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“No, that’s not going to work.”
“If you are going to be dismissive, at least explain yourself.” Jag clenched his jaw as he spoke to the taller man across the table from him. He pointed at the flimsi sheet in front of him, marking the entry point he wanted to try again.
“Can you two knock it off? Jag, he’s right. She’ll sense us if we enter from that direction. If she’s in the hideout. We’ll have to attach cameras from above. There are more people up there.” Jaina pointed out as she rested her head on her hand.
They’d been in the Alema Rar Taskforce headquarters, a spare Jedi temple room, for more than ten hours now, plotting their next move on Alema. Which meant Jaina had spent ten hours with Zekk and Jag going back and forth, trading insults and snide remarks. They were too proud to admit they were acting like rontos in rut. Each time she had to chastise them, like just now, the sense of embarrassment and a tinge of shame flooded the Force. Why did Uncle Luke do this to her?
“Right,” Jag spoke calmly and precisely—something that got on Zekk’s nerves. He couldn’t stand that the righteous prick had his emotions locked down like a cargo hauler. Zekk had been trained not to fall prey to his own emotions after his misguided youth, but he didn’t shy away from being human, unlike the Chiss raised cardboard man across from him. “This means I’ll need to print more blueprints of the hideout.”
He shook his head, his singular white lock of hair falling in his eyes as the mood of the room dampened. Zekk exhaled heavily. Stupid Jag, with his stupid gelled hair and stupid face. It was unfair, really. He had thought they were through with the arrogant pilot years ago, leaving him and their time in Killik space behind them.
“Temple library resources closed an hour ago.” Zekk pointed out, spinning his chair restlessly. Jaina shot him a glare. They both knew how to work the printing system to get around the temple authorization code; the library just had blocks for safety purposes, like preventing a young student from printing out thousands of pages of flimsi.
Jaina stalked her way around the table, her hands resting on the back of each chair as she glared at the two men. Zekk’s spinning slowed, facing Jaina with a sheepish look across his chiseled features. Jag’s tough exterior refused to crack, looking up at her with a tempered glance in his mossy eyes.
“Here’s what’s going to happen. The two of you are going to get some caf that isn’t as burnt and black as the emperor’s bones, while I go get us the blueprints.” She drawled, frowning at the pair. Someone had to be useful here.
“Finally, something we can agree on.” The dark-haired pilot grimaced at the thought of the hours-old caf on a side table next to the door. “I didn’t think it was possible to have anything worse than the motor oil they served us back in the war.”
Jaina clicked her tongue, resisting Jag’s nostalgic comment. She had business to get to. Dealing with Alema Rar to get to. Zekk made a noise in the back of his throat as he rose to his feet.
“Is there a problem? Or are you partial to drinking the temple’s motor oil?” Jag asked without a mere hint of sarcasm. That was something Zekk hated. It was almost smug, flaunting his past with Jaina and previous titles. His dark emerald eyes narrowed.
“You don’t want to know what I’ve ingested in my life. Burnt caf is the least of my worries, though it seems like it’s your priority.” He snarked, heading through the door before Jaina’s admonishment could reach his ears.
“That was hardly necessary, you nerfherder!”
Jag spun off his seat, brows raised at Zekk’s attitude. He shrugged his stiff jacket over his black civilian garb, shaking his head.
“I’m sorry about—”
“Don’t apologize for him. You’re not his keeper. If he wants to be an ass, so be it.” Jag waved her off. He knew she was trying to keep the peace, and it was unbecoming of her. Jaina Solo was not a peacekeeper. “I’ll manage.”
“I wasn’t worried,” Jaina replied, clipped and restrained. She held the flimsy under her arm awkwardly, waiting for him to leave first. “After you, he’s probably going to Red’s Beans down the street.”
“His favorite?”
“Mine.” Jaina gave a brief, polite smile, following him out. She turned the opposite direction down the hall, leaving Jag to catch up with the tall figure near the temple’s grand steps.
