Disclaimers: Kyp, Jaina and co belong to George Lucas and LucasFilm. I am making no money from writing this fic.
Time setting: post The Final Prophecy, NJO.
Warnings: Darkfic, character based (i.e. no driving plot), ambiguous ending…
A/N: I'm not sure I like the ending of this. It makes it a purely character piece, whereas one of the alternatives I though of would have given the whole thing a plot and made it a 'romance'. Except I couldn't think of anyone to pair Kyp up with, within the context of the fic. They had to know him well as a friend, not be Jaina or Jag, not be someone who wasn't there, not be someone in a permanent relationship (says a lot about what I think of J/J, doesn't it?)… I almost wrote in Jag, but it wouldn't work. Then I thought Zekk, but there's no hint that Kyp and Zekk really know each other, except as passing acquaintances. So you get this ending instead. Which isn't bad, I suppose.
It's raining. Hard. I suppose on a planet with this much water it's hardly a surprise. I suppose I ought to be grateful it doesn't do this more often. The severity of the storm has left me and my squadron grounded. When the lightning started the technicians came and asked very politely that we stopped using the simulators, since it wasn't safe to have so much electrical equipment on.
It can't be later than mid afternoon, but it might as well be night. The clouds are heavy, piling up around the bulbous towers and shrouding the pinnacles from sight. The rain's so heavy I can't even make out the street below my window. It might as well be fog. I can't see how far away it is. Could be metres, could be miles.
Apparently the Solos got back over a week ago. I wish someone had thought to tell me. I was under the impression we were friends.
Was that bitter? Well, no one's ever told me that bitterness leads to the dark side, so I'll let it be. I mean, I know they've all got a lot of people to see, but if they're taking a holiday, as I heard, then surely they've got time just to call and say 'hi'? Jaina, Han, Jag… I don't have many friends. I suppose I'm hardly more than an acquaintance to any of them, they've all got so many people in their lives.
Some days I feel like I'm the only person that exists. Walking through the world, days like this, all mist and rain, faces blurred and ghostly. I might as well be the only one. They're all too insubstantial to be real. If they were real, they'd react to me. Someone would react to me, right? Unless I'm the one that isn't real. No, the pain is too real.
I hate the rain. I hate not having anything to do. I hate having to sit and think and be honest with myself. I've been lying to the galaxy for decades now.
I watched my brother crumble to dust. Except I didn't, because it happened too fast. He was there, then he wasn't. But when I think of it, especially when I have those nightmares, I see each molecule peel away from him, watch his face dissolve and his body disintegrate. Master Skywalker told the galaxy I was under Exar Kun's influence, that it hadn't been my fault, that I'd been forced to do it.
That's the lie. I was never forced. I didn't have to if I didn't want to. Everything. I was just so angry. I had watched my parents die, when I was just a child. I had suffered in the spice mines of Kessel. And people expect me to be fine. They expect me to be a healthy, happy, well-rounded individual.
I'm scared of the dark. I'm scared of enclosed spaces. I'm scared of wide-open spaces. I have nightmares every night. I dream about my parents. I dream about my brother. I dream about Exar Kun. I dream about every single person I have killed or allowed to be killed. I'm a wreck. And they want me to defend my every action. I don't even know what motivates me to keep breathing, let alone keep fighting.
People don't realise just how much of my life has been consumed by the dark side. They think you're strong for coming back from it. They don't want to see that you were weak for falling in the first place, not when so many of their heroes have. I don't know, maybe Master Skywalker is as calm and centred as he appears to be. Me, I get so caught up in analysing my every deed and thought for traces of Sith motivation that I overlook the big things, the rage that makes me fight in battle, the simmering resentment against the rest of the galaxy for being happy, the jealousy, the hatred, the pain.
I hate being stuck here. I wanted to go with them, to the outer rim. I could have made a difference. I could have contributed. I could have been doing something. I mean, what if something had happened to them? What if Jaina had died, or Han, or Leia? What if I could have prevented that death?
It's a moot point, they're all fine. They're on holiday. I would have dropped by to say hello, if I had known sooner. I bet it's sunny there. I might even have let myself relax for a bit. I find it hard to do that. I worry that by letting myself relax I might be letting someone else down. It's not good to second-guess your every action, but I find it's the only way to stave off the guilt.
I wanted to be out there helping them, and I had to stay here. No one gave me a sufficient reason. If they were really my friends, they would have understood how much it hurts me to be off the front line. And they haven't even bothered to come by and tell me how it went.
Spoke to soon. Here's Jaina.
"It's great to see you!" I sound pathetic. I sound pleased. I can't believe I'm that desperate just to see another sentient being, to have someone else acknowledge my existence.
"And you." She seems a bit taken aback. I would be too, to be honest.
"How are you?"
"I'm fine. How about you?"
"Oh, keeping busy." Lie.
"Yeah, it has been really busy, hasn't it? I would have dropped in before now, but you know how it is."
Do I? Pray, enlighten me. "How is, well, everyone?"
"Mum and Dad are fine."
"And Jag?" I shouldn't ask. I like him, I do, and I like Jaina, but I don't like them together or talking about each other. It reminds me that I once dared to dream that I had a shot with her. It reminds me to smile and nod and ignore the little looks and gestures they share because no one's ever looked at me like that or shared secret gestures with me, or giggled just because I looked at them.
