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Chapter 1 Finn

Justice and Justification

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Chapter 2
Power and PeaceIFlying the Falcon without a co-pilot is difficult, but not impossible. She knows that from her time in the Resistance, when things happened too fast, too violently and smoothly flying was less of a concern than getting away alive.  If Crait had taught them anything; they are more useful to their plight if they are breathing rather than blown to smithereens. What’s a few more scratches and dents on the Falcon anyway?  The ship rattles and alarms blare as Rey attempts to avoid a rock in the Asteroid belt of Coruscant’s star system. And for the first time since she has escaped Jakku, she doubts the Falcon’s capabilities. Or maybe this time her cargo is more precious and contentious than ever.  Her hand tightens on the controls, making the leather squeak against her grimey sweaty palms. The one with the fresh dried blood, the broken skin and remnants of her salty tears. It’s the proof that she’s alive, that they are alive. At least she thinks they are.  She tugs on the bond and sighs in relief. He feels stable, not awake, but stable, which she is grateful for - it is difficult enough as it is to navigate an errant asteroid field and be on the lookout for remnant First Order ships or worse — Resistance fighters .  Would they brand her a traitor? Or would they sympathise? Rey fears that despite them living by the phrase ‘saving what we love’, she would find little understanding from her found family of little more than a year. After all isn’t this what they had worked for all this time? To have the First Order fall and with it — Kylo Ren? And it had fallen, a mere few hours ago. Rey knows that because she was there, fighting her way through the halls to the inevitable showdown between her and the Supreme Leader. Adrenaline pumping in her veins, his year old betrayal fresh on her mind; she had been more than ready to take him on, lightsaber already drawn and pulsing a deep yellow as she cut her way through the stormtroopers who had not defected. She was ready. To hurt him, to finish him, to do whatever they were cascading towards. Rey closes her eyes, the memory of finding Kylo Ren bleeding out on his throne, blaster wound cutting through his side — it had been so unsettling. Never would she have imagined the horror to bear witness to the violent life of him ebbing away. A mere hull of the larger than life person she knew him to be and it was painful . There had been no heroic showdown, no win to celebrate, she had just found him sitting there on the obsidian throne, breath uneven and so close to — it hadn’t been a decision, she had dropped her saber and fallen to his feet, crying his name. His real name. He barely stirred, which was a tragedy in itself, because she knew how he despised his given name and how he’d fight with her had it been any other time. She reached up to cup his cheeks, already sobbing at his widening face.  She thinks he groaned a “don’t”, but she isn’t sure, and it doesn’t matter. Her hand had found the wound instinctually, pressing against it an attempt to — do something . Heal him? Save him? Their foreheads had touched in that moment and she had felt that fickle stubborn light flare up between them as she pushed to stop the bleeding. The bond. The one she had ignored for so long. The rightness of it. There hadn’t been a choice. There hadn’t been another way the story could go. Not for her, nor for him. Who are they without each other? A miserable scavenger trying to carry a thousand year legacy on her narrow boney shoulders and a sad boy who couldn’t find a home except with those who wish to hurt him. And she knew troops were coming here, soon — happy to find the Supreme Leader gone. Happy to finish what someone had started. What Kylo Ren had started. But Rey was not happy. It felt as if her soul was getting crushed, the floor below her caving in, tumbling her into oblivion, into despair.  What happened afterwards was not a decision based in logic, but it wasn’t without solid reasons. Rey did not want Kylo Ren to die. He made no protest when she, with the aid of the Force, helped him to his feet and dragged him down the halls, to where she knew the Falcon would be. He breathed a “no” against her neck, struggling to stay afoot, but never once fought her. Perhaps because of the way she sobbed or the way she had cried out when she deposited him in the Falcon’s galley to inspect the wound that just wouldn’t stop bleeding. Drenching her hand in his blood, warm and sticky. He had watched her with half lidded eyes, as she did her best to heal him, sloppily, heartbroken. And it was enough for now. She had to have some energy to get him out of here, to get him somewhere safe. Somewhere he’d be alive .  Where he was allowed to stay alive.  “Don’t —” Kylo had breathed “— it’s over.” Rey shook her head, as if to free herself of doubts. Doubts were for later, when lives weren't at risk. He was delirious, he didn’t know what he was talking about.  And then, just as the blood had stopped seeping through the wound, someone called her name. Finn. Kylo was aware enough to know that the sudden arrival of the ex-stormtrooper did not please Rey. He must have been, because her hands stilled on his exposed stomach like a frightened loth cat and her eyes were pinned in the direction of the loading ramp. It was a disaster waiting to happen, all that effort into pulling him across the ruined base only to have her daring rescue fail at the last moment. She locked eyes with Kylo for a moment, curling her hands on the fabric before rising to her feet. There were a lot of ideas, thoughts, but for now Rey just needed Finn to go away. They’d rendezvous soon. It was not like she’d be gone forever.  The regret she felt at the sight of her friend, desperate, covered in residue of blaster fire, of explosions. He looked as worn as she was and Rey was overcome with the need to say goodbye, the need to hug him as if it was a last time.  Finn made no hesitations, arms opening by themselves to pull her into an embrace. He smelled of smoke and worse and he made no comments on her blood soaked tunic or the insistent shake of her hands. It almost felt like a happy hug, relief, that they were here, that they made it.  There was no time though, the longer Rey stayed, the more likely it would be that someone began to wonder where the Supreme Leader was. She remembers reluctantly pulling Finn away and trying to say as little as possible, while depositing the binary beacon in his hand. “I’ll come back soon.”  Rey jumps at the sound of the dashboard beeping, indicating that they’ve entered a hyperspace lane. The reverie a few hours old still feels so fresh and already she is asking what ifs. But what is the point? What Rey has done she has done. She glances back over the pilot seat, even if Kylo isn’t even in her sight, tucked away in the galley’s sleepers to rest.  It’s with dread she pushes forward the handle and makes the stars into streaks of white light against the cockpit’s window. She is saving what Leia loves. She owes that to her. 🝀🜎🝀🜎 However what the Princess loves doesn’t really want to be saved, it turns out.  In the beginning he’s compliant enough. She checks on him once they are far enough away, his pulse, his breathing. It’s even, not great, but better than she had hoped for. Relief floods her to not have found him passed, which is a funny thing, because she has felt him like a steady beat in the Force for the past few hours. Strong and solid like always. Her fear is unfounded. But a fear is a fear. Without giving it too much thought, Rey tears the tunic at the seams so she can inspect the quality of her healing. She winches at the sight, the burned flesh and dried blood, but the internal organs feel fine, looks fine too, meaning Rey has left the blaster strike as nothing but a really gastly flesh wound. It should be an easy fix, more cosmetic than anything, but she has nothing inside her to give right now, exhausted beyond compare. And she is convinced if she tried, she’d end up hurting herself more than she’d even heal him.  She will have to go about this the old fashioned way.  Standing on her toes, she opens a cabinet overhead where they stuff emergency medical supplies. Bacta, disinfectant, liquids. She curses at him a bit in her mind, because while she had come far with her training, a lot of her skills are directly sourced from Kylo Ren’s mind — which she now realizes is sorely lacked any notable knowledge about healing. He is sloppy in that regard, Rey thinks. Always the violence, always the anger with him, none of the soft virtues. She shakes her head in disappointment, and reaches for the batcha patches and antiseptic.  His body jerks the moment she applies the cold cleansing lotion, indicating that he might be closer to awake than she had imagined. His eyes flutter momentarily before he is once again dragged below the ocean of consciousness. She rips off the protective barrier on the bacta patch with her teeth and cuts it so it fits with her pocket knife. His skin feels clammy, cold, making Rey frown as she places the bacta over the wound. Her fingers skim over his stomach, his scars and settle above his chest. He may be cold but he's breathing, and it is the most beautiful sight, watching his ribs expand with each precious inhale. The soft rise and fall, the proof that he is alive .   Ben is alive. But if he is alive, then so is the Supreme Leader of the First Order. Kylo Ren.   Both saved by the benevolent Last Jedi. Rey wishes her benevolence didn't extend to the terrible side of Ben and she isn't sure if it is this virtue of hers that is currently the source of their current — situation. Is this them fleeing? Is she a fugitive now? A part of her hates that this has to be complicated. That everything about her life has become so much more entangled, difficult. Jakku was simple in the way, it’s just survival. Rey shakes her head, not wanting to visit that place in her thoughts and carefully places her cheek against his gently expanding chest, listening for his heartbeat. It thumps steadily away. The best of sounds. Enough to lull her to sleep it seems, because she jolts awake the moment the Supreme Leader gains consciousness. It is not much as a whisper in the back of her mind than it is a slap. His sleeping self had been so quiet and subdued, like a gentle caress — but now the Supreme Leader is awake — and not so gentle . Rey flips her head to look him in the face, the fright of almost having lost him enough for her to ignore the embarrassment of being caught caring about him. He groans like a man in pain, sitting up ever so slightly, one hand clutching his side and the other supporting his body.  It has been a year since they spoke last. A year since she last was in his presence and not just scowling at his holo image, taking in every rough wrinkle, the dark circles under his eyes. Would anyone understand if she ever told him how much more soft and young he looks in person? Would they even care? He looks at her then, to where she is quietly resting on the floor.  Rey swallows, drawing in a breath as if to prepare herself to announce her reasons, but the breath remains a breath and her mouth stays firmly shut. It doesn’t surprise her that he looks bewildered, confused, she is too. He just needs a moment to adjust. Perhaps it is that vague idea of wanting to comfort him that makes her cautiously slide her hand towards his. It trembles, maybe from trepidation, maybe from excitement.  “No.” Kylo grunts, shifting away as if afraid of being burned. “ No. ” Their bond swims with it, her reflief and then his sudden anger, furious regret and for the first time ever since they met, Rey fears he might truly want to hurt her.  Her hand closes and she does her best to keep her expression stoic, to not let this development cripple her. She hates that he looks at her like that, after everything, after nothing, after her giving parts of herself to save him. Her Force, her freedom.  If anything though, Rey has never been one to back down from a fight or to start one. Harshly, on the verge of collapsing from sheer exhaustion, she gestures to the overhead cabinet. “There’s more Batca —” “I don’t want it.”  A pause. She tenses her jaw. “You are dehydrated, I’ll —” It’s a stand off by now. Which isn’t ideal given either’s physical and mental stage, and he hasn’t even uttered as much as a thank you (does that even exist in his vocabulary?). “No.” He practically growls, humping back so he can lean against the padded wall. “Leave me alone.” Rey is about to open her mouth, to counter, maybe even plead him — but as always, he seems to know her better than she knows herself. “That’s not my name.” A scowl of pain, and he fades for a moment, before fighting his way back. “— rebel scum.” Her face feels hot and her jaw hurts from how tightly she clenches it, because what in the world is all this about? The betrayal written all over his face; why’d he think she betrayed him? How can he be angry with her for ...saving his life! Rey rises to her feet, towering over him in her bloody dress and unruly hair and stares him down. He doesn’t flinch per say, but he recognises that he has pissed her off. It’s almost like he enjoys it in some sadomasochist way. He returns her gaze with a stiff mouth. “Isn’t this getting a little old?” Rey spits, “— the war is over. You lost.” “Is that what this is then —?” Kylo laughs bitterly “— are you saving me to torture me? To remind me?” “Remind you of what?” “How much you despise me.” He shrugs, sniffing. “— loathe me .” “I don’t —” Rey begins, but he does speak the truth. There is a part of their dynamic that is her despising him and his actions. But it isn’t as simple as he makes it out to be. She loathes him because she hopes for him, she despises him because he chooses to be despisable. “— You know I wouldn’t do that.” “Always in denial.” He runs a hand over his eyes. “— astounding.” The bacta patch she had fished from the bag slaps wetly when it hits the center of his face, momentarily stunning him enough to shut up. Rey hates that her eyes prickle, that he can rile her into misery so easily. That she risked everything and he just — “You are such an asshole.”  Kylo grimaces as the slimy substance slides down his cheek and lands with a thump on his thigh, and sighs, looking slightly delirious.  “And you won.” He sighs with a mock salute. “Congratulations.” His well wishes are far from sincere, they are bitter, toxic and she hates him. Hates him, hates him, hates him. Leia had once told her that her son had disappointed Rey, but at this time Rey is not convinced she is disappointed, more that she feels betrayed . And she doesn’t want him to revel in that, his power over her. So she calms herself enough to adjust and prepare a blood restorative for him to drink. She calms herself enough to walk into the cockpit, to sit down and readjust the course, not unlike a stiff droid. And then she cries, desperate tears breaking through the smoke and dirt on her cheeks. Doesn’t feel like she is getting any cleaner though.  🝀🜎🝀🜎 She doesn’t mean to fall asleep. It’s hazardous, especially during hyperspeed. But her eyes close on their own and the pilot seat is soft enough to trick her into a dreamless sleep. A rest so deep it’s not until an alarm goes off that she jumps awake.  By instinct she flings her arm to the howling stabilizer to quiet it, but someone gets ahead of her. Kylo Ren. Rey blinks up at him, still not quite awake, and finds him standing silently next to her, scowling at her with one hand firmly pressing on the button, silencing it. His ruined tunic is open, revealing a fresh patch of batca, and he definitely looks like someone who shouldn’t be standing.  His hair is sweaty, he looks pale, sick, and there’s an unpleasant glince on his skin. Had he been watching her sleep? Uncomfortable, wary, Rey slides herself into an upright sitting position by the armrests and waits for him to say anything, comment on her lack of foresight. He doesn’t though, instead he takes his time inspecting her in that intense way of his, eyes gliding over her soiled clothes, the blood and the burns. She probably looks just as unwell as he does, or maybe even worse. Self conscious, she draws the back of her hand across her mouth and cheeks to scrub the grime away. No comment on that. “Where are the rest of them.” Kylo asks, “I only feel us .” “It’s only us.” “Who is the co-pilot? Chewie?”  Rey frowns, it feels weird to hear him say the petname for Chewbacca, as if he knows him personally, intensely. A part of her supposes he does, long before he broke his adopted uncle’s heart not even a year ago. She wants to rip it out of his mouths, to tell him he isn’t allowed to say that. But she doesn’t. “Just me.” “You flew this on your own?” “It wasn’t easy.” A huff, he looks away and out on the twirling blue tunnel of space matter compressed around the hull of the ship, before tightening his jaw and marches out the cockpit. She wants to call for him — but doesn’t.  Instead she pours herself a strong cup of caf in order to stay somewhat awake, at least until the nearest secure outpost and just like that, silence falls over the ship.  Or as silent it can be with a raging overthrown Supreme Leader grumbling somewhere close. Rey sips the black goo, reflecting on what could possibly merit this...antagonism. It’s hard to tell, because he’s not a talker in general, or — Rey is actually not sure what he is. It’s not like they’ve ever just talked. Yelled for sure. Argued, sure. Whispered their deepest secret, of course — but talked, casual conversation about anything that doesn’t come down to turning one another, like she’d do with Finn and Poe, now that they have never done.  So, Rey realises, she doesn’t actually know Kylo Ren that well. And she knows Ben Solo even less. Is this normal? Being so close and not knowing anything . The mere image of him smiling and laughing over dinner is so outlandish, it is much easier to imagine him sulking and yell. Rey presses the warm cup against her head, not wanting to be overwhelmed by shame and regret, not when she had come so far. Not now. Of a year wasted imagining, thinking about this peculiar man and his virtues or lack of them. Hours spent figuring out why he, out of everyone, was the one she shared a bond with. It couldn't just be some cruel galactic joke.  Seems more likely by the hour.  It follows her for the rest of the day cycle and even takes up her mind when she attempts at eating her reheated rations. She picks at the mushy beans, moving them around in some strange pattern, which in itself is unusual. The Resistance had a running joke about how she would devour her food, but right now she just doesn’t feel like eating.  A plate clings as it is half thrown onto the table and with a grunt Kylo sits down opposite her, stretching his stomach as if in discomfort. He digs in with little fanfare, never once acknowledging her, and asks —  “What do you plan to do with me?” Rey blinks, looking up from her uninspiring beans and moves her jaw in silent scrutiny,  before countering “What are you talking about?” A scoff, his lips smack around the fork, a dribble of sauce trails down his chin, “Exile? Galactic court?” He turns his gaze to her, eyes burning “— execution ?”. She pauses, slowly lowering the fork to the metal plate, “Why do you think that?” A shrug, he licks the sauce from his lips, “To make an example of me. Keep me alive long enough for the New Republic to make a show of it all.” A soundless chuckle, “That’s what I would have done.” Of course he’d do that. Actually, everyone else would have done that, put him on display, make him a symbol for the new government to rise against. Rey ought to do it too. As the Last Jedi she is the tantamount to fairness and justice. But no. She isn’t doing it. Instead she is speeding ahead in a garbage ship with no plan and no prospects and sits here, prefering to eat mashed beans with her enemy in awkward silence. Kylo senses some of it, her innate unfathomable desire to keep him alive , safe . “No.” His voice drips with disbelief, as if she’s lying. “Don’t fool yourself. That’s not what you are doing.” “Oh please.” Rey snorts, “— correct me on my own motivations as you always do. — instead of, maybe, be grateful someone cares.” With a scoff he leans back into his seat, eyes narrowed and she feels his desire to prod her mind, to search through all of her feelings to find the one that confirms his negative assumptions about her. Despite everything speaking of the contrary. “Then tell me — Rey of Jakku. Jedi Last. Where are you taking me.” His eyes darken with each syllable, as if any answer other than the one he wants is a lie by default. “— You have not charted a course.” “You’re right.” “Are we to float around in space until we die of starvation then.” A scoff, ridicules man, “you’d like that wouldn’t you? Me being miserable under your care?” He pauses, grinding his jaw and thinning his mouth, as if a taste of his own medicine is unusual, striking.  “Is that not a given at this point?” He suggests after a while, “that I provide nothing but horror for you? Tragedy.” It shouldn’t surprise her that they rile each other so easily, like two lothcats fighting over a carnage of their own making. But his words sting. Horribly. The rations spill on her shirt when she stands up abruptly, plate in hand. She opens her mouth in rebuttal and Kylo too rises too, teeth already flashing and ready to snap — When the Falcon suddenly shifts violently to the right, throwing them both to the floor and all Rey can hear is the sound of the air pressure alarm blaring across the metal hull.  Kriff .  🝀🜎🝀🜎

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Chapter 2
Power and PeaceII 
It is a common expression, universal almost, to talk about the

Will of the Force

. Almost as if the galaxy is not a collection of random events and their ripples, but instead a carefully scripted story heading towards one final destination.
 
Rey has always hated that expression. She hated it when travellers described them crashing onto Jakku as some sort of merry destiny, a bump on the hyperlane towards their divinely intended goal. She hates it because it made her question if she’d ever get off this dust bowl, if all she could do was wait for some intervention that forced her off it — or if she was supposed to wither here, grow old and weak and so alone. 
 
If the Force had willed that for her, she would have no part in it. She refused the notion that she would be at the whim of something else. It was enough already that Unkar Plutt decided for her, she did not need destiny to be against her, too.
 
Because if something decided all of this, then why would it decide for all things to suffer? For others to rise and the rest to fall? What makes someone more deserving than others?
 
Still, the moment the Falcon conveniently decides to fail tastes oddly enough like divine intervention. But Rey is not sure to what accord.
 
It rips them out of hyperspace, threatening to

breach

the hull of the ship with the sheer force of the engine failure — and right there, a little distance ahead lies a small planet. 
 
The convenience of it is almost too striking. But they are running out of alternatives — and patience. Forcing him into the co-pilot seat while trying to not have the Falcon shatter into splinters was a tough enough job on its own — not to mention how he had accidentally ripped open the wound and yelled at her for flying like a loose bantha. 
 
He stopped cursing at her when she had threatened to throw him out an airlock, avoiding the peak of a mountain as they fell from the skies.
 
The planet is small, the outpost ahead even smaller. Nothing remarkable even on the unremarkable scale. And that is saying something considering that the star system is on the rim of the Unknown Territories. In all honesty, it is quite an optimal place for them to lie low for a while, were it not for Rey dreading to spend more time with Kylo Ren on this tiny ship. 
 
It’s a miracle in itself, that they —

land

might be too kind a word — on a planet at all. Soaring through the sky to a small fishing town, tucked away into a long and narrow fjord that stretches for miles ahead. It appears promising. At first glance it doesn’t look like a place the war has even

remotely

reached, not even by comms.
 
Kylo is silent as the Falcon screeches across the platform and comes to a sharp halt, except for his small involuntary whimpers of pain. They sit there for a brief moment, both staring out in disbelief at the endless sea of grass stretching ahead of them, at the tiny miniscule village with houses made of rudimentary clay structures.
 
As soon as the whuzzing in her ears stop, Rey immediately stands from the pilot's seat and hurries away. Wanting to slash at something, carve her saber through something unbreakable and watch it fall apart. The loading ramp shakes as it descends and the fresh ocean air makes her want to cry. The salt in the wind prickles her skin.
 
Reminds her of Ach-To.
 
An early rising fisherman stands unmovable a few feet ahead and just stares at her and the ship with something akin to disbelief, eyebrows drawn up and mouth hanging ajar, the fresh catch dangling loosely from his hand. 
 
His genuine surprise sobers her slightly, realising that not only must this be a seldom visit,

and

she is still covered in her outfit with all the blood and grime. Rey waves at him, and he gives a confused wave back. A boat sails past and they glance and point at the Falcon, obviously discussing the arrival of what must be one of those rare galactic visitors. They inspect the hull as they sail pass, perhaps admiring the metal work — which really isn’t anything, it’s garbage — but perhaps not to them?
 
“Copaani gaan?” A voice comes from behind her.
 
Rey turns, recognising that it’s Mando’a, but sadly it’s one of the languages she hasn’t picked up and is met by a young mother with a child on her hips. The woman points to the ship, repeating the question.
 
“I’m sorry, I…- do you speak Basic?”
 
Recognition passes over the woman’s face and she nods, “Little.” She steps up to Rey adjusting the toddler, while pointing to the charger, struggling to get her point across, “You press — this —” and points to the ignition on the side of the cable.
 
Rey straightens her back and marches to the archaic power supply and fiddles with it to get it loose. It has been raining, her shoes soak slightly as she drags the heavy connection to the charging port on the Falcon. The woman follows her and gives broken instructions and then it unclapses and fits easily into the power supply. The ship thunks and makes a whirr as it turns off the generator and takes a break from their long haul across the galaxy. She sighs with relief.
 
“Help?” The mother gestures across Rey’s outfit, genuinely concerned. The scavenger looks down her dress, knowing full well how it must come across and shrugs. “It’s okay. Just — we escaped in time. The war.”
 
“War?” The question is curious, unawares and Rey can do nothing but nod and point at the sky. “It’s over now. But my —”

partner? Dyad in the Force? Enemy? would she even call him a friend?

“— got hurt. He’s resting.”
 
The woman grimaces, understanding some, but not all of it and then motions for Rey to wait. “Food.” She says. “Dress.” Rey glances momentarily at the Falcon, reaching out as if to check, but decides against it. He deserves the silence, and Rey deserves a break.
 
A few people stare at her as they pass on their morning routine and Rey waves awkwardly back, and sits down on the edge pier to watch the boats sailing out for the day’s catch. The sun paints the sky with bright reds and oranges and for the first time in years something akin to peace settles deep within her soul.
 
For a moment it puzzles her. Never once has she felt this inner calm, this silence, especially after a lifetime of unrest and in particular the last two days. How her heart beats with distress and adrenaline. Her head swims, the hours cascading on her. And then she realizes.
 
The Force feels different here.
 
In fact, it is such an unusual feeling that she didn’t comprehend what it even was at first. It isn’t weak, not per say, but rather a tiny content whisper. She finds she rather likes the feel of it. It is nothing like the sometimes overpowering divine voice in the back of her mind that wants to pull her to either side. To the dark, to the light. Acting as if she is nothing but an instrument of it’s will. 
 
This planet doesn’t care about light or dark.
 
It just wants to be.
 
It’s nice.
 
Rey closes her eyes for a moment and just...is. 
 
Just Rey. In the grand scheme of things.
 
🝀🜎🝀🜎
 
The mother later returns with a fresh set of clothes and something that smells warm and home cooked. Rey tries to offer something back to which she denies in her broken basic. Relieved and very much looking forward to sleeping, Rey promises to herself that she will repay the woman for her kindness somehow, and ventures back into the stuffy ship to clean off dirt and grime. 
 
She has to use the fresher twice for the worst of it to get off, but by the time Rey tugs herself to sleep in the galley of the ship (not where Kylo rests) she feels clean and stuffed. The hearty stew settling heavily in her stomach, with even enough leftovers for him should he want some, and she doses off with more ease than normal. 
 
She didn’t have to check on him, his presence thrums across their bond and somehow, feeling it so close grants her enough calm to simply rest. And once she awakens, unsure of the amount of hours passing, it’s to a headache and the beacon gently humming on her arm. But at least she feels her mood has improved and there is no longer the lingering nausea that accompanies her usual exhaustion.
 
Rey tries to not give it too much thought how normal that feeling had become for her. 
 
It feels nice, she decides, after downing a few tranquilizers and yanking the blanket off the bed to wrap it around her shoulder in some attempt at shielding herself from the Falcon’s unpredictable air conditioner. The bundle of clothes the woman gave her turned out to be a faded blue homespun dress made of some thick and soft fabric. It’s a nice dress. Comfortable. But probably wouldn’t be appropriate for fighting. Not that there's much to fight here (except Kylo Ren).
 
The sudden tranquility and unhurried nature of existence seems to make her even sleepier than usual. As if her body craves the rest, trying to catch up on a year, if not more, of stress and worry. She yawns as she steps into the cockpit, which must be the reason why she misses the body of a certain darksider lounging in the pilot’s seat, flicking through the travel logs.
 
“- oi.” Rey protests immediately, lurching forward to swiftly turn off the logs with a click. “You should be resting.”
 
Kylo, ever in a testy petulant mood, leans back in his chair and only when she turns to him does he raise an eyebrow. Rey wonders if he was difficult as a child too. 
 
“There’s no chartered course,” he rebukes. 
 
Defensive by default, Rey grumbles a low, “yup,” and begins the process of powering down the Falcon in some weird attempt at hiding sensitive Resistance information — even if a part of her wonders if it even matters that he knows? The First Order is gone.

Who

would he tell them to? The fish vendor just down the road?
 
He exhales as if he is thinking the same. “Trying to hide the Resistance base from me?”
 
“The Resistance is on Ajan Kloss,” Rey states matter of factly, ignoring the way he blinks like she surprised him. “We are not going there.”
 
“Why not?”
 
For a moment she considers the wisest course of action, to

lie

, to share the

truth

, but neither would suffice — because Rey has no idea which one is the wisest. So she shrugs, sitting down in the seat opposite him, pulling the blanket close around her shoulders. “Does it matter? We aren’t going anywhere until we fix the Falcon.”
 
He doesn’t cower at the spiteful glare and croons accusingly, “I’m starting to believe you actually don’t have a plan —

Jedi

.”
 
Her brows crease together at his strange need to attack her reasonings, as if he isn’t the singular cause of this last year's conflict. As if he is not at all complicit and in all honesty, not at all deserving of her sparing his life. 
 
“Big words from someone who never made a plan in his life. Not even to kill his master.”
 
A growl. “You’d prefer to die?”
 
“

Would you

?”
 
 He scoffs, throwing his feet up on the dashboard as if this ship belongs to him. Like he is trying to assert his dominance over their conversation, despite how much she knows he despises being stowed in the hull of it. 
 
“Your misguided

selfish

attempt at compassion is lost on me.” He charges and adds, “I will not be turned.”
 
“I can’t —” Rey rubs her eyes with the palm of her hand and she can’t help but feel somewhat...disappointed. “No one is being turned. It's over. But you act like it isn’t.”
 
He moves his jaw tightly, chest expanding with angry deep breaths. She hopes her words resonate with him, that he sees how nonsensical he is. For a moment she believes it, from the way his eyes shine as if his near brush with death is enough to make him see. 
 
But as with everything, he remains stubborn and bullheaded to a fault. Doing his utmost to pull her in only to shove her away.
 
“Oh, Scavenger.” Kylo

almost

laughs, “There is no other way between us. We fall together — or we rise together.”

🝀🜎🝀🜎
 
It’s a miracle they haven’t fought. With words yes, but their fists remain tense against their sides, as if they want nothing more than to yank at each other and scream about how horrible the other is. But neither does. And Rey is not sure if it is for the better. 
 
Instead they settle into some horrible silent cohabitation. After the conversation in the cockpit Rey had decided to stop engaging with his cruel nature and just ignore him in some strange attempt at maintaining some shred of peace — and luckily for her, he seemed to share that sentiment. 
 
They hover around each like carnivores to a half eaten carnage, half expecting the other to charge, while also being on the defensive. 
 
It’s exhausting. So Rey leaves the Falcon a lot. 
 
Sometimes she goes to sit on the pier, watching the boats sailing off into the horizon. Other times she ventures into the small village which rapidly grows familiar with her and even offers her small gifts. Rey doesn’t know what to say and tries to return the favour as often as possible, but their humble nature refuses her every attempt. 
 
Still, she enjoys it. They are nice. 
 
However, the village is only

that

exciting and Rey is only socially adept enough to spend a few hours at a time, so she begins to investigate the plains beyond. The wide fields of grass swaying like an ocean of green and yellows. It is enchanting in a way. 
 
But she has to return at night, to sleep and to eat. And every time she is there, Kylo has the same idea. Already sitting at the table devouring rations in some made up obliviousness, pretending to not even notice her. And Rey, too prideful to cower away, takes her food and sits opposite him. 
 
They don’t talk. It's just them and the hum of the air vents and the errant sound of a bird outside. But she catches him staring, especially when she goes to clean her plate and prepare for bed. If she didn’t know better she would believe he almost wants to strike up a conversation, yet refrains because he knows how effortlessly it would be to fall back into arguing. 
 
He stares when she dons her welding gloves and goggles and ventures down into the Falcon’s machinery. He’s not even subtle about it. And she doesn’t know why she expected him to be. He’s frank and far too obvious about everything — when he’s annoyed, angry or excited. 
 
Perhaps she would be more

obvious

about her annoyance with him were it not for how the electrical wiring is horribly tangled and she suspects some of the parts are at least from before she was born. Filled with rust and strange temporary fixes. She has worked on it before, but never to the point of improving things and not just a temporary bandage so they won’t be killed. 
 
On the third day of silence she eyes him peering down at her through the cracks in the metal flooring, a curious expression donning his face. Hands pocketed smugly into his pants. 
 
“What?” She hisses, twisting the knob of the hydrofobic ventilator. “I don’t have time to entertain you.”
 
“What are you doing?”
 
“Fixing the ship.”
 
“Why?”
 
“

Kylo

.”
 
He looks up at the padded ceiling, his long neck stretching so she can spy the strength in his muscles. He’s getting better, and Rey is not convinced that’s a good thing.
 
“We aren’t going anywhere in

particular

, why are you fixing it?”
 
“So you wanna stay here?” Rey counters, knowing what he is fishing for — “I thought you wanted to get back to the First Order. No wait — it doesn’t exist anymore!” The valve hisses steam as she attempts to free it. 
 
“I know why you are fixing it.” He conveniently doesn’t comment on the fall of

his empire

, “You plan to leave me here. That way you can’t be guilty about not wanting to kill me. Then I won’t be an obstacle for your...

Jedi path

.”
 
She shakes her head, her mind fissing like the valve she is working on “Do you even hear yourself?”
 
The metal clangs with each step he takes toward the opening in the floor and Rey thinks she might actually kill him this time. She might actually reach out and strangle that long neck of his to make him understand, to stop him assuming all her feelings and emotions. He groans a bit as he slides himself down, his towering form barely fitting between the pipes and the floor above.
 
She glances at him over her shoulder, cautious of him

and

his intentions. 
 
“Then tell me.” His voice is low, rumbling and echoing through their tiny shared space. She can feel his warm chest as he crowds her against the panel, not touching her, but very close. It shouldn’t make her stomach flutter with excitement, trepidation, but it does and then he whispers “ —

what are we doing?

”
 
Her hand slips off the wrench the moment his fingers graze the top of her shoulder. And the valve

explodes

off the panel; spitting out hot steam and black gooey oil all over the little alcove. She hadn’t properly tightened it. He had distracted her and now it's ruined.

Ruined

!
 
Rey cries, “Kriffing —” eyes stuck shut from the goo, “— why the friking did you come down here! I’m working to fix this! Get us out of here! Unlike you!” Blinded, she tries her best to shove him away, desperately needing to get away from him. To be anywhere but near him. He calls her name, but she just shakes her head.
 
“Instead of — starting fights — acting like I saved you because of some ulterior motive you fucking bantha!” The goo is probably mixing with tears of anger as she wipes it away desperately. “You could help me!” She pushes herself up by the elbows and into the hallway. She hears him try to chase her, saying things, but honestly, she doesn’t care.
 
“You kriffing...tree of an obstacle!”
 
She spits some of the black goo and it lands with a thunk on the floor. With a huff, staff in hand, Rey flees the Falcon with no goal in sight except to not let him see her angry tears or have him twist things into something it isn’t. Like the toddler with a tantrum he is.
 
Perhaps he calls her name, perhaps he curses at her, but fact is he doesn’t follow her.
 
And for what it is worth, it might be for the better. Because as of this moment she is convinced she will draw her saber and punch it through his stomach if he even tries to push her again.
 
The thought thrills her.
 
And then it scares her.
 
The tears stream off her face as she tears through the village and into the field of grass, and she can’t distinguish whether she yells or sobs her curses. Her hurt is no longer this barely contained thing and she is so emotionally exhausted to the point of breaking. She falls onto her knees the moment she is far enough from the village, the Falcon — and Kylo Ren. And she allows the sobs to wreck her until there are no more tears to shed and all that remains is regret.
 
