Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and
situations created and owned by Lucasfilm, Ltd. No
money is being made and no infringement is intended.
Notes: Written for the Theatrical Muse 'drunk' challenge.
Drink It Down
---
Is there ever a good reason to get blinding drunk?
"Hey, Great One!" Kyp calls as I'm powering down my X-Wing.
I laugh, turn my head and smile at him. I can afford the laugh and the smile today; Today we've been lucky. The battle was only a feint, not the major engagement we all know is coming, but we didn't lose anyone out there today, and that's a rare thing.
"Yeah, Kyp?"
"Let me buy you a drink. We can get blindingly drunk in celebration."
I shake my head as I climb down from the fighter. "Kyp-"
"C'mon, the whole squadron's going!"
Kyp started the war with a squadron of his own, but his pilots were killed. He's been flying with my Twin Suns almost as long as there's been a Twin Suns, since I took over the squadron from my Uncle Luke. He was one of Uncle Luke's first students, years ago when I was still a child. My father found Kyp on Kessel, and he's made something of a project of him. I think Dad's almost as proud of Kyp- what he's been through, how far he's come- as he is of Jacen and Anakin and I. And I don't think it would have bothered Dad in the slightest if Kyp and I had ended up together.
I guess it could have happened; he was kind of chasing me for a while, and I was considering becoming his apprentice. It wasn't that I didn't have a Jedi Master already, but Aunt Mara was so sick, and then when Anakin died and I kind of...lost it, well... Kyp had been there, touched the Dark Side, and come back, and I think I needed that kind of support for a while.
Not that Kyp Durron is the galaxy's best role model. Half of the shady Force tricks I used while I was flirting with the Dark Side, I picked up from Kyp.
I don't know how good he was for me, really- he's still very angry a lot of the time, and he's fairly bitter. I think he feels he has to prove himself all the time, prove to the others that he's not the same pissed off kid who destroyed Carida with the Sun Crusher.
Yes, Carida, the planet. The Empire used to have a military academy there; they don't anymore. My dad went there- before they threw him out.
Nobody really wanted to put Kyp in a leadership position again- but nobody wanted him in their squadrons, either. So I took him. After all, the Trickster Goddess needs some special people to fly her wing, right?
I have Kyp Durron, Destroyer of Worlds, and Jagged Fel, son of a famous Imperial Baron.
"Kyp, you know this isn't smart," I tell him.
He shrugs. "So what? Live a little, Jaina- while you still can."
"I-" I start to explain to him, but another voice cuts me off.
"Jaina."
I see Kyp stiffen, just a little, even as I feel myself relax- such different reactions to the same voice. The three of us are a team, partners, but I chose Jag, and Kyp's not used to coming in second. Sometimes it's awkward.
"Hey, Jag."
Kyp gives him a jerky sort of nod. "Nice flying out there, Fel."
"Thank you."
Kyp sighs. "Listen, Fel, Great One- I'm going to hyper out of here, I guess- but you should think about that drink, the both of you."
"It's not that I don't want it, Kyp- I do. But we can't take the risk," I say.
Kyp rolls his eyes. "Risk! What was that out there, just now?"
"What if they need us?" I ask, more sharply than I'd meant to. "Did you ever think of that? What if they need us, and we can't go out there because we're too drunk to find our fighters, much less fly them? Damnit, Kyp, you know that with Rogue Squadron off protecting refugee convoys, we're the best squad left here. You know they're depending on us- and we can't afford to let them down."
Kyp sighs. "I know you're right, it's just- I feel like we need a break, you know? And we're never going to get it. We're on twenty-four hour alert, and if you guys aren't feeling the stress, I've got to learn your secrets. I just wanted to unwind a little."
"Maybe you can take it in shifts or something," Corran Horn calls out as he hops down from his X-wing. With all of the landings and takeoffs going on in the hanger, none of us had noticed the arrival of twelve new X-Wings on station.
"Hey, Corran," I say. "Didn't know the Rogues were coming back today."
He shrugs. "We didn't, either, but we ran into some trouble, and-" he sighs. "They got the refugee convoy. We whistled up the medical frigate, and they picked up a few survivors, but..."
"Damn!" I start to punch the nearest wall, and Jag grabs my arm to stop me.
"Don't," he says. "It won't change what's happened, and if you hurt yourself, you can't fly."
"That's what they invented bacta for," I reply, but I realize he's right. "By the Force, I hate the Vong!"
"Hate leads to the-" Kyp begins. I glare at him, and he holds up his hands in surrender. "Forget it."
"Yeah. Thanks." I turn back to Corran. "Rogues make it out okay?"
"Yeah," he says. "Look- none of us can rest right now, you know? So we'll swap you shifts. Go on. Have a drink for me, would you?"
We have, in the end, considerably more than one drink for Corran. We have one for each of the Rogues, and one for each of the other squads we know is out there somewhere. And then for the ones that aren't anymore.
Eventually we stop making toasts and excuses, and we just drink. I get to feeling like maybe I should stop- I'm not really sure where I am anymore, and the faces around me keep going in and out of focus. But at the back of my mind I can still feel the gaping hole in my heart where my brother Anakin used to be.
As long as I can feel that hole, I haven't had enough.
---
The next morning, I wake up in my own bed, with no memory of how I got there. I notice, as I'm running as fast as unsteady legs can carry me towards the refresher, that someone had taken off my boots, and stood them up in a corner of the room.
My head pounds; I have never had a headache this bad in my entire life. And being violently ill doesn't seem to be helping it much.
After I finish throwing up, I spend a few minutes cursing myself and my stupidity. I want to curse Kyp, and Corran, and Jag, and everybody else, but I know the fault is really mine. No one held a blaster to my head and made me take those drinks- though if I had my blaster where I could reach it just now, I might put myself out of my misery.
The comlink on my belt beeps; it rings in my ears like a scream, and I wince. I fumble at it for a minute before I can force my fingers to work enough to turn it on. "Solo... what?"
"Jaina?" The voice is Jag's, and he sounds about as bad as I feel.
"Yeah?"
"Are you okay?"
"Um... Am I dead?"
Long pause, while Jag considers this. "I don't...think so."
"Damn. We're on duty in a couple hours, right?"
"Try two."
I sigh. "Alright... Meet you at Kyp's?"
The door chimes; I wince again. "Hang on, someone's at the-"
It opens. I see Jag, holding two mugs of caf, talking into the comlink clipped to his collar. "Yes?"
"Door," I finish. "Hi."
"Brought you a present," he says, handing over one of the mugs. "It's pretty strong."
I take a few sips, and then one large gulp. After a minute or two I start to feel the world coming back into focus. Everything seems a little too bright, and every noise is still too loud, but at least I'm starting to recover.
Maybe soon I'll stop feeling like I want to crawl into a hole and die?
"Listen- about last night. I'm sorry if I said anything stupid."
"If you did," Jag says, "I don't really remember it. Did I-?"
"I have no idea," I reply.
The funny thing is, there's only one thing I do remember about last night.
I remember that no matter how much I drank, the hole was still there. No matter how much I drank, I couldn't wash away my pain, or my brother's death. I could forget everything anyone might have said, and I could forget how much of what kinds of poisons we had all had, but I could not forget that.
And if there wasn't enough alcohol in all the stars to make that pain go away, even for a minute, I realized I was going to have to face it.
We were all going to have to face our pain.
"Come on," I say. "Let's go wake up a Jedi Master."
by Christine Anderson