Disclaimer- I don't own Star Wars, or the New Jedi Order, or any of the affiliated books or movies or stuff. Obviously.

The dark man with sits, back stiff against the cool infirmary chair as his cloak drapes around him, green eyes hooded.

In the bed, face so pale against crisp white sheets, a broken angel lays. Dull brown locks, once a shimmering mane of bronze and red silk, lay limp against a flat pillow. Brandy-brown eyes, always a lit with an inner fire, lay shut beneath pale eyelids, eyelashes creating spiky shadows across gaunt cheeks. Only the slight movement of her chest betrays the life within her.

The sharp beep of a heart monitor is the only sound to be heard. Silence stretches taut, close to breaking. The girl exhales. She does not move. The white sheet lays flat. The man's face tightens. His eyes grow blacker. She inhales. He lets out a sudden rush of breath, breathing with her.

"Why did you have to be so stupid?" The man breaks the silence abruptly. His tone is harsh, gruff, and deep with anger. "You didn't have to jump into the fray. Why did you do it- throw yourself into the middle of rioters out for blood?" The Jedi Master fell silent, his dark brooding gaze glaring at the girl in the bed.

"It was stupid!" he yells at her savagely, suddenly. "Stupid and reckless- everything you were trained not to be!" His explosion leaves him abruptly silent and his chest heaves. The heart monitor beeps again. The girl's chest rises and falls. The man sighs, all energy gone as he sags back against the chair, closing his eyes.

"If you die, I'll haunt you for the rest of your afterlife," the man murmurs lazily, letting the lie slip heavily from his tongue. The girl lies silent. He gazes at her, and for the first time, something much like weariness enters his gaze.

His eyes drink in her vulnerable face, re-cataloguing the blue-black bruises, red scrapes, and angry slash marks that mar creamy skin. The man stands, not tall, but with power, dark and aggressive and ready to strike out, crackling around him. As it always did. As it always would. No matter the outcome of her injuries.

He turned away from the bed, black cloak swirling around him as he stalked toward the door. He could never haunt her. He could never have any hold on her, that amazingly spirited Jedi girl born of fate and touched by destiny. Whether she awoke or not didn't matter. Either way, she would haunt him until the day he died..

Authoress's note- In case anyone was wondering, I wrote the man as Kyp Durron. However, originally a Zekk fan (before I heard of Kyp- I instantly converted of course), I tried to write it so a fan could imagine him too! No Jag. The man is not Jag. Burn that blasphemous thought from your mind. On that note, please tell me your thoughts in a review (just don't mention Jag, and it'll all be fine). Old souls out