"Oh, he's just great!"
She's glowing. She's happy just thinking about him.
"I'm happy for you." Lie.
"Oh!"
It was an odd thing to say. Damn. Now she's wondering whether I was ever unhappy for them. Change subject change subject change subject. "I heard a rumour that your uncle and aunt had found that living planet."
"Oh, yes! They called us from Zonama Sekot, which was a rather surreal experience. Of course, we haven't heard anything since the holonet went down again. I can't believe that, not after we spent all that time getting it back up."
"That's probably why it went down again. I'm sure your family are fine though."
"I'd know if they weren't."
Was that scorn? What did I do to deserve scorn?
"How's the Jedi Council thing going?"
"Fine, fine." How should I know? I struggle to stay awake during those meetings. I'm hardly a committee person. "How about I take you and Jag out to dinner again, like last time you were here?"
"Oh, well…" I don't like the reluctance. It doesn't bode well. "Jag and I are both so busy, we don't often get a chance to see each other outside of work. We, um…"
"Would rather be alone?" Twinkling eyes, kind smile, benevolent elder gentleman look. "I understand."
"I knew you would. I mean, I wouldn't be here if he wasn't busy now-"
I don't hear the rest of the sentence. Because, well, ouch. Nice to know I'm second best, and you'd much rather be with someone else, and you're only here because you've got nothing better to do.
My poor bruised ego. And people say I'm arrogant.
"-and I'm really sorry I can't stay. I mean, you do understand, don't you? How busy it is?"
"Of course." It takes my last shred of pride to keep that smile on my face. I'd sell my soul to the sith to take this whole conversation back. No matter how bad I felt before, this is worse. "No doubt we'll run into each other again soon enough anyway."
"No doubt. Well, I'll see you later!"
"Goodb-" Well, thank you, Jaina. Thank you so much for waiting around just to hear me at least say goodbye, because I know it takes such a huge chunk out of your so busy day and there are so many other things you'd rather be doing than speaking to me.
It's still raining. I'm getting wet. Why am I sitting on the windowsill?
I know I could never do it, even if I really wanted to. I mean, I'm practically afraid of heights as it is after spending so long underground, and beside, the guilt would haunt me. You can't do anything when you're dead. And I'm hardly likely to turn into a spirit, like those Jedi masters did. I wish one of them would come to me know, Yoda, or Obi-wan, or even Anakin Skywalker. It was always Exar Kun for me, and even he won't come any more.
It's nice here. The air is fresh. I don't mind getting a bit wet. As long as I don't look down I'll be fine.
I can't believe I'm so pathetic I can't even commit suicide. It's not just because I get vertigo, sitting here. It's because I'm worried I haven't finished paying my debt to society. And I know I never will. I can't let myself die, either. I've seen Jaina try, not just her either, but I couldn't do that. I'd feel too guilty. Other people would die because I hadn't got the strength to keep fighting. How utterly contemptible.
I refute the claim that I'm arrogant. I am a power Jedi. I am a good pilot. My actions have saved millions of lives over the years. But I accept that I'm proud. If it wasn't for my pride, I'd have given up and died before I hit double figures. Maybe that's stubbornness, then. Either way, pride is my driving force. I'm proud of my talents as a Jedi and a pilot. I'm proud of my accomplishments. I'm proud that when the enormity of what I had done hit me, after Carida, I didn't offer my death as penance, but my life. I have given my life to every person I killed, given my life to save anyone they might have saved, had they lived. And considering I blew up the Imperial academy, and the Empire would probably have been a lot more effective against the Vong than the New Republic, well, those numbers are stacking up.
Without my pride, I am nothing. Jedi aren't supposed to be proud. I'm sure I'd be a much better Jedi if I were dead.
It gets so tempting, sometimes. It looks so far, down to the road, but I have a sneaking suspicion that's it's only a few stories and I'd be lucky to die unless I went headfirst. I'd probably just break a lot of bones. And then people would start talking about 'cries for help'. Maybe that's all this is, but surely it shouldn't have reached a point where I have to take such drastic action? I just want to crash and burn on someone's couch, just so I don't have to be alone.
I think I'm crying. It's hard to tell with the rain running down my face. I've changed my mind. I hope this storm never stops. As long as I stay here I don't have to do anything. I can't. It's a relief to have the choice taken from me. Maybe a big gust of wind will come, and I'll fall. Maybe the sun will come out, and I'll go and dig my squadron out of that tapcaf they've christened 'the cavern' and we can patrol or go and run some sims. Maybe Han will drop by and we'll chat about everything that's been going on.
Or maybe it doesn't matter. What else is there to do? Well, there's that paperwork I've been putting off. The spice mines didn't exactly have the highest academic standards, and my education runs to being able to spell words of two or more syllables if I sound them out first. Maybe I ought to climb down from here and go and face that paperwork. There's not a lot, but I know it'll take at least two hours.
But I'm so tired. Emotional exhaustion from pretending to smile for so long, physical exhaustion from forcing myself to work day-in day-out for months now, mental exhaustion from pushing myself beyond all reasonable expectation, because my own expectations are so high. I've been handed an opportunity to rest. It's raining.
So tired.