A/N: The usual disclaimers apply. This is probably one of the most angst-ridden pieces I've ever written, and it isn't even from Kyp's point of view. I wrote it because I was really disappointed with the way KJA handled the emotional fallout from Kyp's turn to the Dark Side, as well as Han's handling of it as well. I mean, as KJA writes it, Han's just hoping to get Kyp off the hook when Kyp is standing before the Council on Coruscant. Uh, this is the same kid who put Luke in a coma. I don't think the situation would be that simple. So here's my take on it.

Again, reviews would be really, really lovely!

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The Core—Following the Destruction of Carida

"Kyp?" Han Solo's voice called as he maneuvered into the Sun Crusher. Lando had slaved the warship to the Falcon once more, but Han needed to be certain—needed to be absolutely, positively sure that the kid's surrender was genuine. And if that meant boarding the Sun Crusher and dealing with the kid face to face, then that was what he had to do. Hand resting upon the blaster at his hip, he called again, "Kyp?"

"Here, Han," an impossibly small and toneless voice replied.

Han turned toward the voice to see a figure slumped in the pilot's seat, unmoving and staring toward the controls without seeming to see anything. If the kid hadn't answered, Han would have wondered if he was alive. Kyp was as pale as death.

There was no telling how long Han stood in frozen uncertainty, staring at the shrunken, defeated form before him. He couldn't speak—there were no words to say. He couldn't move—he was almost afraid to go any closer. That thought brought an ache to his chest. How had this kid somehow managed to go from youthful companion to promising Jedi to mass murderer in such a short time? How had someone so small—so young—gone so, so very wrong? And what was Han supposed to do now--now that the kid had surrendered? Now that his killing spree was over?

"I won't," he heard Kyp's voice speak again, breaking the spell of silence, "I won't resist." The kid's voice cracked. "Do what you have to, Han."

With feet like lead, Han crossed the distance to stand at Kyp's side. This close, the kid looked even worse. His cheeks seemed hollow, his lips colorless and cracked. Dark rings shadowed his eyes—eyes that were alarmingly empty. Not scared, not resigned, not remorseful. Just empty. They seemed not to even register Han's presence.

The former smuggler suppressed a shudder. An icy chill had joined the ache in his chest. "Kid," he began, and had to pause and swallow, surprised by how dry his mouth and throat had become. "Kid, I'm takin' you back to Coruscant."

If Kyp heard him, Han couldn't tell. His face remained an expressionless mask.

Reaching for one of the arms that hung limply at the kid's side, Han said, "Come on, kid. Let's get you back on the Falcon."

To his surprise, Kyp flinched as Han touched his arm, his eyes darting to the blaster at the man's hip. Something flickered in his eyes.

"Kill me."

The chill spread outward from Han's chest to engulf his body even as he gazed at the kid in disbelief. He couldn't have heard what he thought he heard. Not from Kyp.

Dark-rimmed eyes lifted to meet Han's, and he saw that the emptiness in them had been replaced by a look of haunted desperation. "Kill me, Han," the youth repeated, the words a strangled plea. Tears began to form in the corners of those eyes, but the face was still slack, still death-like.

"No." Han's response was clipped, instinctive.

"Do it." The words were louder, more forceful.

Han shook his head, taking an involuntary step back. "No, kid." The kid didn't know what he was asking. He didn't know what he was saying. He couldn't want to die.

"Kill me, please," Kyp begged, and this time, to Han's horror, the death-like mask began to fall away, revealing all of the kid's anguish, all of his guilt. The tears slipped from his eyes and began to stream down a face that was crumbling under the strain of his pain. "I don't deserve to live."

"Kid, I won't do it!" Han yelled, fueled more by fear and shock than by anger.

The volume and the strength of his voice, however made Kyp wince. A second later, Kyp was grabbing for the blaster, not with the Force, but with flailing, desperate arms that Han struggled to keep from reaching the gun. A thin knee connected with Han's stomach, and the man bent double as a thin arm worked its way toward his holster. Too late, Han shifted to intercept it, and the blaster was in Kyp's hand. The hand that had been moving to intercept his grasp circled the kid's wrist, and Han used his weight to shove Kyp back against the pilot's seat. Kyp's blaster-hand rammed against the edge, sending the blaster tumbling out of his grasp to skid across the deck.