For the first time since — well perhaps since she left Jakku, Rey realises the severity of all her actions. She has spent her brief career as a Jedi mostly occupied with surviving and behaving according to the scriptures to the point where she has not even spared a thought of an...

after

.
 
Things got so complicated with the introduction of herself into the Skywalker family and even more by the bond she happens to share with its prodigy. It would have been easier had he remained terrible and unknown. But alas, it was not to be.
 
And now she is left with regret and with consequences. With friends she will never see again or look at her the same. The hopeful happy gleam in Finn’s eye for nothing. The disappointment he will feel. By running away she has effectively cut out everyone else from her life. Rey glances across the landscape, a hand covering her mouth in contemplation.
 
What is she to do? If she managed to fix the Falcon, would she shove his pretentious ass off the ship? Would she leave with him? But then where could she take him? Would he even want to go? Would she… want to go without him?
 
Rey buries her face in her hands with a groan. It is undeniable that she has compassion for him, but does she love him? Is she in love with him? The young scavenger has never had time for these thoughts. And somehow, to imagine herself in love with Kylo Ren is sort of repulsive and contradictory.
 
But — it is possible. Even if he is a hard man to love.
 
How long she sits in the field, dirty and sticky with engine oil thinking about her choices Rey doesn’t really know. The planet’s sun hardly sets. It is either between full daylight or deep twilight. Darkness is not a thing, at least not on this part of the planet.
 
She blinks at a speck of reflected light in the distance, as if the star’s orange light has caught on something not grass in the distance. With a helping hand on her knee, Rey rises to her feet and travels across the planes and its tall reeds slapping swaying against her shin. Her hand skims the top of it, letting it tickle her palm.
 
It reminds her of the ocean, maybe even Jakku, how the wind ripples through the open landscape, making the fields dance in the most enchanting way. Like late evenings at her AT-AT when she’d down the meager rations of the day and just glance across the dunes stretching so far far ahead. And endless sea of sand, of lost dreams and hopes. Except this, this place, it doesn’t feel lost. It just feels as it is. An ocean of soft blowing grass. 
 
And there, just right ahead, over the hillside stands amidst it all a little hut carved into the side of the earth. Smacking her lips and wiping her hands in the fabric of her pants, Rey sets out towards the blip of difference in the landscape with the intensity of the old her back on Jakku — Perhaps it had things to be scavenged and salvaged? She is good at that after all.
 
It takes her the better part of an hour and her ankles ache by the time she reaches the little half broken down hut. Moss crawls eagerly up the walls, and one of the doors is halfway off its hinges. It is clear that it has stood abandoned for quite some time, but even so, there are traces of a life lived here. 
 
It looks rather nice.
 
She steps up on the wooden porch that curves around the lime washed clay walls following it to the other side of the little home. It’s stunning, the view, and overlooks a lake not too far away. It is perfectly aquatic blue here in the setting sun and Rey instantly knows that she’ll want to take a dip in it should the weather become much hotter one day. 
 
With a shove of her shoulder, she pushes open another door and enters what looks like a pretty simple living space. A kitchen, with some modern amenities Rey recognizes, and a built in bench and a bolted table for eating. She sneezes at the dust coating the furniture and opens one of the barred windows to let in the air. The light falls nicely on the floor and she spies the small steps leading to two rooms upstairs and tucked below the stairs, a pretty neat fresher. 
 
And frik, is that a

water

fresher? Not expecting anything, Rey still eagerly turns the knob only to winch at how the pipes sputter brown dirty water onto the tiles.
 
Had her life been different, very much different, Rey could easily see herself living in a place like this. The sound of wind and birdsong. Of peace and calm. 
 
The water, cold, becomes clear after a moment or two and Rey submerges herself into the stream. The oil trickles down her clothes, her feet, marrying with the freezing water on the tiles and drains into the sewer. 
 
It shouldn’t feel like a rebirth, when it isn’t.
 
No need to get ridiculous. 
 
But along with the oil, something sheds off her too.
 
🝀🜎🝀🜎
 
Rey wouldn’t say that there’s a lightness to her step as she walks back to the Falcon, it might just be that she hasn't noticed that the gravity of the planet is slightly less than usual. Nevertheless, when she returns, the hall of the Falcon is still drenched in oil and it is actually more of a mess than when she left.
 
Rounding the corner into the galley, she spies Kylo sitting tensely at the dejarik table with a cold cup of a caf between his palms. It gives her ample time to take in his stage of recovery. He no longer winches or groans as he sits or walks. There’s a little wobble, but all in all it appears that he is improving. The dark circles under his eyes though remain, growing more pronounced by the passage of time and she wonders if he even sleeps? It wouldn’t surprise her to learn that he’d rather prefer to stay awake than to invite whatever demons he has into his dreams.
 
He looks up as she walks in, noticing her wet clothes and her wet hair, but doesn’t say anything.
 
Her anger may be less, but no way she will break the silence. She is not in the wrong. He is. 
 
And she is hungry, having gone most of the day without a bite to eat. 
 
She knows he is watching her, analyzing every move as she heats two ration packs in the nanowave stove1 and hydrating the powder into dry uninspiring loafs. 
 
The plates rattles as she throws them on the table, the rations hot and steaming. Rey doesn’t say anything and neither does he, and he accepts the meager peace offering by eating with her in silence. Her in wet clothes and him still partially covered by the oil.
 
She may not love him now, but

could

she love a man like him? Rey is not sure.
 
The next day, at the crack of dawn, Rey walks to the hut again, this time with a wrench and the intention of taking a well deserved

hot

shower. She has seen the heater, it is salvageable. 
 
However, when she returns later that day it is with burns on her hands and cold drenched clothes and a sour mood.
 
Kylo sits up so abruptly at the sight of her that Rey for a brief instance believes that maybe, just maybe, his anger is a ruse, a prideful flaw of his and that he might ...

care

about her. 
 
But to no one’s surprise and everyone’s disappointment, no words escape him, least of all any redeemable action. 
 
Like yesterday, she heats the rations, deposits the plates in front of them and they eat in silence.
 
This pattern repeats itself for three more days - or whatever a day is on this planet - until the silence, frustration — or perhaps curiosity breaks him.
 
“Where have you been?” He spits the second she enters the Falcon with less burns and less brown water, but still soaked. Rey raises her eyebrow at his insistent tone and gives him a careless shrug and dumps the tools on the floor, nodding back in the direction she thinks the hut might be in.
 
“Found an abandoned cottage with a water fresher, thought I’d use it.” She stretches her shirt to show him the evidence. “It’s broken.”
 
“There’s a fresher on the Falcon.”
 
“I know. But it’s sonic. Not water.”
 
“Does it make a difference?”
 
He must notice her exasperated confusion, because the moment their eyes meet, he huffs and looks away. He seems to do that alot lately, like he can’t stand the sight of her.
 
She supposes she isn’t very pretty right now. Hair sticking in all directions, dirt trailing down her cheeks. Rey has never cared about pretty, hardly understood the need to wear her hair in a certain way, dress so impractical that it’s impossible to move. Still, the horrible thought that she displeases him, it hurts. And she hates that it does. That she

cares

.
 
Because when has he ever cared about what she thought about him? He is always in the right, teasing and testing her with questions and an aloofness that is bordering on cruel. And who is he to judge the way she looks with his strange long face and deep dark eyes and plump lips. 
 
The image stays though, has been stuck on her mind ever since Ach To, of his parted lips over the fire, and it follows her to the following day too as she inspects the piping for rust, as she opens the lid to the well. She wonders if anyone has kissed them or if they are as tender as they look sometimes — the only soft thing on his harsh face.
 
“And the ship.” He asks after a while “— I thought we were getting off this shithole of a planet.”
 
With the sleeve of her shirt, Rey dries her forehead free of sweat and gives him another shrug “I would fix it if I wasn’t

interrupted

all the time —” and then she glances over her shoulder. “Why don’t you fix it if you want to leave so badly?”
 
“

Me?

”
 
“I thought you were a pilot — don’t even know how to fix a ship?” She wants to add how unusual that would be, especially considering that he is Han’s son. But she is not cruel like him. Still, he must sense the direction of her thoughts because a sour expression crosses his face.
 
“This ship is not salvageable.”
 
Rey shrugs, pretending to be aloof and walks towards her quarters. “Guess we stay then.” When his hand grasps at her wrist. 
 
“No. You fix the ship!” He hisses, towering over her with eyes burning with rage and — sadness. “Is it not enough to take away my choice? Must you also mock me?”
 
His bare hand on her warm wrist feels far too intense for it to be normal. The air around them crackles, the sound disappears and it is just them. 
 
Just them. 
 
Rey swallows, “I want to leave too — and I’m asking you to

help

.” She tears her hand from his, rubbing it as if burned. “But

you

keep interrupting me — make it about something else. Always!”
 
Half of her had expected him to lash out, ignite his saber and fight her in the galley of the Falcon, another half that he would ignore her words and overrule them with her own.
 
Instead, he seems almost hurt that she rejected him. As if he wanted her to reply with something specific, but she fails his test every time. 
 
Every single time. 
 
This time he is the one to walk away. 
 
🝀🜎🝀🜎

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 2
Power and PeaceIII
It takes Rey another day to clean and adjust the heater, and she practically squeals in delight the moment the fresher pumps out hot fresh water onto her grime stained face and unruly hair. In fact, she is so excited about her own progress that she doesn’t even care that the water scalds her slightly. Heck, she doesn’t even give a shit about her companion on the Falcon who for the first time since they fled didn’t join her for dinner last night!
 
She doesn’t care about the soul crushing loneliness she had felt sitting there alone in the booth on the old worn cushion with remnant Porg bitemarks. Nope. It’s gone. She is free from her swaying between acting stubbornly or giving into that desperate yearning. And now that she lets the warm water cascade down her body, wetting her clothes, she knows she made the right call of grabbing her bedroll and backpack and venturing out into the planet’s open landscape.
 
It was not safe on the Falcon. Had she stayed, something would have spilled and there was no promise that it would be a good fall out.
 
Also, there’s a silence here, and not just because there are no speeders and a surrounding city, in fact, ever since they arrived here the gently buzzing in her head has disappeared. She didn’t realise there was one, but the errant moments she just sits, it feels as if her mind has been full of subtle noise her entire life. Like a tug of war between the Forces of the galaxy.
 
The balance of this planet somehow dilutes them, freeing up her mind to...just...be.
 
She closes her eyes, breathing out, while the water calms her. Soothes the aches in her joints and in her soul. At least for a while. 
 
How long she stands, Rey doesn’t really care. But once she feels ready, she steps out, brushes her hair and puts on her spare tunic and pants, while she eats a ration pack on the porch watching the waves dance across the grassy fields. She smiles to herself, licking off the remnant pieces of bread on her fingers.
 
The hut is not warm by any standards, but Rey feels hot and lazy as she drags her stuff upstairs to the square room tucked below the straw roof with a small round window on each side. She sniffs as she lays out her bedroll and telekinetically opens one of the windows to cool down her inner heat. 
 
She tries not to think of Ben — Kylo — and what he is doing, when she lies down to go to sleep. Sated and drowsy. Would he even look for her? Somehow she doubts it, despite it being his entire agenda the past year. Yet, this time, she may have offended him enough for him to decide to leave her.
 
She hates that the thought hurts her. That he’d not choose her. 
 
Sleep doesn’t come easy, not at all, but she must have succumbed to a slumber because she remembers dreaming about Luke. About her days on Ach-To. But it doesn’t feel like a dream. It lacks that foggy texture. That strangeness which usually accompanies it. They talk, she thinks, but that can’t be right because she doesn’t remember his mouth opening.
 
And then she wakes up the following morning feeling like

absolute shit.

First she struggles to even open her eyes. The light is too bright and it feels as if someone has welded her eyelids shut. A cough overtakes her then, wrecking her entire chest like a feverish unbearable weight, making it difficult for her roll over, much less stand.
 
She is sick.
 
A miserable groan escapes her and perhaps it was a mistake sleeping with the windows open, Rey can’t help but think. She is naught but a desert creature, what did she even imagine would come of this?
 
She drifts in and out of sleep, even if she doesn’t really want to. And only when she wakes around midday, thirst parching her throat, does she manage to blink her eyes open and get up on her feet.
 
The house is quiet as she leans against the wall, taking one step on the stair at the time, cursing at herself for choosing to sleep upstairs. She barely makes it down on the platform before the coughing starts again. How can one feel like an entire being of bile and snot? Rey cries a little at that, but she is a survivalist. She has been through worse.
 
The kitchen is dark when she stumbles inside. The shutters on each window are firmly clamped shut from when she had been there yesterday. Rey likes the dimness of the room, it eases her headache enough for her to not wince when she turns the faucet open and leans down to drink from the tap.
 
The water does little to ease the soreness of her throat, but Rey drinks and drinks until she has to part for air. Then repeats it all over again, till her tummy is swollen and her hair is drenched from stray water sprays and Rey is overtaken by the same sleepiness that overcame upstairs.
 
A grunt, she slides down the side of the kitchen sink, head lulled to one side as she looks outside. The sky is beginning to grow orange and Rey really ought to go upstairs. There are some medpacks in her bag she thinks, but the mere thought of forcing herself to walk upstairs is enough to persuade her.
 
She will stay here, right here, until she can’t. Until she has gathered enough strength.
 
And that’s when the thoughts, all the thoughts she has attempted to hide, protrude her weakened defense and she thinks of Ben —

Kylo

.
 
A sniff, followed by a soul crushing disappointment that weaves and stitches itself through her heart and her veins. It’s not like she had expected things to be easier with them, but she cannot help but feel betrayed by their continued clashing of ideals. The war is over, it should be easier now. They should be free to explore their connection in other ways.
 
But they don’t. He loathes her, hates her for robbing him of ...what exactly? And now she sits here alone, sick and feverish, and the goddamn Supreme Leader is sulking somewhere far away. Petulant like a little child. 
 
Had Finn been here, he would never have left her alone. He’d slump down next to her and tug her close, doing his best to soothe what ails her. Poe would have joked, made her smile, made BB-8 fetch something to help her.
 
Oh. BB-8. How she misses him so. 
 
His crooked antenna, his acute observations, how he’d sometimes just sit when she tried to decipher the Jedi texts simply because he wanted to keep her company. 
 
Her heavy head slumps down to her equally heavy heart with a little cry. Tears running freely from her red itchy eyes. One time she might have fantasized that Ben would be caring, that he would wrap his arms around her and whisper away every fear. She had caught the barest glimpse of it when they had sat in the little wet hut, wind howling outside, rain slamming onto the stone. But she didn’t feel the cold, all she felt was the warmth of his fingertips.
 
And what a lie it was. All those ideas about him, what he was like, what he wanted to do, the extent of his compassion are all things conjured by her own miserable lonely heart. Rey growls, hating herself for her undying belief that whatever virtues he possessed on Ach-to had survived his reign.
 
She falls into a restless slumber then, head supported by the cupboard door, feet burning on the cold stone floors. It is not comfortable, far from it, the way her body heats and freezes instantaneously. But she does sleep. She sleeps for a long time.
 
It’s dark when the door to the hut opens and Rey blinks at the darkness, but can’t make out anything noticeable. She coughs a miserable cough into her hands, lungs heaving with effort. Her eyes well with fresh tears and she feels even more pathetic than before, even more sick.
 
She already knows who it is. He could only stay away from torturing her for so long. Still, she is surprised, but not by his presence.
 
But the lack of haughtiness on his face as he rounds the corner conspicuously. In fact, he looks a little bit sad, a little bit pensive at her pitiful state. Her wet hair clinging to her cheeks, the tear streaks down her sweaty feverish skin. She blinks at him while he drags his feet across the floor, hating how bashful and ashamed she feels, her sickness revealing every miserable feeling she has.
 
“So this is where you hide.” His words are gentle, without any ridicule even if he could, even if it is somewhat justified. 
 
Rey pouts, watching him bend by the knees and take in her pitiful state. “What are you doing here?”
 
“I was bored.” Kylo shrugs, eyes traveling methodically over her face. “What are you doing here?”
 
“Getting away from you.” It comes out as a half cough, half sneeze. She attempts a scowl, but Force knows what even crosses her face. His eyebrow raises in amusement.
 
“How disappointing.” He deadpans, and then the back of his hand is on her forehead, cool and firm. He frowns a little. “What have you been up to scavenger? Getting sick?”
 
“No —” Rey tries to protest, but his skin feels so nice against hers, in fact, and the pounding headache seems to fade a little too, “— what are you? Concerned?” The attempted mockery feels hollow, childish, but also exactly what he deserves.
 
Kylo exhales through his nose, tightening his mouth, before swiftly bending forward and tugging a hand under her legs and another at her waist and lifts her into his arms with a low groan. 
 
She whines in protest, but it’s hard to struggle against him, even if her pride begs her. He adjusts her so her head falls into the crook between his shoulder and neck. She has never been this close to him, not enough to smell his sweat, the soft perfume from the Falcon’s soap. There’s a heat in her cheeks she can’t quite blame on the fever and she twists her head so to not be confronted by his stubbled chin, his protruding Adam's apple. 
 
He carries her through the livingspace, and does he try to ignore the memories this sprouts as well? Of Takodana, of the slaughtering of Snoke’s guards, the way they had whispered truths in the elevator. The churning emotions, the fear for their lives, the cherished unwanted connection.
 
“Aren’t you hurt?” She asks, trying to change the subject of her attention. 
 
A huff. “I’ll live.”
 
The snow. The forest. His poisoned snarl as he slammed the side of his stomach, the bowcaster wound bleeding red onto the white soft flakes. 
 
She feels him wince, almost as if he caught a glimpse of her trialing mind. “Don’t —”
 
“Don’t what?”
 
“— There are already too many ghosts on the Falcon.”
 
Rey is familiar with those ghosts. The residue of the Skywalker’s and their history. 
 
Because they haunt her too.
 
And in a way, she understands his desire to not introduce further to the already plentiful crowd of painful memories. This family has already seen too much, no need to bring their disastrous dynamic into it. 
 
In fact —
 
“We don’t have to go back, if you don’t want to.” — to the Falcon she means. 
 
But when he stops briefly, bending his neck to gaze down upon her, she too realises that while he knows her meaning to be only about this moment once the suggestion is out, it is as if she has asked something else entirely. 
 
Something more permanent. 
 
So she adds a little, “— we can stay here. For tonight.”
 
Kylo hesitates, readjusting her in his arms before saying.
 
“You really aren’t taking me to the Resistance.”
 
“No.” No point of lying. Not when he’ll just make up his own conclusions anyway. “Kind of defeats the purpose of rescuing you.”
 
“Scavenger — “ He exhales, “— I didn’t ask you to—”
 
“And I didn’t ask you to kidnap me.” Rey counters, her voice small and strained from coughing.  “Or get dragged into this mess

you’ve

made. Sometimes we don’t get what we

want

.”
 
Their eyes meet, which is always a mistake. While the words are simple, straight forward, eyes can say so many other things. His are soft, even with the persistent frown scaring his face. They simmer with a long repressed need, a thought, something she fears he sees reflected in her too.
 
“What

do

you want, scavenger?” Kylo asks, low and full of intent. 
 
She looks away, not feeling ready to answer that quite yet. Not now. “Peace.”
 
Her vague answer seems to annoy him, but also like he expects it from her. With a brief glance at the door, then up the stairwell, as if gauging his own strength, Kylo tightens his hold on her and informs her of his plan to fetch a med bag on the Falcon, while she sleeps. Before begrudgingly walking up the steps to the little room to lower her down with the utmost care on her thin bedroll, like he is afraid to break her. Like he has forgotten that he already has. Her hands cling to his neck and her eyes plead for something even she is not aware of.
 
“Sleep.” He replies to a question she hasn’t asked. Jaw tight.
 
“No one will know.” Rey whispers back —

you can stay, no one will know.

A whine escapes him, and he looks up pained at the ceiling. And she gets the impression that he desperately wants to relent, but pride and some stubborn need to show her that she

cannot

sway him prevents him.
 
“

Please

.”
 
Had she been well, had she been at her full strength, she would never have begged him like this. In fact, it hurts more to know she broke first than the strain of her lungs from coughing. But he is right there, right there, and she cannot stand to spend another night alone, alone and forgotten when she doesn’t have to — when she doesn’t want to.
 
His hand still tucked behind her waist flinches, when she carefully reaches out and traces the scar she gifted him a little more than a year ago. Her fingers acting on their own accord; she wants to touch the lashes of his fluttering eyes, the crooked bent of his nose, the swell of his lip. 
 
However, she doesn’t make it, before he with a regretful huff releases her so he can lie down next to her. His body is hardly resting on the bedroll, but the gesture alone, she could cry. Even if all they do is lie next to each other, shoulder to shoulder, no one making an attempt to get closer. 
 
If this is all they do, then no one has lost face

or

pride. This can stay here, on this planet.
 
And maybe it’s the weather, maybe it's having someone warm next to you, but the headache becomes less intense. Her exhaustion fades and the window, still open from the night before, letting in a fresh breeze, doesn’t make her cold any longer.
 
“It’s nice here.” Kylo admits after a while, speaking into the silence of the hut. Perhaps more to himself than to her. 
 
Rey blinks at his confession, and being too tired to care, curls onto her side so she can timidly press her nose into the flesh of his bicep.
 
“Yeah.” 
 
He doesn’t stir. He’s silent, she thinks he might have fallen asleep until he exhales.
 
“Yeah.”
 
🝀🜎🝀🜎
 
How long Rey sleeps, tucked against Kylo’s side, she isn’t entirely sure. It could be mere minutes, it could be hours, days even, but that it hardly matters when she wakes up to her headache gone and only the lightest of sniffles. She yawns and blinks against the harsh light shining into the room, from what must be the midday sun. 
 
The added bedroll next to her is empty and she raises herself to a sitting position while rubbing her eyes, looking for his presence.
 
The window is closed, and the hut is toasty and warm in a way it hasn’t been before. Rey glances around the room to find an added backpack and a half used med bag and a glass of bacta pills next to it.
 
He must have fetched it while she was sleeping, Rey realises, the image of him spreading out the spare bedroll next to her so he can care for her popping up in her mind without any consent. 
 
A warm sweet feeling grows in her tummy. Had he nursed her while she was sleeping? Had he wiped her head free of sweat?
 
Rey scoffs at the thought. Kylo Ren, spending days taking care of a poor sick scavenger, impossible. Maybe, a year ago, the thought would hold some truth, but she knows now, after having spent an agonizing amount of time with him, that this rift of light is no more. 
 
Deciding to not let the bitter feeling fester, she stretches her arm and fetches the meds and swallows a few without a drink. She delights in the feeling of her body not being exhausted beyond compare, and perhaps it is just her, but doesn’t the world seem a little brighter? A little clearer. She closes her eyes to listen to the patter of rain hitting the tiled roof.
 
It could be entirely possible.
 
With a wobble and a need to visit the fresher, Rey grumbles as she carefully threads down the steps and into the barren living space.
 
Or barren might not be an adequate word to describe the sight. 
 
It is still worn down, shutters hinging slightly of their hinges and paint flaking on the walls, but it is no longer empty. From where he has found it, Rey doesn’t know, but there are two chairs and a table and in the corner a transportable heater is gently blowing out hot warm air into the damp hut. She blinks at the transformation, surprised and somewhat — terrified.
 
A small change, hardly a change at all, but the domesticity of it — it feels too much. It’s wrong. There is no temporal plane where him and her can just be allowed to be — can there? No. Surely not.
 
Frowning, the scavenger turns to call on him, to reprimand him for — putting up chairs — only to be met by the sight of a ...very naked Supreme Leader.
 
He is barely visible, the door to the fresher only slightly ajar, but it is enough. Rey freezes in an instant, unable to not look at his sculpted muscles, the scars she has given him and he just stands there, oblivious and relaxed, brushing his teeth over the sink, his black hair drying into curls.
 
It cannot be helped. 
 
Rey

squeaks

.
 
Their eyes meet, his bright and alert, seeming genuinely surprised to see her, but instead of closing the door, the idiot instead straightens his spine, actively not pursuing getting dressed.
 
What did she expect from him? Didn’t she remember that same defiance from when they connected on Ach-To?. He likes to rile her.
 
And it fucking works.
 
An inner fire heats her cheeks, spreading quickly to her entire face and down her throat and chest. Rey flips her head away, not nearly well enough to handle his defiance. “You could have closed the door —”
 
“I didn’t notice you were awake,” he says, the same time as her, sounding at least more bashful than he

appears

. And then, he… huffs. “No cowl this time either.”
 
Groaning, followed by a cough, Rey persists in showing him her back. Furiously rubbing her cheeks free of the heat gathering below the flesh. “You think yourself so funny.” 
 A moment passes, the rustle of fabric followed by tapping of bare feet across the floor and this terrible man — somewhat dressed — snakes around her, looking a bit too happy about their awkward predicament. She wants to punch him. 
“I know you’ve seen bodies before, on Jakku,” he reminds her, sounding close to grinning. “I’m surprised by your animosity to mine.”
 
“I woke up today feeling better,” Rey throws back at him, hating herself for her still flushed cheeks. “Don’t ruin it.”
 
The black shirt he has thrown on stretches

tightly

around his biceps as he crosses his arms, looking not the slightest intimidated by her.  How is it possible for him to grow more handsome than she has already thought him to be? With his weird strange long face, bit nose and veiny neck. It should be added to his list of galactic crimes. 
 
“How

do

you feel?” He innocently prods while he leans over her and opens the cupboard to take out a glass, putting the offending muscle

right

in front of her nose. “Better?”
 
“Better.” Rey scoffs, and when composed enough slides below his arm and aims for her backpack with rations. His eyes trail her form, she feels it, and were it not for her fever, she might be inclined to think herself armoured. It's probably just annoyance, she thinks, before accusing him — “Where did you find all of this?”
 
He wipes his lips clean from the water he just drank, studying his little furniture project. The chairs, the table, the empty promises — “From the Falcon. Thought it easier to move it here than move

you

there.”
 
“Are we moving in?” Rey jokes, but he doesn’t look like he thinks it's a joke.
 
An earnest and serious expression flashes across his face, replacing the teasing glint in his eyes. Rey doesn’t like it.
 
“Are we?” he counters. There’s a beginning of stubble on his chin, he runs a hand over it. “Falcon won’t be going anywhere.”
 
The Falcon won’t be going anywhere, not for a while. Even if they managed to get it up and running, Rey is not sure it would be wise to leave. Not yet, maybe not even for a while. Better lay low, better stay out of sight. 
 
She isn’t ready to agree with him though, not yet, and it’s with a desperate edge she tries to search for any flaw in his logic, for there to be a better alternative. 
 
“This place is far from homey though —” 
 
He nods at the fresher, hair still damp and unkempt. “Who cares. It works, it’s not the Falcon and you fixed that fresher pretty easily.”
 
“I wouldn’t call it easy…” 
 
His palms rise to either side of his face, stopping her speech. He places the cup back down on the counter and informs her of his decision. “You can stay on the Falcon if this place is too

despicable

with me in it.” 
 
“Hey I found it first!” Rey genuinely protests, “You can’t just go around stealing other’s property.”
 
He raises an eyebrow, mouth twitching, before turning to the staircase. “Then kick me out.”
 
She doesn’t.
 
🝀🜎🝀🜎
 
In fact, she grows to appreciate this strangeness which is them sharing the same living space.
 
Mostly because the hut is nicer than the Falcon, she tells herself. Ignoring how often she needs to repeat that statement to herself.
 
Nicer is a stretch though. There are so many things that don’t work and some that are even outright dangerous. The roof leaks, the framework is rotten on the porch and Rey is convinced she has found a nest

of… something

.
 
Still, there’s a calmness to the place and even if Kylo moves his bedroll into another room the instant Rey improves, they remain civil. What else would you call sitting outside eating your rations while the sun sets? The little small talk, and she is pretty sure he deadpanned a joke at some point.
 
The change is enough to make her dizzy, to make her sleep restless and her heart palpitating. 
 
Perhaps what they needed in order to thrive was to not live in the shadow of the Skywalkers, the Falcon, the war. 
 
It’s a vastly different experience living here with him than on the Falcon. And she finds in him some practical skills, too. But that’s after several trial and errors.
 
The sloppy work on his saber begins to make sense when he attempts at fixing the electrical wiring to the old kitchen hardware, short circuiting the entire hut, heck, he even puts the thing on fire. They didn’t even need to agree verbally for both to know he would not do that again. However, with each passing day their pieces slide a little easier together — and where Rey lacks interest or skills, he turns out to perfectly compliment her. 
 
A perfectionist, he keeps the house tidy, sweeps the floors and dusts the shelves. He can hang things with precision and is able to sort through whatever scrap she procures so it doesn’t take up space. He proves a wonderful living companion in that regard. He cares where Rey doesn’t. And in ways that improve her life too.
 
“What are those?” She asks, peeking out from the doorway to the small caravan of animals pulling a carriage with a few pieces of furniture. The farmer that pulls it gives her a little wave. 
 
“Something that won’t kill my back when I sleep,” Kylo remarks dryly, already unfastening the ropes around the wooden frames. 
 
“Bedrolls are not fancy enough for you?” Rey can’t help but smile. In fact, her cheeks dimple, which in turn makes him falter for a second, before he shakes his head. 
 
“You’ll eat those words when you sleep through the night,” he mumbles, gesturing for her to come help carry the things.
 
She doesn’t end up admitting that he was right. Afterall she is petty like he is, but for the first time in...years, Rey wakes up feeling refreshed and with no aches in her limbs or bones. It is hard to mistrust his little furnishing attempts after that. Even if she can’t shake that little voice in her head that whispers —

it’s going too fast. It cannot last. He is a murderer. He broke your heart.

And she suspects he feels it too. 
 
She sees it in the way he reluctantly accepts any of her small olive branches. He appears to tolerate her more than he likes being with her, even if she catches him staring half the times she turns to say something to him. He’s wary, cautious about this brokered peace — like a small child wanting to touch the oven that burned him again and again. 
 
Neither makes an attempt at mending the rift though, and neither tries to further the divide either.
 
He does grow more demanding though.
 
And...he is getting ideas.
 
Stupid man.
 
First, it's small. He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want that. Things that are easy to accommodate. And easy to ignore because he is both helping on the Falcon and in the hut.
 
And then, it becomes less small.
 
In the three weeks that have passed, Kylo strikes up a strange friendship with the farmer who helped with the bed and the villagers stop regarding them as strange beings and more of a casual curious thing. They make fewer attempts at cowering away and more at engaging in some kind of conversation. Sign language proves invaluable here. In fact, Rey begins to even recognise a few and some of them even smile.
 
It is all very promising.
 
Then Kylo decides to bullhead his way into what he wants.
 
Rey hears him before she sees him one afternoon, rinsing off the oil and grime from the Falcon’s engine, preparing to head back for tonight's supper, when sudden shouting can be heard from outside. 
 
Fear grips her instantly —

have they been found? Has Kylo gotten into a fight?

— because she recognises his voice, loud and tight. Rey half runs down the ramp, still drying her hands with a cloth only to be met with a red faced Supreme Leader angrily haggling with a local fisherman. 
 
She stops, amused at the sight.
 
Kylo whips his head up as he hears her approach, hair sweaty and unkempt and —

pouts

. 
 
"They don't accept credit."
 
"

What

?" Rey quips.
 
Kylo points to the gutted fish in the fisherman's hand, limb but fresh, like a toddler with a tantrum. She wants to laugh, wants to walk away, but she chooses instead to groan and cross her arms. "Seriously. We have rations on board."
 
"If you think I'll eat any more of those rations…" 
 
"Why don't you just… I don't know… fish yourself?" Rey suggests, eyebrow raised in scrutiny, absolutely puzzled by his sudden disinterest in the rations. It had worked fine until now, why the sudden change?
 
He watches her tense her jaw, her stiff posture, and just like she had predicted his need for seeking out fights, unable to

not

bicker with her takes precedence over his sudden desire for fresh fish. He is on her like a dog, chasing after her up the ramp the moment she turns to walk back inside.
 
He’s predictable. They are. It’s almost kind of disappointing. Maybe that's really all there is to them. Two people who know how to fight and not much else.
 
“How do you expect me to catch a fish?”
 
"Use the force or something," Rey adds casually, scrunching her nose. He huffs like a confined animal struggling with cabin fever. 
 
"Why should I do that when I have a million galactic credits? — and they are useless here!" 
 
Does he like this? Riling her into annoyance, the way she looks at him over her shoulder asking a silent

really

with her eyes. Is she not any good when she is sweet? When she is happy? Does he only like it when she gives him the reactions he secretly suspects she feels. Even she feels so many other things. 
 
“You talk like someone who never had to trade scraps for food.” Rey grumbles half to herself, half to him, while she throws the oil stained cloth in the sink for washing.
 
He doesn’t say anything to that. In fact, she gets the distinct feeling she has crossed an invisible line between them, despite having no clue as to what that line is. She glances up at his hard expression, looking ever much like the leader of a Galactic Empire. Even in his simple shirt that fits him poorly. She raises an eyebrow in a challenge.
 
He accepts it. Every single time.
 
“I would like

us

to eat something else.”
 
Tightening his mouth, with a sigh, he demands, “If we stay. I need us to eat something else than — rations.”
 
Rey shakes her head. Ridiculous man. “Then find a way then,” and pokes him lightly on the chest. “No violence. No stealing. No murdering.”
 
“Scavenger —” It starts out as a protest, like he actually believes his goal can’t be achieved without resorting to those means, but then he sighs. Shoulders sacking. 
 
“

What

?”
 
A shake of the head. Is that tug a smile? Is he laughing at her? What is he looking at on her face? Did she miss something? She is about to reprimand him but then —
 
— and errant index finger and thumb squeezes the tip of her nose.
 