-
“Red’s Beans?”
“They have a temple ID discount,” Zekk grumbled, holding his badge up to Jag’s peripheral. “Caf’s pretty good. Jaina likes the place.”
Jag squinted at the badge, holding back a quip about how young the holo on it was. The temple had not updated the records since he was a teen.
Red’s Beans was a tap caf situated just a block away from the temple to the point where it was fully integrated with the temple district, but close enough that the younger generation hung out there between studies and missions. The staff knew most faces by heart and always served well.
“So, the Jedi do get perks,” Jag commented. “And do you always do what Jaina wants?”
Zekk spun to face Jag in the middle of the crowded Coruscant walkway, unfazed by the thousands of species of galactic citizens passing by. He looked down at the shorter man, shaking his head.
“Don’t do that. I tolerate a lot of shavit, but not from you.” Zekk warned, his jaw tensing. He couldn’t stand the way Jag spoke about Jaina. It was ironic, given that Jag held resentment for her actions during their time in Killik space, but he certainly wasn’t over her romantically. And that was the last thing Zekk wanted to think about.
Thanks to his time as a joiner with Jaina, he had thought about Jag romantically far too often and recently to handle. The bombardment of her memories in their bond still ate at him every time he looked too long at the stocky pilot. And by the Force did Zekk hate it.
He just didn’t know why he had to have her memories of their romantic trysts in conference rooms and bunks. Sometimes, when Jag’s cologne was a little too strong, Zekk felt like he could taste the man on his tongue if he sat too close to him.
Jag stood still, his hands clasped behind his back like he was on a star destroyer’s bridge and not on the streets of the galaxy’s capital city. He frowned.
“Forgive me, I’m just saying. Seems like she’s leading the charge here.”
Zekk ran his hand through his long hair, pushing loose strands behind his ears. He knew what Jag was saying; he knew what the proud and proper man meant. And he was sick of it. “Seems like it’s only a problem for you and your sense of duty.”
The shorter man balked, but ultimately began walking past Zekk and towards the tapcaf further down the street.
“Look. If there’s one thing Jaina wants me to do, it’s keep the peace with you. So, let’s not do this.” Zekk placated. He would much rather defend his dignity, but ultimately knew he was better than that. He cared more about Jaina than whatever the washed-up pilot thought of him.
“Noble man,” Jag commented, turning down the street. “I do like that about you.”
Zekk paused in shock at the statement, his dark brows furrowing as he waited for a snarky follow-up that never came. Jag continued walking, stumbling as he stepped on a loose sewage grate. He bumped into a crowd of tourists ahead of them, and at least three different alien dialects began shouting at him in disgust. Zekk bumped into Jag from behind and steadied his shoulders. Jag stiffened at the feeling of Zekk’s warm hands, but he didn’t step away. Zekk led them off from the crowd, briskly apologizing.
“Is this your first time in a city?” Zekk asked, shaking his head at the shorter man. At least it hadn’t been a gaggle of senators, Zekk hated it when it was senators.
“Csaplar isn’t much of a city in comparison, so that’s unfortunately a yes,” Jag replied, dusting off his jacket. “Thank you. I take it you’re intimately familiar with Coruscant?”
Zekk smiled wryly, stepping over another grate beside them with his long legs. “Mostly the lower levels, probably where you’d have ended up if they weren’t tourists.”
Jag raised a dark eyebrow. He hadn’t taken the broody man to be one for the crime-ridden under levels; in fact, he hadn’t any conception of him beyond Jedi, and an annoying tall one at that. “Were you raised here then?”
“I’d say the undercity raised me.” Zekk corrected, pulling his cloak a little tighter as rain drizzled down between the buildings. “I was orphaned pretty young…don’t suppose Jaina ever told you.”
“She did not,” Jag replied, blinking in surprise at Zekk’s candid tone. It was perhaps the most personal thing the taller man had ever told him, by far. He turned his head, thankful to see the sign for the tap caf just across from them. “Shall we?”
