This is the second post today, so make sure you read ch. 47 :)
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Chapter Forty-Eight: Two and a Half Reunions
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When Veras was thirty-one years old, Pucijir's Order lost the Holy City. Veras fought shoulder-to-shoulder with her sisters and their male allies. Thirty-one years after her birth, however, Veras no longer felt it as she once would have. Among the men was an absence that Veras breathed through every morning-day-noon-afternoon-evening-night.
So many (so few) years ago, Veras had fallen in love with a decent, "normal"-not-normal man who took her away from a life on NLY. For the first time in her life, Veras hadn't had to be very good at making do. There had only been Braun, their friends, a ship, and a galaxy full of opportunities.
Returning to her old life of making do was like being dumped into ice water. Veras didn't like it; it felt wrong. Everything had felt wrong since she woke up in a strange room, to be told that the man with her—her husband—was dead. He had fallen and been mangled by the rocks she had only just missed, and he had been torn apart beyond all recognition. How lucky she was, strangers had told Veras, that she had fallen in the water, instead. Lucky, and the clouds had come storming back, sucking from her all the happiness she had found, and—
And yet here she was. She had dreamed of the Jirs' deaths for so long; and now the leaders of Pucijir's Order were dead. Mujir's Resistance had won the battle against Rafintair's army.
It was—wonderful. Liberating. Veras wouldn't trade this victory for anything, because it wasn't just her dream. She wouldn't. But, gods, what would she give to have Braun…?
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It really was sad, Braun thought. Dejah held so much promise, but he supposed that even the best could suffer when their life purpose was achieved. He shouldn't be annoyed by her demented behaviour. Even if she had grabbed hold of his sore arm and started dragging him away from a wounded fighter's side, she deserved his patience. And he only knew basic first aid—less than basic, here; he knew more about cauterized wounds than messy sword injuries. So she wasn't really jeopardizing the other soldier.
It was pitiable, not deserving of his ire; but if Dejah didn't explain soon, he was going to stop making allowances. Their guide was clearly insane. She was muttering, too, talking to herself, saying things like where could she be, I just saw her here, have to find her.
"Dejah, who are you looking for?" Braun was quite exhausted, and his side wound wasn't helping. Still, he thought he sounded quite reasonable—even gentle—all things considered.
"For—" She hesitated, and eyed him with something akin to paranoia. She opened her mouth to explain, but suddenly became distracted by something down the corridor to their left. "Wait, down here—she might be down here—the extra rooms—"
"There are more guest rooms on the other side of this labyrinth, too," he pointed out. Dejah ignored him, and began opening doors so that she could look into the rooms at random. More than a few of the rooms' occupants were far less patient than him. Obviously, he was a saint. "You have a room there," he reminded her. "I think some sleep would do you a world of…"
"Shut up. She survived. I saw her—"
"Who survived?" he demanded.
At the same time, a ghost answered Dejah's latest wood victim. The breath left Braun's lungs. Veras was staring at him, too, looking as stunned as he felt. He couldn't drag his eyes away. Someone spoke, and he only realized that it was him halfway through his questions. "Dejah? You see her, too, right? Tall woman, straight dark hair, scar over her left eye—?"
The ghost sobbed over Dejah's sympathetic reply. He knew that hitch of breath, that raspy sound that came before an echoing cry. She had a series of new, thin scars across her face—barely visible, he suspected, except for in just this kind of light. He could see three weapons strapped on her body; he knew there were more.
His fingers touched real cloth. She winced when his hand brushed a wound. He couldn't manage even that when she noticed the wound on his side a second too late. Muscle and skin pressed against him. Real—and if she wasn't, he didn't care.
When he kissed her, the tears made it salty.
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With Krista recovering from her head trauma quite slowly, Dejah took periodic breaks from the heartbroken girl's vigil. It was difficult to see Krista so subdued. Perhaps that explained her single-mindedness in finding Veras so that someone, at least, could have a happy moment. On her way back from the reunion, however, Dejah had checked the roster of recovering-and-surviving fighters, and Miko's name had been blatantly missing. Not, the fighter told herself, that that meant anything. The Resistance—Quatroc, and soon enough all of Na'Lein'yhpaon—was redefining the definition of chaos in the wake of Rafintair's death. The rosters were woefully incomplete. Miko wouldn't be helped by the unluckiness of his gender, or by his obviously foreign looks, either.