“Gremlin.” He huffs, seeming for a moment enchanted by the way her nose scrunches in annoyance, almost as if he couldn’t help it. His hand had reached on its own. Drawn to her in the ways she is drawn to him when she doesn’t pay attention.
 
His eyes fall to her lips, and his own part softly in response. The thumb that pinches the tip of her sunburned nose loosens and she feels her heart in her throat, thumping away at speed of several parsecs. The air conditioner blows cold recirculated air into the galley, but Rey feels anything but cold. No. She is on fire, burning red and hot and is it just her, but does the tip of his ears burn in tandem with her?
 
Is...is he ...teasing her?
 
Kylo blinks

— only for him to sharply pull away.

“Rations are fine.” He hurriedly mumbles once more before chasing himself out the Falcon. Shoulders hunched, looking distinctly...ashamed.
 
And all Rey is left with is a hunger. A truly perplexing kind of hunger.
 
But she doesn’t want food.
 
🝀🜎🝀🜎
 
Hours, days pass and her nose still prickles from where Kylo had teasingly pinched it. She goes over the encounter again and again, finding no clear cut explanation for his sudden break of character. Should she be concerned? She feels concerned. Anxious. Body and mind alert for any changes in him, for him to surprise her with a sudden gesture that stuns her.
 
It’s unpredictable in an unfamiliar way. She loathes it.
 
Her eyes dart over her shoulders all the time, permanently fixed on him, adrenaline pumping. It makes living hard and sleeping even harder. The images of Kylo’s little smile, his parted lips and sculpted body leaning over the fresher sinking flash with little warning, and instead of feeling calm she grows increasingly tense, unable to find the rest she so desperately needs. 
 
Her insides feel tight. She can’t breathe.
 
Is she still sick?
 
Or maybe he is? Because she finds Kylo in the oddest of places doing the oddest of things.
 
He starts to wish her goodnight when he passes her door to his own room, always lingering in the doorway, always carefully watching the way she brushes her hair. The loose tangled hair pooling on her shoulders, down for the first time in forever. 
 
A meager, “goodnight” is always what she ever manages to whisper back in return. And then he leaves.
 
Her bed grows colder even if the weather grows warmer. 
 
She curls the blanket tighter around her.
 
And then, one afternoon she walks into finding a cup of field flowers on the kitchen table.

“What is that?”

Kylo strains his neck from his spot at the sink cleaning the dishes.
 
“Flowers.”
 
“I know that. But...why are they inside?”
 
He shrugs, “Found them on a walk. They looked nice.”
 
It's impossible to merge the images of Kylo, the horrible horrendous murderer and enslaver of the galaxy with the knowledge that he had walked down the dirt path and softly plucked each little flower into the small offending bouquet on the table. 
 
That Kylo — “I’m...I didn’t take you for someone who liked flowers?”
 
He scoffs, an incredulous expression crossing his face. “Everyone likes flowers.” 
 
“They do?” Rey asks, trying to imagine him leaning down to smell their perfume, liking the colors, doing his best to combine them into a lovely display.
 
The plates clatter as he places them on the rack to dry, looking perhaps a bit annoyed at her disbelief. “I’m not as heartless as you paint me to be.”
 
“I don’t think you are heartless.” She says instantly, truly meaning that from the bottom of her own heart. She has felt his compassion, his hurt.
 
He doesn’t reply to that, and she gets the feeling he doesn’t quite believe her. 
 
And the flowers keep turning up, like he is trying to spite her. To show her she is in the wrong. Which is both so strange and so in character for him.
 
This strange man. 
 
Still, out of all the strange things he has done, including

usurping

a throne from a dark side user, one was more bizarre than the others.
 
It had started innocently enough. Rey had observed him from her spot in the kitchen repairing the hydrator, when she noticed him pendulating from the fresher to the yard; dirt on his hand and clothes, his sweaty long hair clinging to his forehead and dragging buckets of water out the front door. She allows him a couple of rounds of this before she gets up to see what he is doing. Too curious, too on the edge. 
 
She stops on the porch to find him sitting on his knees, hands deep in the dirt, pulling out roots and making small dents with his finger into the soil and depositing a thread of… capsules?

“What are you doing?”

He doesn’t look up, instead he shrugs and continues his task. “Gardening.”
 
“Gardening?”
 
With a swift hand he waves her over and pats the empty plot of land next to him, where she falls to her knees like him and frowns at these strange endeavours of his. “Why?” She asks in a puzzled voice, not fully understanding his motivations. 
 
He takes one of the small organic capsules between his fingers to show it. “I helped the farmer, he gave me these seeds.” It shines in the bright morning light. “Not sure what they are. But with no credits — and limited rations, it’s worth a shot.”
 
“But…” He’s a madman, utterly profoundly mad. “... how do you know this?”
 
Kylo gives yet another one of his infuriating shrugs and continues the rhythm of burying the seeds. “Apparently, becoming a Jedi involved not only practising saber moves —” he cocks an eye at her, a hint of a smile in them, “— or lifting rocks. I spent many years having chores like this.” Followed by a shake of the head. “Didn’t make me any more calm though.”
 
Fascinated, she watches each little seed getting tugged into their earthly nest, wondering how such a simple thing can become something so much more. And she’s not sure if it is the peek into Kylo’s secret past or the fruit of forbidden knowledge right at the tip of her fingers which makes her implore —
 
“Will you show me?”
 
Fingers buried deep in the soil he comes to a pause, glancing up through his dark curls, eyes slightly narrow as if he is cautious of her intentions. She doesn’t blame him, his hesitation is merited - have they not spent the past month snarling at each other? Still, after a moment he draws his dirt streaked hands free and deposits a handful of seeds into her palm. 
 
He makes sure their hands do not touch.
 
She notices, but doesn’t comment. Instead she lets him guide her with his soft spoken words.
 
Of how to remember to space them, to dig a small enough hole and what makes it grow. How often they should be watered, the importance of pest control. The good soil. And she follows his every instruction. Taking in every word. She likes the sound of it. The feel of the earth in her hands. Wet, cool, but warm as well. 
 
Something that is alive.
 
“Try —” Kylo begins, sounding a bit unsure. “ — you can feel it. In the Force.” and hovers his palms over their fine work in demonstration. 
 
Their fingers barely touch, on a breath between them.
 
Rey nods,

closing her eyes

a little too eagerly and he’s right — right there, just below, it is a fickle thing, but there. The seeds pulse with a dim fickle heartbeat and it stuns her momentarily, that even like this, so small and barely even there — life persists, runs its circles, becomes something more until it fades and disappears. This attachment to life, death and everything in between, almost as if in the past few months she has forgotten how to connect herself to this amazing Force. 
 
Someone sighs, maybe her, maybe him and with each settling breath everything around them becomes ever so slightly clearer and themselves less so. It’s like they don’t matter, they just fade into all of it and just

are

. They could be sitting for hours, they could be sitting for just a few seconds — it wouldn’t matter, they just let the Force flow through them.
 
Rey would wonder later how long it has been for him, just sitting and letting it all be. But in that moment him and her melt away in favour of some sort of strange mix. Memories flow too easily between them, good ones, bad ones and some not even their own. One moment she is a loth cat, the next she soars through the sky, the next she is a dying old tree. 
 
Balance.
 
Does he feel it too?
 
The rightness they bring to one another.
 
Someone is touching her hand.
 
She startles awake and pulls her hand to her chest and stares at Kylo who is watching her with an expression of mild concern. His mouth is set into grim lines. Like he was concerned.
 
If only —
 
“Thought I lost you there.” He states matter of factly.
 
“Sorry,” Rey chuckles embarrassed, rubbing the palm of her hand. “Was too caught up in going through a worm’s sparing recollections.”
 
“A worm?” Kylo blinks, mouth threatening to curl into a smile. “What a fascinating life.”
 
“It had better things to say than you do.” The words escape even if she doesn’t intend it to.
 
A huff, a lovely kind, he leans closer — and it’s too close — she can almost feel his breath on her skin. It scalds it, gives her goosebumps.
 
She can’t.
 
So she takes her dirt clad fingers and purposely messes up his sweaty hair, making the curls tangle and his hair stick out like a true bird's nest. 
 
He looks terrible.
 
“That’s for the pinching,” Rey laughs, one of those deep stomach kind of laughs, all mirth and humour. He froze the instant her hands duck through his hair and just stares at her when she pulls away, mouth slightly agape as in awe. His eyes trail her while she stands, and she can’t help it.
 
Her breathing is quick, and her heart flutters with excitement. “I guess one could say

you

are the dirty scavenger now.”
 
He blinks up at her, absorbing her words, and then, like the entire galaxy has slowed down, the corners of his mouth curl, the pearl white of his teeth show, his cheeks stretch into dimples…
 
...and he

chuckles

.
 
Who is this man she is seeing?
 
So lovely and kind.
 
Like a full belly after a day’s work. Like a thousand stars shimmering on a bright night sky. 
 
Rey returns his smile.
 
She can’t help.
 
🝀🜎🝀🜎
 
It feels like peace.
 
Until it is not.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 2
Power and PeaceIV
The wires are a mess, some are burned, some are so tangled into each other that Rey is not sure she’ll ever be able to salvage them. She groans. The progress on the Falcon is slow and because of their temporary home’s lack of technological advancement, scraps and spare parts are hard to come by. If she searches hard, she may find optic cables that are similar to the Falcon’s. But it is not looking good.
 
Perhaps she could find some that work on the Falcon? But that means she has to take out something else that is not vital, but would probably be annoying to fly without.
 
She’s glad Han is not a Force user who can randomly materialize as a ghost in front of her, especially with the curses she spits at him and this garbage ship of his.
 
Kylo Ren takes after him in that way. The “this is fine” when it comes to repairs and instead of doing it well and nice, they cut corners until it works, even if it has the potential to explode. 
 
More than once she eyed his lightsaber resting on the window shelf above his bed, eager, almost bursting with the need to take it apart and make it better. And true, the extra vents are great at stabilizing the errant beam of his kyber, but that could be achieved in so many other ways.
 
Actually, the thought crosses her mind so often, that she is beginning to suspect it is not only her affinity for fixing things that summon her, but the kyber too. 
 
Pulsing and yearning for her touch. Begging for it to mend it.
 
Heal it.
 
Rey frowns. Why would she even want to do that? Why would the kyber ask her to help it? Its master is Kylo, shouldn’t he be the one to do it? After all, he cracked it. He must be the one with the power to weld it together.
 
Shaking her head, Rey kicks herself out of the crawlspace and back into the engine of the Falcon, rubbing her cheek free of stain.
 
“Kylo!” She calls out, “I need to go into the city. I’ll be back later.”
 
A muffled

what?

comes from the galley.
 
“I’m going out!” She repeats, his footsteps coming closer, slamming against the metal. He quirks an eyebrow when he spots her across the room.
 
“Looking for wires. I’ll be going out.” She points to the crawlspace like that explains everything and he just gives her a nod, but doesn’t move so she can pass.
 
With a gesture, she signals that she needs to scoot around him to get to the ramp, but he just keeps looking at her, drawn to something on her forehead. 
 
“What?” She can’t help but jap, not in the mood for this. “I’m going into the city.”
 
“Yes.”
 
“It might take a while.”
 
“Okay.”
 
The frown between her brows deepens, and perhaps this is what sets him off, what caught his attention. Rey will never tell. Heck, it might even be a brain hemorrhage with how bold he decides to be.
 
It all happens so quickly.
 
He moves his jaw, pursing his mouth in secret thought, before decidedly leaning in to press a kiss on her cheek. 
 
It is not in any way a spectacular kiss, far from it. It is brief, slightly wet, and catches her

completely

off guard. 
 
She gapes at him, confounded as he pulls away, a heat definitely creeping up her neck and to her cheeks. He looks disgustingly satisfied with himself.
 
A little teasing smile tugs on his lips. 
 
🝀🜎🝀🜎

“This?”

Rey blinks, drawn back from the memory of his lips on her skin, to stare down on a local scrap dealer as he lifts a box full of wires from somewhere below the desk. His basic is broken, rudimentary at best.
 
“Yes.” She replies hoarsely, reaching over to pull the basket across the table and begins to flip through the mess of cut off used wires, but she doesn’t even look at the things — she is running on autopilot, constantly rubbing the spot he had pecked, switching between being allured and perplexed.
 
What had spurred him to do that? Yes. She knows they are connected and she cannot deny the obvious attraction, the one that had been there the moment they met, maybe even before that?
 
But...a kiss on the cheek?
 
It would surprise her less if he had pinned her against a door, bitten her jaw and licked her neck, taken what he wanted as he had threatened. 
 
But this. 
 
This is too sweet. 
 
Far too sweet.
 
If his intent was to charm her, then he decidedly

failed

. Because doubt cripples her and she second-guesses every little nice thing he has done to her the past month. Is he toying with her? Trying to rouse her into anger, into doing something she’ll regret?
 
She wouldn’t put it past him. 
 
And perhaps she imagines it, but did he briefly steer ever so slightly closer to her mouth, as if wanting to kiss her there instead?
 
Would she want to? Have him break that invisible line and kiss her?
 
Does she want to kiss

him

?
 
In many ways, she wouldn’t mind if he did. To her own misery, she catches herself often daydreaming about the pink swell of his lips, remembering how they had calmly told her she wasn’t alone and wondering what they would feel like against her mouth, her skin, her.... 
 
Yes. She wants it. She wants it very much in fact, but — she can’t quite make herself

take it.

Much like the wires she aimlessly digs around in, she and Kylo resemble a mess of paths and futures, and everything they do now seems like a desperate attempt at staying ahead of the inevitable fallout while still enjoying the small merits they can have. 
 
What would he even do if she kissed him? Her rare compliments are so expertly deflected and he keeps her at arm's length all the time, resembling a predator circling his prey, gauging if she is poisonous or safe to eat. If she kissed him, she doubts he would receive her affection positively. 
 
Maybe he’d be angry. Offended even.
 
But...she could. Technically. 
 
She could kiss him. 
 
If she wanted to.
 
“Ow!” Rey sputters, raising her hand to find a small gash on her finger. The little vendor yelps surprised, squeaking small

uh

s as he hurries in the back, smashing various things aside to look what Rey suspects are a medkit.
 
It’s a small cut, probably from one of the wires, and it is enough to bring her back to reality. 
 
She can’t kiss Kylo.
 
Is she dehydrated? Insane? Did she forget all the terrible things he has done to her — to the galaxy! She can’t let her be distracted because of a pair of pretty brown eyes. And maybe he has nice pink very swollen lips, but so does a bantha! She is better than that. Heck, she has built speeders and survived on her own on a desert planet for years!
 
She will not ever kiss him. Not before he apologizes for all the things he has done.
 
Which at the rate this is going isn’t very likely.
 
The vendor wobbles back on his tiny legs, carrying a dusty box of what is probably expired bacta or moldy bandages. She settles for a little bandage for now. Not that it’ll do much, but there is no reason to force heal herself right here — not when she tries to hide. Not when she even knows if they are familiar with the Force.
 
And then, her eyes catch on something.
 
“What is that?” She asks, pointing towards a small round piece of metal. It looks unmistakably like a holoprojector. The vendor’s googly eyes turn to the thing and makes a half jump to reach it and places it in front of her.
 
Force, it is a holoprojector. An old one. For sure. She turns it upside down, noticing that it lacks a dual transmission receiver, but it ought to catch the holosignal — if it works.
 
“How much?”
 
🝀🜎🝀🜎
 
She returns to the hut only to find him cooking over the stove.
 
The countertop is lidded with vegetables and a gutted fish coated in a spicy smelling marinade. The smell in itself is enough to distract her from thoughts of kissing him. True, they have rations, and she doesn’t mind eating rations — but when was the last time she ate a meal? It must be months.
 
In the final days of the First Order she had scarcely eaten, much less anything of substance. 
 
She marches up to him, demanding an explanation for this — why does he keep surprising her? She can’t take it. 
 
He doesn’t stirr, hardly even bothers to acknowledge her, and proceeds with dipping a spoon into the pot of steaming liquid. She hears her stomach growl.
 
“You can cook?” She accuses him like he is on the stand for a crime.
 
A shrug. “Enough to get by.”
 
Rey elbows Kylo aside and glares at the offending soup. Its red surface is broken by bubbles, the steam making her mouth water. The level of scrutiny she gives him is probably undeserved, but what else is she to do? For years she had understood him as nothing but a violent thing with the rare shred of kindness, and now he is turning everything on its head.
 
It’s unsettling in a way. That he has other virtues opposed to the terrible Supreme Leader and this, him chopping every root and green with precise movements and a calm exterior, it is too gentle a pursuit. 
 
This sudden knowledge that

this

is also him feels too private and personal. Should Rey even be privy to it? Is it not enough that she was privy to all his hurt and trauma when she flung herself into his mind? 
 
Oblivious or maybe uncaring to her conflict, Kylo gently huffs, and pushes her back by his shoulders and resumes the cooking. “If you want some, you have to wash your hands.” He nods at her oil-stained skin. “Table manners.”
 
Rey furrows her brow, not really wanting to adhere his stupid game, but gosh — it smells so good. Always overruled by her stomach, the scavenger turns on her hell and storms to the fresher to scrub her calloused fingers with an intense

vigor

- fueled partially by fury and spite — and a timid...

excitement

. 
 
But a voice tells her she must be wary. This sudden change in him, he must have an agenda. It cannot be this simple.
 
Not with him.
 
There’s a wrongness to it, and once at the table and its booth, she feels a wave of nausea hit her at the sight of plates set for two. 
 
What does he think they are? 
 
He cannot be serious — the Jedi and the Supreme Leader sit at a table eating like a

family

. Does he think

her

family? Does she

want

to be his family? Something is off about this, she cannot point out why this is different from the other evenings where they had eaten in silence, poking at their reheated rations.
 
It just is. This is not their normal. 
 
Still, Rey slides into the booth eyeing the pot cautiously — yet, a hint of childish delight slips through, and maybe, just maybe, Rey senses that this open want unnerves him a little. He is embarrassed, a little proud. An air of expectation blooms around then.
 
...Or perhaps she has gotten worse at reading him. 
 
Probably the latter.
 
He steps up to the table and with the ladder pours her a generous portion, all the way up to the plate's inner rim, then one for him himself, all while never sparing her a look and or even looking for confirmation that she approves.
 
She though can’t help but stare at him while he sits down; it’s intense, bordering on violent scrutiny, unwavering till the moment the tangy fishy soup hits her tongue ...
 
Force.
 
She

moans

.
 
He stills immediately at her unabashed grunts of pleasure and Rey can’t help it, she chuckles. “This. You. Who would have thought — it’s really

good

.” 
 
Her compliment makes him hunch, hiding what could be a tint of red staining his cheeks and shrugs.
 
“Just do.”
 
Imagine being able to

just do.

Just

doing

can be hard for Rey. A lifetime of struggling and there are so many things people take for granted which she is desperately trying to catch up on. To just do. She wishes she could do that. To cook. To make friends. To love. 
 
“I don’t even know how to boil an egg. Didn’t even have an egg before last year —” The prickling taste does something to her, like how liquor loosens some men’s tongues, and she shakes her head.  “— and don’t get me started on Luke’s cook— .”
 
The mention of his uncle, his tormentor, his would-be murderer — it had slipped out of her mouth with little thought. She halts the minute she realises that she might have broken some unspoken rule between them. Luke, despite her strained connection to him is still one of their many pieces of contention, and she half expects Kylo to lash out, get angry.
 
Instead, he scoffs.
 
“Imagine living on that garbage for years.” Kylo scrunches his nose and waves the spoon, “Why do you think I know this? It was that or live off whatever he decided to make.”
 
Rey sputters on the spoon, curbing a laugh. “I swear there was mold in the porridge he made.”
 
“I wouldn’t put it past him.”
 
“Maybe your princely tastes were too refined?”
 
“Princely?” Kylo scoffs, “You out of everyone should know that my ‘princely’ upbringing only lasted until I was 10. And in that time I —” he falters, lost to a memory. She knows not which one, but she has her suspicions. 
 
Rey curbs a laugh, placing the spoon down into the bowl, and with the other hand raises her cup of water in mock salute. “To Luke’s shitty cooking.”
 
He inspects the glass like he has no idea what it means, almost as if he’s forgotten what it is like to celebrate. When was the last time he had anything to celebrate? She cannot imagine that he participated in any victory march with the First Order — and if he did, he wouldn’t be ecstatic.
 
A huff, almost like he decides to give in to the human nature of himself and mimics her gesture. “To burned bread and moldy porridge.”
 
This time a chuckle escapes her, hearty and genuine, and perhaps — no — not possible. Still, Kylo’s eyes brighten, an enchanted quirk flickering over his face, a little smile wavering on his lips. Rey is not sure she has seen him look like that before and slowly, with each laugh their gaze holds, her laughter grows into timid giggling and then silent deep exhales.
 
The room is anything but quiet. It is as if there are a million things buzzing and shouting, a prayer of sorts and could it be —
 
Kylo looks away sharply, drawing a hand over his mouth and making an effort at looking anywhere but to her. Does she have such an unappealing laugh that it disgusts him? Rey has no other measure of her laugh. No one had commented on it. Not even Finn.
 
But when was the last time she laughed?
 
Finn could have been kind enough to tell her how unflattering it was.

Really

.
 
An awkward silence settles over their meal, with each slurping the soup pretending that nothing is the matter. But it's strenuous, waiting for him to say something, anything, if only…
 
“ — Oh.” Rey quips, turning around to search through her bag. He glances at her over the spoon, cautious with a tint of intrigue until he recognizes the little thing resting in her palm.
 
“A Holoprojector,” Kylo states simply, slowly guiding his spoon to rest in his bowl. “Where did you get one?”
 
Excited, glad for the distraction, Rey places it in the center of the table, fumbling with the mechanics. “The scrap dealer has the strangest of things — spotted it at random when I was in the store. It’s at least 50 cycles, don’t you think?”
 
Kylo bends his neck to inspect the ancient device, “It probably doesn’t work in color.”
 
A beam of light burst forth from the center of the holo, painting them both in hues of blue. Their eyes meet again over the table by accident — she thinks. Rey gives him a timid smile “What’s your stance on holodramas?”

“My stance?”

The image flickers, catching only galactic static. Her mouth quirks, pretending to pay attention to twisting and turning the buttons. “Yes. Are you a fan of
True Housewives of Coruscant
?”
 
Exasperated

disbelief

flashes across his face, eyes furrowing and mouth twisting between a smirk and a sneer. Almost as if he is saying —

are you kidding me?

Glad for how the projector hides her blush, Rey continues searching the frequencies for a working signal — some of them have sound, others a twisting image — which is promising, if it weren’t for the wavering quality. One moment it's there, the next it is nothing but pure static. She eats the remaining soup all while twisting the knob, trying her best to not imagine Kylo sitting on a couch being absolutely engrossed in the “Real Mobwives of the Hutt Family”.
 
However, it feels like a possibility, rather than something ludacris as it would have been months ago — actually, the entire air of the house has somehow changed. Even here, the usual gloominess and melancholy have changed in favor of something...new and possible.
 
The holo clears, opening to what definitely appears to be a holo drama. The actress is crying over the limp body of what Rey supposes is her lover. Tears streaming down her face as she begs in accented basic for her love to stay. It is not in any way good. The acting is cringe-worthy and the special effects laughable — but they watch regardless.
 
Or ...they pretend to at first. 
 
Rey scoots back into the booth, so the holo is more directly in front of her and Kylo mimics her - or she thinks he does. His scarred face obscured by the blue light, the spoon gracefully moving from his bowl to his mouth.
 
Grateful for the translucent image, Rey can appear as if she is watching the plot unfold, which she does initially, but like a moth drawn to a flame, her gaze eventually falls to the before-mentioned spoon. How his soft-looking lips close around the metal, the manner in which they thin and swell as he slurps the soup he made. He licks the rim of the flesh free of the savoury mix, tongue gently caressing his own pink mouth.
 
She could kiss him.
 
No one is here to judge her.
 
And he is so close right now.
 
The spot on her cheek where he had placed that same mouth yesterday burns anew and she feels her breath quicken.
 
Kylo meets her eyes.
 
In the strangest way, the air suddenly becomes lighter, but not without a tense with suffocating heaviness pressing down on her. A short while ago she was devouring their meal and Rey supposes she could pour herself another portion. But she doesn’t. She just sits and resembles someone casually watching a holo, while in reality their eyes never waver from one another.
 
Kylo puts down the soup, hand resting on the table, just like hers. And perhaps, no, it’s probably not right. But does their hand gingerly move closer, as if their fingers grow eager wanting so desperately to touch?
 
It surges unprompted, the memory of the hut on Ach-To and the sensation of his bare fingertips gracing hers in the limelight of the little fire. The images, him, her, that overwhelming sensation of rightness that had brought tears down her lake cold skin. Him, in the light, in his arms, something of theirs, bundled up so sweetly.
 
Could it be?
 
This?
 
Could they be?
 
Ben.
 
Rey wants to kiss him.
 
So desperately.
 
The image flickers then, to a
twi’lek
reading the news.

“— Today marks the first day of back to work for the New Republic Senate post the Hosnian Prime disaster a little over a year ago —”

The moment breaks instantly, both sit up a little straighter at the promise of hearing about the lives they left behind, hungry for knowledge, for the state of things. Because while the First Order may have fallen the day Rey escaped, she actually has little clue as to the aftermath of it all. And neither does Kylo, is what she can deduct from the way he tenses his jaw, eyes welded to the flickering image.

“— It was a historic day. And it has been described as many as the first joyful event in years and most befittingly the Senate has been relocated back to Coruscant where it was housed so many years ago, alongside the Jedi temple —”

Kylo takes a strenuous breath, sitting up a little straighter.

“— Leia Organa, who was instrumental in both war efforts, hoped that this time peace and unity would prevail. And it does seem like that from what our core world reporters had to say about it —”

The image splits into two, and a stunning Twi’lek framed by the Coruscant city skyline beams the news.

“— Yes. It is a historic day today. This also marks the first day of the reconciliation efforts and already now there have been some interesting developments. General Armitage Hux who was captured during the siege, had many revelations —”

Rey wants to look at Kylo, but her chest is tight, her neck welded shut — eyes and ears only meant for the announcer.

“— One of which was the frantic and indecisive rulership of Supreme Leader Kylo Ren. The general is just one of many to confirm that he was, in fact, an absentee ruler with an unpredictable moody temper and that most executive decisions were made by the General staff —”

Why does the announcer look so happy when she says it? Is it a good thing? A bad thing?

“— And while the Supreme Leader is still missing, alongside the last Jedi, Rey of Jakku, it came as a surprise to many that he has spent most of the leadership chasing after the young woman in an attempt to kill her —”

They don’t even glance at each other. Rey fidgets in her seat.

“— In the final weeks of Order, many claimed that he was going mad, making deranged decisions that the generals had to secretly stop — “

“Lies.” Kylo clips.

“ — and has been quoted saying that ‘the supreme leader is nothing but a child in a mask’ at today’s tribunal and that ‘He made it easy for the Resistance to win.’”

Rey carefully turns her gaze to watch him, concern rippling through her body at the sight of the burning redness of his cheeks, how he almost puffs them to keep his emotions in. The spoon twists in his hand, knuckles white and tight.
 
She wants to touch them, ease the tension away from the veins pulsing with anger. She wants to comfort him. But what would that say about her? That she approves of his actions? That he was a good leader? She can’t say that. She

won’t

say that.

“Still, despite massive search parties, the whereabouts of Kylo Ren remains a mystery — and many believe the truth lies with Rey of Jakku, who was last seen leaving the ship in a hurry.”

A disbelieving grimace, followed by something darker, bordering on violent — Rey leans a little closer, wavering between if shutting off the device would be for the better or for the worse.

“ — However, most intelligence believe that his capture is imminent and that is the reason for our missing Jedi. If their history says anything, she has bested him before, and will do it again — and then we can bring the man to justice.”

She doesn’t even look at the holo anymore, how can she when the fury, the hurt, rolls off him in sickening waves.
 
But the words, she can still hear the words. They cut back to the news anchor, who says some clever line to his coworker and then —

“— and then, we can put it all behind us. And he will need to live with a legacy of failure and incompetence.”

A tear escapes him.
 
He’s hurting.
 
She grabs his hand.
 
“Ben…”
 
Kylo rips his hand back the instant he hears the name he has foregone, the deep cutting sadness replaced by a vicious snarl, and he rises sharply and points a finger directly at her face.
 
“

That

— is not my

name

!” A growl, a sob, she can’t say which “— He is gone!

I killed him.

”
 
Rey flinches, but doesn’t budge, choosing to face his wrath rather than cower before it. She tightens her lips, knowing that whatever she is gonna say will never appease him. 
 
And neither will her silence.
 
A shuddering breath goes through him at her purposeful lack of reprieve. “That’s it? Isn’t it. Your little daring kidnapping of me — so you could save

‘Ben.’

” The name crosses his lips with a hiss of disgust, like he is getting sick by just saying it. 
 
“But let me tell you. He was never real! Whoever you thought he was is a lie. And if he’s the one you are waiting for, then you are wasting your time!” He bares his teeth like the animal he thinks he is, the one Rey can’t deny he might be either. “There was never anyone but the

monster

!”
 
He flings the plate and the holo to the floor with a shout. And almost rips the front door off its hinges when he throws it open and escapes into the night. 
 
So it is true. All the tenderness he had shown her, the flowers, the garden, the burning kiss on her cheek, they were all some attempt luring her in, to make her question, to make her think that all of it was different. 
 
A ruse to get what he wanted from her. 
 
To confirm what he knew.
 
That all she wanted was Ben.

Ben. Ben. Ben.

Ben is the one she wanted to kiss. Wanted to escape with.
 
And this man is not Ben. 
 
He is Kylo Ren.
 
🝀🜎🝀🜎
 
How long Rey stands on the porch pretending not to look for him she has no idea. But the fear that he has had enough and stolen the Falcon or gone on a rampage somewhere far away is difficult to shake, and enough for her to ignore the chilling wind cutting through her blanket wrapped around her shoulders.
 
She tugs on the bond gently, trying her darndest to not let him know she cares — because she doesn’t. He is right about one thing and that is she cares for Ben and only Ben — not his violent power hungry counterpart who does nothing but inflict suffering. 
 
The bond hums at the neglected attention, and she knows he is still here, he hasn’t left — not yet, a part of her whispers quietly into the night. Rey draws a hand over her chest, tightening the handwoven cloth, wondering if these feelings, resentment, disgust, loathing are hers or his residual emotions trickling down the bond and into her heart.
 
Rey doesn’t like not knowing her own feelings. 
 
She doesn’t want to be lost and forgotten inside the storm of him. She wants to be her own.
 
It’s just so darn difficult. 
 
Once the moons are covered by the clouds and the hills with its swaying grass becomes clad in an eternal darkness, Rey turns on her feet and walks back into the hut. To the table with the half-drunk drinks and the floor covered in sprays of soup and broken porcelain. It looks like a crime scene — a moment suspended in time.
 
She had started the evening with a hunger, but now the mere thought of eating the leftovers makes her throat clench. Which is terrible, it tasted divine. The scavenger sits down on her heels, bends over to move the shards covering the holo projector and just — sighs. She runs a thumb over the dent in the metal.
 
All this anger, his hurt. She understands it. Sees herself in it too. In so many ways —

misguided ways

— being Supreme Leader had been his attempt at gaining control. To show everyone who doubted him that they were wrong. That Ben is strong, powerful. That he was more than his family — and perhaps, not even a part of his family.
 
It annoys her that she ‘gets it’, especially considering that her parents lie buried in the sands of Jakku and he killed his own father, but it’s not easy to shake off his memories and just have him be black and white. After all what she has stolen from his mind, it would be a waste to not acknowledge that he has suffered.
 
Sometimes when she looked at Leia, she found it to be a little bit harder to smile because of these stolen memories.
 
But Kylo is also wrong. Yes, the newscast wasn’t off the mark about him, but they only painted one side of him. Rey knows he lacks those virtues they expertly presented, but she also

knows

he is strong and powerful as well — resourceful! — it is just a shame he felt the need to prove it by

enslaving

the Galaxy. 
 
Sometimes he is kind too.
 
She doesn’t know what to do with his kindness. Whenever she has tried to act on it, it has backfired horribly. As Luke had put it — it never went as she thought it would. 
 
What is even the point of staying up at this point? He wouldn’t even appreciate the small act of concern. It would rile him into anger, making him yell at her. She is sure of it. 
 
A coldness seeps into her through the woven cloth around her arms. A coldness like never before, one she can’t shake. She leaves the kitchen the mess it is, turns off the lights and slumps up the stairs and into her tiny bedroom. Still, the coldness doesn’t fade.
 
There is something so wrong about this. Him. Her. All those visions and dreams, weren’t it supposed to be easier? Now that there is nothing holding them back.
 
She scavenges another blanket from her bag, curls it around herself and lies down on her bed. It is not a cold night, far from it, so why does she shake so? Her whole body tremors, teeth clattering and she fetches another blanket with a flick of her wrist, but it does

nothing

. 
 
And all she can think of, between her flickering venture between soul deep empathy to all consuming wrath is —

why? Why? Why? Why?

Because, sure, she sort of understands his need to leave a legacy behind. Something untainted by the Skywalkers — but did it have to be

this

?
 
This stupid path of destruction that he is currently sulking about! How can he mourn an Empire that was so wrong? So terrible? 
 
But most of all, how can she feel sad about it? Why does she feel this coldness within? She curses her heart that wants nothing more than to run down to him and soothe his stupid ache, mend his stupid mistakes. 
 
Sometimes she wishes she wasn’t so young. More experienced. Less...gullible. 
 
Rey thinks she falls asleep, because she wakes to the front door opening downstairs and the heavy thump of his steps as he goes directly to his room. She counts each one, wondering — hoping — that maybe he’ll come to her, but he doesn’t. He closes his door with noticeable gentleness. 
 