-
The tap caf was surprisingly busy for it being early evening, but Coruscant hardly slept to begin with. It was filled to the brim with law students, tourists, and all species from across the galaxy. Senatorial aids stood at pickup counters with earpieces in, comlinks open, and various feet tapping in impatience. In the corner sat couches for lounging, bar seating for those studying, and tables for gathering. Warm glowpanels bathed everyone in yellow lighting, browns and tans painted the walls with a cozy atmosphere. The walls held various screens of morphing artwork, blending with the paint.
“So this is it?” Jag commented, stepping inside alongside Zekk. The taller man grunted.
“Yes.” Zekk was clearly annoyed that it was crowded, not wanting to spend more time with Jag alone than he already had that day.
“Cozy.”
Jag took a place in the long line of customers, glancing around at the different patrons. He squinted at the holographic menu board, thinking of ordering food alongside his usual cold, blended caf. Then it occurred to him.
“Are you ordering for Jaina or am I?”
Zekk looked pained by the question, knowing it was downright idiotic. He scoffed.
“You know her order, don’t you?”
Jag didn’t waver under Zekk’s steely gaze. He shifted, though, glancing back at the holographic board.
“I’m willing to admit not at this establishment. No.” The pilot said, moving forward with Zekk in the line. The Jedi rolled his eyes, rummaging in his cloak pockets for his credit chip. “Like I said, we drank vile motor oil in the war.”
“Tell you what, it’s on me today, space jockey. Think of it as a thank you for the Vong you killed,” Zekk clapped him on the back of his broad shoulder, grinning because, at the very least, he had a small, tangible thing about Jaina that Jag didn’t know. It was childish, immature even, but Zekk couldn’t help it.
They finally made it up to the counter, standing side by side. Zekk offered to let Jag order first. The shorter man approached the young, very scattered-looking human behind the counter. He was busy sending orders to service droids for those sitting in the lounge seats. A Twi’lek, busy making drinks, nudged the purple-haired young man on the side to draw his attention towards the front of the counter.
“Uh! What can I get you today, sir? We have oh, what’s it called… a new drink from meiloorun pulp-”
“I’ll take just a cold, blended caf. And a savory Corellian nerf handpie.” Jag ordered, pointing at the case of pastries and handpies beside the ordering point. The young cashier scrambled for the hand pie. Zekk let out a noise of disbelief through his nose at Jag’s order. A cold blended caf was frankly, the most sugary and vile creation Zekk had seen in a tapcaf. Which was saying something.
“Will that be heated, sir?” The cashier asked, holding the handpie up between a pair of tongs as other kitchen staff moved around him. Jag nodded.
“Heated is fine,” He added verbally just in case, considering the cashier had already gotten distracted by a food processor dinging behind him, nearly dropping the hand pie.
Zekk let out a grumble, realizing he should probably order food for Jaina too. When Jaina got focused on something, she let everything else fall to the wayside– including dinner.
Jag stepped back to let Zekk order, but stayed at his side. The tall Jedi leaned against the counter, eyeing the holo board one last time.
“Do you love him?” The anxious, teenage cashier gestured between Jag and Zekk with a shaky hand.
“Excuse me?” Came Jag’s haughty voice in disbelief. Zekk, uncomfortable himself, laughed it off while placing a credit chip on the counter and sliding it to the red-faced human.
“Love him? He’s a pain in my backside, but I’m paying for him.” Zekk said with a sigh, trying not to think too hard about the word love associated with Jagged Fel. He was just glad Jaina wasn’t here.
“Pleasant as always, Zekk.” Jag retorted, crossing his arms. Zekk shot him a glare, considering he had been much more courteous than he wanted to be.
“Sorry! Sorry! I just– usually– lots of couples this shift!” The teen stammered, holding a cup full of Jag’s blended concoction. The shorter man took the cup, shaking his head and walking off to the corner, while Zekk continued ordering a latte for Jaina, and a black caf with room for blue cream for himself.