"No!" Kyp shrieked, still struggling against the Han's grip on him. "No, you don't understand!" He continued to rave. "I killed them! I killed them! I deserve to die!"

Han refused to let go, fighting against both Kyp's struggles and the despair the kid's words had planted in his heart. "Kid, listen to me!" he hollered over Kyp's cries. "Listen to me!"

But Kyp refused to listen. Instead, he wrenched his arms free and threw himself at Han. Unprepared for the impact, Han managed only to pull his own arms in to try to block what he thought was an attempt to knock him to the ground. What he didn't expect was for Kyp to bury his face in Han's vest, pale hands clinging to the black material as the youth cried out in tortured sobs.

"I'm sorry!" he wailed against Han's chest. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

Stunned, Han could only stand there mutely as the kid vented every horrible, gut-wrenching emotion he now suffered as a result of his vendetta against the Empire. Han's hands trembled as they slowly came to rest on the kid's quaking shoulders in some vain attempt to give what comfort he could, though there was, he suddenly realized, no comfort to be given.

Kyp had slaughtered, millions . . . possibly billions . . .including his own brother. The New Republic would not forgive this. The Empire would not even forgive this. And Kyp would never forgive himself. Resting his chin on the kid's head, Han understood that Kyp's desire for death would probably be granted. The New Republic would, in all likelihood, execute him as a terrorist and genocidal madman. Han had only managed to postpone the inevitable. He glanced at the blaster where it lay upon the deck and drew a shuddering breath, tightening his hold on the sobbing youth.

Kyp might have wanted death, the New Republic might still give it to him, but Han Solo would never be the one to pull that trigger. And if that meant that he stood in the way of justice, so be it.

"I destroyed everything, Han." Kyp's muffled voice held more anguish than any Han had ever heard. The kid's sobbing continued, his pale fingers ever tightening their hold on his vest. "Carida. Zeth . . . oh stars! I killed him! I watched him die! And I did it! I killed him! I killed them all! I'm so sorry! I'm sorry, Zeth! Zeth, I'm so sorry!"

Han could feel the kid's strength beginning to wane as his body grew heavier against his chest. The kid's legs were shaking, and Han slowly lowered them to the deck, knowing that he could not hold the kid up forever and not knowing how long his sobs would continue. Kyp, himself, seemed not to notice the shift in position, as his uninterrupted wails and apologies continued in a voice that was growing more and more hoarse with each word and cry. Han doubted there were enough tears in the universe to ease the kid's pain. Even his own face had grown damp.

He had been at the Academy when every Jedi student there had felt Carida's destruction. He had heard their screams and the screams of his own wife and children as they somehow sensed the countless deaths. He had watched a former CorSec officer lose his emotional control and his lunch atop the Jedi Temple in the impact of what had happened. It had been Corran Horn who had told Han about Carida . . .about Kyp's brother. Han would not have believed the former CorSec officer could fall apart if Han had not been there to see it.

But Kyp had been the one responsible.

No doubt he now felt the impact of the deaths he had caused, compounding a guilt Han couldn't even begin to fathom.

Where they knelt on the deck, Han gently began to rock back and forth, as he would when comforting one of his children. Kyp continued to weep in his arms, but his voice grew softer, the muffled apologies becoming mumbled whispers against the fabric of Han's shirt. Han caught only snatches of these, and what he heard brought fresh tears to his eyes.

"I didn't mean to hurt you, Han," the kid whispered brokenly. "You were my friend . . .. You were my friend, and I hurt you . . .. I nearly killed you."

Han swallowed deeply, forcing himself to speak through a voice tight with emotion. "But you didn't kill me, Kyp," he whispered into the kid's hair. "I'm still here."

Against his chest, Kyp shook his head. The kid was responding. "I hurt you . . .. I hurt M--" his voice faltered. "I hurt . . .Master Skywalker . . .."