Her bed is cold. So cold. Colder than any of the other nights. Yes, she has been shivering all night, but it all intensifies so much in that instant the lock clicks on his door — echoing empty through her entire being. She lies still for a moment, fighting an urge, trying to rationalize this coldness. She could turn on the heater or add another blanket. But somehow she has the feeling that this coldness will not disappear just like that. No. It is internal. 
 
Her bare feet

burn

against the freezing tiles as she flings herself out of bed, blanket tightly woven around her body as she paddles quickly down the stairs. Anger pulsing in her veins, or maybe it is something else — shame, regret, heartbroken — loneliness. 
 
But what is the point of these feelings? There are only the two of them — no one can see. No one can chastise her for wanting to be around him. Kylo Ren. 
 
Except maybe him.
 
She knows the second she creaks the door open that he is not asleep, far from it, he only came back mere minutes ago. Still, her sudden presence has him sit up as if she had startled him awake.
 
His room is dark, but even in the darkness she can see how his eyes widen, almost like he is… concerned. Rey blinks, one hand still on the handle and another bundled up in her blanket and why is it so hard to move? Why is she crippled by sudden doubt?
 
“

Rey

?” He exhales, soft and low. 
 
Her breath catches and she has to remind herself that this is not scary. Force, she had shipped herself to him on the Supremacy after having seen some vague sense of a future with him. Knowingly put herself in danger on hope alone. She was a fool then, and she is a fool now too. 
 
But what she knows now, which she didn’t know then, is reaching out does not entail her turning to dark, nor does it mean he is turning to the light. What is between them is just simple pure compassion and even after all he has done, all his wrongs and ill wrought, she believes he deserves compassion too.
 
 She sees it now, even clearer than in the firelight on Ach-to, that her vision holds

some

truth.
 
“It’s cold.”
 
Kylo inhales sharply, breath shuttering in the quiet of the night and he pauses for the briefest of moments — enough so to make her doubt his intention. 
 
“It is.” 
 
The sheets rustle and the shadows which is his form scoot a little closer to the edge of his bed, feet planted firmly on the ground. She is acutely aware of the way his gaze is fixed on her like a frightened animal, roaming her face and her posture for any clues as to what she could possibly want. 
 
With a furiously beating heart, not really knowing the answer to his silent question, she takes a step forward, then another, before reaching the side of his bed — and places one knee on the mattress.
 
He is suspiciously silent all the while. 
 
Swallowing, Rey demands far too confidently, “Move over.” Which he obeys far too easily, hopping sideways across the bedding to make room and just...sits there, all while she lies down on her side, blanket still tugged tight around her shoulders.
 
The sheets are warm, smelling homey in that undefined spicy way some things do. She looks up at him expectantly, afraid that his hesitation means he doesn’t share her intention, but just then, she feels him tug on the blankets and lies down on his back. It reminds of that time she was sick, when he let her nuzzle his bicep and shoulder. Back then it was only for comfort, and she supposes that can be said about now too. 
 
Except she is the one to comfort him.
 
“You can’t take it back.” Rey whispers low, “They aren’t wrong.”
 
A grunt. “Please.” His voice is strained, residual wetness evident in his tone. “We don’t have to —”
 
“I won’t understand why — you wanted all that —” She interrupts, or perhaps she tries to buy her time to find the words she so desperately wants him to know. “— But you are not a monster.”
 
He

scoffs

. “What a change of heart, Scavenger.”
 
“No. Kylo.” By her elbow she lifts herself so she can tower over him, even if it's hard to come off as intimidating in the dark, much less sympathetic. “Don’t change the subject.”
 
For a heartbeat or two, all she can hear is his laboured breathing. His eyes shimmer.
 
Then, hoarsely, like he is telling a secret. “If I’m not that, then I’m just a failure.” A little incredulous laugh. “Can’t even be a true monster. Much less a true Jedi. And definitely not the prodigal son

Ben Solo.

”
 
His chest shakes as if he is close to tears and Rey can’t help it, she brings a hand to his heart, feeling for his every beat. 
 
“You are not a failure.”
 
“Rey —” He sounds annoyed. “— if you have come here to…”
 
“I’m here because I

care

.”
 
Kylo draws a deep breath.
 
“I have nothing to be sorry for.” He bites, but his tone is not convincing. “And it's your mistake — for caring.”
 
“Isn’t it yours, too?”
 
The protest is ready on his tongue, but it never escapes. Because they are both right, their biggest fault is the fact that they have compassion for each other despite everything. They were never supposed to care, never supposed to understand — but they do. 
 
A hand, warm and wide covers hers that rests on his chest. It prickles all the way into the tips of her fingers, to her chest, her stomach. He sighs lovingly.
 
“You ruined everything.” He confesses after a while. “All of it.”
 
“So...you hate me?”
 
“I do.” Kylo says confidently, staring at the ceiling. “Most ardently.”
 
She had suspected that, his lashing out, his vile words, the ways he had gone out of his way to make her miserable. With a yawn, Rey falls back down on her side, but this time she lies right up against him, placing her aching head on his rising chest — hand still tucked gingerly below his.
 
“I’m a hard person not to hate.” Rey tries to joke, inhaling the sweet musk of his shirt. 
 
His arm snakes around her, first far too gently, and then slowly more confidently, pulling her flush against him. The coldness she had felt earlier melts at the heat of his body, winding up something tight inside of her. And never before has she been so sated, so calm. And just as she falls asleep, she hears him whisper against her brow. 
 
“No.” Breath hot on her forehead — “It is the hardest thing to do. Hating you.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 2
Power and PeaceV
They untangle at the break of dawn as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, stirred awake from the errant rays of morning light. Rey rubs her eyes free of sleep and swings her legs over the edge of the bed, still reeling from the remnants of a deep calm rest — but most of all having Kylo’s breath fanning over her neck as he had cradled her so lovingly. 
 
It is a dangerous game they are playing.
 
Rey stretches her arms above her head, her bones cracking as she gives a long hard sigh. Out of the corner of her eye she notices the groggy-looking Supreme Leader stare at her flexing muscles, how they tense and relax. Something curls in her belly at his increasingly heated gaze, the way his curly hair is nothing but a bird’s nest sticking out in impossible directions. 
 
Adorable. He looks adorable.
 
Blinking, then shaking his head, he stands up to go to the fresher. And Rey despises the voice within that wants to ask him to stay and look at her more. 
 
A fleck of dust glitters in the morning light and Rey pretends it is the object of her attention when she fully knows that her eyes are in fact trailing the wide form of the Supreme Leader walking downstairs.
 
The air is tense with something — something Rey knows intimately but is afraid to pursue. 
 
She exhales through her nose, closing her eyes, and just — gets on with the day.
 
Kylo picks up the broken pieces of porcelain from the floor, silent in his pursuit and silent in his cleaning of last night's disaster. Rey showers and puts on her boots while Kylo hangs up the clothes he had washed earlier this morning. The sky is graying, promising rain — Rey gauges it, considering her attire, when a pair of hands drape her poncho over her shoulders. 
 
Rey cranes her neck to look up at him, his expression unreadable, his fingers twisting in her clothes.
 
“See you later.” It comes out as a rasp, the words forced out of her throat. His mouth twists in a half-smile, and then he bends down and presses a kiss on her cheek.
 
Burning. She feels like she is burning. 
 
“See you.” He mutters.
 
And just like that they go back to their strange normal.
 
At least it seems like that.
 
She goes to the Falcon and makes unremarkable repairs — stuff that does not matter. Or at least stuff that isn’t as pressing as the engine or the air filtration system. She doesn’t tell him that.
 
Some things change though. That night he cooks again, something fried and delicious smelling and they eat in a companionable silence over their little table. The holo is not broken, but Rey can’t make herself turn it on and prefers to stock it on the shelves in the entrance. alongside their lightsabers too. His dark uncontrollable hilt and hers — no. Not hers. Someone else’s. 
 
Nothing is hers really. All borrowed and scavenged. This house isn’t even hers, she just borrowed it. Her eyes fall to Kylo, his dark eyes and full mouth, the scar which crosses his face. 
 
He’s not hers either.
 
He made that much clear yesterday, despite his little attempt at mending the rift with a kiss on her cheek. He doesn’t belong to her, he doesn’t

want

to belong to her — he had desired her only as the darksider she could be and she supposes she felt that same about him.
 
Like a wound clock, Rey cleans her plate, brushes her teeth over the sink and goes upstairs to prepare for bed. She brushes her hair with her back to the door, listening for his heavy gaunt as he follows her shortly after. 
 
A pause, like he is waiting for something, before the familiar sound of his door opening and closing.
 
Her room grows cold again. A biting chill icing her veins, drying her mouth. The bed creaks when she lies down and attempts to get warm. Still in denial, still in the need to not let him be hers.
 
She cannot be his, if he cannot be hers.
 
Still, like the inevitable explosion of a star, Rey taps down from her room and into his bed — And he allows himself to hold her like they could belong.

🝀🜎🝀🜎

That should have been the first sign that something was bound to break between them.
 
Rey and Kylo Ren are not soft gentle things by nature. They are all passion and violence. It was inevitable that one of them would burst.
 
Turns out they both do the eve of the village’s harvest festival.
 
It had started out so nicely though — her sleeping in his bed becomes yet another unspoken thing between them. They neither talk about and neither complain and it happens the same way each night. She goes to sleep in her own bed, always intending to keep the distance, but even during the hottest of nights she always excuses her intrusion into his chambers with it being terribly cold — And he simply lifts his covers and lets her crawl close to him.
 
Sometimes he is shy, barely touching her and sometimes he is bold and cradles her tightly, buries his nose into her neck, skimming his lips over the skin.
 
It’s not a kiss, but the closest he has ever been to truly kiss her. And sometimes, when she is alone, she kind of wishes he would do it. Force them to cross that invisible bridge between them. Press that soft-looking skin to hers. To make it more than a friendly peck on the cheek.
 
—- and in those rare moments where she wakes up hot and wet, but too scared to let him know, she wishes he’d kiss her other places too. Rest between her thighs and worship her in the moonlight.
 
Most nights though she just lies next to him, watching him breathe low and calm, chest rising like the waves of an ocean, ebbing and flowing. And it is in these stolen moments, where she can watch him to her heart’s delight that she wonders — if she had taken his hand, would she have been able to lie here much earlier? A part of her had been frightened that this attachment would change her, make her power-hungry and cruel. Back then when he had extended his palm, begging her to rule with him, that had seemed so certain — inevitable.
 
But now — lying here, she is not sure if that would have happened at all. Despite all of what has come to pass, sleeping next to him only brings forth a serene wonderful feeling of being close to him. A divine attachment.
 
Cloaked by the dark of the night, tucked safely below the cover, Rey delicately places her fingers in his upturned palm, ghostly trailing them across the wrinkles and scars, imagining that the act in itself would be enough to provide her with an answer to that question. If she was wrong to not accept him. 
 
But the Force is unresponsive, and perhaps, in the end, a hand can be just a hand, an embrace can be nothing but an embrace, regardless of it being the Last Jedi sleeping in the arms of the Jedi Killer.
 
With a sigh, she buries her head in the pillow next to him, praying for the Force to help her — show her the way. But it doesn’t. Instead, two standard months pass and to her own detriment, she finds that they drill themselves ever so slightly deeper into the community here.
 
Mostly because the rations can’t last forever, and as Kylo had kindly pointed out a month ago, credits held no value on this planet. They could sustain themselves on fishing and harvesting, but his crops had not even broken through the soil yet — so they went into the village. Wary at first, the inhabitants soon agreed to exchange goods for skills and favors. For fixing or installing things, Rey would be given cans of fermented vegetables, loaves of bread or chairs no one used. If Kylo got persuaded to help out lifting things, he does have a capable size, they’d be given meat or grain from the local farmer who had brought them a bed. 
 
In fact, Rey found it odd that the two appeared to strike up a strange relationship — a farmer and the former Supreme Leader of the Galaxy. Sometimes, when Rey passes by him on her way back, she can’t help but giggle at the idea of his former allies gawking at the sight of him knee-deep into the dirt rebuilding fences for animals or lifting sacks of grain. 
 
Hux would surely perish from the surprise alone.
 
Kylo enjoys the physical labour. He doesn’t say it, but it shows. It diverts his frantic thoughts and the restlessness this place brings with it. And she likes the look on him too. The way his long hair clings to his forehead, the flush of exertion on his cheeks. He is even getting a healthy tan. 
 
But most of all, she likes the little smile he gives her when she stops at the fence with the intention to tease.
 
Yeah. She should have known that this could not lead to anything good. She was being careless, with her mind and her heart.
 
“What you wear tonight?” The farmer casually asks in broken basic, busy cleaning the water trunk next to her free of goo.
 
“Tonight?” Rey says, not catching his intention. “What is happening tonight?”
 
“Party.” He points to the village, then back at the stacks of grain Kylo has neatly stacked.  “Harvest party.”
 
“Oh.”

A party.

“I didn’t know you celebrated.” 
 
The farmer shrugs, running at hand through his amber hair, before leaning forward and grin., “Maybe you ask big man to come? He might like.”
 
With a surprised blink, she checks to see if Kylo has overheard their conversation and when she finds him occupied with making one of the animals stop gnawing at his shoes, she admits, “I doubt he wants to. Besides, I don’t have anything to wear.”
 
The few parties she has attended have never been ones requiring a dress code. And once that did, she usually turned up in her white Jedi work outfit — they cared not about Rey the woman, but Rey the savior. It’s not that she has not enjoyed them, but they have always felt lonely or too rambunctious. She could count on one hand the number of times she had stayed till it ended. 
 
She preferred sitting on a sand dune watching the stars shimmer and the satellites sweep across the night sky. 
 
“No problem!” The farmer laughs and yells in his local dialect for his wife, who peaks out the house drying her hands on a table cloth. She nods at whatever he says and returns back inside. This time Kylo does hear their conversation and a deep frown settles around his mouth. He seems not to agree with the farmer.
 
“I’ll go,” Rey says, almost in defiance of her companion’s clear facial objection. “It sounds fun.”
 
The tools fall to the ground with a thump and Kylo looks over his shoulder at the pair. Rey tries not to get annoyed with him, but it is hard with the way he silently tells her off. Who is he to dictate where she goes or not? 
 
“What about you —” The farmer calls at Kylo, nodding to Rey. “Will you come?” 
 
With a scoff, he stands to his full height and wipes his dirty hands on his black pants. Sometimes she forgets how tall he is. “I don’t do parties.” He says simply, as if that is an answer on its own.
 
“Ay, you have not been to our party —” The farmer awkwardly fists Kylo’s shoulder, who just grunts. “— we would love to see you there.”
 
“I’ll think about it.” The former Supreme Leader relents, watching the farmer grin and cheekily run back into the house to tell his wife. They both watch him go, but Rey already knows that this discussion is not over and like the stroke of midnight, Kylo hisses.
 
“You shouldn’t get attached to them. They could expose us.”
 
Stopping herself from rolling her eyes, she leans back on the fence and gazes up at him. He looks strangely uptight, more so than usual. “Don’t you think if they could expose us, they’d already have?” She points at his unfinished work. “What is a little party going to do?”
 
“I don’t like it.”
 
“We can’t stay inside every night. It’ll be nice.” Not that it hadn’t been nice just relaxing. Drinking caf while sitting on the porch, discussing lightsaber techniques or him inspecting her ingenious repair job of the Skywalker Saber. “And shouldn’t you be used to parties? Your princely education didn’t contain knowing to dance and socialise?” 
 
He shoots her a pointed look, before crossing his arms, turning towards the cluster of buildings in the horizon. “I hated those. I hated dancing. It wasn’t fun then, why should it be now?”
 
The images come uninvited, but oh she cannot help it. She sees it clearly, him stiff and awkward, twirling some stranger out on the dance floor, with a grim expression that says more than words ever could. What a terrible fate, she thinks mockingly to herself, to be forced to

dance

.
 
“Well. I’ll be going.” Rey pushes away from the fence at the summon of the farmer’s wife, who motions with a wave for Rey to come to the house. Kylo stares at her as if her reply wasn’t what he expected and she decides as she walks ahead to not give a damn about his reaction.
 
For the majority of her life Rey has lived on her own, done what she wanted, eaten dinner with her hands for all she cared, and that never did stop with the Resistance. Granted, she was the Jedi and no one dared to question where she went and why. And why should that change just because her and Kylo have been attached by the hips lately?
 
If she wants to go to the party. If she wants to befriend the locals, who is he to dictate or ridicule her? 
 
It fuels her, this spite of hers, and the lingering hesitations she felt at the farmer’s request fade in an instant. She smiles as the older woman paces around her in their bedroom, testing different colors against the scavenger's tanned skin, tucking each dress to her waist to measure her size. She tells the young scavenger brokenly about her empty nest and her children who have left for a city on the other side of the planet.
 
“You very handsome.” She compliments Rey once she decides on a dress and tugs it over Rey’s meager form. It is not flashy in any way. In fact, it is rather simple. A light faded blue with lace on the skirt, frilly short sleeves and a few sweet flowers embroidered on the front. 
 
The woman is right. It suits her, this color. 
 
“Thank you.” Rey returns, twirling around to inspect her new shape. Yeah. It suits her. Very much indeed.
 
It makes her feel normal. In this dress there is no legacy, no Jedi or Sith, it is just Rey from nowhere. A simple young woman who could be found anywhere. Perhaps Kylo would think it too simple. He is after all the dramatic one, extravagant to a fault. 
 
And

why

does that even matter? Rey chastises herself. 
 
The farmer’s wife pats on the bed in an invitation for Rey to sit down. She obliges, not fully understanding why until she feels the old and boney hands undo the buns. Her entire body freezes at this seemingly innocent gesture and she cannot help but imagine —
 
— did her mother do this to her too? Before they sold her? Did she teach Rey how to wrap her hair into those three buns she has worn her entire life?
 
Rey doesn’t remember. 
 
And somehow that hurts more; to know that she cannot ever know, more so than knowing her mother has passed. Would it be easier to reconcile her feelings about them, if she could remember them? Or is it a blessing in disguise to not remember the trauma?
 
If the farmer’s wife notices the wetness of Rey’s eyes, she doesn’t say, nor the single tear that rolls down her cheek. Instead, she hums a little tune, brushing Rey’s hair with a thick ancient brush, and with fingers skilled from braiding the hair of many, she guides Rey’s brown hair into an intricate crown tied around her scalp.
 
Rey feels unrecognisable. 
 
The older woman smiles a knowing smile as she adjusts the hem of the dress, a smile that is supposed to tell the scavenger something, but she is not sure what.
 
As she waits for the two to finish getting ready themselves, Rey finds that she is growing increasingly nervous and fretful. She misses the comfort of her hair tied back, the wraps and the pants she always wears, because while she looks nice, she has no idea if this transformation is a good one or if the experience of blending in will scar her.
 
Still, the nervousness that buzzes in her arms and veins doesn’t prompt her to leave and run away as it has done other times before. No, she wants to do this, wants to experience what it is like to attend a proper party that is not extravagant nor set in the backdrop of a war.
 
The older woman wraps an arm around Rey’s elbow, smiling brightly at her as they lead their little group into the city. The darkness has fallen over the planet, but the village stands bright and clear. Hundreds of tiny lights hang across and between buildings, the streets are swept and the windows cleaned. Merry music is playing already, mixed with the laughter of children with no care in the world. 
 
Does a place like this truly exist in a galaxy wrought with war and pain?
 
They round the square and it is as if the entire village is here. The center where stalls are usually set up for market days has been cleared to make way for a dancing spot that is already filled with couples and families twirling each other around, laughing and chatting. Everyone is looking their best from the center to the perimeter where neighbours and old friends acquaint themselves over the tables with food and drinks.
 
And on the opposite side of the square, unmissable even if he were to hide, stands Kylo Ren.
 
The sight of him is like the eye of a sandstorm; the effect soft and calm instead of the chaos she usually feels. He isn’t even dressed up per say. It’s just a simple newly washed shirt and pants, sure his hair is brushed and coiffed, curls draping impeccably along his scalp. He looks absolutely miserable, nursing a cup of something.
 
He has never looked more handsome to her than now.
 
Perhaps it is her lips that give away her intention, not quite smiling but tilting as if they mean to.
 
Because when he spies her across the swimming heads of people he ...

smiles

. 
 
Who would have thought such a simple thing would make her feel as if she is practically beaming? Made of light, weightless and easy.
 
With a muttered excuse, Rey extracts herself from the farmers and pushes her way around the almost strangers until she reaches her sorrowful looking companion; whose gaze never wavers as she approaches, even if his smile fades and twists — like it is unnatural for him.
 
She comes to a halt in front of him, breath rattling as if she had run for miles — and twirls. Dresses billowing around her shins, childishly and yet so like a young woman infatuated with a boy. 
 
“I am almost unrecognisable, aren’t I?”
 
His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again, but no sound escapes him. His Adam’s apple bobs and he glares into his cup, moving his mouth before sighing. “Not unrecognisable. Just different.”
 
Hopeful, Rey grins — “A good different? Or bad?”
 
A huff, his jaw tenses in that way, where if he doesn’t stop himself words will just spill. He is making an effort Rey realises. Or at least he is trying not to be blunt or offensive with his words. Oh, how she wishes to hear whatever truth he is holding back. 
 
She steps closer, her toothy grin dimming slightly, but not because she is unhappy. “You look nice,” She tries to say in an attempt to cheer him up. “Your hair is getting long though.”
 
The edge of his ears flame from where they insistently stick out beneath his dark locks, and the poor man resembles a man suffering, incredulous of what is offered as true.
 
It is a sudden thing to realise that maybe Kylo Ren could be...cute?
 
Cute. 
 
Him?
 
But he is. His brown eyes are wide and inquisitive, mouth twisting between a pout and a grimace. He looks away. And so does Rey. Embarrassed, taken aback by this epiphany, trying her darndest to curb the blush that threatens to stain her cheeks. 
 
Sometimes she feels so darn young.
 
“Well. Do you think it is a terrible mistake? Or will you admit this is kind of fun?” She tries to tease, while she goes to stand next to him, awkwardly pretending to look at the crowds of dancing couples.
 
It takes him a while to respond, and when he does, it is in that same soft low voice; like when he told her she wasn’t alone. It does something funny to her insides. They twist and flutter.
 
“I have never gone to anything like this. It was always ...formal.” He sways on his feet, looking oddly shy for someone his size. Back hunched in, hips leaning against a barrel full of beer. His own drink is still full, untouched.
 
“I don’t know what to do here.” He adds remorsefully. “Actually. I don’t know what to do about anything.

Nothing I do is ever right.

”
 
Her brows furrow and from past her shoulder Rey tries to gauge if his expression is a grave as the tone of his voice. He clutches the cup like a vice, threatening to break it into a million pieces — Rey can already see it happen. It plays out like a vision in the force, the future set in stone.
 
She reaches out and touches his arm. He blinks down at her. 
 
“That’s not true.” She gives him a wavering smile. “In fact. No one knows how to do anything, but you have to try.” And then, like the elevator ride to Snoke’s chamber, before everything went sour, she whispers, “I’ll help you.”
 
His eyes fix on hers, switching between them, her face and — her lips. It is as if he is reaching a conclusion about them, something that will settle things right.
 
She could kiss him, Rey thinks. Right here, or in an alley, rise to the tip of her toes and brush her mouth against his. Let it all happen instead of living in this limbo of what ifs. Of desires and fears.
 
Her feet move on their own accord, lips parting — and is it just her, but does he lean his head closer to hers? 
 
Tonight, she will kiss him. 
 
However, Rey is given no time to act on her split decision, before several giggling village women suddenly wrap their hands around her biceps and pull her into the dancing crowd. 
 
Rey’s first instinct is to fight them off, but when she is placed in the center of it all and the young women begin to chant and waltz around her, she purposely rejects that urge of hers. She loosens her fists at her sides, watching them twirl around her, singing some tuning she doesn’t understand. Kylo raises an eyebrow at her and she gives him a little shrug. 
 
Then one by one they stop at her side and place small flowers in her hair until her braided crown of hair becomes a crown of spring; just like the ones they don themselves. And In between the braiding of petals into her brown tethered locks, Rey is given a cup of something warm and spicy, encouraged to drink it all while the sweet looking girls all chant.
 
It tastes fruity and like a gentle summer. She smiles into the cup as they wrap up their final work, before giggling and running off to catch another victim of their mirth. Rey glances at Kylo whose gaze is permanently fixed on her. Yet, she sees none of her merry spirit reflected in them. No, he is growing serious.
 
Why?
 
“S’cuse me.” A timid voice comes from behind her and Rey swiftly turns to its unfamiliar source. A young man with freckled cheeks and stray colored hair gives her a grin, courtesies and extends his hand in invitation “You — dance?” He asks in broken basic.
 
Why she looks back at Kylo, Rey has no clue. His sudden change in mood, the way he had bent his head as if to kiss her, it feels like a warning.
 
Then again, why should his sour disposition decide her choices and most of all be what grants her permission to do what she wants. The frown he wears poisons her thoughts, spites her, and is enough to guide Rey’s hand into the young man’s. 
 
Even if she senses that this may not be a cautious choice of action.
 
But when had anything ever been cautious between them?
 
Dancing, as it turns out, is less about skills and more about giving into the joy of it all. The young man is around the same height as Rey, with kind eyes and a beaming bright smile. In fact, he is quite the looker. He intertwines their hands and moves their arms stiffly up and down as he turns her around between the bodies of people. Should Rey describe it, it is much more like the carefree childish kind of dancing she was used to in the Resistance, than any formal event she has been too.
 
Except, now, there is not some urgency or tragedy tainting the celebrations. No people to mourn, only pure wondrous joy of the seasons passing and the ripeness of their fruit of labour.
 
Over the loud music playing, Rey thinks she hears herself laugh. Her dance partner certainly does as he twists in and out and sometimes they switch dance partners. It brings a pleasant litter of butterflies in her stomach, their wings tickling the lining of her stomach. Were she able to fly, she would have taken flight moments ago.
 
She tries to gather the courage to encourage Kylo to join them whenever they pass by him and each time it falters. The hand she had hoped to extend remains locked into another’s. And why would she even want to ask him? He looks so unsettled and grave that she is convinced any olive branch of hers he would slap away in an instant.
 
So she dances on. On and on, for several numbers, until she slides past where he stood only to find that he is no longer there.
 
She frowns, but doesn’t stop. She is not his nurse, nor his mother, and he has probably gone for a piss somewhere. It doesn’t mean anything.
 
They pass once, then twice, before the stone she had desperately tried to hold at bay drops like a boulder into her stomach. Panic, a sense of terror grips her, and for the first time in a while, the Force speaks to her unprompted. That she must go. She must go.
 
A flimsy excuse crosses her lips while she limply slips her hands from her dance partner. The merry dancers pay little attention to her, nor do they seem to share her concern for the large brooding man she had brought with her. His cup still stands on the barrel, not even half empty, which probably means he hasn’t left. He must have gone somewhere then, returning soon to join her.
 
Rey is neurotic. Just not used to not spending every waking hour with him.
 
She gnaws on her lip as she waits impatiently by his spot, running her hands over her mouth, spying for his tall form over the multitude of bopping heads. A loose splinter breaks the skin on her finger.
 
No. He hasn’t just gone somewhere. Why would she even think that? The wrongness she feels comes so strongly, like a rush of blood to the head, making her lightheaded. On the edge. She steps away from the square and into the dark and quiet of the village.
 
It had been so nice, so fun, why would he leave? 
 
A coldness travels down her spine when she spies that the Falcon’s engine is on.

He is leaving her. He is leaving her. He is leaving her.

Don’t leave me.

How she opens the latch and enters the freighter Rey has no recollection of, one moment she is running sloppily in her sandals shouting his name from outside the hull, the next she pries open the door to the cockpit only to find him seated firmly in the pilot seat, one hand on the lever and one on the controls. 
 
Betrayal, as strong as the sandy winds of Rii’aa on Jakku pulse through her being. Her mind surges, questions, conclusions, all tangle up into one single emotion.
 
Betrayal.
 
No, it’s more than just betrayal — heartbreak.
 
With a little cry, tears are already welling, she throws herself at him, her fingers desperately prying his hand off the steering. Her touch seems to be the first time he is aware that she is actually here, because he jumps at her accusing voice.
 
“What are you doing!?” Rey pants, chin quivering “Were you leaving?!”
 
It is a vain attempt to stop the memories from flooding her mind. Her parents not looking back, Plutt clutching her arm, the agony of the ship flying away — pain so sharp it brings spots to her eyes. Her head is light, empty, she might disappear from the grief alone. 
 
“Answer me!” Rey growls, seizing him by his shirt, wanting to hit him, fight him — she wants to do everything to him. Hurt him, love him. 
 
He blinks once, before his stunned expression is replaced by a dark one. He wipes her hand off him and stumbles awkwardly to his full height, purposely towering over her. 
 
“Yes.” 
 
It is a simple answer, but it steals every single molecule of air from her lungs. 
 
Is it possible to faint from this?
 
A scoff, like he is actually annoyed that she is surprised, “Please don’t put on an act. I’ve told you over and over again that I didn’t want to be saved.” He gestures around them, growing increasingly animated and frantic. “It’s demeaning! Being stuck here. I could have gone down as Supreme Leader —

with power and respect

—” His teeth bars, he spits the words “I could have died a legacy. A martyr! And not some fool — a coward — on the holo news!”
 
His words are a saber to her gut, splitting her open, burning her insides and she tries her best not to falter. She had had her suspicions, but —-
 
“You… you wanted to die?”
 
He draws a hand through his hair, chest expanding as he prepares to yell, to cry, she cannot tell which. Perhaps both. But she doesn’t want to hear his words. His flimsy excuses or horrible justifications.
 
So she stops him with a hard shove to his front, beating a closed fist against his shoulder! The tears fall on their own now. “How could you! Fool!” A furious sob “— After everything you’d just...go!?”
 
Kylo takes the beating with a hint of satisfaction. She hates that he does. As if her reaction is exactly what he had wanted, secretly telling her that this is all they are, all they can ever be. Two people connected through the Force, unmovable, incompatible. 
 
He grabs her wrist tightly once he’s had enough, thumb and fingers pressing into her bone, not caring that it hurts. With a snarl he lowers his face so it is close to hers. It reminds her of how she almost kissed him, how he seemed to want it too.
 
How wrong she was. 
 
“So naive. What did you think would happen when you came —” She straightens her neck, not cowering the least at his dark tone. “You think your little Resistance would welcome me with open arms? I had as much of a chance to survive as you had joining my plight. There was nothing left for me except death and the glory I could make from it.”
 
“How can you say that!? After the past few months —” 
 
A condescending snort escapes him and he angrily gestures out the cockpit window; to the fields she could almost call home.
 
“You mean this!? Us playing ‘house’?

Hiding

? Acting like we both haven't killed in cold blood. That we are good and innocent?  Even when we know we aren’t.” Disappointment rolls of him in dizzying waves, pulsing against her chest. She can’t breathe, she can’t — 
 
“And we aren’t even good at it. One second you play me like a doormat, letting me care only for you to leave. Or sometimes you look at me like you might

want

me, but then you are off dancing with some fool making heart eyes at you!”
 
She remembers exactly why she hates him in that moment. For a glorious few months, she had been fooled into believing he could be that someone she had been promised by the Force a year ago, but now it is clear that it’s nothing but pretend. His true colors shine so brightly right now. He cannot hurt on his own, he must bring her down with him. He chooses hurt and violence. Never compassion. Never love.
 
Rey cries, “

When

have you ever been a ‘doormat’?! You fight me on every single thing! And sometimes I think you do it just to spite me!” She tugs her wrist back, but his painful grip is unrelenting. “You complain about me being vague! — but Force, you have no clue about what you want! As long as it is the opposite of me, you go with it!”
 
“You have no idea what I want!” Kylo growls, the animal in him bursting forth, pushing her back and into the co-pilot's seat. 
 
“I don’t?” She grips the leather cushion, using it to press herself back against him. He will not make her submit. “Didn’t you just tell me? You wanted power, glory. A legacy! You wanted me to turn, be your puppet, to be cruel to everyone! You don’t want me! You want my power.”
 
“

No

.” The protest comes out desperately, “— I want you.

In every way

.” She sees his Adam's apple bop, he swallows. Eyes searching hers. “— But

you

don’t want

me

. Not in

every

way. You just want

Ben.

”
 
It’s not news to her. In fact, it is the most open secret between them that they desire each other. Still, the way he throws the confession at her, it’s like he would rather be without it. That he despises her.
 
As if he’d rather die than succumb to the idea that they could work. His heart set in stone that there is no happiness for them.
 
A sob breaks through, as she charges back at him. Heartbroken and miserable by his hand.
 
“ Lies!” He blinks at her choice of words. “

You

don’t want me in

every way.

Why else would you chase me through the fucking galaxy begging me to turn? You never wanted me. And you don’t want me now! If it cannot be on your terms.”
 
The thumb on her wrist loosens. “Do you think I like this? I’ve never wanted you in my life. Do you think I’ve spent the last seven years with Snoke only for a

little girl

to show up and sway me? Ruin everything. Did you think yourself the temptress? Who could undo all of the things I’d worked so hard to get because you asked me to do it?”
 
“

Yes

.”
 
A mocking laugh, “And you call me a fool! Why do you act like the only thing that’d stop you from jumping into my arms was for me to turn? No longer be with the First Order. Well, surprise scavenger! You

didn’t

.” He throws his arms out to the side. “You don’t want this anymore more than me.”
 
Rey gapes at him; gapes at his twisted logic about her. Had she not mere moments ago daydreamed about kissing him? Letting him hold her hand? Dance with her.
 