Dejah returned to Krista's side soon after that. Whenever she was awake, Krista seemed quite desperate for any kind of distraction, and Dejah couldn't quite leave the poor girl alone, especially after her baseless assurances that everything was alright. When Krista fell asleep again, therefore, Dejah made a more serious bid to discover Miko's fate. After more than an hour, she found the fighters who had brought Krista in from the field. A foreign male ally with red hair stuck out in one of the woman's minds, despite how many bodies she had seen, and she gave Dejah vague directions to the man's last location.
At first look, Dejah thought she had made a false promise to Krista. Miko looked dead, slumped in a corner, his glazed eyes barely open, and blood stained across his tunic. Dejah was five sentences into a prayer of lamentation before she noticed that his chest was moving. She knelt beside him.
A sword stroke had landed across his chest—deeper at the top right side of his torso. Even ignoring the blood, the wound looked serious. Someone had bandaged Miko's chest, but their patchwork job made no claims to mastery. Dejah meant to change it as soon as she could tear herself away from her appraisal.
Somehow, impossibly, closer inspection revealed that Miko's wounds were healing. More so where they were worst, and erratically elsewhere, but healing. The blood, she noticed with no less surprise, was hardly even fresh, despite the wounds still being open. Dejah stared at the drying blood for a long moment before it sunk in; she recoiled slightly. Magic. Outsider's magic? she wondered abruptly, and forced herself to consider it properly. The Kavishka—and even Miko—had mentioned a belief to do with some Force. Was this magic something to do with their religion?
Krista needs to know Miko is alive. Dejah hesitated, still caught by possible proof of the Kavishka's power. If this was his magic—and then with Prophecy's fulfillment—it could mean…
No more excuses, if—
She made one anyway, and justified it by turning it into a promise. If Miko lived, she would know. She would know beyond any doubt.
Dejah didn't move Miko. Just in case the Kavishka came back. She did change Miko's bandages, though, before running back once more to Krista.
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Jaina had seen many, many difficult landings in her time. The first one on Na'Lein'yhpaon was the worst not caused by an enemy ship. Piloting was very much part of Jaina Solo so she was able to help Zekk steer through the heavy atmosphere. When the Chance finally hit the ground, they were only two hours from Quatroc. It might have taken less time, but Jaina was still fighting the last of the River's pull. It took her time to walk.
(She would make it. Sanar, on the other hand…)
Kyp met them at the Quatroc gates. "You look about as good as I feel," he told Jaina.
"I wouldn't agree," she replied shortly. She didn't mean to be unkind. He didn't really look so great, either. Jaina trudged up to him, and gave him a wan smile. Choosing to lean her weight on him, she slipped her hand into his. "I need to see—is she…?" Even with Kyp all but carrying her, Jaina was shaking. Maybe it wasn't so much because of her exhaustion, anymore. "Kyp, what happened?"
He slipped an arm around her shoulders. "I don't…really know." Kyp tucked her into his side; he hadn't even looked at Zekk yet. "Sanar used the Sildar to kill Rafintair, but she seemed fine so I thought maybe… But now she's—she isn't Sanar anymore."
Jaina's fingers clutched at Kyp's cloak. "Just…take me to her. Please. I'm—I need to see her, and then we'll figure out what—happened."
"Are you well enough?" Kyp asked when Jaina stumbled.
Behind them, Zekk's gaze never left Jaina. She could feel the weight of his concern; she still mimicked his breathing a little too much. "Just get me to Sanar."
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Kyp had to force himself to let go of Jaina when they reached Sanar's room. Sanar's sister felt too insubstantial, as if a whisper might blow her away forever. Jaina insisted on seeing Sanar alone, however, and years of friendship had taught Kyp better than to argue. Even if she was dying again, Jaina had inherited a stubborn streak a galaxy wide from both of her parents. Arguing would only make her less amenable to his help.
