like I'm not already in the chaos—I keep telling him that everyone knows anyways, and besides, I'm a Solo. I dare anyone to find a family crazier than mine. I mean, hello? Our faces are always on some tabloid or another—Zekk should be more worried about himself."
"He's just being a hero," Sanar said loftily. "Zekk's so whipped, he probably thinks he's protecting you."
"Well, I don't want to be protected," Jaina sulked. "I'm not a child. And why does Cerasy get to be married without an I-need-to-protect-you speech, anyway? I mean, Tiran can be dangerous—you don't want to get on his bad side…and plus, he practically has a kid! Aarie's so attached to his hip, even as an apprentice-knight, he'll be giving her away at her wedding."
"Well, yeah, because she doesn't have parents," Kyp replied, amused.
"Shut up. I hate you."
Kyp only smirked.
"And the point still stands!" she insisted.
"Don't worry, Solo," Sanar murmured slyly, patting her friend's hand condescendingly. "I'm sure you'll find some way to convince Zekk that he'll never find someone else so perfectly heroine-devoted-and-dead-gone-over-you for him."
"He has a few months after the verdict," Jaina agreed, straightening again. "A few months before he gets lynched."
Something tickled in Sanar's mind—whispers of denial—but she shook it off. "So what's after the wedding bells? Cerasy and Tiran have already done it, you're planning it, Krista and Miko…well…okay, they're nowhere near that, having not seen each other in years…but… What's next?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Jaina asked, smiling sweetly at her honorary sister before, strangely enough, pinning Kyp with an evil grin. "I'll have to find you a guy."
"Actually," Kyp said before Sanar could speak, "Sanar, there will be something to look forward to…"
She looked at him blankly before letting a veil of distaste come over her face. "Oh, really."
"Really. Or do you not recall what Devnos told you?"
Rattled to her core, Sanar's eyes flew to her nervous, fidgeting hands, and she found it hard to breathe. "Oh. That. Right."
Jaina shot Sanar a confused look; Sanar had never told her about Devnos' last words, and Jaina had never pressed—it wasn't her place, even though part of her said it was. "What did Devnos say?" she asked, although she already knew the answer:
"Nothing."
Kyp and Sanar had spoken at the exact same time. Raising an eyebrow, Jaina eyed the two most unlikely of cohorts. "Interesting," she murmured.
Sanar. And Kyp.
Kyp, she knew, would be only too happy to get along with the ex-slave—Jaina had more than a slight suspicion that he was in love with Sanar. But why would Sanar tell Kyp Durron anything so private as Devnos' last words? Jaina's sore points were her brothers' deaths; Sanar's were Devnos' death and Clayra's current well-being.
"Is there something going on between you two that I should know?" she demanded suspiciously.
Sanar's reaction to this statement reassured her. "Are you insane?" the woman shrieked, shooting up to her feet.
Kyp groaned, flushing as if he wanted nothing more than to find somewhere to hide.
Jaina found herself very amused. Kyp Durron, Jedi Master, returnee from Death, feared Destroyer of Carida, the man who had always chosen his own path even if it went against the famous Luke Skywalker's credo, was uncomfortable with Sanar's reaction to a relationship with him.
"I was just wondering," she murmured slyly, grinning like a cat with cream.
Sanar and Kyp both glared at her; Jaina laughed.
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It was so dark out—better to hide the tears, the fear; better to conceal their actions.
A mother reached out to stroke her son's cheek, memorizing every valley and bone, trying to make it all out one last time in the almost non-existent moonlight. Tears slid down her cheeks in rivulets, silent and breaking, like an ice statue melting. She whispered her love once more before her voice cracked, and she had to turn away.
The son's face stayed impassive, but his eyes were lost, hurt.
A father held his son tight in iron-strong arms. "Braun and Veras will take care of you—find some place for you to stay until…" He swallowed convulsively. "You'll be safe with them." But he sounded as if he was trying to convince himself; probably because it was difficult to give up his only son, even to a better life.
"We have to get going," a new voice said urgently—a man, known as Braun. He checked the horizon for other people, then for the sun. "It'll be light soon; we don't have a lot of time."
The father nodded tensely and stepped just a little away from his son. "We love you," he told the teenager, leaning down enough to stare his son in the eye. "Never forget that. Never forget who you are."
"The guards will be back soon," Braun snapped, his voice sharp with anxiety. If caught, it would be the end for all of them.
Nodding frantically, the mother brushed her pale hair out of her face, and her tears from her eyes, as she nudged her son in the other man's direction. "Go with Braun, there's a good son. Stay hidden and safe until the ship leaves, and don't come out for anything."
The boy nodded his understanding, as he had for all his mother's repetitions. Now wasn't the time for insolence. "Goodbye, Mama, Father," he whispered, voice thin.
He let himself be pulled away by his new guardian, toward the ship upon which he would hide, and escape to the Galactic Alliance.
"Don't forget," his mother cried out suddenly, her voice stark against the silent, cold night.
Nichyn turned back to regard her solemnly.
"Your aunt," she trailed miserably. "Don't forget to find Sanar, and—and tell her…"
"Shush, Clayra," the father whispered anxiously, taking her in his arms. "You will catch the attention of others." He raised his eyes to Nichyn's. "Go, son."
Nichyn ran up the ship's ramp. He would not return home for a long, long time.
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For so long, the boy had been ill, unable to leave his home, and visitors and well-wishers were turned away. The people had seen Pucijir's mercy—the boy must truly have been strong, and righteous!—when Nichyn Whilem at last gave into death.
The poor parents did not see it that way—leastways, the mother did not, and both were inconsolable.
Rumours of their crazed grief spread like wildfire—Did you hear about the Whilems? Couldn't even prepare the funeral—wouldn't even admit their son's death. The family's friends had to steal the body away, and burn it in the desert. The wife won't come out, won't eat, won't drink. The man, of course, is stronger, but sorrow haunts his eyes.
May Pucijir have mercy on them.
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.Tjz