“How could you possibly expect me to have no reservations about us! About how I feel about you — You have tried to kill me. Kill my friends. You spend every hour tormenting me. Being cruel and condescending. Did you think that at the simplest

vague

sign of kindness from you, I’d throw myself at you with no qualms?! —” He flinches, eye twitching, studying the tracks of the angry tears that carve tracks down her flushed cheeks. “— How can you expect me to put everything behind me?! And — And — I don’t even know you very well! Don’t even know if you are a morning or night person! What’s your favorite color!?”
 
He doesn’t relinquish her wrist, but his hold eases as he watches her press her forehead against his chest; sobbing to her heart's content. “I just — I couldn’t let you go,” she sobs. “Not when I never had the chance to know you. If you’d like me...for me.”
 
A tremble goes through him, but he makes no attempt at comforting her. He stands perfectly still letting her cry into his shirt.
 
His voice is meek when he speaks next.
 
“There is nothing left, Rey. All I do is make you miserable. I have

nothing

to offer you. Not even an ...an empire.”
 
“I don’t care about an empire! It can

rot

away!”
 
A palm circles her neck, gently tucking her into an odd sort of half-hearted embrace. But it is enough for her to believe for a full glorious moment, that she has carved a way into him, made him see sense. Relief.
 
At least until he whispers “ —

I am

that Empire, Rey.”
 
The coldness from her bedroom bites through her clothes, freezing her heart till it feels as if it is fracturing, opening scars she had so carefully sewn together in all those years. Hope… she is losing hope.
 
A terrible panic floods her then, making her draw back and untying herself from his arms, searching his face for anything,

something

, that shows her his heart isn’t in it. He can’t truly —
 
But there is only sadness, a lifetime of it finally seeping to the surface of his scarred face, the salty tears brimming, threatening to spill.
 
“Why haven’t you left then?” Rey asks weakly. “If you truly wanted to, you could have left weeks ago.” A swallow. “If you had wanted to, I couldn’t have stopped you.”
 
One of his hands rises to cup her cheek, a thumb smearing the evidence of her heartbreak away. 
 
“I don’t know.”
 
Rey chokes on a sob. Insanity, is this what it feels like? To think the world one thing in her mind only to find reality to be a vastly different thing. The colors grey, the smells diluted, all the vibrancy gone by his words alone.
 
“Do you like to hurt me?” The scavenger asks, the accusation undeniable in her tone. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask to be...stuck with you — I didn’t even want to leave Jakku! I don’t know why you insist on hurting me.”
 
Kylo closes his eyes as if in pain, mouth twisting and his breath rattles. So she isn’t wrong. He wants to hurt her.
 
And then, in a whisper — “I don’t know what else to do with you.”
 
Her heels lift by their own accord, her hands rush to his cheeks to pull him closer, frustration, more than affection drives her cause of action — and right before she surges up and slams her lips against his —
 
She

growls

.
 
“You could

kiss

me.”
 
But he doesn’t. So she takes it. 
 
Hungry, hungry scavenger.
 
Rey had not been prepared for what it would mean to kiss her dyad in the Force. As soon as their mouths clash awkwardly, the galaxy splinters into millions of bright fractals. Months,

years

of tension fade in an instant as they do their best to devour one another. This is not a lover’s reunion. It is a punishment.; hard and unforgiving.
 
Because while it may alleviate the tension, it will never take the hurt back, the words they had used to cut each other with, how they had been anything but gentle to one another.
 
Kylo deepens the kiss by throwing an arm around her waist and pulling her so tightly against him that her lungs feel close to collapsing. He had wanted this. Why else would he clutch her like the galaxy would tear apart were they to stop?
 
It’s not a good kiss. It is far too angry and hurting for it to be. But it’s hard to stop, impossible even. 
 
He pants hot air between each deep scarring kiss, readjusting by scooting her back so she sits on the armrest, him between her legs, her hands in his soft soft hair. It feels wrong, but she lets him. She lets him do everything. For so long she has gone without and that warmth he inspires in her lower belly, she doesn’t want it to go away. She wants to be taken wherever it’ll lead them to.
 
Have him ravage her. Defile her. Let her be his. ruin her for everyone to see.
 
A hand tugs on her waist and something thick and heavy rubs against her dress. 
 
If she cannot have Ben, she can at least have this; his darkness, a wicked thought screams in her mind. And to imagine, The Supreme Leader, the heir apparent to the Skywalker legacy,

drunk

on a little orphan scavenger — a nobody from nowhere being kissed by the most powerful person in the galaxy.
 
Kylo breaks away, panting, no snarling — Rey can almost sense how his blood is boiling beneath his skin, pulsing, screaming. He invites it no, he begs the darkness to rule his mind and body. Very much the dark lord she knows him to be.
 
But — that’s not entirely true, is it? 
 
The thought knacks her, even as she bites the swell of her bruised lip, relishing in the way the large man roams her body with a hunger that makes her stomach coil tightly. It is all set in stone, how they will fuck it out in the cockpit of his father’s ship.
 
And she is ready, the knacking thought being pushed back into her mind — until his attention falls onto the flowers tucked neatly into her hair. 
 
An exasperated sigh escapes him and with the

gentlest

of touch, he leans forward to smell them, one hand cupping the back of her neck and his nose exhaling warm air onto her scalp. Her presperering skin goosebump from where the fingers trail light and kind over the small of her hair.
 
It’s what stops her. What reminds her. They don’t have to be like this. She has tasted what it could be here. Yes, they had played house, but it was not something that felt unnatural to them; a life of companionship and compassion. Maybe in time they could grow into someone who could be in love like ordinary people. Free of the Force and the Galaxy. They could be together as man and woman, not just simply a dyad in the Force balancing each other out.
 
And she has seen it, the glimmer of something good and nice in him. In her. In them. 
 
And she wants

that

.
 
If she lets

this

happen — have him rip her clothes off and have her here — it’ll leave emotional scars they cannot recoup from. The tentative dream will remain nothing but a dream.
 
“No.” Rey rasps, struggling to pull away with how his mouth is currently biting at her ear, from the large hand rounding her thigh, spreading her legs apart. “Kylo.

No

. Not like this.”
 
It’s with the greatest reluctance she places both hands on his shoulders, hating to see him blink down at her with the most perfect dazed expression. Lips swollen, wet, and red from her. 
 
She did that.
 
“I… want

this

.” Rey is quick to add, trying to catch her breath. His hand is still on her thigh, so close — he could take whatever he wanted. “I don’t want us to be terrible.”
 
And then a little quieter. “ I don’t want to regret you.”
 
It takes him some time to calm his frantic breathing, to absorb her words before he leans forward to touch his forehead to hers “I can’t.” 
 
“We can.” Rey tries to interject, but there’s a wetness trailing down her cheek, down onto her jaw. 
 
And before she can deduct if the tears are hers or his, a painful sob

wrecks

his body. Like an animal wounded by her words or by the fact that his only resolve for their thrust was rooted in the dark. 
 
With a quiet wail, he falters down onto his knees and cries into the soft cotton dress. His cries are like a storming river that finally breaches its walls after years of rain, of hurt, of regret. 
 
Unstoppable.
 
Unrelenting.
 
“

I can’t!

” He whimpers, his entire body shaking with a lifetime of hurt.
 
Rey has no words, nothing, the whiplash of all the emotions cascading inside this little cockpit. One moment she is about to be ravaged, the next, the object of her affection lies in her lap wetting her shirt with his salty tears.
 
“I hate that I want you!” He spits between the sobs, “I hate that I can’t stop looking at you — longing for you — how you dancing with that fool of a boy made me want to kill him. Kill them all. Only because —” Another sob. “— only because I know I can never give you that. I can never make you smile — or laugh.”
 
“No.”
 
“

I can’t be Ben.

He’s gone. I killed him.” 
 
Rey blinks her own tears away, sighing up at the ceiling, before she gingerly slides down on her knees so she can crouch over the Supreme Leader’s trembling hunching form. Embracing him to make up for the words she does not have. 
 
How can she even comfort him? He is right in many of the things he claims, and where she has been the one with hope, he has never had

any

.
 
And that is the tragedy of them. 
 
A Supreme Leader who cries all his years of sorrow into fat pools of tears on the floors of his father’s ship, his inheritance, in the arms of the Last Jedi he wishes he didn’t care for.
 
Her heart breaks then.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 2
Power and PeaceVI 
The Jedi must untangle herself from the Jedi Killer. 
 
But she takes her sweet time, because the Jedi also knows that when she eventually does, there will be repercussions. 
 
How can there not be with the words they had spit into each other’s faces? Words that cannot be returned, much less redeemed from. It is impossible, that much is clear from how they still sting and pinch at her ribs. 
 
It pinches, knowing he had never wanted her; not really. That Rey on her own is inadequate. The Jedi though — her he will make grand speeches to. Go begging on his knees to have her stay. But the scavenger, the orphan sold into slavery, she is repulsive. Kylo desires her, but not because of the woman she is, the resolute young girl surviving on her own, or the lonely child missing her parents. 
 
As with everyone, he had only wanted her because of her power.
 
Shame cuts deep into her veins, prickling the tips of her fingers with self-loathing and disgust and oh, the hate of him. How dare he question her own value? How dare he bury seeds of doubt in her?
 
The hate turns out to be enough to make her break the embrace and stand to her feet.
 
Kylo watches her like a hawk; eyes red-rimmed and cheeks puffy from crying, resembling more a child lost than a vile darksider. It’s her luck that she knows better than to take things by face value. There is nothing little or lost about him — his mind had been made up so many months ago. He has always been impenetrable to her vices. Her earnest desires. Rey had never stood a chance, least of all when it came to swaying him from the dark side.
 
And she looks back down at him, hoping he recognises her thoughts on her face. She hopes it hurts. 
 
She is desperate to go back to the hut. She wants to sleep. And right now she cannot go back on her own, even if her heart is only half convinced she wants him to come along. But what is the alternative? Have him fly away in the dark of the night? Have him… do worse.
 
With a shaking breath, she extends her hand in a timid request for him to take it. 
 
An offended scrunch of his nose at her hand is impossible for her memories not to latch onto, for her heart to not take offense. But can she take offense? — had she not been the one who had slapped every extended hand of his away? 
 
It’s not the same though, she argues to herself. She is not asking him to abandon everything and rain destruction on it all.
 
Just sleep.
 
After several agonizing breaths, he takes it — if it can even be called that. His fingers hang limb and loose between hers and she gets the distinct feeling that they are animals, wounded and close to death, measuring whether this move will bring upon their death or their rescue.
 
She leads them into the sea of grass colored blue by the night sky. 
 
They just walk in darkness. Him following her like a dutiful dog, head bent as if caught with its snout in a cookie jar — except this cookie jar was the Falcon and him leaving her behind forever. 
 
Somewhere in the horizon, merry music can be heard playing mixed with laughter, and across the sky lights dance in tandem with the villagers. The stars twinkle with mirth.
 
They could have been there. Dancing. Maybe even ...maybe…
 
No. There is no maybe. There is no reason to pretend he would have stayed. 
 
He was ready to leave.
 
He was going to leave her alone.
 
She doesn’t cry tears, but it feels as if her heart is free bleeding across the fields. A trail of sorrow for others to see; the evidence of a woman who failed to let go of a drowning man, and now he is pulling her into the black waters with him.  
 
His hand tightens on hers. She doesn’t respond but also doesn’t let him go.
 
Not until they cross the threshold of the hut. 
 
It isn’t a striking change, but their temporary home has in their absence adopted that uncanny eerie silence from the Falcon. Her eyes scan the meager home they had made, the trinkets and collections hidden onto the shelves. The clothes spread across the floor to be washed. The smell of lunch he had cooked for them.
 
And how gut-wrenching wrong it all has suddenly become. Like the colors have drained from everything, leaving all of it diluted and dry.
 
As if they have dragged the ghosts haunting the Falcon to their place of refuge. 
 
Rey sighs. Playing house? Was this what they had been doing? Pretending like small children that they belonged to each other? Running around taking on the roles of husband and wife, sleeping in the same bed, kissing each other on the cheeks. 
 
How could she not have seen it? All the warning signs!
 
The ghosts howl miserably around them; a sanctuary now tainted, painted ugly by the sweet things they had made up, and the cruel things they had done to each other. She wants nothing more than to burn it down. Forget this mistake and move on. Maybe she can still crawl back to the Resistance and just never speak of these past two months. Make the memories disappear.
 
And Kylo. He could die like he had wanted to, and she wouldn’t even know.
 
Bile rises in her throat. She doesn’t want to think of why — not when her heart is figuratively bleeding all over her clothes and the floor. 
 
It’ll go away. The feeling. If she just goes to bed. Goes to sleep. It will be better in the morning. There will be an answer. 
 
An answer. 
 
Her hand falls from his and knowing the way by now, even in the dark, she takes a step up the stairs as on autopilot; but unlike so many nights before tonight, she doesn’t stop at the first repos where the door to Kylo’s room is. She considers it briefly, but the mere thought of crawling under the covers with him and pretending he has not said any of the things he has said, it is like bleach to her insides. 
 
Even if she wants nothing more than to pretend. 
 
No, she turns a sharp left up the stairs to ‘her’ room. The square one tugged below the straw roof, with its small windows overlooking the fields. 
 
“Rey?” he asks softly from somewhere behind her; desperate concern breaking his voice.
 
The scavenger curbs a whimper, pausing on a step and braces herself with a hand on the clay wall. 
 
“What?” she spits tightly, not finding it in her to turn back and look at him. 
 
Hours could have passed with how tense everything has become. It’s like insects crowding their home, biting their skins; like the air buzzing in a thunderstorm waiting for the inevitable crash. 
 
It comes in the shape of him opening his dumb mouth. 
 
“I don’t like your braid.”
 
With pure comedic timing that would be most befitting a holocomedy, Rey turns around to greet him with the most incredulous expression, silently shouting ‘really?’ with her eyes only. Except there is nothing funny about this. It is just a jittery quiet. Like they are on the brink of a cliff and falling to their doom.
 
On Jakku she liked to work alone to avoid the grueling task of collaboration  — and its companions; unskilled, lazy, slow, too talkative. In the desert she learned to cut those off who slowed her down, who by merely tugging along threatened her with death and starvation. She was good at waiting for the fruit of her own labour, hours spent drilling into hulls of ships to get that one power converter that could feed her for days. That she could be patient for, but not the collaborators who would enjoy the benefits but not put in the work.
 
The memory of the freighter, the one she had denied herself the easy rations for in order to get it working — the one that had promised her a sweeter life after. How many meals would it not sustain her? And they had helped her.
 
And stolen it.
 
It is with the most intense self detestation that Rey can't seem to stop extending this many olive branches to the one person whom out of everyone wears her down the most. He is an unnecessary evil, a burden more than an elevation. Moody and demanding, and the source of her heartbreak. She hates him as much as she wants him. Never had a pair of tear streaked cheeks or pretty brown eyes held so much weight in her world  — nothing would ever be as important to her as him. 
 
And she hates it. Loathes it.
 
Had she had any more tears, Rey would cry; but even that he has worn out of her. How is it possible for her to give and give and give and he doesn’t even budge one step in her direction? She hates that she had dressed up with the intention to impress and he had just told her he didn’t want her, that she was the worst thing that had come to pass — 
 
— That he thinks her ugly.
 
She stuffs down a wail threatening to burst. Why does she even bother? 
 
Why does she even bother? 
 
A simple sentence that as soon as she thinks it starts twisting thorny vines around every tender thing he has done. Every shred of hope she had had for them. The food, the flowers, the kisses. They flake like ashes in the wake of the hot funeral pyre that had been their confrontation on the Falcon. 
 
“I don’t even know why you chose to say that.” Rey ends up moaning, having lost all will to bicker. To fight.
 
Fatigued. She is so depleted.
 
Benevolent regardless, she gives him a moment to find his words, taking in the stiff posture of his, his struck expression. What can he possibly be so struck about? Isn’t he just the one who has insulted her looks? Does he expect her to spend every waking moment dissecting his twisted logic for its true meaning? He is the one choosing what he says. Not her.
 
His breathing is ragged, like a man in pain.
 
It both feels like a second and a lifetime ago that she had felt his mouth on hers, his arms around her. How he had pushed his entire weight down on her.
 
How he had told her how much he despises having her in his life.
 
That she had ruined things.
 
He gestures to his door, a silent request on his lips. 
 
Rey groans audibly, fingers twisting with the urge to give in and let him take her to bed. Perhaps he would even kiss her, perhaps they would do more. It would be pleasurable, she has no doubt.
 
But it wouldn’t heal her.
 
And Rey is tired of being wounded.
 
She takes the final steps up to her bedroom and softly closes the door with a click.
 
🝀🜎🝀🜎
 
When morning comes, there has been no soft knock on her door, no frustrated screaming through the wood, no yelling from his room nor sounds of furniture crashing in a fit of typical Supreme Leader rage.
 
Nothing happens.
 
Except for the slowly purpling sky through a window she is both familiar with, this has been her room after all, nevertheless, it strikes her as strange and disturbing in a way most new things tend to be. As if this stopped being her room a long time ago. 
 
Rey doubts she’ll ever find a home or something to call hers. She must content herself with her ability to be an insomniac wherever she stays, lulling herself to some kind of transcendent space between her anxious spiraling thoughts and her ever-present nightmares, which some would call sleep. 
 
It had felt like disappearing for a few glorious spare moments. Her mind and body broken into a million specs of dust or — her heart the last remaining evidence of her existence and it was reduced to nothing but a fractured kyber crystal. Broken and shattered beyond repair; without any usage. 
 
Sleep. She supposes that feeling had to be it, because the last thing she recalls is throwing herself on the lumpy thin mattress; hair still undone and the borrowed dress clinging to her body with a mix of Kylo’s tears — and her own.
 
With a pat to her chest Rey finds, to her own disappointment, that she has not combusted into fragments of light, but is in fact still very solid and very real. Even worse, the evidence of last night, the flowers, lay mockingly displayed like an angel's halo on her pillow. She angrily wipes them off and when they stick she opts for throwing the pillow instead. It makes a soft thud against the wall. 
 
The sky is no longer purple, it is orange. How can a color be this suffocating? The morning light is almost too bright with the promise of a new day. That time has passed, things have moved ahead without her consent, while she is still stuck in the Falcon’s stuffy cockpit unable to come to terms with the whirlwind of emotions that had passed between them a mere few hours ago. 
 
Grunting like a child being forced, Rey sits up on her bed, rubbing her eyes free of sleep, smacking her lips against the dryness in her mouth begging to be parched. She longs for water, but she asks herself, if water is really worth the risk of running into him and starting it all over? But what’s the alternative? Forcing herself into some self-imposed prison and dying of thirst? Oh, he’d love that wouldn’t he; her being scared of him.
 
The dress is flung off and she puts on her tunic and pants, before gently creaking open the door. Half of her expects him to stalk her from the top of the steps; the other would not be surprised if he had left in the dead of night with the Falcon.
 
She wouldn’t put it past him.
 
But there is no one and padding down the stairs, she pretends not to pause on the repos leading to his room. The dress that hangs loosely on her arm feels disgusting against her skin. Slick and illusive. Like empty promises. Like her parents promising they’d be back.
 
Kylo is not here. His bed is unmade and the hut is silent. Oh, so silent.
 
Rey doesn’t know how to feel about that.
 
In fact, she seems even less in control of her body and mind than ever. The hot exhale that escapes her surprises her. The need to fall to her knees and tear into the dress like a wild ferocious loth cat with sharp teeth ripping the evidence apart, scares her. 
 
Only a weak logical voice in the back of her mind reminding her that this dress is borrowed is what stops her. 
 
She hurries to the kitchen then to drown her dry mouth with water, but to her own disappointment, it does little to parch her throat or clear the stuffiness she feels growing in her mind. It seems to only grow worse. A remnant panic resurfaces from last night. Her heart beats hard and fast against her rips. She sways with dizziness, like her brain is being bleached right here where she stands.
 
Scared, desperate, she flees to sit on the porch, hoping to find some semblance of sanity out there. Fresh air clears the head, people have said. But it feels anything but fresh. It's heavy air. A promise of rain in the distance; shapes of darkening voluminous clouds seem to be the source of the howling winds today. It’s growing colder, goosebumps traveling across her spine, but Rey doesn’t have it in her to go inside — no. The golden grass calms her, and definitely does not hold the potential of containing a head of black bopping somewhere in the distance.
 
It helps though. Her breathing calms and the distorted roots of doubt no longer strangle her to the point of tearing her soul apart. Enough so that little by little, with the dress neatly folded in her lap, Rey's hands peruse her braid to untangle the evidence of her foolishness. The flowers fall like teardrops in her lap, onto the porch, till the braid splits apart and pools in knotty waves over her shoulders. 
 
They are not unruly and tight like the knot within her though, Rey realises. No, her hair flows freely in the breeze from the upcoming storm, while the knot within is a different kind of thing she needs to weather. 
 
Thunder rumbles somewhere far away, too much like the restless feeling within; the voice that asks why she is so undecided and unassured still. Hadn’t they put everything out in the open last night? Shouldn’t she feel calm? Why does nothing about them seem settled? 
 
Why does the thought of returning and standing in front of the resistance with a smile and pretending to not have a broken heart, make her brain dizzy? Could she do it? Could she just… move on when this thing with Kylo is unresolved? How can she go back, when nothing is the same? When there is no firm truth to cling to?
 
A thread snaps in the lace, distracting her from her racing thoughts, and replaces it with a fear that she has broken this old sentimental piece of cloth. She couldn’t do that to the sweet woman who had dressed her with the best intentions. 
 
Who had braided her hair as a mother would.
 
Frantic nightmares play through her mind, diverting her attention enough to not think about Kylo — or notice the soft croak of wooden planks and heavy boots. 
 
At least until the chrome hilt of her saber blocks the view of the lace —
 
She peeps up through her lashes, already aware of who is disturbing her. Still, she is surprised at how the worn and serious face of Kylo Ren makes her inside grow warm and tart; brings on relief and resentment. Two things so incompatible, but yet, here they swirl around each other like oil and water.
 
Her eyes trace the shape of the saber, across its buttons, its wear and tear, until it finds his hand. He clutches it tightly, knuckles white and veins pulsing, and there — in his other hand — his own crudely made weapon.
 
 It’s not ignited, but she senses he didn’t bring their sabers to broker peace between them. 
 
“Get up.” He commands in a strong croaking voice, shaking the chrome hilt at her. Desperate to get rid of it. Like the memories confined within hurt him. Burns him.
 
“What are you doing?” She caws; hiding none of her assumptions or accusations. It is a given at this point, his mere being is enough to anger her into a rage. “Why are you still here?”
 
He scoffs.
 
“Get up.” He bites, teeth showing, before throwing the saber harshly into her lap.
 
She catches it in her palm. It smacks against her calloused skin.
 
If he adds something, she doesn’t hear it. She watches his form instead, takes in his towering height, the grim deep lines around his mouth. He is like a giant overgrown Krykna, unpredictable even in his predictable behaviour. The dress makes a low rippling sound from the way her fingers dig into the cloth, but it helps anchor her and not let the scrutinizing defiance get the better of her. 
 
“I beat you last time,” Rey announces, raising her chin at him.
 
A swallow, his jaw tenses. He is so intense. Why can she never seem to look away when she wants to?
 
“But will you this time?” He doubts simply, voice low with mockery and — sadness? 
 
“I will.” 
 
She enjoys the way he flinches at her response. How she startles him enough so the wooden beams screak below him. He wavers briefly; perhaps waiting for something or someone to change his mind.
 
It will not be Rey. She is tired of trying. She has decided that. 
 
“Have you come to embarrass me even more — “ Rey asks tartly; too trite and hurting to even comprehend why she chooses to engage with him at all. Wouldn’t it be better to ignore him, go on on her own. Is it some remnant self-preservation? Or does she just have nothing left to lose? It’s not like he can ruin her any more than he has already done. “— yesterday wasn’t enough?”
 
Noises escape him, probably intended to be words, but they are rigid and inexpressible. Possibly remnants of a speech he has practised all night instead of sleeping. She sees it; him mulling over what he’d say again and again and again, until he knew them by heart, but had forgotten the desire behind them. 
 
“We have unfinished business.”
 
Her mouth twitches involuntary, as if she is already spilling a thousand raging explicitives, but no sound escapes her. She won’t let them. 
 
Rey will remain unmoved by his dramatic entrance; his predictable need for theatrics and melancholy. 
 
If he wants to fight, she will fight him.
 
Gently, she places the blue dress next to her knees and, without taking her eyes off him, she rises to her full height and twirls the saber in her palm. Stars how she despises the familiarity of it. Cold and warm against her flesh. But mostly how she has missed it. The weight of it. The violence of it. The catharsis when it plunges into her target.
 
“You could have killed me at any moment —” Her threat sounds hollow even to her ears, but he listens intently, despite moving off the porch and half vanishing into their golden sea. “— why the fight? Leaving no witnesses before you disappear?”
 
“No.”
 
His eyes trail her still — a loth cat licking its mouth in anticipation. Saliva already pooling in its mouth. 
 
insubordinate, she shakes her head — “I won’t kill you.”
 
“Then you are a fool.”
 
Rey steps down to pursue him into the field. The grass whisks against her shins like a whip, but she feels nothing, not when there’s a fire kindling within her. 
 
“Maybe.” Rey chucks a breath. “I chased someone who wasn’t real. I understand that now.” The pain her words cause flash across his face, regret, fear, anger. It annoys her. “— I was a young girl the first time on the Supremacy, but now — Maybe you are right. I’m just a fool for making the same mistake again.”
 
Mistake, Kylo mutters low under his breath and it makes his jaw tighten as well as his fist on the saber.  
 
They circle each other like the predators they are, cautious and aware. Neither has ignited their saber. It gives her an opportunity to study him. Truly study him. 
 
The dark circles, the bleak sulk scarring his face; he must have slept just as little as she, he probably hated her for it too. Pacing his room, threatening to wreck destruction over everything. Ending up staying outside the hut out of spite. His thumb brushes over the worn black surface of the hilt like he needs to calm himself.
 
She’ll fight him. She’ll ruin him. 
 
“Am I a fool, Rey?” he asks plainly, “Do you think me one?”
 
Does she think him one? She isn’t sure. In fact, she has no clue. Because if he is a fool, what does that make her? Does it make her worse or —
 
Unresponsive, her neck creaks from how she still needs to look up at him, even if he is standing at a distance from her. Her thumb lights the saber. 
 
“Sometimes I wonder —” His voice doesn’t betray any emotion; it doesn't show if he is hurt by her avoidance or if it is expected. The saber swings lazily in his hand, practised, familiar, and his crimson beam flares to life, eager and ready, already licking bloody streaks of light across his face. It makes the scar appear as if on fire. And perhaps it is; lit from the inside by his enduring rage and hurt. “— what you saw that made you come to the Supremacy. Did you see me? Or Ben?”
 
Her brows furrow at his question. Even after all this time, she is not sure what she saw in the light of that fire when he touched her hand. It was so faint but also clearer than anything — it was impossible to pinpoint who she saw, except some version of this man before her.
 
But she knows now that her vision is not the man before her. He is not the man she saw. Then why does it hurt her then? That he has chosen to deny her? 
 
Knowing that, somehow, it makes it easier for her to spit the truth. 
 
Because the truth will make him suffer in turn. 
 
“I saw someone in the Force. Someone kind, someone who struggled like me, who wanted to make the galaxy better. And I thought — I believed it to be you deep inside.” Clenching her jaw, she raises the saber parallel to her face, unable to not squint from the brightness of the kyber. “But I was wrong. You are right. He isn’t real.”
 
No answer. Only the tilt of his chin; a challenge. The blade keeps swinging loosely at his side — like he is bored. 
 
It is the same dance they have danced before. Rey knows her steps. 
 
She smashes her blade into his.
 
And he knows his steps too, what to expect from her. So, almost lazily, unbothered with intentional mockery, he blocks her beam. 
 
But appearances can deceive. Rey learns that quickly. 
 
Albeit treating this apathetically, the weight with which he thrusts her down makes her feet slump into the muddy field. A twinge of gold flashes across his irises and she can feel him pull on the pure dark side; a strenuous effort, considering how feeble the Force is here. He must be desperate, to want the dark so much — Force, is he serious about this?
 
Staggered, Rey twists to free herself from their locked blades, stumbling back awkwardly across the uneven surface, but she doesn’t dare look back to secure her footing; not when his saber glistens fiery red, sparks prickling the air in anticipation. It wants to cut her, wants to hurt her.
 
She grabs the chrome hilt on hers even tighter, and chokes several crude curses, and persists in the fight. 
 
They grind and slide, evenly matched in so many ways, and Rey relishes in the breaking of sweat on his brow. He parries her attack with the crossguard, latching them together, each digging their feet into the soil for leverage. The beams clash and spark in a deadly display of firelight. Red, blues, purples. 
 
Then, with a miserable growl, he yells into her face, “You are right! —” yet they sound more close to a whisper than a shout, close to being lost with the wind, like a secret he has never told anyone, but she knows he must be shouting — “There has never been such a person. Because Ben Solo was not good!”
 
With a rough shove, he rips their sabers apart and charges from above. Her teeth clatter from the strength with which their sabers collide. It makes her arms sing, her knees threaten to buckle. She shakes her wrist, while he continues his tale. 
 
“Sure, he had hope, belief in the light, but he was not a good man. He was spiteful, angry, lost in a darkness he didn’t understand. The Ben you saw —” His blade sears the long twiggy strands of grass, the birds scatter from fright. “— there has never been a Ben like that.”
 
The smell of burning fields and skies ripe with rain fill the air around them. Rey thinks she tastes blood. But not from his attacks. No. His admission is just another knife to an already bleeding heart. And she doesn’t understand his need to draw this out. She wishes he’d just get it over with. Maybe the pain from dying would numb her ruined soul. 
 
“Then why would the Force show me that?!” Rey’s breath stutters. The rain comes down harder now, seeping her clothes, plastering her hair tightly to her forehead. Thunder booms in the distance. “Was it the dark side?!” 
 
He jumps back to avoid the burning edge of her blade, drawing a hand through his wettening curls. “ Would not be the first time you are fooled by the dark!”
 
The reminder — the aching memory — of her wasted plight. Of letting the dark whisper treasurous words into her ear and lead her straight into the arms of Snoke. 
 
But, — that moment, his warm fingertips against hers — it hadn’t felt dark at all. It didn’t. It had felt light and right; like napping in the grass of Ach-To, like getting to stuff the rations in her mouth after a long day of work, feel it fill her stomach. It had felt like kissing him. She knows that now. The rush of joy sparkling through every limb, setting her alight. 
 
It hadn’t been dark. 
 
Even now, she knows it was never dark.
 
“Then why does it matter then!?” she sobs while flinging her saber down so it catches with his, burying it in the mud below; combusting the water into steam, enveloping them in a mist of their own making. He frowns confused, doing very little to free his saber. “Or are you just upset that a made up version of you came closer to fooling me than you ever have!?”
 
Kylo pants, chest heaving with exertion. They can barely see the hut now; shrouded by the rain and from having chased each other all the way towards the lake and its muddy cliff sides. There’s a burn on her arm and a bruise on her forehead. An incredulous bitterness threatens to burst his scar open. He looks almost...hurt. But it passes in an instant, replaced by a haughty expression bordering on cruel. 
 
“It matters because you never cared for me!”
 
“Do you even want me to!?”
 
A nerve twitches below his eye, and it surprises her that he seems oblivious to what he is even doing. And why now, out of all the moments these past months does he choose to meet her halfway, to make things right (by his twisted logic) rather than pull harshly at his end of the rope?
 
“Because you are doing a shit job!” She continues, the saber shakes when she rattles it in demonstration. “By making me fight you?”
 
His eyes shimmer, he looks close to tears. Or perhaps it is simply the rain marking the streaks where his sadness would go. The paths they would trail. He lowers his saber to the side.  
 
“I’m giving us the chance to finish it.”  
 
His shoulders barely slump forward, but it is enough for Rey to see the way he is far from done. He is not yielding. He will kill her if he must. 
 
“Finish what?”
 
He takes a step closer to her, “This is how we were supposed to reach a conclusion. Not stuck on a planet pretending to be lovers. Not me dying on a throne before you ever reached me.”
 
Her chin tips up as he towers over her, dark like her shadow — and maybe that is what he is. The brighter she grows the longer her shadow gets.
 
In an almost whisper he sums them up in too simple words. “Our lives are tied to each other. We decide each other’s death. No one else.”
 
“Why?”
 
He pauses, saber still ignited. 
 
“Why what?”
 
The tears come then, mixing with the rain draining off her skin. Never before has she felt such a burning urge to pierce him through his midriff. The fantasy isn’t new, she just never had it break her with such force as it does now.
 
Rey doesn’t answer, too scared, too confused. Instead, she flings her body at him, saber poised to spear him. And as expected he avoids it. 
 
Sparks fly off their sabers in tandem with the thunder. Booming together in a sorrowful symphony, making the grounds wet, sticky.  Rey slips, falling onto her knees, swinging the saber wildly ahead to distance him from her. He does not look even remotely happy at this development. In fact, it seems to make him grow sadder, remorse trickling off him. 
 
“Then why are you here?!” Rey reminds him, readying her saber once more; her heart though isn’t in it. The fight ebbing away.
 
He stops, offended.
 
“You could have left a million years ago! But you didn’t. Was that just a ruse then?! A trick?!”
 
“No.”
 
“To be cruel then?!”
 
And then in the quietest voice, “You may think me cruel. But I do not want to be cruel to you.”
 
Rey breathes with her whole chest, blinking against the water dripping from her hair.
 
This fucking stupid man.
 
“Then why are you!?”
 
They pant together almost in secret harmony, shoulders and muscles heaving as they watch each other through the downpour. She watches his every facial expression with scrutiny, the twist of an eye, the smacking of lips, the way his mouth works as if chewing on words. 
 
He looks lost.
 
“I — ” he tries — but there’s a rumble that drowns out the words. 
 
And its source is not the sky.
 
But the ground on which they stand.
 
