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| - “I don’t like this one bit,” Jaina murmured in a low tone, glowering over her twin’s shoulder into the room at Jag Fel. Anakin had already managed to strike up an animated conversation with her prisoner, and from what she could glean they were evaluating the differences and advantages between a clawcraft and TIE fighter. Fel had already set up camp in her brothers’ bedroom, and Jaina could almost see his smug satisfaction at being handed over to a different set of captors. It irked her beyond words. Jacen rolled his eyes and clapped one big hand on her right shoulder. “Jay, you’ve got to relax a little bit. Have some faith in Anakin and me. You’re not the only Jedi in this house. We can handle one prisoner for one night.” He topped it off with a dashing signature Solo smile. She jabbed one finger into his chest. “That kind of attitude is what worries me. I’m telling you, Jacen, give him a little bit and he’ll take it all. You have to be on your guard.” His eyebrows pinched in a placating expression. “Okay. Sure thing.” Jaina blew out a fantastic breath. “I did not drag him half way across the galaxy for you to pretend like everything is under control.” “Jaina,” he laughed, “look around. Everything is under control.” “That’s what he wants you to think,” she muttered, folding her arms over her chest and shooting another glance into the room. “Now you’re starting to sound a little paranoid,” he told her. “I just—why can’t we leave him in binders until tomorrow?” she pleaded, ignoring his jab. “Because we want him to be on our side,” Jacen whispered, his voice deepening to keep it from carrying. “Remember? We’re going to need his help tomorrow. Just go get some rest and don’t worry about it.” A frustrated hand wiped down her face. “I think it’s going to take a good trance to get me to rest.” “Let me know if you need any help,” he offered, knowing her difficulty when trying to enter a meditative mindset. “Thanks,” she grumbled. Giving her brother one last warning look, she shuffled down the hall towards her own room. As she passed her parent’s room a rustling noise caught her attention. She stopped at the door, resisting the urge to press her ear to the surface. The soft scuffles piqued her interest until she couldn’t defy the impulse and swept the door aside. Inside, Han Solo was up to his knees in a pile of clothes. “Dad?” she queried. “What are you doing?” The former smuggler didn’t even spare her a glance, just marched to his closet and threw another armload of outfits into the room. “Cleaning,” he replied curtly. Jaina blinked, trying to remember if she had ever heard him say that word in application to himself. “I think you’re having the opposite effect,” with an eye to the masses of her mother’s ball gowns and robes of office. “Well, since we won’t be needing these anymore, I figured I might as well get make use of the space,” he muttered. The truth smacked her in the forehead. “You’re getting rid of all of Mom’s things?” “Yep. If you see anything to your taste feel free,” he waved a dismissive hand. Jaina took another step into the room and threw up her arms in exasperation. “Dad, you can’t just throw away all her stuff!” “Why not?” he demanded, whirling to face her, a white dress in one hand and a flowing blue tunic in the other. “It’s not like she’s coming back to get them,” he sneered. Jaina swallowed, noting how red his eyes were and how his legs had a hard time coordinating with each other. “You’re drunk, aren’t you?” He made no reply, and instead turned to Leia’s jewelry box. “What do you think,” he held up a string of cerulean pearls, “charity or black market? Or maybe your Aunt Mara wants them? Or that old lady you brought home?” “She’s not an old lady, Dad, she’s our grandmother!” Jaina practically shouted. “And you’re not getting rid of any of this. It belongs to Mom, and she is coming back for them.” He rolled his eyes as he fingered through some other pricy jewels. “Wishful thinking, kid. But you know, if she doesn’t want me, then I don’t want her! Good riddance is what I say! Nothing but a damn headache since the day we met, anyhow.” “You don’t mean that,” Jaina whispered, aghast. She had never seen him like this before. Drunk, sure, but never despondent. “Like hell I don’t!” he snarled and pitched the whole jewelry box against the far wall. Jaina caught it with the Force in time, but depriving him of the satisfying crash seemed to have been a wrong move. “Now you listen here,” he swiveled to glare her down, “I don’t want any more of this foolish talk about Leia coming back. It’s not going to happen and you might as well accept it. She doesn’t love you and I guess she never did. All these years of promises and hopes and dreams were nothing but lies, and you’re just going to have to suck it up and deal with that. What do you need some self-righteous princess hanging off your neck and telling you what to do for anyway, huh? Huh?” Jaina didn’t know what to say. He was projecting his inner turmoil onto her and she had no way of dealing with that. How does a daughter comfort her father at time like that, especially when he might be right? “Ahh,” he pawed dismissively at the air and went back to emptying the drawers of Leia’s things. She moved cautiously towards him, trying to ignore the pungent scent of alcohol and just say something, anything, that would make him stop. “Dad,” she whispered, slowly covering his big hands with her own to stop his progress. The sadness in his eyes when he looked at her broke her heart. So instead of saying anything she slipped against his chest and hugged him tight, silently letting him know how much she loved him. At last his thick arms came around her too, and his quiet tears soaked her hair.
