Title: The Letter
Author: FelsGoddess
Timeframe: Three weeks before Fate of the Jedi: Outcast
Characters: Jaina Solo, Jagged Fel
Genre: Mush
Keywords: letter, romance
Summary: Jaina writes Jag a letter before he arrives on Coruscant for the Unification Summit.
Notes: Just a fun piece I wrote. UDC 5 is kicking my butt this week.


Dear Jag,

It's only been a week since I left. In less than a month, you'll be here. I hope the Unification Summit lasts several months, if only to keep you on-planet. I've already volunteered to be the "Jedi representative." Uncle Luke kept his mouth shut when I mentioned it, thank the Force. He should be quiet. It's his fault you are even in the position.

It's so late, Jagged. I can't sleep. I keep thinking about you. I know, I sound like some love-sick girl in a crappy holodrama, but there it is. I sleep better when you're lying beside me. I'm sure you noticed by now that I stole another one of your shirts. At least I remember to remove the insignia this time. The laundry attendant looked surprised to find that with my robes!

I keep looking at the clock, wondering what you are doing. I imagine now you are finally leaving your office. I know you work longer when you're alone. You'll go home and collapse onto your bed. By now, you must have found the note I left under your pillow the morning I left. I wrote that before you came home the night before; lying on our bed waiting for you. Each of those dreams and fantasies are true, Jag. I pray that we have more than a lifetime to explore them.

I can still feel the brush of your fingers in my hair. The trail of fire your hands left on my body still burns. The way your lips ghost over my skin leaves me completely helpless. If I close my eyes, I can envision your arms encircling me from behind; your hot breath on my neck as you whisper to me. The heat of your skin on mine. The way you touch me. The way you kiss me. The way you say my name…

Great Force, three weeks is far too long!

You know exactly the effect you have on me, Jagged. I can sense your satisfaction at that, no matter how much you try to block it. I know what I do to you, too. I notice the way your muscles quiver as I run my fingers and lips down your sculpted chest; I can sense the stirring inside of you. How you manage to stay in shape and work the hours you do, I'll never know. You always let out this adorable, contented sign when I run my hands through your hair. Don't even try to deny it.

By the way, if you find the strap to my dress that ripped on the corner of your desk, I'd like it back. That was completely your fault.

Speaking of your desk, how's work? Is everything-

Oh, forget it. That may be the lamest sentence ever written. I already decided I'm not sending this to you. Encrypted or not, I'm don't want some trumped up sludge reporter reading this. I can hear your protests now: no one has broken your family's codes in decades.

Writing this has had the completely opposite effect I was hoping for. Instead of clearing my mind, I'm completely twisted up.

Kriff it. I'm calling you. Write it off as a diplomatic consultation or something.

Love always,