Going Down

--Chapter Three--

Kyp groaned as he glanced at his bedside chrono. It seemed like he'd only been asleep for just a few hours. Oh, wait, it was just a few hours. He didn't even know what time it had been when he'd stumbled in from Jaina's quarters and collapsed into his own bedt itt it had been some horrific hour.

He scrubbed his fingers through his hair and sat up. Heaving a sigh, he stood and wandered into the refresher.

He emerged a few minutes later and wearily drew on a plain flightsuit over his black shirt and pants. A belt went around his waist, lightsaber clipped to that. He moved slowly, trying not to aggravate his tired muscles.

When he was dressed, he paused for a moment, and sighed.

"Definitely need to get some caf."

He had the feeling it was going to be a long, tiring day.

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It was. And in more than one way. It had nearly killed Kyp earlier, feeling Jaina's fear for Jag, knowing that the Imperial had some kind of hold on her, even if she shared her bed with Kyp at night.

Kyp had risked his life to save the other man today, running on half his energy and half the sleep he normally had, and had completely drained what had remained of his energy stores with that stupid stunt. Part of him thought, as he staggered away from Jag, Jaina, and Colonel celchu, that he should have just let the stuck-up pilot die.

He collapsed face-first on his bed and was out instantly.

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"Because people keep going away and they don't come back . . . and I don't want to be alone," Jaina finished, her eyes welling up with tears.

Jag touched her cheek, lifted her chin. "I'm not going anywhere," he said.

He kissed her.

Jaina had been thinking about this for weeks, in the moments he managed to distract her from recalling her time spent with Kyp. Her heart sped up just before his lips touched hers . . .

And then plummeted like a chunk of lead.

He was a very good kisser, this foreign pilot. He had the skill that should have, in theory, done to her what Kyp's kiss did.

But she felt nothing, even as Jag pulled her to him.

Nothing except longing for the fire that Kyp's touch inspired, for the strange, heady feeling she got whenever they kissed.

She pulled away. Jag stared down at her, looking confused.

"Jaina? Is there something wrong?"

She brushed the tears away and shook her head. "I can't do this, Jag."

He sighed. "There's someone else."

Jaina paused, then slowly nodded. "Yes. I'm sorry."

"Is it Durron?"

Her brown eyes lifted and fixed him with a hard stare. She didn't know why, but she felt a powerful urge to protect Kyp. "I don't believe that who it is would be any of your business. I appreciate that you are interested in me, but I'm afraid that the interest is not returned. You are dismissed, Colonel."

Jag's jaw clenched. He opened his mouth to speak, but then changed his mind. He nodded once, then turned and marched out.

Jaina sighed and leaned against the conference table for a moment.

She was going to have to sort this out, and soon. But first, she had a meeting with General Antilles.

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Three hours later, Jaina opened the bedroom door and walked in, locking it behind her as she'd done the front door.

Kyp lay sprawled across his bed, dead to the world. His dark hair was tousled, his clothes rumpled. He hadn't even bothered to undress before collapsing.

She hesitated for a moment. How ironic that she'd got him to help her save Jag . . . when she didn't even really feel anything for the Imperial pilot.

Jaina pulled off her boots, then stripped down to her underwear. Carefully folding her clothes, she placed them on a chair. Then she went to the bed.

She pulled off Kyp's boots, then his socks. Next came the flightsuit, and the clothing he wore beneath. She ran her fingers over his bare skin, feeling the warmth of him, and shivered.

Jaina sighed and crawled into bed beside him, pressing close. She pulled the sheet up to her chin.

"Thank you," she whispered.