Still. She was shaking like a leaf just after releasing his arm. He braced himself. "Do you want me to… I can walk you in," he suggested. "If you'd like."
"I'm fine." The way she swayed suddenly had Kyp reaching out to catch her. She shook her head, and brushed aside his hands. "Just need to…to see Sanar, and then we'll—"
"Jaina—" Zekk interjected pleadingly. Kyp had completely forgotten about him.
Her jaw set in a very familiar way. "No," she said. "Alone. I'll be fine; Sanar won't." Without further ado, she slipped into the room. The door swung shut behind her. Kyp could almost imagine Jaina leaning against the door as she gathered her strength.
"She almost died." Zekk sounded run ragged. "She could be dying right now. What happened?"
"I don't know. Jaina might be the only one who can…"
"You're the one who saw it happen, though. Jaina just got yanked back into the River."
Kyp bristled. "I notice she hasn't exactly been clinging to you, Zekk. Aren't you supposed to be her next most supporting bond? What happened there?
Zekk flushed, seeming pained. If Kyp could have spared a moment for the once Lord Onyx over Sanar and Jaina and Miko and Prophecy, he suspected that his temper would have exploded. His patience was very thin, but he had too much to worry about. His suspicions and protectiveness for Jaina would have to wait. Of course, if he had really lost Sanar, then he could really use a good punching bag.
Kyp forced himself to answer Zekk properly. "No one knows Sanar better than Jaina, even with a cut bond. Death is familiar territory for them. They can beat it again." The words (lie) tasted sour.
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Dejah had become more or less constant company, although Krista had been beyond noticing it for the first few days after the Resistance's victory. Now, however, the blonde was nearly healed from her injuries. She was thinking clearly, remembering properly. It was time, the young woman had decided, to start covering up again. Dejah could show her back to her room and make-up bag. It was like a start.
Dejah had been gone when Krista woke up that morning. One of the nurses (who was probably more of a healthy fighter than a trained healer) had checked Krista's head with some relief. "You help now," she insisted over Krista's questions about Dejah. "Help," apparently, was not going to be with the nurse's very necessary makeover. Krista's caretaker just didn't appreciate the benefits of a carefully applied mask.
Put to work mopping brows and cleaning up sickness, Krista occupied her mind with particularly scathing beauty critiques. She refused to think about anything else. Nope, she would take make-up and bubble-mindedness over dead Miko any day. Definitely. No choice.
Which didn't quite explain her staggering relief when Dejah arrived that afternoon. Krista might have gone a little overboard with the enthusiasm, there. She threw her arms pretty tightly around the fighter. "Hi, I'm up," she said. She tried to look extra sparkly. "Look, I need your help finding—"
"Excellent." Dejah was all brisk and no-nonsense. Krista would really have to soften the girl's make-up palate. Maybe some nice summer colours would help her relax. "I know just the patient for your attention."
Krista blinked, quite certain she had just been ignored. "Right, but first I really need…"
Dejah definitely wasn't listening. She rattled off something in Na'Lein to the nurse, who didn't look very pleased to lose a bedpan slave, even as she started dragging Krista out of the room. Progress, Krista thought, except Dejah had been talking about a special patient, not really necessary make-up and bath, so Krista was a little paranoid.
Of course, this was serving rather well as a distraction. Better than just doing fifty bandage changes per hour, at least. Still. Dejah was being bossy.
"Why do I, specifically, have to help this person?" she whined. "I'm not even a healer. And I can't speak Na'Lein, so they keep babbling at me and getting freaked out, and…"
"This one is far more likely to ramble in your language."
Krista went cold. That was not a distracting idea. She had been too out of it before to ask, but someone—someone else must have been injured. "Braun?" she asked in a small voice. "Or—"
"It is Miko."
Krista came to a dead stop. All the colour drained from her face; her heart made a valiant attempt to come up through her throat and strangle her. "Miko?" Her head hurt.
Dejah kept tugging at Krista's hand. The halls were no longer as mad as they had been—this part, in particular, seemed almost ghostly. What few people there were in the hallway, all moved too slowly. "I found him last night. He should be…down here somewhere…"
"Dejah, I—I don't know if I can…"
They rounded a corner, and what Dejah saw at the end of the hallway made her pause. "Still here," she murmured. "Look."