🝀🜎🝀🜎
 
Rey feels the drop before she even registers what is happening. The cliff side crumbles below her feet and collapses in a wave of mud and grass heading straight for the lake below. She claws futilely at the hillside, desperately grasping for something, anything, but meets nothing but downpour and slush. There's nothing she can do but plummet and roll down to her destiny.
 
The saber is knocked out of her hand by a rock to her wrist and her ankle strains nastily on impact the second she is thrown into the soaked river bank — head first.
 
Adrenaline throbbing through her veins, Rey reacts more than she absorbs what just happened, and surges up on her elbows with a sputter; lungs begging and gasping for air, her face and ears stuck with muddy lake water. A sputter that threatens to transform into sobs.
 
She notes only her aching limbs and the metallic taste on her tongue, before she is forcefully grabbed by the arms — the force of it pinching her flesh — and flipped so instead of looking at brown lake water she is met by the furious expression of the Supreme Leader.
 
Had she been in a more fitting state, she would never have allowed his hands to wipe off the grime, had his fingers tremble over her skin, cupping each cheek harshly and sharply turning her head from side to side — and she can’t stop staring at his brown shimmering eyes, how they visually pat her down.
 
What is this uncanny urgency?
 
It freezes her; this whiplash of surprise and pain and she can do nothing but silently watch him chuckle a sigh of relief, which transforms into a true...laugh. 
 
From the bottom of his stomach it roars; each laugh dissolves him into sheer convulsions that shakes his shoulders and whips his drenched curls. He sounds like a mad man, scar cutting his face threatening to burst from the sharp dimples suddenly contorting his face. 
 
He is unrecognisable. 
 
He is laughing at her.
 
It’s so fucking stupid.
 
With a thunderous howl, drenched to the bone and the skies bright and alit with thunder, the sand gremlin of Jakku hitches a leg over her dark dyad and plunges him by the shoulder into the mud; a hand already digging into the wet soil —
 
— and she throws it at his face. Howling and snarling as she smears it thickly over his stupid dimples, his stupid mouth and stupid laughter. His dumb fucking laugh. Let him suffocate in his mockery of her. Let him look as horrible as her. Let him feel the mud dry his skin and parch his mouth.
 
Let him!
 
He wheezes and grumbles at the wet soil which clings to his mouth, messes his ugly curls, and bars his eyes from enchanting her frail bleeding soul.
 
“You stupid fucking bantha —!” Rey bawls, but her curses are cut short by the rough slam of his thighs around her hips. He swivels them to the right, burying Rey once more in the mix of sour lake water and mud. They are not elegant by any means. It is awkward. They both slip as he tries to reach for her and she tries to stop him with a kick to the chest. 
 
Who would have imagined the showdown between the Jedi and the First Order would be fought in mud. It is ridiculous; they are covered in rain soaked soil from head to toe and she is kicking into the air to keep him at a distance, and he lurges for her ankle only to slip and fall headfirst between her feet.
 
"Will you just," Kylo pants as he barks up at her and to her surprise, he does not appear angry. No. His eyes are aglow with the same eager light as when they killed the praetorian guards — he is enjoying this.
 
Rey rages in despair, realizing this confounding strange and murderous man has gotten exactly what he wanted. He will never relinquish either of them without a fight. 
 
By instinct more than sound mind, she raises a foot and the second his palm reaches the hem of her pants, she slams it into his collar bone.
 
It makes a terrible crack. 
 
His breath whooshes out and he howls as he doubles over. 
 
The mud beneath her is freezing, yet shame spreads hot down her limbs. She's intensely aware of his body so close to her; as if she actually doesn’t want to hurt him. Rey closes her eyes. Her thoughts blur somewhat as she struggles for breath.

She's still panting when she looks down at Kylo in the mud. The Supreme Leader glares at her, his expression inscrutable. It seems that his broad chest is straining for breath just as much as Rey's, though.
 
But it's there. His hunger for violence like a darkening cloud.
 
For the first time since Starkiller base, Rey feels her initial fear of him return. 
 
She is scared.
 
And then he catches her ankle.
 
Brutish strength, that is him, he drags her to him, but not without a struggle. They twist and twirl for dominance, hands pushing and legs thrashing, before he manages to knock her onto her stomach and knee in her back.
 
It grows so quiet. Their breaths drowned out from the drums of rain in the lake, the rumble of the thunder passing by them. 
 
He’s holding her tight. His knee is sharp and pointy, or at least it feels that way from how he presses it into her spine. 
 
A swallow, she licks her lips — and yields.
 
“Get it over with.”
 
He is quiet for so long that Rey fears he may not have heard her, til he whispers —
 
“What?”
 
“You — you won. I surrender.” Perhaps it will be a blessing to have him end this. No longer will she suffer at the whim of her heart; the way it poisons her limbs and her mind. She will remain no prisoner of his any longer. “Kill me.”
 
The force is so potent now, thrumming through her veins; she can almost see with her mind's eye every infinitesimal shift in him. His awe at her, his confusion, his relief to not find her gone — His panic, no — rage at her words. 
 
She feels his Adam's apple bobbing at the back of her neck, his jaw tense and stiff. 
 
“No.”
 
Had there been any more fight left in her, she would have screamed at him. Or thrown her head back to crush his nose, to collide with his forehead. She would have fought tooth and nail; but she doesn’t. Instead, she dares to turn her head, enough so that her nose skims his chin, enough so that she can see the mud on his nose, not yet washed away by the rain
 
“Then what the fuck has this fight been all about?!”
 
He pauses, pressing his forehead against hers. It’s not quite an embrace. Or Rey feels reluctant to call it so, despite the way he presses his hand onto her waist, the careful way he strangely cradles her. His chest expands in tandem with hers, and even with the coldness of the ground, his heat travels through their clothes, warming her back. 
 
Something shifts then, or perhaps her fall had chipped something away at him. Some core belief.
 
“I...thought I had the strength to do it.”
 
The thunder rumbles above them and she lies completely still, robbed of her words.  
 
“...But even trying this. Fulfilling our destiny. I fail.”
 
The rain falls in thick drops, splashing the green lake with thunderous sounds, but Rey has never heard his words more clearly.
 
“I fail at everything. At what I want — and what I don’t want.”
 
Shy like a child, he looks away briefly, his thumbs brushing over her spine. The water is cold, but that’s not what makes goosebumps race across her skin.
 
“What do you want?” Rey whispers low under her breath. 
 
“Power. To prove everyone wrong. To be feared —” His voice is strained, bordering on breaking from the shear stress of admitting something so personal and vulnerable, “— I want your compassion. I wanted you to feel it for me. For Kylo.”
 
A hand brushes over the bruises he gifted her, sorrowful but strangely prideful. Like he is trying to memorize this.
 
She shivers. “I never felt it for Kylo.”
 
His head thuds against the crown of hers; as if he had expected this answer. To be told he is not enough, inadequate. 
 
“But…—” Her mouth works on its own now, exhaustion has turned all sense of self preservation off, leaving only the barest honest truth and it tugs on something within her at how her truth hurts him. “— You don’t resemble him. That Kylo. You… this you. I feel compassion for you.”
 
His lungs expand as if he is a child born anew; blooming like a budding leaf at the first taste of spring. 
 
And then the heat of a chest disappears, replaced by a hand on her stomach, another at the dip of her collar bone; Kylo flips them over so she faces him. 
 
To imagine a year ago how he had snarled proclamations of ownership in the snowy forest only to now easily relent and let the seeds of doubt sink in. That perhaps he could be in the wrong.
 
“You do?” Kylo licks his lower lip in a strange sigh. “But I’m still him. I haven’t changed. I have been unkind to you.”
 
The anger, fury, all the hurt that has surged through her body since yesterday Rey finds to have been replaced by a somber melancholic calm. She supposes, whatever intention Kylo had had in fighting them out had been the right thing for her to do. The physical relief of getting to hit him, smear his dumb face with mud, while she got to yell her fears and frustrations at him. Her mind feels clear, unclouded by doubt and misunderstandings. 
 
They had felt each other.
 
Truly felt each other.
 
Their shared hate, the reluctant compassion.
 
“Not all the time. And… I know you aren't… Ben —" the bitterness is hard to hide. The wound from last night is still fresh.  However, today has shown her something. "— but… you aren't Kylo either. You have been kind to me too.” A little smile tugs at her lips. “Gentle. Understanding too. Or did you cradle me out of disgust? Did you… kiss my cheek to spite me?”
 
“No.”
 
“Would… that Kylo have done that? Before…?”
 
A bit slower, but just as firm. “No.”
 
Their eyes flicker between each other for several heartbeats, her lying below him and his shadowy form eclipsing her, until he slowly moves back, rests on his knees and gently, by her elbow, helps her to sit opposite from him. Their shins touch, and neither look in any way composed or handsome, but Force, he looks younger than she has ever seen him. Vulnerable. 
 
With a tremble to his hand, he moves it away from her arm and hovers it above his lap next to his right one and turns both palms up in a silent invitation. 
 
He doesn’t have to tell her his intention, because they have been here before. Enough times for Rey’s initial gut feeling to be to pull away and reject his advances; his damn proposals. However, it is different already, because there are no toxic promises of conquering the world or wreaking havoc on everything she holds dear.
 
He has nothing to offer her. He knows it. 
 
And it's more than enough for her.
 
Timidly, she slowly raises her own dirty hands so they rest on top of his. It strikes her in the oddests way that his are dirty too and how it has never looked like this. Always his gloves and her calloused skin; now they are equal in their mess. 
 
Their eyes flutter close and they… feel. 
 
The Force greets them with a warm embrace. Like it had missed them, a scolding parent who in its anger fails to not be happy to see them. Rey gasps at the sensation and clasps their palms together, to which Kylo reacts by resting his forehead against hers. To tell her it is fine. He's here.
 
He's here.
 
And she looks inside.
 
She sees his hate, for his masters and his family, his hate for her because she confirmed all his reasons for hating himself. That he dared to open that bit of him that he thought to be so tightly locked away and she had stomped on it. Laughed at him. Like everyone else.
 
He cannot show fear. Cannot let it happen again. If he does she will just point out his inadequacies again, that she cannot bear him. Yes. That's right. He had offered her everything and she had acted like the gift would ruin her. And perhaps it would. Maybe she saw it before anyone else.
 
Still. The yearning for her compassion, he can't stop himself. The mere thought of not touching her made him as sick as the thought of giving into it. But he couldn't stop himself. He couldn't stop wanting her. Couldn't stop trying.
 
Even when he knew all she wanted was Ben.
 
Even when he knew he had to settle for scraps.
 
And he believed it, with all his heart, that every smile was just an illusion. A fantasy. That she must be faking it and all of this was one grand attempt of hers to live out the life she imagined with Ben.
 
Sometimes he liked that life.
 
Until he didn't.
 
But she was happy. Rey had never felt that kind of joy before. It was overwhelming, the feelings he brought up in her. The hope. Those feelings were real. It had been real to her. However, the second he had brushed her compassion aside on the Falcon, growled at her, the illusions had shattered and already then she knew this was not what she had imagined happening in those late nights in her bunk bed on the Resistance base.
 
Rey knew this wasn’t Ben. But the glimpses, the kindness, perhaps he was there, hidden away. And she doesn’t know when, doesn’t know how, but at some point Ben and Kylo became swirls of liquids in her mind. Neither fully there, and neither gone.
 
The feelings though. The feelings were real.
 
But are his real? Is any of it real?
 
The Force doesn’t answer. It’s silent.
 
But Kylo does. 
 
“It is.”
 
🝀🜎🝀🜎

By the time they make it back to the hut, the rain is nothing more than a drizzle. 
 
The thunder still roars, but it has traveled somewhere beyond them, becoming nothing but a quiet rumble. Rey stands and watches it from the porch while Kylo is pulling towels off their home drying line to wipe his face with; the saber he had dug free from the mud and placed back into her hand is heavy and cold. Her eyes draw to his shadow through the white cotton, tracking the manner in which he ruffles the towel over his head. 
 
There is a queer reticence between them, neither pleasant nor off putting, just something in between. Like the exhaustion one feels after a day of hard work or the emptiness within after having sobbed into a pillow all night. Neither good nor bad. Just silence. 
 
Almost as if once their hands had separated and their minds untethered from one another, there simply had been nothing to share. They had given all of themselves. Both good and bad. And so, without a word they had limped their way back to the hut.
 
She picks on the drying mud that sticks to her hair, rubbing it till it crumbles into flakes of dirt and the thought of taking a shower to warm herself up seems like the best next step. Well, the second next best step, because there’s a question bussing on her tongue. 
 
“What now?” Rey whispers, drawing herself around the pole so as to shield herself from his piercing gaze, even if she knows that he can see the same as her. Their shapes of each other. Out of the corner of her eye, his dark shadow lowers the towel from his face and turns sharply in her direction.
 
“What now.”
 
Not able to quite look at him, her gaze catches on a loose thread in the sheet. She picks at it, relishing in the soft fabric and runs her palm over the damp cloth. She knows he is watching, his shadow intent on — what does he think about? The hut? The lake? The hand that had never taken his?
 
He takes a step closer.
 
“If I stay —” Rey tries to speak through her quickening pulse, her rapid shallow breathing “— I want you to be truthful. No vague answers. No pretending.”
 
A pause, followed by a nod, or what looks like one. 
 
She continues, a bit more bravely. 
 
“I want — No more Will of the Force. No Jedi, No First Order. Just… us.” A swallow, Rey closes her eyes. The memories from Ach-To flood through her. “I want — I want to get to know you.”
 
Agonizingly slow, his hand reaches out till his fingers dent the sheet, till his palm mimics hers, till his shadow runs up and over the cotton and rests on top of hers.
 
Like the cave. The one she had thought hadn’t answered her.
 
Where no one had answered her.
 
Only he had afterwards. In the hut.
 
When now, all had come to an end, when they were on the verge of killing each other — sabers ready and blood pulsing — he had answered with compassion. 
 
And he answers her now. 
 
“If I stay —” he begins, looking away as if not really being able to meet her eyes, despite the white linen blocking his view. “— then I want you to sleep in my bed with me.”
 
Rey raises an eyebrow at him silently observing how stiffens his shoulders, almost proud that he can confess it.
 
“I want to kiss you,” he adds more firmly. “I want to be able to kiss you every day.”
 
Shyly, Rey can’t help but duck her head. Not that it does anything to shield him. His shadow travels with her through the fabric.  His hand is warm against hers.
 
“You want us to be lovers?” Rey asks meekly. 
 
“I want to try to be.” He is so close now, they stand parallel to each other. “I want to feel the calm you bring me every day.” 
 
A chuckle, Rey shakes her head, “But it won’t be calm. We’ll fight. We’ll be angry.”
 
 His hand glides towards the edge. “Yes.”
 
 Rey follows him. “And you won’t fly off if we do? If we disagree?”
 
“If you don’t kill me with your saber. Then no.”
 
His hand is a warm anchor even through the damp cold sheet, and he sighs reverently at the sensation before he draws the fabric aside with a queer diffidence.
 
“Green,” he states once their eyes meet.
 
“Green?”
 
“My favorite color,” he replies simply. 
 
Blood rushes to her head, to her heart. That’s the power of trust and truth, Rey reckons. To know that they are on the same side. It is positively regnant knowing he had relented, given in, no longer were they tugging at each end of their rope. Slowly, gently, with sweetness, He is folding it so as to meet in the middle.
 
Rey decides to fold her end too.
 
“I like purple.” Rey admits, feeling oddly shy amongst their laundry extended between the house and a pole in the bedrock on a fishing line. 
 
A hum, “What kind?” 
 
She smiles a secret smile, hiding it behind her other hand. “Like the gentle sunset on Jakku, and the sands it painted too.” Kylo Ren pokes his head under the cobber line to look at her. Tall man. Curls lush and eyes bright and clear. She feels her cheek dimple, “— What kind of green?” 
 
He considers her question for a moment, “The hills of Chandrilla, when I would wake up in the morning.” A blush creeps up his neck, but he does not seem embarrassed. “It's the same one, when you are happy, a spec of green comes to your eyes. That color — it's my favorite color.”
 
They stand so close, toe to toe, bruised and battered. The pleasant rush of his confession, the redness in her cheeks, is replaced by a sudden consternation. As if her soul has taken this past month’s failings too much to heart, become too battered and wartorn to believe...
 
“What if I don’t know how to do it? To be… your lover?”
 
Kylo breathes hard through his nose, mouth drawn so tight so his cheek dimples, but not in a smile, but a frown. Fingers no longer trembling, he reaches up so as to wipe away the grime on her cheek. He’s so close. So close. She can feel the heat of him. 
 
“I don’t know how to be yours either.” And his truth along with his warm hand on her cheek makes her want to weep. “But — I want to be.”
 
Who reaches out first, doesn’t really matter. None of it matters. Nothing except the way their lips meet as if destined to; warm and soft. Their bodies alight and their minds clear for the first time in years — or forever.
 
They kiss like the frail wounded people they are, having to learn to trust and to care all over again. They shed their skin, their past, their power in favour of something new and scary.
 
They kiss between wet bleached sheets.
 
They kiss on a planet far far away.
 
They choose compassion.
 
Even if that sometimes isn't enough.
 
But it is now.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 2
Power and PeaceVII
In the holodramas Rey had scavenged on Jakku, it was not unusual for the protagonists to end their story with a kiss. How could they not? Finally reunited, readily embraced, off to a wonderful start on their happily ever after. A kiss felt appropriate. To let their compassion ripple across the fabric of time; show the galaxy that their trials had ended, their enemies had been vanquished. 
 
The scavenger cannot sincerely say if she did believe those stories or if they added an escape from the sun and how it burned her. It seemed preposterous to presume that the light defeats the dark through the power of love only, and it is always through a kiss. 
 
Yet, a part of her must have bought into the idea, just a little bit —
 
— because she deliberately notices that kissing Kylo doesn’t bring about his defeat. It doesn’t feel like

that

. 
 
This is not a

perfect

ending to a holodrama. It is hardly a beginning either. It remains just what it is; an embrace and a kiss. And then the

after

. 
 
Rey doesn’t heed the feeling of uncertainty while they remain locked in an embrace, but it slips through the cracks when they —

begrudgingly

— break their kiss. 
 
He thinks it, too. He must. His grin wavers too much to be a coincidence. There is no answer nor a wonderful resolution to their issues, only a queer

stunted

awkwardness between them. That sweet buzzing in her stomach molds too effortlessly into dreadful indecision. 
 
Her gaze flickers to Kylo’s hands resting heavily on her shoulders while he busies himself with catching his breath. She watches his thumbs run over her boney collar, wondering if he is doing it more as if to calm himself, than to soothe her. What else could explain that crease of his brow — the

what now

carving a frown.
 
Who would have thought that

them

suddenly being a possibility is enough to create such galactic dissonance that they are rendered speechless? 
 
She could have an

after

. With

him

.
 
She could — give herself to him

willingly

. 
 
Maker, what does that even look like? 
 
True, she has always known

they

were not an easy match, but it terrifies her to realize that she possesses no distinct reveries of

them

and a future. In fact, there are no

afters

at all in her mind. 
 
Guilt beats her first; how can she stand here kissing him and not have an inkling of an idea of what she wants from him, from them? How can she force this door open and launch aimlessly at a limitless sky? It feels reckless and stupid. It feels disconcerting. 
 
Granted, Rey tries to argue with herself,

they

happened in the middle of a

war

and their bond had not been rosy pink, it was full of raging hurt feelings which must have superseded any girlish attraction on her part. It's logical, expected, that she doesn’t have any fantasies about them and a happy ever after.
 
Why should she? Then it had been far-fetched; Impossible. Why hurt herself, when it would be easier to write off all sentiment?
 
It doesn’t make her feel less of a fool though, Rey sighs internally to herself. Kylo says nothing either. Does he share this conundrum too?
 
She wishes someone would say something. Of all the moments,

now

is when all their words are conveniently lost, right when they both so desperately need to hear what the other has to say — something, anything, which will illuminate a road they can traverse henceforth. But neither do. It is only their soft breathing and the remnant drops of rain dripping from the straw roof that fill the silence; the ominous thunderous clouds are no longer visible in the distance. 
 
His thumb brushes delicately over her collarbone, then across the dip of her neck to her throat and its taut veins. A brush so seemingly innocent, yet

it feels anything but

. It tethers an unearthly heat to the line of her stomach; much like a newly kindled fire — except, as soon as she notices, it flares like a blaze torching arid fields. 
 
It colors first her chest, then her neck, and lastly her cheeks in a deep dark crimson.

Oh.

The floorboard creaks.
 
She chokes on a breath. He grabs her shoulder tight. 
 
They stand so close. 
 
With no words to utter, but needing to act on their recent confession, Kylo takes one steady inhale, swallows, and regathers his courage. Steadily, he tilts forward, nose brushing her feverish forehead, and presses a kiss to the crease at her brow. 
 
They are not budding teens, far from. Still, it comes so unexpectedly — this  — breathlessness. This tingling nervousness she has heard whispers about.  That edge cascading into adulthood that comes with a first time crush…this —

distraction of the flesh.

It makes her bite her lip hard enough to bruise it. Kylo notices.
 
With less gentleness than before, with a thumb to her jaw, he steers her mouth to his. And they kiss once more.
 
She is light as air. Her insides evaporate into steam and for the briefest of seconds, she is convinced she might actually take flight. Animal instinct drives her then and she latches her arms around his neck and he grounds her to him by a pull to her waist. They do not stop kissing, his hold allows them to focus on it — it gives off a taste of desperation, the way their mouths slant over each other. 
 
Fools. They are moving by lightspeed into unchartered territories, knowing not if they’ll crash into planets or escape all limbs attached.
 
How else would one describe how they one moment try to earnestly murder each other only in the next to grind against each other up the solid clay walls — insistently. 
 
With promise.
 
Jakku is desolate, yes, but not

that desolate.

Rey has been an unwilling witness to couplings out in the open; the noises that border on painful and pleasurable are not foreign to her. Sex is not an alien concept. Her personal experience is lacking, sure, but she knows what it is.
 
And — she could have it — with Kylo. 
 
Does he… does he expect them to? Now? 
 
Does she?
 
He angles his face, almost on cue, running one hand up her neck to cradle her cheek, lips already parted carefully skimming along her jawline, ready to embark into their

after

. 
 
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Rey blurts, arching her shoulders back to make him hear. 
 
He blinks. 
 
“We are — kissing?”
 
“Yes.” Rey tries to catch her breath,  “But — what are we… what are we supposed to do?”
 
She thinks he might be shrugging irresolutely, but it could just as much be his shallow breathing. A harsh breath fan across her throat. He seems far too tranquil about this. Maybe a little docile. Does he not feel his newly formed bruises as she feels hers? The ones that have barely begun to color?
 
“What we want to do,” Kylo states matter of factly and rests his forehead against the wall. He smells of rain and sweat. “All of it.”
 
“

All of it?

”
 
A humph from somewhere deep within his chest. 
 
“Do I scare you?”
 
The scavenger sighs miserably and timidly pillows her head in the crevice between his neck and shoulder — “We just tried to kill each other.” 
 
“I won’t

kill

you. We called a truce.”
 
“I don’t think we did,” Rey grumbles petulantly, hating how nice it feels when she lets him hide her with his body. “We agreed to be lovers. But no truce.” 
 
“And that scares you.”
 
It’s unnerving, how just then, the wind serenades them a tune of its own making; a

too

appropriate melody that weeps a tale about life and the inevitability of it all, the beginning and the end. Pain and glory. 
 
Kylo’s shoulders tense and it seems to gift him with some sort of sudden

sight

, because he grows suspiciously remorseful. A hand brushes over her back and the sad depthless irises of her dyad, always so contemplative and sorrowful, come into sight. 
 
She hates it. He lowers her down.
 
Her arms are still tightly wound around his shoulders. 
 
“I’m scared of doing it wrong. That we will move too quickly and — burn too fast. I don’t want that for us,” Rey tries to explain when she spies that flicker of disappointment from him. Not disappointment in her, but in the undeniable fact that intentions alone are not enough to resolve the wariness he makes her feel — that she makes him feel. 
 
He takes a deep breath.
 
“Well, then we won’t.”
 
“Won’t what?”
 
“Be quick about it,” he concludes, and oh, she hates that the mirth she had inspired in him fades so easily. That reality always takes precedence.
 
"I didn’t mean — I still want to —" Rey gulps, her eyes sting with unshed tears, a stark contrast to the way her body is pleading for warmth and sweet things. "— it's been a long day. An eventful day and — ...this… it's all new to me."
 
“I know.” 
 
“I want it — I just —”
 
“Rey.” Kylo interrupts, pulling back slightly; enough so that she can see the stubble he hasn’t shaved, the mud drying on his throat and clinging to his hair. The evidence to back her words, how close they had been to ending this. “

We

should do it

right

.”
 
She wouldn’t describe the feeling within as being relieved, because she does so wish that they could jump ahead and become persons who can navigate each other by ease. People that joke and touch freely, who have left the past somewhere far away. 
 
Still, hearing him voice kindred concerns does untighten the knot in her shoulders and clears her head. She had expected disappointment or rage. Those come so effortlessly to him. It’s the most wonderful thing, to be on the same page.
 
She sniffles. “What...should we do now?”
 
Kylo, unsure, snuggles a little closer and cocoons them both under his rain-soaked blanket. She expects it to be cold. But it isn’t. Because he is warm, he is safe — and they are not going astray. 
 
“We should probably clean up, eat —” He suggests quite like a timid small boy, tilting his head to watch the clearing skies.
 
“— and sleep,” Rey adds.
 
A huff. Then a chuckle and quite suddenly, Rey sees that he is laughing. 
 
Mouth stretched impossibly wide and wrinkling the skin around his eyes with joy. A precious rarity; a gem dug from the depths of a dark abandoned mine, sparkling and brimming with light. 
 
It feels so easy to go back to the way they were before the storm.

🝀🜎🝀🜎
 
And they do.
 
🝀🜎🝀🜎

One standard month later

Except, something is changing between them, although Rey can’t really tell

what

it is exactly. 
 
Their daily goings ons resemble the weeks before their “skirmish” to the letter. They fix the hut, he cooks and cleans, she consumes it all with vigor, and they sleep in the same bed as they had agreed to. During the day he helps the farmer and she goes to fix the Falcon — sometimes he joins her there, too.
 
It all appears the same, but something is — not. 
 
Rey would best describe it as if someone has run a fresh silver thread through their mismatched tapestry. The slightest change, but at the right angle the silver shimmers enough to catch her attention, yet it remains elusive enough for her to doubt its existence at all.
 
She spies its gleam when they are being careful or gentle with one another. True, they have been gentle before, and it is

not

that they

don’t

have issues, or terrible tempers that flare on occasion, but the silver flashes when they make the effort to not let suffocating assumptions and accusations get the better of them. To listen. To care.
 
Admirable. 
 
It is not often one asks a moth to resist the flame. 
 
Yet they try. 
 
On nights where sleep eludes her, she ponders on the source of this silver thread. Fingers tapping on her stomach, her eyes trace the familiar profile of Kylo; his scar, his black hair, his proud nose and soft mouth. There is no change to him — except maybe a budding tan on the crown of his brow — so why does she feel he has?
 
He grunts a snore, wipes his nose sleepily and tumbles to his side and throws an arm over her still form. She doesn’t even flinch. She lets him.
 
Rey has never let anyone do that.
 
It hits her then. It almost makes her want to laugh. 
 
It’s

trust

. 
 
Rey trusts him. And he trusts her. 
 
It is a ridiculous small development. But nevertheless, that must be it.
 
What has changed from then til now, is that everything is out in the open. They accept the people they are — and that acceptance makes it easier to be those people. Especially when they are not looking for signs of betrayal in every action or every word

spat

at each other. They know where they stand. At least for now. 
 
It makes sense. When was the last time he spitefully tested her with his wit or provided absurd alternative interpretations of what she tells him? 
 
He simply lets her have her say and accepts it as that. That cruel tinge she had seen in his smile is gone the second she realises that this is in fact how he looks when happy. She had just not known it then. 
 
It is the smallest thing. But with every kind gesture, every brave kiss, it chips something away and the cogs on their wheel fit together just a bit more smoothly. They become something less —

aggressive

. They do not run like a well-oiled machine, but what is important is that they do not

grind

.
 
They are something in between. 
 
Knowing it is trust causes the most enigmatic development in Rey, because It makes her more… aware. Of everything. All of it. When she no longer questions the intention behind his gaze, she begins to notice the quality of it.
 
How his irises aren’t black, but a warm russet and in the right light one might even think they are golden. 
 
How his laugh is a barely contained thing; breathy as if he is trying his darnest to not let it envelop him, even if the dimples tell another thing. 
 
How he is… quite attractive. Rey has known of course that Kylo wasn’t an ugly man, but there have been so many times where a scowl has twisted his face into something vile — something almost

revolting.

Their connection was never based on looks, but now that she can actively appreciate it Rey feels oh so strangely entranced by it.
 
To the point of distraction. 
 
To frustration.
 
“That won’t work.”
 
“Well, it has to. We have to move it.”
 
“No, he always fixed it with a —”
 
The fluorescent lights flash for one brief second and, just like that, a panel to the hydraulics flickers on for the first time in months. 
 
Rey can’t help it. She puts on a smug expression and glances over her shoulder and up through the perforated metal deck separating the machinery and the control panel — and makes sure

he

sees it.
 
She was right.
 
He scoffs, pockets his hands and tears his face away, but she spies it; hidden below that sour frown — pride.
 
It is the most unnerving thing, being the object of his attention, his boastfulness. Rey does not know what to do with it.
 
“It won’t last forever,” she informs him, focusing back on the flickering boot-up sequence in case it fails “— but it will be good enough for some time, until we can find proper replacements.”
 
“I don’t see why it would kill us to just wait until we find them —”
 
“The hut is far away. It’s better to have the Falcon there and not here, in case —”

Someone finds us. Wants to kill us.

But she doesn’t say those aloud. The last month has been peaceful, a little dull even, but she’d prefer not to stir that peace with unnecessary conflict. 
 
It’s all so fresh and new.

They barely even kiss

. Except for those few moments where she leaves for the village or when they go to sleep. And it possesses none of that passion Rey knows he has; she has felt it.
 
When she had said

slow

, she didn’t imagine

this

. 
 
It’s peaceful, but she understands his resistance because she shares it too. It's not safe. Not yet.
 
Kylo hums above her, and she glances at him kicking at the dust.
 
“You know, I could use some help.”
 
“Really now.” His shoes clang across the flooring as he pretends to inspect the panels. “Yesterday you accused me of being cursed.”
 
“I meant that.”
 
“Hence, I am simply staying for

emotional

support.”
 
Rey shakes her head. “You have a strange way of cheering me on. I’d prefer it if you stopped breaking things.” He truly did seem cursed with how often his mere presence seemed to dismantle all the good progress she had made on the Falcon.
 
A muffled snort. “If I could have a credit for every time someone told me that.”
 
Remorse shoots through her chest, halting her fumbling fingers for a brief moment. It is not often he mentions his past, at least not of late, and when he does it is often with a snuff of penitence. Seldom does he show how it has hurt him, that he cannot pretend to be accountable for

all

of the wrongdoings in the Galaxy.
 
Rey sighs, rubs her neck, before proposing — “Could you go to the cockpit and try to turn on the hydraulics? I want to see if I can get the engine started.”
 
A shrug, she sees that from the corner of her eye. “Sure.” His feet clang on the metal deck, the door slides open, and then he is gone.
 
Leaving Rey alone with her guilt and her heartache.
 
It’s easy work, she knows it by heart, the red one goes to the red one, the lever needs to be in the off position and the water tank definitely can’t be leaking. Braindead work, which gives her time to think. 
 
Kylo’s trauma is not a novel topic. It was the first source of her compassion and the reason why she has been able to look past his vile exterior. For the longest time, her compassion did not mean she ignored his cruel actions — he may have suffered, but his actions are his own regardless. Still, in these quiet moments where he is kinder, sweeter, it is hard to not feel pity towards him, for her to understand his motives — maybe even excuse some of them.
 
Afterall, she has stowed him away on his father's ship. His family’s legacy. The one he tried so hard to get rid of that he committed patricide. It is a divine comedy for him to now be stuck here — with the ghosts who he tried to escape from.
 
Rey sighs. Sometimes she wishes she had someone here whom she could confer with — what do ordinary people do? A scavenger only knows how to salvage things, not to build a good ever lasting machine.
 
Much less how to have a relationship with an archnemesis.
 
And then, just then —
 
The engine whirrs to life.
 
The ceiling lights flicker briefly in the oil-stained machine room, The air recycler rumbles and begins a cycle of pumping fresh oxygen into the many rooms of the Falcon. There are no alarms blasting, no uncanny

thonks

from the hull of the ship. 
 
It sounds like a freighter should. It sounds like progress, success.
 
They did it!
 
In the distance, Kylo shouts something and Rey giddily crawls up the durasteel ladder. 
 
“What?!”
 
He doesn’t reply, or maybe he does, but she cannot hear him. She can only hear his shoes running towards her. Rey throws herself up and over the ledge and chases after the sound of him and into the padded halls.
 
“Kylo?”
 
They turn a corner at the same time, coming to a brief halt — He is smiling, no, grinning. He is happy.
 
It is as easy as anything to fall into an embrace — or technically Rey jumps into his arms — which surprises him, but he is quick and eagerly snatches her to him and then they kiss. 
 
An awkward kiss, their teeth clash and their noses squish. But it hardly matters, because this is not supposed to be a good kiss. This is a kiss of celebration, of gratitude, a confirmation of their rightness. His lips curl into a smile and then they are twirling. 
 
He is spinning them both around in the galley in some weird dance. Kylo is laughing and celebrating with

her

.
 
Rey didn’t know butterflies could be this large.

Will this kill her?

“We did it!” Rey laughs against his chin.