“That is so undignified.” He commented to Jag as they collected their orders and made their way to the sidebar that housed stir sticks and sugar packets. Zekk poured blue cream in his caf, and when Jag wasn’t looking, a pinch of cocoa.
“I can’t believe you came all this way just to drink something that tastes like a cockpit’s nerf leather seat.” Jag countered. He stood with his back straight and tall, his hands clasped around the cool cup. Zekk shook his head, making sure the lids were on tight for his and Jaina’s drinks before they headed back to the temple.
-
They made it back to the temple by the time Coruscant’s sun had set, Zekk placing Jaina’s latte at her usual seat before sitting at his own.
Jag, still sipping on his cold drink, stood in the doorway. “Should we go find Jaina? She should be back by now.”
Zekk shrugged, swirling his caf cup and looking up at Jag. “She’ll be back soon enough.” He offered. As if on cue, the petite Jedi rushed through the door, brushing past Jag, and slammed the set of flimsi on the table.
“You two are lifesavers,” Jaina groaned, grabbing the latte and taking a heavy swig. The rich liquid burned the back of her throat slightly, but she didn’t care, more concerned with the caffeine intake than anything. “Ow, hot.”
“It’s no problem,” Jag spoke first, finally making his way to his seat. He watched Jaina intently, noticing how she leaned over the table as she adjusted the flimsi she had set down.
“What in the nine Corellian hells are you drinking?” Jaina had felt Jag’s eyes on her and turned around to admonish him for staring, but got distracted by the plastic cup filled with caf and swirled with blue milk cream and sugar.
“It’s vile, isn’t it?” Zekk commented, nodding at her, muttering something about Jag being an “absolute child”. The pilot frowned.
“I’m not the one who was asked if he was in love,” Jag piped up suddenly, causing Zekk’s face to pale. The Jedi caught his own projection, stamping out on it in the force before Jaina caught wind of his emotions.
It didn’t help. She set down her caf latte gently, eyes narrowing. “With who exactly?”
Jaina didn’t want to have to remind these two idiots that she had told them time and time again she wasn’t interested in love right now. She had plenty of it in her heart for both of them, but her motivations lay elsewhere. She had business to take care of. Dark Jedi to hunt and the ever-growing threat of her own twin brother.
“Fel is being uncharitable, considering I bought him that concoction—”
“There is nothing wrong with my drink of choice,” Jag admonished, his brow raised. He took a sip, shaking his head. “You’re the one using it to deflect.”
Jaina squeezed her eyes shut, the sudden tension between the two men overwhelming her. Zekk was able to clamp down on most of it, but Jag, however much his stoic face liked to hide, could not cover his true feelings from her.
“Jag, it’s disgusting.” She ignored his deep breath and faced Zekk, her brows raised. “And you, what’s going on? Have I not made it exceptionally clear that—”
The tall man stepped forward, eyes dark as he pointed a finger at her. “Jaina,” Zekk warned, with a tone that told her she was better off stopping her words right there. “Not everything is about you.”
She stepped back, confusion running across her features. “About me?”
“Yes, about you,” Zekk replied with a sharper-than-usual attitude. “Did it ever occur to you that you weren’t involved in that conversation at all. Even the idea of you?”
Jaina’s brows furrowed deeper as she tried to place her closest friend’s emotions. She even briefly touched him in the Force, gently brushing over his shielded heart. What did he mean? Her eyes flickered over to Jag, who stood sipping his drink but pointedly looked away from Zekk.
As if he felt her eyes on him, Jag spoke next. “With me. To answer your question.”
Jaina set her caf cup down as she took in the information. A deep belly laugh came out of her lopsided grin. “That’s a great joke, Jag,” She wiped at her eyes, looking over to Zekk, who was breathing deeply. Jaina could sense he was trying to center himself before his emotions got the better of him. “Come on, it’s funny,”
Zekk crossed his arms, caf forgotten about on the table in front of them. He stalked over to Jag, glaring at him. The other man refused to be rattled by him. Jag looked up, shrugging. “It’s factual.”