Krista was definitely not going to look. "Dejah, please, I…"
"I told you he was alive, didn't I?"
Krista couldn't breathe, couldn't breathe, couldn't— "Alive?" she bleated.
Dejah looked at Krista, surprised, before she paled. "Mujir, Krista, forgive me, I—I thought—no, Miko's alive. The Kavishka, he must have… He used magic, because Miko's wounds are—" Dejah's hands were surprisingly gentle on Krista's shoulders. "Come, I will show you." She smiled a little at Krista's blank stare. "He is alive. I…I believe…he will survive. Thanks to…"
Krista bolted down the hallway. Her feet weighed a hundred pounds, and every step translated into trip-stumble-forward, but soon they were lighter and then the walls and doors blurred around her from her speed. She felt sick and spent and dizzy from the press of her own hope—pushing down, down, down on her heart, just waiting to squash it completely—
They always leave—
She made a skittering attempt to stop before she reached the end of the hallway. His red hair served as a beacon, but it distracted her from the wall's impact. She still couldn't breathe. She slid down the stone until her weak knees hit the floor. She couldn't quite touch him—if she touched him, he would vanish and then she would never—
There was a strange, raspy, rattling sound; Krista startled; she lost her balanced, and stretched out a hand to steady herself. Fabric, there, under her fingers, and warm skin. Krista stared. Her lungs ached.
(Her nails were chipped, and looked like they might even dare to split soon. They need a month of pampering to maybe get back to what they had been.)
Again, that sound. Krista burst into tears. He was breathing. (She breathed with him.) Miko was breathing.
They always leave, but sometimes they come back.
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The morning after Jaina's arrival, Kyp and Zekk were still waiting outside of Sanar's room. Jaina had not emerged from the room even once; both men could sense the quiet hum of her meditation. Geneva found them there. "Another foreigner?" she demanded sharply. Her voice cut through the long silence. Zekk, who had been drifting toward sleep, startled to full alertness. "If you plan an invasion—"
Kyp sighed, but stood to speak with her. "What do you want, Geneva?"
Despite her suspicion, the MR leader's expression was alight with triumph. She didn't even look completely disgusted by the presence of men in her headquarters. "We must speak. The first set of executions is to be held tonight."
Kyp paused. "After a trial, I assume?"
Geneva sneered. "Your Sildar will suffice for the High Priest, and for Brother Commander Vacchus. All their crimes are well known."
"For tonight, right? Our talk can wait."
"You are too busy now?" she asked scathingly.
Three things happened very quickly. First, Kyp's temper finally found a target, and he visibly prepared to lash out. Second, Zekk shot to his feet to prevent Kyp from doing something he would regret. Third, Jaina stepped out into the hallway. The men froze, and even Geneva looked interested.
Jaina leaned against the door. She looked exhausted. Kyp was beginning to wonder if that would change anytime soon. Her eyes flicked moodily over the trio before her. "I just can't take you anywhere, Kyp, can I?" Her joke fell spectacularly flat. Zekk winced.
"Our conversation can wait," Kyp told Geneva. Before she could protest, he had hooked an arm around Jaina's shoulders so that he was supporting her. "We can talk in my room, Jay. How are you feeling? There's some water, if you'd like it, or we could get some food."
"I could do with some water," Jaina agreed. "I'll eat later, though. Mom would throw a fit if she knew I talked with my mouth full." She quirked her lips in a weak smile as he led her to the bed. She waited until Zekk had shut the door behind them before starting. "How much longer do you expect the Kavishka to be needed, Kyp?"
He handed her a glass of water, then leaned against the wall. "I don't…know." He struggled to keep his patience. "What does it matter?"
"It matters," Jaina snapped. She frowned, and subdued her tone. "Sorry. It matters. Just—make a guess."
"A…a few months, maybe. I don't think the Resistance will hold very long trials, at least for their worst enemies, and at some point it has to come down to them."