“You

did it.” He chuckles back, fighting to have a say between all of the kisses she peppers on his face, and suggests eagerly. “We should try it out.”
 
“Yes!” 
 
She all but jumps out of his arms and grabs his hand so as to pull this tree of a man into the cockpit. They run like two rambunctious children into the tiny metal cockpit, proud as prakith peacocks.
 
Now. They can leave if they want to. They can stay if they want to. 
 
A choice that matters.
 
Why she steers clear of the pilot seat and immediately throws herself into the co-pilots is unknown to her, but she ignores him purposefully while fastening the seat belt and booting up the start sequence. It doesn’t fail her attention how he just stands absolutely still next to her.
 
The buttons flash red, then yellow. She brushes her hands over the panels with routine. The ship hums in tune with the engine, making the metal squeak and the air sweet with fuel fumes.
 
And then she turns to look at him. 
 
Kylo Ren is not a frightened man, yet, she cannot help but think he looks close to a panic attack. One hand grabs the back of the pilot’s chair so hard his knuckles turn white, the other is fisted so tightly at his side she fears he might draw blood. Has he managed to grow even paler? 
 
In a panic, fearing she has done something irreversibly wrong, Rey tries to think of anything that could distract him. 
 
She recalls one of Poe’s favorite tactics.
 
“Show me what you got,” Rey demands half-heartedly. “Or is all that chatter about Poe being the ‘greatest pilot’ true?”
 
He startles awake and gives her a grim expression.
 
“You think I’m that vain? I have nothing to prove.”
 
Rey raises an eyebrow. “So Poe Dameron is better than you?”
 
It seems to do the trick, because he grumbles something about Poe being vainer and scoots himself into the pilot seat with twitching hands — pausing for a second — and then, as if he has been doing this his whole life, he flicks switch on switch and throws one palm on the handles and another to the throttle. 
 
He is a natural. As if he has never been outside this space.
 
Rey supposes that is actually the truth. He must have spent years of his childhood in here.
 
With Han.
 
Han.
 
Rey blinks. For a second there she could have imagined the old smuggler sitting next to her. his hands encircle the handles, clenching hard around them, a practiced grip, hesitating only for a second —
 
— But it is Kylo. No. Ben. His son —
 
Kylo growls and with his whole body, he pulls back.

And they’re off.
 
Rey remembers flying with Han, remembers fleeing Jakku, avoiding the First Order, avoiding Unkar Plutt as they passed through the wreckage, through starships even. She remembers where to push, where to pull, how to override the compressor.
 
And while it had been her first very thrilling experience, it can barely compare to how it feels flying with Kylo.
 
It’s... invigorating.
 
He flies fast, very fast, almost unkind in the way he accelerates and pushes over the grassy fields.  
 
He’s skilled,

very

. But it doesn’t feel like he is showing off. In fact, she gets the distinct impression he is punishing himself by flying the best he can. No elegant rolls, only rough curves, sharp whirls, and dizzying spirals.

They break the sound barrier far above a forest several miles away from the village and they part the clouds with a violent display of force. It breaks apart like cotton around them. Rey wishes she could touch them, throw her hands above her head and feel the clouds brushing against her fingers.

He pivots down into a blistering, whirlwind descent, so fast he barely manages to pull up before crashing into the ground and scaring a hoard of nerfs who flee in all directions. Them… flying together, it is — instinctual. Something that has always been there. A harmony with everything around them. 
 
Spectacular, amazing, stupendous -
 
She hears herself laugh.
 
They are fast and reckless - like true Rebellion pilots.
 
He reminds her of when she used to navigate the hulls of giant starships, but instead of Empire leftovers, he takes them over and then directly into a stretch of canyons. His hands are tight on the controls. They slip through the narrow cracks, barely sliding unscathed through a crystal cave, and emerge on the other side of the planet - where the land is covered with ice, where the sun has not yet set.
 
The glaciers sparkle a reddish hue. It glitters like stars. 
 
They both pause to look at it, entranced by the beauty of it. But not for long. 
 
Kylo makes a snap decision. With his entire body, he pushes back into the seat and rips the controls with him. It forces the Falcon into a steep climb, accelerating through the stratosphere. The hull rattles as the air pushes down on them, the clouds streak across the cockpit windows... 
 
And then…
 
The atmosphere stops...
 
Everything falls away.
 
No more shaking.
 
No rattling.
 
Pure space.
 
And their galaxy shines brightly in front of them. 
 
Its yellows, greens, and reds flicker as the light from far far away stars struggle to reach them. 
 
Space isn’t just darkness. Has never been.
 
A terrible melancholy strikes her chest. They haven’t been on this planet long, but one would assume that with the way they both exhale at the sight of their galaxy stretched out before them. Will she ever fly through space again? It is a possible fate now, never seeing the stars like this again. She could live out the rest of her days and never fly again. And to imagine, she only first tried it a year ago and now it feels as if she is robbing herself off something essential. Something so

her.

Han gifted this to her.
 
His father.
 
It occurs to her now, in the oddest of ways, that she has always viewed Kylo as

shades

of his parents. She has spent hours in her Resistance bunker comparing every single thing she knew about him to traits she recognised within his mother and father; trying to locate the source of his stubbornness, his recklessness, his academic nature. 
 
She had tried to justify her compassion for him by finding the things that made his parents compassionable. Likeable.
 
And she had been disappointed, again and again, because while he resembles them, he still has faults.
 
Now, sitting in the pilot’s seat, Rey finds that he has taken on his own form in her mind. He is not his heritage incarnate as she had falsely tried to understand him by. He is not detached from it, but more… a reflection of it. It is there, but not quite.  
 
He sits quite like his father. But he is not Han. And he never will be. Maybe the phantom of Han is merely some translucent memory she has added onto Kylo. And now, when it is no longer his parents she seeks a connection through, she can truly appreciate what makes him his own. 
 
With sweetness, she retraces all the lines that make him

him

. A wrinkle. A brown tinge of the hair. Moles dotted across his skin. His grumpy nature. His deadpan jokes. His smile that makes her insides swim. It is criminal to reduce him only to a product of the Skywalker line. He is so much more. Shame, it thrums in her veins and she loses herself out into oblivion ahead, looking at the darkness that isn’t dark, —
 
— like Kylo. Like Ben.
 
Rey pulls her knees tight against her chest and whispers into the silent cockpit —
 
“I can’t remember what he looked like.” 
 
She spies Kylo tensing his jaw and running a hand over his mouth, but he doesn’t add anything to her confession. She doesn’t know why. He usually loves to contradict her — but this time he doesn’t. She glances down at her worn shoes, then at the blaster tucked at her side. 
 
Han’s blaster.
 
“I don’t know why I feel so bad about it. I knew him for less than a week. Just feels like I should, considering I’m flying his ship.

But I can’t.

”
 
Kylo sighs, and she sees him clench a hand over the leather of the seat before closing his eyes, defeated. He tilts his head back against the cushion. 
 
“I try not to remember.”
 
A red saber, the thunder of the planet, the roaring sweeps of X-fighters.
 
“Is that even possible?” she asks.
 
It’s a low rumble, deep down from his chest — “No.”
 
Han has always been a contentious topic. It feels like they are treading into perilous territory. Rey swallows the fear, fiddling with the hem of her pants. They cannot avoid

it

forever. 
 
“Are there

some things

you want to remember?”
 
“No.” 
 
“Why?” 
 
His shoulders rise and fall rapidly and in the hum of the cockpit, she can hear his breathing grow shallow. He is upset. But not with her.
 
“If I remember the good things, I also have to remember the bad things.” The galaxy twirls lazily ahead of them, they both pretend to look at it. “— and then I’ll ask: What if I’m wrong? What if all of it was a mistake — what if —” His voice cracks briefly, then, a bit more hoarsely, “—

What if I didn’t want to kill him?”

It’s the first time she has heard his confession. She has always suspected it, but to hear it whispered aloud is enough to twist her head over her shoulders so as to look at him, but he doesn’t return her sympathetic inquisition. No. Instead, he is glaring spitefully out on the empty space, enraged at the stars and clouds of gas.
 
“Did you?” Rey asks.
 
“Does it matter? I did kill him.”
 
Her shoulders rise and fall in disenchantment. 
 
“You did.” He is right about that. They cannot undo what has been done.
 
It’s been a while since things have been this awkward between them. The silence is so tense one could cut a saber through it. It pushes down on them. It makes it hard to focus. So many thoughts, feelings, they all churn together and Rey is not sure where hers begin and his ends. Who feels the most guilt? Who is crippled by tragedy? It could be them both.
 
“Forgive me.” It comes out as a throaty,

strained,

request; so low she almost doesn’t hear it.
 
“Me?” She blunders.
 
Kylo works his jaw with unsaid words, still not looking at her. 
 
“Because I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”
 
“Why

my

forgiveness?”
 
“Because I want it — I wish we were free of past ties.”
 
“

Ties…

” Rey mutters to herself, pillowing her chin in the valley between her tucked knees. “— My forgiveness wouldn’t absolve that.

Only your own.

”
 
He snorts morosely, yet, down his cheek trails a little sliver of starlight. A lone tear. He does nothing to wipe it away — it is as if he wears it with pride; like a battle scar.
 
“I’ll

never

forgive myself.”
 
She sighs. What can she say to that? Forgiveness may be impossible, but it also may not. There are things Rey isn't ready to forgive herself for either, but she is trying. She really is.
 
Musing aloud, Rey scratches the bruise on her shin, the one from their fight — “If we regret; isn’t it just knowing better? All we can ever really do is try to repair what we damage anyway.”
 
“You can’t fix unfixable things,” Kylo grunts — sounding more as if he is reprimanding himself than her — and gives the console a benign

kick.

A kick that

rattles

the entire cockpit.  “This ship is still garbage no matter how many times we try to …—”
 
“But we try.” 
 
He turns his head to her, finally. The flickering light from the galaxy paints a more pleasing version of his red-rimmed eyes and his hair curled with grease and grime. It shines with starlight, but there is no mistaking it, it is still the look of a man lost.
 
Conquered, he dips his chin down and speaks with stilted deliberate sincerity — “And you think

trying

is good enough?”
 
He makes it sound like it is the hardest question, but to Rey there has never been any doubt.
 
“Yeah.” She smiles. It’s a sad one, but it is a smile.“— better than

intentional inaction

.”
 
His Adam's apple bobs and there is such a strange miserable wroughtness to him. She wishes she could wipe it away, soothe his aches. “And what if it isn’t enough?”
 
Rey tilts her head up and scrunches her nose at the persistent warning lights flashing in the top panel, “The ship still runs. It is

trash

, but it is working.”
 
“What an inheritance,” Kylo sneers, resting his chin on the heel of his palm. “

Trash

.”
 
“Befitting, don’t you think — Aren’t we a rag-tag gang of scavengers and First Order leftovers after all?”
 
Kylo rolls his eyes, rumbling — “Are you calling

me

trash?”
 
The leather creaks as she leans over the armrest and does her best to appear solemn, even if her lips twitch with taunt.
 
“I’m good with trash.” 
 
A scoff, Kylo looks away offended, but she sees it, right there —
 
— a small blooming smile.
 
🝀🜎🝀🜎
 
They land a short distance away from the hut. It’s a rough landing, the ship’s elevation indicator being faulty and all, but they make it in one piece. The topic of Han isn’t brought up again. Not that there is much to add. What had happened with his father is rather simple. 
 
Kylo had given into fear and now he’ll spend the rest of his life with unresolved regret and a forgiveness he’ll never bestow upon himself. 
 
It is a strange thing, Rey finds, to care for someone who had done something so vile and then not possess the ability to acquit him of his torment. 
 
So they spend the afternoon preparing the Falcon for long-term power down in a loaded silence. They oil the engines, stabilize the fuel, and cover essential things in layers of plastic. 
 
It’s quite a docile day; both lazy and hot. The villagers had briefed them that the summers on this planet can be grueling. The residents tend to hide away then, everything sort of pauses with how humid and hot it gets. Already now Rey feels it. It settles in her bones. Makes her sleepy.

But as Kylo quickly reminds her, they still have a lot of stuff leftover at the platform and debts to settle, so begrudgingly, she stalks after him all the way back to the platform.
 
Which makes her utterly unprepared for the spontaneous celebration happening on the empty platform where the Falcon has once stood.
 
Makeshift tables stuffed with food and drinks are lined up alongside rows of drinks and she swears, half of the entire village has shown up. They are laughing and chattering — and Rey feels her heart sink.
 
Even if her mind tries to convince her she is in the wrong, she cannot help but wonder if the Falcon had been a burden to the community? They had merely stored it there for a few months, but it must have been a nuisance. Why else are they celebrating?  
 
They both stand stiffly next to each other, staring at the half strangers’, half acquaintances’ eager grins, neither fully understanding what could warrant such a thing if it weren’t rooted in dislike. 
 
That is their misfortune, yet they do not possess the knowledge to comprehend it. They have spent their entire lives in self-inflicted solitude because of other people’s animosity — whether from jealousy or from survival — that they do not understand what it is like to be...appreciated. Or to be a part of a community. 
 
Then someone spots them and shouts in the most broken basic.

“They here!”

And they are all but dragged into this makeshift celebration. Men, women, children all run to them blabbering words neither understand and playfully pulls at their shirts and arms.
 
Staggered, Rey all but rams her hand back in search of his, grasping onto the limp thing and fumbles with his fingers as she is dragged towards the commotion. 
 
Perhaps equally too stunned — he doesn’t react to her hold with his usual taunt and instead throws wobbles gracelessly alongside her to the tables, where they yank him down on a vacant seat,

next to her

. 
 
And that is how Rey and Kylo, for the second time in just a few months, need to pretend to be regular galactic citizens who enjoy the simple things life has to offer; homemade food, tasty exotic fruit and fuzzy liquor that warms their bellies. 
 
The villagers at least force them to. They crowd around them with eager smiles, pouring brandywine into their cups and great portions of things stewed, pickled and baked. Rey finds that her plate looks more like a pile of something than a set plate. Kylo is stiff beside her, looking perfectly perplexed.
 
Then, an arm latches around the Supreme Leader's shoulders from behind and a merry voice slurs — “You done. You move it. I won.”
 
Rey supposes it shows some change in Kylo that he doesn’t throw his farmer friend off him by instinct. He looks surprised and not at all pleased, but he remains calm and collected. It is a strange sight. Her hand is already raised in case she needs to aid the local.

“What?”

Kylo snaps. His knuckles are white where they clench in his lap.
 
The farmer is clearly drunk. His face is beet red and there is a slur to his voice. “We celebrate. You move ship. Work hard!”
 
Intoxicated people have always unnerved Rey. They are volatile, unpredictable. Sometimes even blunt to a fault — she prefers to steer free of their attention, make herself small. Still, she cannot help but ask, “Why?”
 
“You are us. We honor you.”
 
It takes her a moment to fully comprehend the meaning of the words, but when she does, she feels quite like a small girl being praised. She blushes shyly, mouth agape — They are not here to mock them. To belittle them.
 
They care.
 
Kylo takes his glass, the content spilling from the force he grips it with, and raises it in a resolute gesture. Drops of maroon fall onto the white tablecloth. No one chastises them.
 
The farmer grins and ruffles Kylo’s hair with uncanny familiarity. It’s enough for her to let down her guard, just for a few hours, and timidly raise her own glass. 
 
It clinks when the people around them strike their glasses to hers in a cheer.
 
She lets it happen.
 
She lets them pretend.
 
And pretend they do. They sit and eat, they laugh and talk, Kylo is quiet at first, but with each passing hour grows ever more flushed and relaxed. It’s not clear at first, but his smile comes easier. There is a soft quality to his eyes. 
 
Like he is happy.
 
The feeling of acceptance, of

belonging

, is so potent in itself that Rey is sure she could get drunk on it alone. She sure feels dizzy.
 
Kylo chooses to get drunk on brandywine instead.
 
Well, not immediately, but quickly enough for Rey to be terribly reminded of the few memories she has of her parents, but mostly the throne room where he had shouted the truth at her. She watches him intently because of that. Searching for any sign of a change in temper, trying to make the unpredictable predictable.
 
He just hunches over the table though, a half empty glass hanging loosely between his fingers and when he grins, it changes his entire face, dimples his cheeks, showing the crooked fangs that only appear when he smiles this wide.
 
If he notices her staring, he doesn’t give it heed, he just gulps the wine and lets her roam his form. Lets her track the heaviness of how his throat bops with each swallow or the way he gracefully draws a hand through his sweaty curls. 
 
Kylo is very handsome. Is he supposed to be handsome like this? He is not clean, far from it. Nor is he dressed nicely. Because there are so many things that should imply he isn’t. 
 
But here she is, biting her lip. A little infatuated girl.
 
It reminds her. Quite suddenly.
 
“Do you think I’m… offensive?”
 
Kylo chokes on the wine — “

Offensive

?”
 
A shrug, she tugs on her shirt, twisting the old frail fabric. 
 
“Yeah. You — you said my braid was ugly.” 
 
A sharp inhale. He grimaces. He remembers, and even worse, seems so bloody despondent that she remembers. 
 
“Because it wasn’t

nice

—” He glances briefly to the farmer’s wife who sits at the end of the long table, deciding to be conscientious about his choice of explanation. “— But I never said you didn’t look nice.”
 
Rey snorts at his strange… apology? “ I don’t need you to call me beautiful, or believe it — ” She quickly intervenes, before he can object “—… I just hope I’m not unappealing to you. That I — please you.”
 
He grows strangely mute and it seems as if for the longest time that it is only her fork, her chewing and the merriment from the party that she can hear.
 
Then, so featherlight she wonders if she even felt something, a warm

gentle

touch travels down her back and it takes her even longer to realise that it is his knuckles that brush over her spine with care and tenderness. He is attempting to soothe her.
 
Rey forgets to even shake it off in defiance, to persist in her hesitation, and just… looks at it. She tracks his hand with intrigue, observing how it becomes bolder with every moment that passes where she isn’t rejecting his advances.  
 
“Don’t accept my poor conversation skills for the truth,” he concedes. “— because you were lovely.”
 
She shivers. 
 
“

Lovely

?”
 
“You always are.” Bashfully, he averts her gaze, but his hand stays; firmly anchored on her spine, switching between a sweet caress and pulling at loose threads on her tunic. “It was my greatest torment for the longest time.”
 
Blushing, Rey can’t help shaking her head in mirthful disbelief. Is this his attempt at being —

charming

?
 
"You really have a way with words. You could have said

that —"

"I could have. And I'm saying it now."
 
Unbelievable. He is demented.
 
"Maybe. But we could have avoided the whole fight if you just said

that then,

" Rey reiterates, although she surmises that they would’ve fought regardless. They were like unrefined Coaxium then; volatile, unstable, bound to detonate. It would not have lasted, not with so many things unsaid. “You must have had a lot of friends as a kid.”
 
Kylo blinks back at her from where he sits next to her on the bench, a little groggy and strangely bemused, eyes half mooning from liquor. 
 
“What would

you

consider friends?”
 
A fit of shouting and laughter erupts from behind them. They both scout over their shoulders to see the fish vendor having fallen off his chair and his tablemates struggling to pull him up by his arms. 
 
“I don’t know? I — I didn’t have friends on Jakku.”
 
“You didn’t?”
 
“It’s hard to be friends when you compete for the same scraps.”
 
Kylo makes a curt nod in esoteric agreement and with lament turns his attention to the stars above; their recent flight fresh on their minds. 
 
“It’s hard to have friends too when your mother is a famous princess — and you are a boy too attuned with the Force.”
 
It must be against his intention because fuzzy images of a dark haired boy staring at his peers with longing flood her mind. To want and to never have. 
 
She leans closer, forcing him to look down at her.
 
“I’m your friend.”
 
His brows crease. 
 
“We are not friends, scavenger.”
 
“Why not?”
 
“I don’t think friends are in the habit of sleeping next to each other, least of all kiss one another the way we do.”
 
Rey rolls her eyes, folding her legs below her and does her utmost to throw him her most

injured

expression. 
 
"We are talking

now

. Like

friends

."
 
“If that’s so —” The hand stroking her back reaches down to pinch the flesh on her waist. A smirk bursts forth at her little

squeak

. He is teasing her. Cruel man. “— have you kissed many of your

friends

then?”
 
“No.” Rey protests, arching her back to escape his wickedness. “Closest I ever got was giving CPR to an off-world alien who couldn’t stand the heat.” She glowers. “It wasn’t good.”
 
“Why not?”
 
“Imagine that its mouth was full of slime and it definitely hadn’t cleaned up before crashing there.”
 
His lips tug, but she can't tell if it is the ghost of a frown — or a smile. 
 
“No charming scavengers then?"
 
The mantra of Jakku comes easy to her. She even cants her chin haughtily while reciting — “

Suppers over lovers! I’d rather scrap than be lured into a trap

!”
 
A scoff. “So there

were

charming ones?”
 
Rey gives him a

look of annoyance

, but it's hard to maintain her carefully arranged disapproval when sweet liquor is dulling her senses. It makes her skin tingle. It makes her

croon

. 
 
“Supreme Leader, are you jealous?” 
 
Without even needing to mull on it, he assures her — “

Yes

.”
 
She has known for the longest time that he wields his faults quite like a weapon. One cannot wound him if he already knows how you can wound him. Still, it surprises her; not his envy, but the earnestness with which he admits it. Almost like he is proud of it; like he is challenging her affection. He must test her
 
He wants to make her affection stand trial. Even now he cannot help but look for any flaws in her candor. However, Rey does not fall for it, because she did not ask with the intention of finding a source to harm him. 
 
She only wants to understand.
 
“Have

you

kissed someone?”
 
He groans instantly at her question. It’s adorable, the way he scrunches his nose at her challenge and... It takes him a little t

oo long

to answer —
 
— but he does.
 
“

Yes

.”
 
Curious, eager to catch a snippet of

Ben Solo

, Rey twists around him so she can see his face while trying — and failing — to prevent her girlish fervor slipping through. 
 
“Who was it?” Rey prods, grasping his hand tightly and anchoring it near her collar bone. He cannot escape this time. She will know. 
 
He rolls his eyes. Until he doesn't.
 
He grows solemn.
 
“It was someone from the Jedi academy,” he begins strenuously. “— He died.”
 
There are a thousand questions that go through her mind, each one just as important as the rest. Each one more pressing than the other. The party seems to fade into the distance and it is just them. Afterall, It is a monumental thing to gain the knowledge that Kylo had attempted to

care

for someone before he knew her — only to have it ripped away by the cruelest stroke. 
 
No wonder his acts of compassion have grown twisted; thorny and foul. 
 
No wonder he is careful not to prick her. 
 
Their shoulders touch as she slides just a bit closer, but not too close so she can't see his face; she needs to see his reaction, he needs to know she is not here to further their tragedies. There has been too much of that. “Was it a good kiss?” 
 
He huffs, bewildered at first — and then the lines ease on his face. It suits him. 
 
“It was a dare. A game of ‘spin the lightsaber’.” Kylo lifts his wine glass, twirling his maroon reflection as he recounts the kiss. “ — but it was nice. One of the few nice things.”
 
“You make Jedi camp sound so dull.”
 
“If you like meditating, having long strange conversations, and only swinging a wooden mock saber — then yes. It was

dull

.” His voice grows lighter. 
 
“— but the food was good?” Rey quotes, enjoying how the reminder makes a melody of his hearty chuckle.
 
“You

, scavenger,

would have hated it there.”
 
“Are you sure?” Rey deadpans, “You know me. The epitome of patience and duty.”
 
“Yes. Very much so.” He smirks, cheeks wine flushed. “No messing around with the dark side.”
 
“You say that like you aren’t messing around with the light.”
 
“The light is very

lovely,

” he repeats, tilting slightly forward. His nose brushes her sweaty forehead. “

Tempting

.”
 
Goosebumps flare across her spine; from the top of her boney shoulders to the peak of her toes. 
 
“The light is difficult too —”, Rey gasps, trying somewhat to compose herself. Especially here, among the villagers. “Meditating. Selflessness. Force healing was so grueling.”
 
“Yet. You excel.”
 
“Only when I’m with you.” She peeks down at their clasped hands still anchored by her neck, “— The force is easier with you.”
 
The villagers laugh and shout, wrapping their arms around each other and at the pier, a circle of dancing couples is beginning to form. It feels too grand to celebrate just moving the Falcon. But then again, there is no war here, no light or dark.
 
“I know.” 
 
Rey rests her cheek on the knuckles of their folded hands, watching the festivities unfold before them. “Do you hate it?”
 
“Hate what?”
 
“Our connection.”
 
Kylo takes another sip off his brandywine, jutting his chin as if giving her question genuine thought. 
 
“Do you?” he replies.
 
Rey sulks at not knowing an answer to that.
 
Some days she wishes it would burn away, other times it is hard to imagine a world without. There are days she hates how it feels as if everything has been decided for them — Her affection towards him is of someone else's design. She hates that she will never know if she would have liked him without the Force at play.
 
If he would have liked her.
 
“I just wish I knew why the Force connected us,” she whispers into his palm. The one that is slowly tanning from their days in the sun. 
 
“Who can say?” Kylo swallows his food like the undeterminable doesn’t bother him the slightest. “We’ll probably never know.”
 
He’s right. 
 
And she hates that too.
 
🝀🜎🝀🜎
 
Dragging Kylo from the burning First Order headquarters had been a feat in itself, but to aid a tall intoxicated tree of a man across plains of grass proves to be an entirely different challenge. 
 
In hindsight, when he let her go off to dance without any complaint (and a smack on her lips) it should have been the first sign that he was getting far too drunk. 
 
He sways as if sailing on a ship. He tugs and pulls on her and by the end of it, she is convinced It would be easier to drag his unconscious ass across the fields than to deal with him one moment leaning all of his weight on her only to then trip over a rock and drag her down with him.
 
Her cusses are loud and crude and he just chuckles at each of them. 
 
She wishes slapping him would make him shut it, but she suspects he might be into that. 
 
A trip, which would normally take her less than a standard hour, becomes twice as long with him in tow. It is no wonder Rey is in a foul mood when they finally make it back to the hut.
 
The sweet tingling from the liquor has faded by then, leaving her only moody and tired. And she is exhausted, not from the day’s work, but the teasing. The little pinches, the kisses that aren’t quite kisses. The looks that remain just looks. The torture of how his gaze had rested on her mouth when she ate oi-ois at the party; pupils lingering on the red sweet liquid bursting over the swell of her lips. 
 
Only for it to be that and nothing else. 
 
It is growing unbearable, and yet neither moves any closer to that invisible barrier between them. It is a slow simmer and if she had to admit it, the nights next to him aren’t the source of comfort it once was. Instead, it is torture, for her mind and her body. It doesn’t help her mood either that in the course of one evening, it seems that the weather has decided to take a turn for the hotter. The air feels lazy and stuffy. 
 
She wants nothing more than to shed all her clothes and hope for rain so she can lie in it and let it cool her. Jakku was never like this. The humidity. It could drive anyone insane. 
 
Could make them do foolish things. 
 
Rey grunts, deposits Kylo at the bathroom sink so he can brush his teeth, takes a glass of water and goes to their bed. She can hear him struggle with the faucet and normally it would make her laugh, but now she just appreciates the time it gives her to collect herself. Alone.
 
Rey grumbles to herself, the night is already hot enough for her to throw caution to the wind and strip down to her undergarments only and settle for the thinnest of sheets to cover herself. The evening has been such a clash of impressions and new developments that it threatens to turn into a throbbing headache. 
 
Kylo isn’t an abstinent man, he has never given her the impression that he was sober by choice, but then again, he seemed so stiff and uptight that letting loose must have been impossible for him. She is not sure she likes him this way. Yet, unlike

her

parents, he had been sweet and funny tonight. Annoying sure, but there was none of that simmering animosity or threat of violence — not like with her parents.
 
Still, she cannot stop the creeping defensiveness from pinching her chest. She buries her head in the pillow. Tomorrow they can talk. When they are both of sound mind. 
 
She is half asleep when the hinges of the bathroom door slam open with unintended force. There’s a distinct crack of the clay wall ripping apart, followed by some very

colorful

expletives.
 
Son of a smuggler indeed. 
 
Rey rubs her eyes and tries to look down into the darkness, but sees only the shape of him struggling to take off his jacket, then his shoes. His shadow trips into a door frame, remains still for a moment, only to then by sheer force of will, he pushes himself up the stairs by a  guiding hand to the wall. He doesn’t say anything when he enters. He all but falls onto the bed — head first — the weight of him has her bouncing slightly. 
 
“You didn’t need to drink that much.” 
 
At first, she thinks he might not hear her. He is awkwardly trying to take off his socks, made only more difficult by his choice to only use his feet as aides. 
 
 “I’m not drunk.”
 
She scoffs. “Only drunk people say that.” She has heard that excuse enough times to know the lie it is.
 
“No.” Kylo whines, arching closer to her turned back. She can feel his breath on her neck. “— No. I was good tonight. Don’t be mad.”
 
She ignores the goosebumps he gifts her. 
 
“Good how?”
 
“I didn’t murder anyone.”
 
She rolls her eyes. “That’s not being good.”
 
He hums low in his chest, and is it her imagination but does she feel it in her shoulders, her spine, his contemplative rumble? She must be going mad with heatstroke. Rey rubs her eyes.
 
“I was nice to you.” He decides after several moments of rummaging his brain for his version of good behaviour. “ — I was friendly to the peasants.”
 
“Don’t call them

peasants

,” Rey protests. He chuckles at her appall. She returns it with a kick to his shin. “Unless you plan on calling yourself that.”
 
“I can’t. I’m a prince.” 
 
“Not of this place.” 
 
“Rey.” Kylo croons, pursuing her. “Do you like to argue?”
 
Rey drags the sheet tighter around her body, pressing herself to the edge of the bed. “

No

. Why?”
 
“You just seem so good at it.” He doesn’t touch her. He just lies there next to her as if he is perfectly content. “You always find something for us to fight over.”
 
“I —

no

?”
 
No hum this time, just silence. Still, she can hear his breathing, feel the heat coming off of him, he has not fallen asleep. He remains quiet on purpose.
 
Because he doesn’t agree.
 
Defeated, perhaps wanting to fight a

little

, Rey grumbles. “I just don’t know what to do with

this

… Kylo.”
 
She can practically feel his insufferable smirk radiate off him.
 
“You can let him have a nice sleep.

Next to you.

”
 
“You don’t seem at all ready to sleep.”
 
The mattress dips as he turns onto his side. “I’m not,” he confirms, but then goes quiet for a moment, before sighing reverently and reaches out to stroke a curly lock of her hair. But he doesn’t get closer.
 
“Don’t worry. You can sleep. I know how to force myself to sleep. I can do it. I do it every night.” His voice becomes a whisper. “When I want to do nothing but sleep. I’ll make myself sleep.”
 
Rey makes a face. 
 
“Do what?”
 
He is quiet for long enough that she fears he may have fallen asleep, but then, he admits —
 
“I think about you, scavenger.”
 
“Me?”
 
“Yeah.” A hum. “Sometimes, I imagine you, us —

kissing

. I’ve imagined that a thousand times.” There’s a scandalous protest on her lips, but he continues regardless. “— I imagine what would happen if you didn’t push me away in the forest. What it’d be like on a battlefield — would we do it across our locked sabers. Would it be sweet or poisonous?”
 
Her throat becomes dry — “You don’t seem the daydreaming type.”
 
A little sad, a little pensive, he exhales. “I thought the reveries were all I’d ever get.”
 
It is not Rey’s fault that they came into each other’s lives the way they did. It is not her fault that there was a war keeping them apart. Guilt, though, is a funny emotion, because she feels it regardless of knowing she shouldn’t. She twists her neck slightly to peer back at him.
 
“But you know now,” she offers.
 
“I don’t know

all

of it.”
 
Exasperated, she foolishly continues to entertain his complaints — “What

else

is there to know?”
 
She can’t quite make out his face in the darkness and his intentions are crudely mushed together in the Force. All she sees is the burning tips of his ears. 
 
He grumbles something at first, initially cautious, at least until his liquor-soaked brain decides to shut that off because he seems to have no qualms when disclosing — “I wondered how you’d do it —” He hums to himself, like the mere mention of his reveries is enough to draw him back in. There’s a dreamy quality to his voice, almost innocent. “— if you’d be gentle. If you’d be rough. If you thought of me.”
 
Danger. This feels like danger. Rey swallows, but it does little to parch her dry mouth. She really shouldn’t. It is not a good idea. But her lips move on their own, whispering a question into the air; begging for the key to a secret she isn’t entirely sure she wants to open.
 
“Do

what?

”
 
An eternity could have passed, or a fraction of a second, it doesn’t matter. The smallest pause from him is daunting in a way nothing has ever been. She feels him so acutely, his breath fanning ghostly over her neck, his weight denting the mattress like a black hole — forcing her closer and closer to him.
 
“If you touched yourself.” 
 
He sighs. A man bewitched. 
 
“If you’d ever cum. How you’d cum.”
 
She doesn’t mean to grow stiff the way she does. She doesn’t intend for her muscles to grow taut with spurn, for her lungs to expire. Nor is it her intention to keep on listening to his fantasies, not when he is drunk, but everything that she could have ever responded with are gone like dew in the sun. 
 
“For the longest time, I was convinced you’d be efficient about it. No lingering touches, no patience, just instant pleasure.” 
 
A prisoner, she tries to comprehend what he just said, and he keeps telling it like it is a mere errant thought rather than the revelation it truly is. “I have thought about it before. If you’d ever let me

fuck

you. How you’d

taste

, if you

sigh

or

scream

. I’d dream about knowing all of it.” Or perhaps he has wanted to share this with her, perhaps he doesn’t and the alcohol has eroded all self-preservation in him.
 
“But… now, I’m beginning to think, you may like to be teased. You enjoy the torture of it.” The mattress shifts as he invites himself closer to hers. “— don’t you?”
 