Han closed his eyes, opening them quickly when the image of Luke, resting in state like a corpse in the Jedi temple, flashed into his mind. He could not think of Luke now—not even if Kyp was to blame. A person could only bear so much guilt upon their shoulders, and Kyp had far surpassed his share.

"I didn't want it to be like this," Kyp wept. "I didn't want . . .." But his voice finally failed him, and he gave himself over to wordless tears.

For a long while, Han just sat on the deck of the Sun Crusher, holding the kid in his arms, rocking him as his tears continued to fall. Kyp had been his friend, no matter what he had done, no matter what crimes he had committed, no matter what atrocities had been conducted through his quest for vengeance against the Empire. He knew that Kyp deserved whatever punishment he was given. He knew that Kyp would have to live with his guilt until such time as his life was taken as payment for his deeds. But right now, in spite of all that, Han knew that he was just a kid—a powerful kid who had spent his childhood in the mines of Kessel, who had spent such a pitifully brief time in freedom, who had taken the dark path Luke himself had told him was so quick and easy and seductive, and who now lived with the painful knowledge of his devastating choice. He was a kid who needed a friend—not to tell him that everything was going to be all right, but to simply be there.

Kyp shifted in his arms again and spoke in a quiet voice, "I'm sorry I tried to take the coward's way out, Han."

Puzzled, Han lifted his chin from atop Kyp's head and looked down.

"I shouldn't have tried to kill myself," the kid softly explained. "I deserve whatever punishment the New Republic decides to give me. I shouldn't have tried to escape that punishment through death."

Han sighed, a long sad sigh that made him feel . . . well, old. "They may choose death, Kyp." The words were blunt, honest, and they surprised him.

"I know," Kyp replied, drawing out of Han's arms to sit back on the deck. He looked up with bloodshot eyes, blotchy skin, and a determined expression. "But it's not for me to decide, is it? I have to take responsibility for my actions and face whatever consequences there may be. If they choose death, I will meet it on their terms. It is not for me to decide my fate. I know that now."

At his words, Han was speechless. He stared down at the young man who now sat facing him in wonder. Gone was the brash, inquisitive kid from Kessel. Gone was the uncertain yet daring youth who had vacationed with him such a short time ago. And gone was the broken, suicidal criminal he had encountered when he first entered the Sun Crusher. Instead, Han saw a young man who would have made Luke proud—a young man who, in this solitary moment, embodied the solemnity and understanding of destiny he had seen in Luke shortly after his own fall on Byss. Han didn't know what to say. In fact, there was nothing that he could say.

--

En route to Coruscant, Lando commed Han to tell him that Luke was all right. Han would have shouted in joy and relief, but a brief look at Kyp kept him quiet and subdued. Instead, he gave Lando a quick thanks before switching off the comm. and turning to face Kyp.

A solitary tear made its way down the young man's pale face. "I'm glad he's all right," Kyp said at length, his voice strained, but truthful. "I hope he doesn't blame himself . . . for me. I was the one who failed. It wasn't him."

Han forced himself to keep quiet. He just favored the kid with a brief, reassuring smile.

Later, when the finally reached Coruscant, Kyp maneuvered the Sun Crusher through the landing sequences, relinquishing the controls as soon as it had touched down and standing to face Han.

"I guess I'm ready to face the firing squad," he quipped dryly, a ghostly trace of his old self flickering in the brief half-smile he gave. It vanished quickly, however. The words were not funny.

He followed Han out of the craft, and Han watched him blink in the bright light of a Coruscant noon as the sunlight dazzled from the polished surfaces of multiple buildings. A full unit of New Republic guards was waiting for him, ready to take him into custody. Kyp dipped his chin in a brief sign of submission, and the guards promptly surrounded him.

Lando emerged from the Falcon in time to watch him go.

"Stars, he's just a kid, isn't he?" Han's old friend spoke in whispered tones. Kyp looked so small compared to the guards that were now escorting him from the landing platform.

Han watched Kyp disappear before saying, "Not anymore."