"Oh." Jaina took a shuddering breath. "That's a long time." She quickly moved on from her reaction to the facts. "The Sildar requires certain…qualities from its holder. Jarran was meant to be the only choice, but need for the Kavishka allowed some small compromises. The prophetic equivalent of duct tape." Jaina's eyes were unusually solemn, even given the changes she had undergone with her resurrection. They were fixed on Kyp's face. "You understand, right? It wasn't perfect, and everyone had to make…sacrifices. You've changed, Kyp. But the Sildar made allowances."
He thought of the Sildar's rejection, which had pushed them all over the precipice. "Prophecy was broken. I get it. So with Sanar…?"
Jaina swallowed, bit her lip, and took a deep gulp of her water. "I'm—Kyp, I spent the night meditating next to my sister's zombie, not gabbing with Vengeance. I'm still trying to collect my thoughts." She inhaled deeply. Kyp thought he detected barely-restrained hysteria in his friend's eyes.
"Right." He saw next to her on the bed, and once again looped an arm around her shoulders. She felt too fragile to be Jaina Solo. "Sorry. Take your time."
She reached across his lap to take his free hand. Kyp and Jaina had been through many dark times together. It was surprisingly easy to forget even Zekk as they drew comfort from each other now. "Of course," she restarted, "the Sildar wants vengeance, and usually the only one stupid enough to use It is an enemy, so It doesn't exactly mind. I mean, aside from the criteria problems caused when Jarran died. The Sildar is only too eager to be directed by the Kavishka to enemies, and to destroy an enemy who…who did…what Sanar did.
"But Sanar—Sanar is one of them. She is one of the women granted Vengeance. She's even part of Prophecy; she was on their side in every way. She only used the Sildar to kill Rafintair. Vengeance and Prophecy were— But there are rules that cannot be thrown aside. The Sildar is the product of a pact with the Devil."
"She's gone forever, isn't she?" Kyp asked, his voice leaden.
"But," Jaina continued, "They still need her. What is Sanar's role in Prophecy, Kyp?" She elbowed him, a little more sharply than was kind. "Kyp."
He scowled, but summarized their discovery. When he was finished, Jaina sighed. "Right. I should have guessed something like that. What's left of her is…"
"'She's the one who loves me,'" Kyp recalled.
"She recognized me," Jaina said. Her face held no expression. "She called me Jaina, and knew me as your friend. Despite the…circumstances at the time, she got to know you through me, really. She probably doesn't remember anything from before then—it wouldn't be important. Whatever is left of Sanar…revolves around you." She leaned forward, resting her head in her hands. "Kriff."
Kyp gave her a moment before squeezing her shoulder. "Jay, please."
"The Sildar sucked her dry of everything that made Sanar Klis herself. Drained her of everything except her love for you. Everything. She might not even remember Da—Jarran. Clayra? Nothing important. Sanar won't know anyone or anything that doesn't have to do with you."
"Please don't," Kyp said. Across the room, Zekk looked stricken.
Jaina didn't stop. "All her abilities are gone. Anything left over from when she was a seer…as if it never existed. She will never argue again, let alone just for the hell of it. If you ever get ambushed, Sanar will be as useful as an infant."
"Jay—"
"Expect her to be sickly, but to ignore that and fret over your needs. You'll never have to cook your own meals, or care for your wounds—oh," Jaina's laugh cut like a blade, "the last will be her religion, no doubt. And every night she'll kiss you on the cheek before you go to bed, and then fall asleep right after you—"
"Jaina, stop it," Zekk snapped. "That's enough. He understands."
Just as suddenly as it had appeared, the cruelty drained from her eyes. Instead, the hardness shifted to horror. "Stars, Kyp, I… I'm—I'm so sorry. I don't blame you, really, I'm just…I'm upset."
Kyp couldn't quite meet her eyes, but he nodded. Jaina's litany was trapped inside his mind like a song. It took him several moments to regain his composure. "Can anything be done?"
The hysteria in Jaina's eyes began to rail against its cage. Jaina's laugh…slipped, more than a little. "Kyp, you're asking the wrong question," she said. "This isn't the end. When the Kavishka is through, so is she. There are rules, remember. The question is, will Sanar's soul be damned forever and aye? And no, there wouldn't be anything we could do if she was."