“Zekk, what’s going on?” Jaina asked, her mirth gone. She reached over, squeezing his bicep gently. She would have squeezed his shoulder if she could reach it. “You’re being odd. Odder than usual.”
“Don’t you start. This is all your fault, with your head and my head and all of it jumbling up. Don’t.”
Zekk groaned, sitting down as he realized he’d have to explain himself further. It was embarrassing, really, but what other choice did he have? He’d have to work with them tomorrow. No way he was re-assigning himself from the mission to something else. This isn’t a conversation he wanted with Master Skywalker. Although Skywalker knew about the source of the frustration– the joiner bond– this was…beyond him now.
“Oh. Oh.” Jaina balked at his revelation, stepping back. Jag, utterly out of the loop, simply frowned. His cup ran out of caf at the worst moment, a loud squelch from the strawport cutting into the dead silence of the room. He quickly threw the monstrosity away.
“Oh?” Jag mocked, still confused at what Jaina was discovering and why Zekk had started to complain. To be fair, he always thought the tall one was rather whiny, but usually, he had substance to his complaints. This felt different. Maybe it was what he didn’t like about the way he addressed Jaina.
“Oh.” Zekk bit the inside of his cheek. “Oh! You conveniently forgot to tell our mission partner that part, didn’t you?”
“Zekk, why would I!?” Jaina’s tone grew exasperated with him. She looked at Jag with an apology. The stoic man blinked, inclining his head towards her.
“Jaina…is there something I need to know?” He asked, green eyes wide with questions. What could they possibly be referring to? Jag was pretty sure the two had been together before, so if it was something about them getting together while he was out of the picture, he didn’t want to hear it. But Zekk seemed cagy, which surprised him. He’d have thought that any normal man would like to, in a fit of jealousy, stake his claim over Jaina. Something was off.
“When Zekk and I were with the Taat those years ago,” Jag cringed at her briefly, then returned to his standard military-trained rigor. He didn’t want to hear about the time Jaina had betrayed his trust, not right now. “We were joined, but we were also dealing with this Force bond. It’s how Raynar called us to the Nest. So when Zekk and I converged–”
“She couldn’t stop thinking about you, and I know all about it,” Zekk interjected, shaking his head. “It’s like all my mind was bombarded with. And so were her feelings.” He ripped it off like a batca patch. Jag’s mouth lightly dropped in surprise. He didn’t know what to say about that. Jaina had been thinking of him the whole time? Despite being with Zekk, in what he assumed was a sensual nature?
Jaina’s face was red, clearly feeling guilt and shame over the entire thing ever happening. She wanted to tell Jag it was all a mistake, but it wasn’t, was it? Her feelings for him were always there, and always transparent when they interacted during that time frame. Zekk continued,
“I used to wake up with memories of you two in my mind. And when she was worried about you, or wanted to bait you. I felt all of that. As if they were my own feelings. So in a way…I am in love with you.”
It felt strange coming out of Zekk’s mouth. He frowned. What had gotten into him? Professing his love for the emotionally unavailable bounty hunter pilot in front of him? But he couldn’t stop the way the man’s shoulders had felt under his hands earlier in the day, and he certainly couldn’t take out the memories Jaina had sent him of all their proclivities. The tap caf had stung, and he played it off so casually that he was sure Jag hadn’t noticed his stiffening when the question was asked. Jaina and her stupid desires, and her damn emotional memories.
“That’s not–”
“Oh, it is. I can feel it.” Jaina patted Jag on the shoulder, a lopsided grin between her cheeks. She was glad Zekk had finally said it out loud, after all the weeks of him being a surly, overgrown teenager about it all. This didn’t fundamentally change much between the men, she decided. Zekk had an attraction to Jag through her as a proxy, but Jaina knew she was still the one being pursued.
“Maybe that cashier was Force sensitive after all.”