* * * “Fel, I have no idea what you’ve done to get her so wired, but I’ve got to give you a hand. I’ve been annoying her my whole life and have never made that kind of progress,” Jacen Solo laughed as he closed the door to his room. Jag looked up from the cot they had put out for him, and quirked one lip in amusement. “Believe me, the effect is mutual. I haven’t had peace in days. I now have the utmost respect for Jedi subterfuge.” This roused a hardy chuckle from both Jedi. “That’s probably a good thing,” Jacen admitted. “Maybe I won’t have to worry so much about you trying something stupid.” Don’t count on it, Fel thought, but voiced nothing. “So how do you know our grandmother?” Jaina’s younger brother, Anakin, asked. “I carried supplies to her home for years as a child,” Jag admitted. “It seems strange to me that she is your grandmother and you know nothing of her, and I am of no kin to her but she’s played that role in my life for years.” “And you had no idea she had once been married to Darth Vader?” Jacen frowned. Jag shook his head honestly. “Frankly, I didn’t gauge her to be that old. I thought she was a left over aristocrat from the early days of the Empire. She’s held her youth well, except for the hair,” he took account of her silver mane. “I’m hungry,” Anakin suddenly changed the subject. “You’re always hungry,” Jacen rolled his eyes. “I could actually take some nourishment myself,” Jag admitted. “I haven’t eaten since early this morning.” “All right,” Anakin stood happily. “I’ll go get something. You want anything, Jace?” His older brother shook his head. “No, thanks. Just something to drink.” When Anakin had left Jacen continued, “So, Fel, how is it you managed to get abducted by my sister and an old woman?” His voice was colored with amusement. Jag resisted a scowl. “Easily enough. I was speaking with your sister and Padmé struck me from behind with a shovel.” The Jedi’s snicker was generous. “Sorry. You just don’t seem the type that would be easily lured by something like that.” “I probably wouldn’t have been, had a real plan been set in motion. I think it was a spur-of-the-moment decision for Padmé. I do not believe Jaina was in on it until afterwards,” Jag explained. “What makes you think that?” He shrugged. “Their conversation when I was waking up. Just a hunch.” Jag carefully neglected his suspicion that Jaina had previously had some sort of inclination towards him. That was of no matter at the present. It was certainly gone now. “So, what are you all planning to do with me after this?” he took the plunge. Jacen hesitated a heartbeat before making a reply. “I think that we’re going to need you to make the appeal to the Chiss for aid. Act like we’ve beaten the plans out of you, or something, and their only option is to comply. I’m not entirely certain of the details, but it’s something to that effect.” “I won’t do it,” Jag pursed his lips. “I’d never lie to them, especially for people who’ve forced me away from my station like that. I might very well loose all my credibility as it is.” He couldn’t quite keep the bitterness he felt out of that last phrase. Jacen scratched his head worriedly. “I’m sorry for all this, Jag. I really am. But it’s for the best of my family, and the galaxy. You have to see that.” Jag looked away and clenched his jaw. These Jedi had demanded everything and offered nothing. There was no way. It was then Anakin decided to make his entrance. “I’ve got guashi dip and protato chips,” he grinned. “And three bottles of water.” “That’s only two bottles, nerf for brains,” Jacen laughed. “I thought you could at least count to three by now.” Anakin examined the contents of his left hand with I frown. “I must have forgotten the other on the counter. I’ll be right back.” “I’ll go,” Jag stood. At their dubious expressions he placated, “No funny business, I promise. It’s not like it would do me any good.” They kept staring. “I’m just going to the kitchen, not the corner market,” he rolled his eyes and made for the door. They didn’t stop him, so he kept going. It was a tantalizing opportunity, he couldn’t deny it. If he was ever going to run, it would be a perfect moment. But he knew in his heart that he would never make it without a real plan or a weapon. Someone would be on him before he was out the door. The best he might manage was to kill himself while there was no one to prevent him. But Jag wasn’t quite that desperate yet. With a sigh descended the stairs and turned down a small entranceway to the kitchen. He was surprised to find the preserver door already open, and a small feminine figure silhouetted in the doorway. Jaina Solo turned over her shoulder at his entrance. “What are you doing down here?” Jag snatched the bottled water off the counter and said, “Getting a drink.” “Not sneaking away?” “You need to get a different hobby.” “Don’t flatter yourself,” she closed the door and faced him fully. Jag noted with a start that her eyes were red and puffy, and two dark smudges colored her lower lids where her makeup had run. “Are you crying?” “No,” she snapped a little too quickly. “Why don’t you take your water and go back upstairs where you belong, before I decide to break the binders back out.” Her voice wavered even then, and he could see her lip quiver in the shadows. This was a very different Jaina than he had ever seen. Jag wasn’t sure what to make of it. “You are crying. What happened?” he asked, not sure why he cared. She had the same thought. “Why do you care?” “I don’t.” “Then why ask?” He couldn’t think of a decent retort, so he just stood there like an idiot. Finally she deflated like a balloon, the haughtiness in her posture evaporating. She melted against the counter between them, resting her elbows on the surface and head in hands. “Dad is drunk. I’m trying to remember what that hangover concoction of Lando’s had in it.” Jag was speechless. He continued to stand there and stare brainlessly. “He’s throwing away all of Mom’s things,” she persisted, sounding as if she didn’t believe it either. “It’s like he’s completely given up any hope of ever getting her back. He even says that we’re better off, if she doesn’t want to come. What hope do I have if my own father doesn’t even believe it?” She was talking to herself more than him, he knew. And what reply could he make to that either? He was the hope she had based everything on, and she knew as well as he did that it was one shot in hell of getting him to help. She was without prospects. How could he, a part of her devastation, offer comfort? And a better question, why the hell did he so badly want to? “I’m sorry,” he winced at last, knowing the lameness of it before the words ever left his mouth. She chuckled cynically. “Yeah, well, me too.” “I mean it,” he took a step forward, feeling awkward and unsure of what to do with his arms. He settled for folding them across his chest. “Go back upstairs, Jag,” she whispered, keeping her gaze fixed on the cabinet top under her hands. Knowing not what else to do, he went.
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