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"It's alright if you blame me," Kyp told Jaina some time later. "I do. I put Rafintair off too long. I was distracted by my love life—ironic, now, you would think that I'd have learned by now—"
"I don't blame you at all." Jaina sighed, and swung her legs around so that she could lie on the bed. After a moment's hesitation, Kyp joined her. Zekk had left to find some food, but mostly because Jaina and Kyp needed to talk. Desperation had provided some tape for their bond, it seemed; he had gotten Jaina's message.
"I don't blame you for any of it, not even a little," she continued. She was so very tired. "Nobody hurts Sanar quite like Sanar Klis, after all."
"I promised to protect her," he insisted.
"Idiot." She waited until he looked at her, his expression a little wounded. Stars, she thought. Sanar gone, so it was Jaina's job to put Kyp back together now. Well, he had taken care of her plenty through the years. She could start pulling her weight. "It was beyond stupid to promise anything of the sort. Especially if Sanar was the one to pick up the damned sword. She knew the risks better than anyone."
"What do you think is going to happen?"
She let out a slow breath. "I am going to stay and help, the way I should have from the start." He shifted next to her, but she ignored his protest. "We didn't exactly clear this trip with anyone, so Zekk might have to leave for a while. Or maybe he'll stay—the damage is already done, after all. And you are going to finish Prophecy. And then…"
He echoed her sigh. "And then Sanar and I will both die, I suppose?"
She stilled. "That's a… Why did you come to that conclusion?"
"How have you been, Jaina?"
She laughed. "You're such a jerk."
"You smiled, though." Kyp moved onto his side so that he could observe her properly. "What's going on with you and Zekk?"
"You are a jerk." She struggled for a moment before strengthening her resolve. She had time to fix the past year of her life. Kyp was still in the middle of it, and all too vulnerable from Sanar's death. "It doesn't matter right now."
"It does matter," he countered. "I believe that I have—at some point or another—threatened that boy with bodily harm should he kriff things up. I'm very caught up in women's vengeance these days, you know."
She shook her head, and directed her eyes away from him. "Just life, Kyp. Life, time, and scar tissue." She hesitated. "I'm going to fix it."
"You aren't wearing your engagement ring."
"Zekk and I aren't over." Jaina's jaw was set; her voice was almost stern. "We can talk about it later."
There was a long pause from Kyp. When she looked at him, his expression was devastated. "That's what I told Sanar," he said. She almost couldn't hear him. "The last time I saw her, I said—that we would talk in the morning about what had happened."
"You're going to be masochistic about this, aren't you?"
Finally, his mood seemed to lighten. Well, the Kyp Durron version of lighten. "You're going to be stubborn about this, aren't you?"
"Yep." She popped the "p," and tried to give it some cheer. "And I'll be here for a few months, so get used to it."
"Great. A little sister underfoot. My credibility is going to be in shreds before the week is up."
"I thought I'd start with the story of your first state dinner," she told him. "And then maybe the dancing lessons. And your diplomatic mission to—where was it? When you thought there was a conspiracy, and a trap, and you massacred their state garden because the wind rattled the branches?"
"Oh, stars," he groaned. "You are such a brat. I'm going to see Geneva. At least she will be helpful. Ish. Professional."
"That woman from before? She thinks you're mean. Maybe I should mention that fluffball thing you had as a pet. I mean, before you scared it into running away."
He was grinning now. She didn't at all think him truly happy, but at least he had found his armour again. "Why don't you get some slee—" He paused; colour washed from his face.
"Yeah, you don't look so hot yourself," Jaina was quick to retort. "I'm sure Krista would despair of us both. Hopefully, art will be kind to a world's champion and his little sister-in-law."
He lingered in the door. He still looked so—
"Talk to Geneva," she ordered him. "Find some food, and share lunch with me if you have time. Check on Miko, Krista, Clayra, and anyone else you know here. Be the Kavishka. Tonight we'll…I'll see you tonight, okay? We will get through today. And then we'll tackle tomorrow."
"I could quit," he suggested, sounding desperate. "They don't—"
"No, you can't."
"They don't really need me. Rafintair is dead."
"Pucijir's Order isn't." Jaina's voice was merciless. "You can't quit. You have to finish it, or Prophecy will find another victim. Clayra probably won't fill Sanar's shoes, but maybe Sanar's fifteen-year-old nephew can fill yours? Oh, and then there might be another woman—except she'll be a child, just like Nichyn. So you are going to godsdamned finish what you've started, Kyp Durron."
In the end, maybe the hard truth did what friendship couldn't. Kyp nodded shortly, and exited the room. No one would see past the Kavishka.
He looked like she felt.
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Somewhere around noon, Kyp Durron walked down the hall. Krista looked up at the footsteps, surprised to see him. "I thought I better not move him, in case you came back," she said in greeting. Dejah had brought some blankets, which Krista had used to make a bed for Miko. When Kyp reached them, she stood. Her muscles protested—she hadn't moved much or often since she had rushed to Miko's side the previous night. She stretched her hands up in the air, and stood on her toes. "Ow." She smiled at Kyp. It wasn't as bright as usual, but more because of tiredness than distress. Krista hadn't been made to spend her life upset.
"I think— He hasn't woken up yet, but his heartbeat is getting steadier." Krista didn't mention how she often she had held her breath and listened to the beat of Miko's heart.
Kyp's face was too serious, but in Krista's experience it often was. "May I?" he asked, nodding at Miko.
"Oh, of course." Krista stepped to the side, relaxing her guard. "Force stuff?" she asked hopefully. "You know, Dejah thinks you can do magic, now. You may have single-handedly made the faithful-possibly-agnostic girl a heretic, or something. Or at least made her believe in Mujir again. Depends on how she rationalizes it. People can be funny like that."
Kyp crouched next to Miko. He stared at Krista's friend for a moment before taking Miko's pulse. It took another minute. Krista only barely bridled her patience. Kyp had his Force-using face on—now she knew where Miko got it. Not from the Hot Factory after all. She wondered what else Kyp had taught Miko.
Okay, Harif, getting a little ahead of yourself. Waiting and Krista Harif could be a dangerous combination. "How is he?" she asked. She bit down on her thumbnail. She had kicked the habit years ago, in her early teens. When Krista realized what she was doing, she spared a thought for her pretty nails (not all that pretty right now). When Kyp hesitated before speaking, she bit down again.
"He'll live," Kyp said shortly. Something hard flashed through his eyes as they met Krista's. "Keep a close eye on him, and if he gets a fever, you—"
Krista's hug seemed to take him completely by surprise. The sudden wetness of his tunic, and the vehemence behind Krista's sobbed thank you couldn't have helped him regain his balance. Recognizing his stiffness, Krista got a hold of herself. She wiped her eyes dry the second she stepped back from him. "Thanks," she said, more subdued. "I mean, I know—he was your apprentice, so it wasn't—it wasn't for—but thank you."
Kyp's smile looked broken, but in Krista's experience Kyp Durron often was. "If you notice any changes for the worse, get someone to find me. Don't leave him alone."
"I won't." As if life was making up for Kyp's strange reaction, Krista noticed someone walking down the hall. "Dejah!" Krista burbled. Reluctant to be too far from Miko, she took a few happy skips toward Dejah before letting the fighter come to her.
Dejah looked concerned, as if maybe Krista had become unhinged because of make up withdrawal—which was silly, because Krista kept a kohl brush and lipstick in her pocket for just such an occasion, so she would be okay for another few hours at least. "What is wrong, Krista?"
Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Krista Harif was in love with the universe. "Miko is going to be okay," Krista told the wonderful woman before her. Hardly able to contain herself, she threw her arms around Dejah. The fighter seemed almost as surprised as Kyp had been, but she relaxed and gingerly squeezed back. "He's going to be alright," Krista repeated into Dejah's shoulder.
Kyp left unnoticed.
-x-x-x-x-x-
Krista's relief was still ringing in Kyp's ears when he found Geneva. She had added a cot to her already very crowded office, so he stayed in the doorway. Geneva eyed him coolly from behind her desk. "Kavishka."
He set his mind on the coming months. "We have a lot of work to do."