She can feel his nose barely skim the skin on her shoulder. It is the gentlest thing, yet it burns her like he is branding her with red hot iron.
 
“Don’t I what?” Rey manages to croak.
 
“Like it?” he asks, sounding oddly hopeful and innocent. It reminds her of a child begging for sweets. She holds the power, he can only voice his desire. “Will you tell me? How you cum?” 
 
“

Kylo

—” 
 
It is not a no. Or, she doesn’t intend it to sound like one, but she suspects he may hear it as such, because he scoots back and she can no longer feel his warm breath on her back. His feelings aren’t solid enough for her to know them in the Force, but it is terrible to sense that he doesn’t blame her for refusing him. He almost expected it ...
 
“I — I don’t know…” It’s a meek revelation, a desperate one; barely audible to naked ear. 
 
But he hears it. He hears all of it. 
 
“

Know what, Rey

?”
 
“What I sound like.”
 
“I think — “ Kylo sings, and the relief that rushes through her at the feeling of his knuckles trailing up her spine — it is a tonic. “— you are loud.”
 
“

Why

?”
 
“Because I’d like you to be.” 
 
It is such a tiny thing. The kiss he presses to the vertebrae just below her neck, she can barely feel it. 
 
But right now, it leaves her heaving desperately into her pillow, makes her fingers twitch and tug the bedsheets, makes her arch her back against him — asking for something she needs, but isn’t quite sure how to articulate. All she knows is that it is a losing battle at this point and she wants to relieve that itch pulsing between her legs. 
 
The touch of their hips provokes a hearty grunt from him, but he still doesn’t touch her. 
 
Instead, he smacks his lips, continues his story —“Especially if I was the source of it” — all while she pretends her hands don't slide to her ribcage. 
 
“It would be the most glorious thing.” 
 
It would be? Wouldn’t it? 
 
Rey presses her eyes shut, struggling to breathe while she attempts to sneak her trembling fingers down to her cunt. There is no point to the secrecy, there is a blanket covering her, but even without that — hadn’t he just explicitly told her he wanted to know? To see?
 
She gasps when she reaches her panties. They are wet; soaked through, but not in an unpleasant way.

They are

warm the way she is warm on the inside; content and pleased. 
 
“Don’t be quiet.” He rasps the command into her neck.
 
It isn’t effortless, allowing the moan to break through her clenched teeth, but she wants to know how he’ll react to it. If he likes the sound she makes as she drags a finger up and down the fabric; stroking her swollen lips all the way up to that bundle of nerves that can make her sob. 
 
The one which elicits a gasp from her right now.
 
Kylo sounds as if he is choking.
 
“You —” She gasps “— How do you?”
 
“How I what?”
 
“Do you...cum?”
 
The knuckles on her back still briefly, but it doesn’t take him long to resume his work. Except, this time he trails lower, over her tailbone, her buttocks — and then, it isn’t his hand which she feels any longer. He cants his hips in demonstration, pressing his persistent hardness into the swell of her ass. Rey is surprised how exquisite she finds the sensation that she can make him thick and heavy like this. 
 
They aren’t kissing. They are barely touching. Rey has never been more turned on in her life. 
 
“Fast.” His breath trembles — no — all of him is trembling. “Whenever I got the urge, I’d try to do it as fast as possible.”
 
He isn’t fast now. The hand which he had soothed her with rubs slowly up and down his length through his pants. She copies his pace, moving her hips and her fingers in tandem with him. Soothing. Their pace is soothing.  
 
“It had always been a chore, an urge to curb —” He gifts a kiss to her shoulder “— but then — you came. When I thought of you. It always became… something not fast.”
 
Rey exhales with her whole chest.
 
He gifts her another kiss, this time to her neck, just below the hairline.
 
“It’d be slow, tight, and slow — I’d imagine taking you slowly. Watching you.” 
 
“Kylo…” It feels wrong to call him by that name, but some sane part of her is sensible enough to not force his old name on him.  They are so close to something. 
 
“Are you wet?”
 
Rey nods.
 
“I make you wet.”
 
“Yes.”
 
A growl. 
 
“Rey.”
 
“Yeah?” She breathes.
 
“Are they inside?”
 
She bites her lip, making some sound that could be either pain or pleasure. Maybe both? She isn’t sure. She obliges him eagerly and the feeling of her fingers inside, imagining it to be him — Force, her entire cunt is throbbing as if it has its own heartbeat. It makes her mind spin, the feeling of dipping her fingers in and out of herself while brushing her palm roughly over her clit. She breaks free of his pace. There is only one thing, one goal, and she wants to get there as fast as possible. 
 
He seems not to mind. He all but latches onto her, licking and showering her throat and shoulders with kisses, rolling his hips to her pace. It is transcendent. 
 
“Rey.”
 
A shift of clothes, one hand fumbles with his pants while the other pulls her tunic up to expose her back to him and then — his cock — hard and unexpectedly soft, like velvet, glides up her ass to her waist, then down, and then up. 
 
Would he fuck her like that? This desperately?
 
It’s hard for Rey to know, but she gives little fucks because the friction of their bodies is delicious. And to her surprise, he proves to be the vocal one; chanting her name, moaning, grunting, all while he rubs himself up and down her back. 
 
Her fingers work faster, there is a coil within and she can feel it tighten, she can feel the spring of it. 
 
She makes a sound, something like a whine and he responds with a

gloating

hum.
 
“Please.” His hand pumps his cock desperately. “Say something.”
 
Rey shuts her eyes tight at his plea, feeling only her cunt squelching, her clit thrumming —
 
She can feel his cock working against her, using her, enjoying her —
 
Her pleasure building and building and —
 
—

snaps

. 
 
White-hot liquid ignites her from within. She yells something into the pillow, completely at the mercy of her climax ripping through her body. 
 
Kylo’s hips buck, then with a grunt and moan, his cock coats her back with hot flashes of semen. Rey can do nothing while he presses her onto her stomach with his pelvis, running his cock up her back, smearing his spend all over untainted skin.  
 
“Now I know,” he whispers into her hair and he is shaking like a leaf. Exhaling like he is breathing for the first time. 
 
Rey nods, feeling tears prickle at the corners of her eyes and they lie there, for the longest time catching their breaths, listening to each other’s rapid heartbeat become a gentle drum.
 
And they fall asleep. 
 
🝀🜎🝀🜎
 
Life is a pendulum, controlled by circumstance, swinging unpredictably between comfort and disappointment. It is the nature of being alive, that drives us. To achieve solace and avoid sorrows, but one cannot go through life without experiencing either, no matter how hard you try.
 
Rey has felt disappointment before. Some are barely blips on a radar, minor inconveniences that make her sigh, others have crushed her, scarred her. And they are always the ones where she had had the most hope, where — if everything worked out just right, there would be peace in her soul.
 
Some disappointments are worse than others.
 
Rey reaffirms that the hard way when she wakes up alone the following morning. 
 
Or, is it even morning yet? The room is the darkest shade of purple, meaning the sun is only barely rising. She stretches her limbs, pops her jaw in a yawn and rubs the sleep from her eyes with the tip of her fingers.
 
It doesn’t occur to her at first that something is off about it. It is not the first time he has risen earlier than her (though it's seldom) and he could have gone down to the fresher to relieve himself. Smacking her lips, she listens for him. 
 
The fresher pipes aren’t running and their caf maker isn’t declaring war on a neighbouring state, which are the usual noises that follows him when he is awake. The hut is silent. Eerily so. 
 
She blinks her eyes wide open, squinting at the chrono on her night table. It’s not even 5 yet. Her hand reaches over to touch his side of the bed. It is cold. He hasn’t been here for hours. 
 
Puzzled, she sits up, her mind still groggy from sleep and scouts the room for any clues to his whereabouts. It looks the same as the evening before. His side of the bed is unmade and his shirt and pants lie in a pile on the floor — but so does her nightclothes too. Had he slept in his underwear?
 
She flinches. Her hand flies to her back, not really sure what she’ll find, but it is there. His cum dried into her skin. 
 
They had done it. Had some — semblance — of sex… and they had fallen asleep afterwards. Her memories are hazy at best, but she knows that he had been a very enthusiastic instigator and her an eager participant. It felt jovial, the force elevated and bursting with that terrible rightness she only feels with him. No, it doesn’t sit right with her that Kylo isn’t here. 
 
The cold tiles burn her feet as she scrambles out of bed and throws on the clothes she wore yesterday; fingers slipping over buttons as she pads down the stairs. No light is turned on, not in the fresher, nor in the kitchen — she checks both places anyway. Rey grumbles to herself. The hut is just as it was the day before. He hasn’t made more of a mess nor has he cleaned hers; a picture-perfect snapshot of the past. Rey concludes he hasn’t eaten, because none of the dishes have been washed (which he always does) and there is no trace of dampness in the fresher, meaning he hasn’t showered either. 
 
He is not inside.
 
But he is here. His force signature thrums like a gentle heartbeat, but she cannot locate its source.
 
A crease growing between her brows, she peeks out the door from the kitchen overlooking the fields stretching ahead. He is not on the porch and there are no mop of black hair in the yellow grass-sea. Rey scrunches her nose, stepping out onto the warm wooden blanks barefoot. Already now the heat is growing unbearable, the sweat is practically trickling down her neck.
 
She wants to call out his name, but some nagging feeling in the back of her mind tells her to be wary. There are cracks forming between them and she must be careful right now. A hand on the clay wall, she traces her fingers over the lumps and dents in the plasterwork and rounds the house to the front where the drying line is and their little self-made patch of vegetable and fruit. 
 
And there, right between two blooming sunflowers, she spies his black curls. Her back snaps straight and she all but slams the break at the sight. Her heart leaps in her chest and it’s hard not to beam and blush like a fool with a crush. The pink remains of his affection have not yet faded from her throat and the pleasant feeling he awakened in her are still smoldering embers.
 
He is just here, tending his little garden. 
 
Relieved, she walks across the planks a little faster, eager to greet him; the wood creaks fervently with each step, a chorus cheering her on. But then she stops. 
 
It wasn’t clear at first when she could only see the top of his hair, but from this angle, his entire back is exposed to her, which isn’t wrong in itself, but there’s an edge to his hunched form. He is stiff and the hands that had been busy nipping at the buds appear as if frozen in time. If his ears could twitch, they would with how attentive he is listening for her feet approaching. He is keeping his back to her on purpose, Rey realises.
 
It is like acid in her mouth, seeing his furtiveness plainly on display.

Now

. After all they did last night. The offense is a punch to the gut, rupturing her insides until it is filled with red and nothing else. Oh, how quickly sweet feelings can become hot fury. There is no thought behind the sharp turn of her heel or how she marches right back in the hut, only the need to get away — do not get hurt. 
 
He doesn’t follow her inside. 
 
Tired, moody, their likely cause being yesterday’s liquor, Rey dumps herself on the staircase to sulk, burying her head in the crook of her arms and

sulks

. What had gone wrong? It had seemed so right yesterday and now it is as if someone has turned the wheel of time and they are back to their infant days on this planet. Did she remember their thrust too kindly? Had she conveniently forgotten the bad parts?
 
A headache is coming on and her mouth is unpleasantly dry — Had he been too drunk? Had he even known what he was doing? In her desperation for connection, was she taking advantage of him? Could she be in the wrong? She bites the skin on her nail, emotions wavering between a woman's contrition and a child’s scorn. It seems impossible to know — and maybe, knowing isn’t what matters right now. 
 
Knowledge can be acquired, but the intuition within, that certainty Rey feels,

that

, she can act on; she wants to have sex with Kylo. It is just a budding assurance, but it is more than she has ever had when it came to him. 
 
Renewed, a plan forming in her head, she rises to her feet once more and runs to the fresher. 
 
How he prefers her, she does not, nor does she really care, but she wants to make an effort. She brushes her hair like the women in the Resistance did until it no longer tangles like a bird’s nest but falls in neat gentle waves over her bare shoulders. She scrubs her face free of sweat and dirt, till it is nothing but her sun-kissed freckles and pink healthy cheeks. 
 
She steps back once to gauge herself in the mirror, approving of the clean scavenger, but not of her clothes. It is not ugly, but it holds no charm either. Her tunic is loose, giving no shape to her waist and there are oil stains on the pants. It seems silly at first. Rey knows she is not soft or warm like other female humans. She is strong, has taut muscles and tight skin, but that is all she has. 
 
Regardless, he had called her lovely, Rey recalls. He thought she looked lovely. 
 
The tunic and pants fall away easily and she strips herself down to her shorts and a simple training bra. 
 
One deep breath, Rey gives her reflection a determined nod and walks out with the intention to seduce the Supreme Leader. 
 
The grass is dry and sharp below her feet, the hot weather harsh on the small things. Kylo is sitting near the oi-ois this time, eyes drawn to the cracking soil and the seedlings he adores, but his attention is on her. 
 
“How are they faring?” Rey asks as aloof as she can, stepping up next to him and pressing a small ripe oi-oi between her lips. It bursts between her teeth and she draws her tongue over her lower lip with calculated dispassion. 
 
“

Good

.” He snaps. She feels his stare on her bare thighs as she trails around the garden in her naked feet. Not a care in the world.
 
Rey hums an affirmation, gracing the top pea stalks with her palm and glances briefly over her shoulder. 
 
He is all but attacking the seedlings; red-faced like a damn Blistmok and breathing like he has been swimming across the glacier lakes on

Illum

. Amused. She considers briefly if he is truly

blushing

or is he suffering from heatstroke?
 
“Aren’t you hot?” Rey asks, trying not to sound concerned. “Wearing all black?” 
 
He shakes his head. 
 
Cicadas serenade them while Rey plucks even more oi-oi’s, trying not to sour on her plight, but tempting him turns out to be as difficult as turning him to the light. 
 
He pretends not to startle when Rey circles him and falls to her knees next to him. She points to the tiny green sprouts by leaning forward.  “Is it growing nicely?”
 
There is not a lot to see, but she tries her best to angle her body the way she had seen other women do, exposing the swell of her breasts, the muscles of her stomach. And he does notice. She plays oblivious to the way his eyes lock at her tanning skin and ignores his harsh sigh when she eats another oi-oi. 
 
He swallows thickly. “It is.”
 
Had she known how pleasurable it would be to be adored by him, she would have done this much sooner. It’s addicting. She wants more. 
 
She wants all of him.
 
Literally. 
 
With a nervous hand, Rey brushes her loose hair over her shoulder, exposing the fading pink kisses he had lavished her with last night. He sees those too. 
 
“A bit slow though.”
 
She is not looking at his garden, but the muscles stretching on his biceps. Rey admires it. His strength does not only extend to the Force or his mind, but his body too. She likes that.
 
“Gardening is slow.” 
 
Arousal, Rey ponders, feels an awful lot like getting sick. The weather may be growing hotter and the air is suffocating with humidity. But Rey is good with heat; she knows the ins and outs, how to dress and how to cool herself down. She shouldn’t feel this dizzy. Her insides are coiled up. Her stomach aches and her mouth is dry. Her eyes catch the sight of neck and the sweat perspirering there. She is struck by a desire to taste it. It would be easy — a tiny dip forward on her knees and she could nuzzle the sticky curls away and run her tongue over his alabaster skin. What would it taste like? Of salt? Something uniquely him?
 
“You know, I don’t think I like gardening.” She makes no pretense, she is oggling. “I don’t like things going slow.”
 
His breath hitches and she gives him a moment to absorb the words, curious if words alone can spur him on. 
 
It doesn’t. He is staring at her, but is still as a statue, intense and awkward. Insecurity blooms in her stomach; what if she had gotten it all wrong? What if he actually isn’t charmed by her — The fear of rejection makes her bold. 
 
She places a hand on his thigh, firm and insistent, and uses it to lean her body up to his face, and with slow shallow breaths she lets her eyes flutter close and presses their mouths together. His lips are just as soft and warm as she remembered them to be, and while he is not passive he isn’t showering her with passion either. 
 
It is reciprocated.
 
Just not in the way she had hoped. 
 
Wound up, Rey rises to her knees and deepens the kiss; moaning how she had done last night — and it is so easy to tip him backward into the budding flowers with a thump. 
 
He replies with a hum, confused, but delighting in her attention. One hand threads into her hair, clutching her tightly and she just lets him, because it feels so good. So, so good. With a grunt and some careful maneuvering, Rey spreads her knees so they are perfectly planted on either side of him and

grinds

—
 
He is not supposed to still.
 
Rey sits up suddenly, taking in the sight of Kylo Ren, heir apparent to the dark side and the light, Supreme Leader of the First Order, with flowers and weeds sticking to his hair. He looks positively ethereal — And regretful.
 
“You don’t have to.”
 
“What?”
 
His hands are still anchored to her waist. “Last night. I didn’t mean to force you. You don’t have to return it.” 
 
Rey blinks down at him. It feels as if her brain is short-circuiting. He just keeps talking.
 
“— I overstepped. It was —”
 
Humiliated, embarrassed, she scrambles off him with burning eyes. “—

a mistake

?”
 
Her hands cover her ears in some weak attempt at shushing the thoughts laughing at her, pitying her — how could she possibly have thought this was a good idea? What allure does she think she has?

She was trying to seduce him.

Foolish little girl.
 
He makes a grimace and looks close to tears as well. “I — I don’t know.”
 
“You don’t know.”
 
Rey, on her knees next to him, keeps quiet and pretends to stare hard at the soil, doing her best to keep the tears at bay. 
 
Kylo draws his hand through his hair angrily, lying down in the grass with a whine. “Please. Rey. I’m trying to...apologize.”
 
“And I’m trying to seduce you!” Rey retorts.
 
He draws himself up to the elbow, flabbergasted and struck. She lets him, sniffling to herself and drying her nose with the back of a hand. Kylo rubs the bridge of his nose, “I have never been seduced before.”
 
“Well,” is all Rey has to quip and gives a little shrug. She is not sure who is the bigger fool, but she certainly feels like one. “You have never apologized to me before either.”
 
“Which would you rather have I do?”
 
He is staring up at her and somehow, even wearing her brasserie and shorts, she gets the distinct feeling of nakedness, of being stripped down to her thinnest layer. Seducing a man proves more complicated with her dark companion. They share too much pain and have had too many trials.
 
“I want to. I want us to have sex.” Rey raises her chin to conjure some courage. “If you want to.”
 
He sighs, laying back fully to just watch her. He shakes his head with mirthful incredulousness. “And I thought I had ruined us.”
 
“You are too used to forcing people’s minds.” Rey dusts a speck of dirt off her shorts. “I want things too, on my own.”
 
A blow of wind rustles the leaves around them, Kylo taps his fingers on his forehead “I — I don’t remember last night. I just woke up, naked and my —” His cum on her back. “I thought I had —”
 
“You hadn’t.”
 
They stare at each other while the sun rises in the distance. His remorse transforms with each gentle rise of his chest into something less crude and more dazed, tender, like a man bordering on falling into a warm and carefree slumber. She leans forward and picks a stray flower off his hair, turning it in her hand as if to inspect it.
 
His hand responds in kind, with some shyness though, and reaches out and curls around her waist to tug her closer. His eyes flutter.
 
Something swoops in the pit of her stomach, her breath hitches, and the feeling of his fingers digging into the flesh of her waist, carefully caressing her skin is terrible. 
 
The need it inspires in her is not unknown, but the intensity of it transpires all known desires. It makes her grow bold, confident and by her own inspiration, she clasps a hand over his and carefully, deliberately, she draws it up and over her ribs and rests it just below her breast.
 
His entire chest rises with a shudder when she releases her hold. His thumb rests just below the swell of her flesh, so close, but never crossing that gentle border. Cautiously he traces the shape of it, with kindness, with awe, so unlike the storm she knows him to be. 
 
With little contemplation — heck — she doubts she is even thinking at this moment, Rey throws herself forward and kisses him. Not like a patient lover, but a hungry cruel scavenger. Desperate for more. So much more. His hand slides up as a consequence and he squeezes. 
 
“

Oh

.” Rey exhales the moment his hand encircles her sensitive breast. It’s clumsy, a little bit awkward, but that hardly matters because he is touching her. Her nerves are practically spiking. Like everything between them, they find each other in the end, despite the struggles, they encounter initially. It holds true for their encounter on Starkiller base, their bond on Ach-To, him extending his hand in a misguided attempt at persuading her of his genuine feelings.
 
Had he only known then.
 
Another hand threads into her hair, clutching her tightly and she just lets him, because it feels so good. So, so good —
 
“Rey.” He bites, gasping like he wants to cry and his touch grows rougher. Hard and desperate, with hardly any distinguishable intention except more and more and “—

Rey

—”
 
A wicked idea, or more a need, is what guides her to lift her bosom from his hands to his face. Or perhaps that is him, because he eagerly pulls her to him and mouths generously at her breast through her top. 
 
His nose digs into the flesh of her skin, followed by a sweet

lingering

kiss. Then another, trailing a little path until he can nuzzle her stiff nipple and suck it until she aches. The cloth wets under his attentive tongue. He kisses her tit sweetly, too, with none of the residual anger his affection usually holds. This is a sated wonderful blissfulness.
 
“I didn’t think  —” Kylo whispers, “ — you’d want this.”
 
Rey looks up at the blue sky and gasps a cry. “I wasn’t sure I did.”
 
He trails his finger up her spine.
 
“But you do? Now?”
 
All the weeks of torment, years of loneliness, they all coil up

tightly

in her chest, they make her breathless — and could this be it?
 
Happiness?
 
“I do.”
 
🝀🜎🝀🜎
 
Rey wouldn’t describe the way they reenter the house as Kylo manhandling her or forcing her, but he is definitely the one charting the course. 
 
One hand he grasps her arm tight and the other rips the door open. There is an unmistakable tenseness to him, a surprising development, considering Rey had understood the human male to be much a victim of their arousal. His jaw is tight and he barely hides his swimming thoughts and feelings in the Force — desire, trepidation — he cannot imagine it. 
 
With a sharp tug, the moment they cross the threshold he draws her back so they stand chest to chest and he draws her upper arms to him in a vice, eyes wild with an unknown fever. 
 
“I’ll be gentle,” he rasps, licking his lips as he presses his forehead against her, needing to collect his thoughts. She gets the impression he might be frightened.
 
“I’m not afraid of you,” Rey whispers, the dizziness from before still not fading — her breasts are thumping from his attention, a heartbeat on their own. 
 
Kylo huffs, thumbs stroking each arm with firm tenderness. It makes her skin goosebump. 
 
“You never have been.” Their noses touch and they are close enough to kiss, but they don’t. But the promise hangs in the air. “— but you deserve

gentle

.”
 
It slips too easily from her tongue. “

Ben…—

”
 
He erases his name with a kiss. Not wanting to hear it, but also because he wants to kiss her. It is inevitable. No different from a light drawn into the black hole. It may circle its destiny, for years, millennials, gauging and waiting, but it will become one with the darkness. 
 
They melt into a singularity of longing and loneliness. He forces her up on her toes with a vigorous hoist and she obliges fervently by locking her arms around his neck.
 
Kylo may desire gentleness, but it seems impossible for him to achieve, Rey laughs to herself, when he shoves her by the hip towards their bedroom upstairs. He takes and takes, with his mouth and with his heart and Rey struggles to keep up.
 
The hunger though, she recognises that in herself.
 
They fail to make it up the stairs because his aim is somewhat skewed and she hits the wall with her back with enough force to cease their kissing. Rey glimmers up at him, desire swooshing in her vein, her chest blooms maroon and he licks his lips at the sight. 
 
His lust is a drug to her mind. Her body grows amiable and when he lets go of her arm to snake his hand up her toned stomach, she shivers with delight. Even if It feels cold against her heated flesh.
 
“

You

—” Ben begins, “— I’m scared of you.” 
 
Confident from her previous invitation, the hand travels higher and higher as his palm seeks out the swell of her bosom and his eyes flicker across her face and she gets the distinct impression that he is gauging each little contraction of her muscles, of any indication that she doesn’t want this.
 
But she does.
 
Until now it had been a vague barely entertained idea, lost in favor of other things that mattered more — how to turn him, bring him back, what it would be like to kiss him, be held by him. But rarely what it’d be like to be —

intimate

with him.
 
Now she knows. It would be terrible, passionate and astonishing. She answers his silent caution by letting her arms fall from his neck and lazily raising them above her head, chest heaving with laboured breaths. Who knew anticipation could feel so much like being poisoned; light-headed with fear, a burning in her bones.
 
It takes him a moment to understand her intention, but the second it dawns on him, she finds her bra instantly tugged up and over her head. He throws it somewhere behind them and she is standing topless in front of the Supreme Leader and Force, she can’t help it —
 
“Do you want me to put on a cowl?” she exhales teasingly, and he just blinks stupefied.
 
And then he laughs. Heartily and honestly from the bottom of his belly.
 
Who knew that a simple crinkle of his eyes would be enough to stun her into a blissful muteness?
 
He gives her temple a kiss, before leaning back to tug off his own shirt, making her come face to face with the expansive muscles and the scars she has placed there. By instinct, she reaches out and traces the wound from Chewie’s bowcaster, and the memory from Starkiller resurfaces despite her valiant attempt at stopping it.
 
Of Kylo hurting Finn, of them fighting in the snow, the way he had purposely hit the wound to fuel the dark side — how he killed his father.
 
“Rey —” Ben says her name so softly and brushes a loose tendril behind her ear. He kisses the top of her hair, pressing them both into the wall. His skin is warm where it melts together with hers. And she understands something then.
 
What he has done can never be undone, can never be repented for, but if she wishes to explore who they could be, she must also stop letting it come between them.
 
Not forget it, not necessarily forgive him, but not let it stop her from getting what she wants either.
 
She whispers in return, and she can feel herself beaming, “Don’t be scared.”
 
Something akin to a snort escapes him. He shakes his head and proceeds with his meticulous undoing of her. He holds her firmly by the waist as he presses kisses down her jaw, her neck and finally her tits. Her nipples seem to fascinate him the most, how they pucker and grow taut at his lavish attention. 
 
“Didn’t think you’d want this,” he huffs, fumbling with his belt while also trying to lick the spot between her breasts. “Not like this.”
 
“How did you imagine it?” Rey sighs, curving her back to give him access. Her cunt positively dripping. 
 
For a few seconds, Rey thinks he might have overheard her, but suddenly he is standing up, his cock free of his pants and it is so hard and red  —
 
“That I’d have to force you.”  
 
Her arms are still raised above her head and she makes no attempt at hiding how she is studying the shape of his cock. Noticing every vein, the trickle of liquid pooling at the tip, how he fists it tightly and pumps it while waiting for her turn. 
 
“Are you disappointed?” she asks, and he steps closer (which she didn’t think possible) and he guides her by the waist so her back is facing him. 
 
The waistband slips over her cheeks and he is on her like a madman, mouthing at the fleshy cleavage between her cheeks, licking and kissing it, and soon she is completely divested and bare. The shyness and trepidation she had expected fails to make an appearance and instead she feels herself surrendering.
 
He presses another kiss on the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, beckoning her to spread her legs. She obliges in an instant, supporting herself with two flat palms against the wall. 
 
“No.”
 
And then he is standing, pelvis tight against her butt, cock twitching and grinding —
 
—  he pushes.
 
On Jakku the human females would sometimes gossip about the act, especially the first time, of how it could hurt, be uncomfortable, even awkward — and Rey agrees with them. Ben is large and the angle is tricky, which makes it a strenuous achievement and there’s an unmistakable burn that has her hiss — but then all comparisons fade and it is just so —

“Oh.”

Rey moans into the brown clay. “— Force.”
 
He grits her name, working himself further inside and Maker, the fullness. This strange grinding feeling — “Okay?” 
 
“Yes. I —” Something gives and he slides home in one rough sweep motion.
 
It is done. They are one.
 
She can’t believe it's happening and she half expects him to fight her again or wake up sweat-soaked in her bed. But she isn’t. He is here, growling a sound that sounds both overwhelmed and grateful and bends his legs to reposition himself so he can thrust up into her. It is astonishment that fills her at the feeling of him within her.
 
She has to remember to breathe.
 
Rey gasps, but doesn’t say anything. He’s not a good lover, not by far, but he pleases her like he needs her to come more than he does. He moves gently, licking her neck — no — he is devouring her. It breaks something. The fine line between them that kept them on either side of this split in half, the light and the dark, now he’s inside of her, in so many ways. How can she go back to the Resistance like this? Tainted, when she has given something of herself to Kylo? Let her light mix with his darkness? When she cannot imagine a day without him. Without this rightness, without him feeling like he is half of her, the thing that was missing. They grunt and the sex is not this world-defining pleasure— but this is not about that. 
 
“Please,” Rey hiccups and there is no sweetness to the way they rock against the wall, his panting and her muted cries. His gentleness, unnatural to him, can only last this long and Rey practically weeps when he pistons his hips harder and faster. Her orgasm from yesterday still happily bubbles and it threatens to build into something. Something more — “I want this.” 
 
A hand wraps around her throat, another lifts her up by her ribs and he pulls her to him so she stands on the tip of her toes — He

fucks

her.
 
They are fucking.
 
It reminds her of a storm and fingers reaching out next to a fire. 
 
“Rey.” It’s a shuddering sigh.
 
What had begun as fearful, becomes less caring, more reckless and urgent with how he uses long strokes of him to sink in and out, the europhia Rey feels at letting go, having him take her with a hand on her throat and one on her waist.
 
He makes a choking sound, desperate like he's fighting back an orgasm. 
 
“Upstairs.”
 
Wetly, he pulls out of her to curb his release —— and walks her up the stairs, hands on her waist to guide her. 
 
Were she sane, she would protest, she would kiss him, it feels wrong to be apart and she is sure he could ask her for anything now and she’ll be ready for it. Maybe she’d even consider joining the dark side. She had been tempted before, and it tempts her again.
 
He all but throws her up on the mattress and she lands on her stomach with an awkward oomph. It’s fast, and Rey can make no effort to turn around before he is crouching over her to taste her bare skin — his tongue drawing long strokes up the arch of up her ass. She gives a brief hum, but is given no time to relish in it. Desperate, she feels quite like a doll when he tugs her up to her knees, but then his teeth grace her inner thigh, followed by a kiss, to the crease between her cunt and leg and instinct is what makes her spread her knees; arching her back with a moan. 
 
Benevolent, he catches her drift and puts his lips on her. He devours her. 
 
It’s a different feeling from when she pleasures herself. Not worse, just not the same. His skin is warm on hers, body hard and lean from years of fighting. He is showering her lips with tiny butterfly kisses and only when she bends forward and circles her hips does he use his tongue. 
 
She exhales, trembling, and he doesn't stop touching her — he strokes her ass like it is a pet, he moans as if he thinks her a delicacy. He is not going fast like before — he is learning her, what makes her heart race, what makes her thrust back at him — it’s hard not to make little sobs at his attentiveness. 
 
Her own hand reaches below and she circles her clit with a distinct rashness. She doesn't have to ask for more. He buries his mouth into her cunt and dips his tongue inside. It is not the feeling itself, but his open desire that shifts something inside of her body.
 
It builds faster than she expects. Her whole body constricts.
 
“You're coming?” he asks like she is gifting him something precious and when she nods. He must feel it crash through her, because he moans into the flesh of her thigh.
 
He plunges into her, it’s much rougher than before. He knees behind her and slams their hips together, jostling everything — an onslaught. And somehow it feels so much like him. Wanting to control, but is incapable of having it. 
 
The bed creaks below them and Rey understands the allure of it all, to have others know she is being fucked. Have them hear her cries and her moans, the slap of skin on skin. The Supreme Leader of the Galaxy is making

her

cum.
 
He flips her over, the bedding flying on to the floor and then he pushes in again. Their eyes lock when he does and there’s a rumbling sound escaping his chest — Rey could listen to it forever. It is a strange thing, so vulnerable to lie below him, have him inside her. She is transfixed, she cannot help but stare. Her hand reaches up to smooth away the hair sticking to his face.
 
He kisses her then. 
 
Compassion is a strange thing. It can extend to many people in the barest sense and be all-consuming with a single person. Compassion can be kindness, friendship, it can be being lovers, kinship, or some version of all of them at the same time. 
 
Rey discovers that, especially when it comes to Kylo, her compassion is inconsistent; simmering in one moment and cascading in the next. It ebbs and flows like the tide — one moment she is kissing him with such earnestness, running her hands through his lush black hair as they gently wake from their slumber, the next they are bickering in the kitchen over his overspending on groceries and her messiness, only to find themselves locked in an embrace and their mouths pressed against each other.
 
“

Ben

.”
 
He exhales at the sound of his name. His pace is punishing. Rey fears she has overstepped, that her passion has gotten the better of her. 
 
“Again.”
 
Her mouth opens uselessly, she blinks at his command, and then he angles himself differently, and he is grinding against something in her. Her legs latch around his waist. She whines.
 
“Say my name.”
 
“Ben.”
 
She is slipping and he can feel it too, not only through his cock, but through the bond too. 
 
“

Ben

.” She wants to inhale his name and hold it in the bottom of her lungs. She wants to kiss it all over his face, she wants to slant it over his tongue. Ben stutters at her chanting and he drops into it, resting his entire weight on her and burying his cock so deep within her. 
 
It’s stunning, the moment he releases too. 
 
It makes her sob heavy tears.
 
— but mostly because he is crying too. 
 
🝀🜎🝀🜎
 
“He hasn’t visited me,” Ben exhales later that night as they lie and watch the stars outside. 
 
She hums something, half asleep in their little grassy sanctuary, her head pillowed in the crook between his chest and arm. He is playing with her hair and she listens to his heartbeat. It’s cool outside, a refuge from the suffocating heat inside and it is the calmest Rey has felt in a long time.
 
“Who?”
 
There’s an ache in her lower stomach, but it is a pleasant one. She is not sure how many times they have had sex now, at least thrice from what she recalls. Rey glances up at him, enjoying the ethereal quality moonlight gives him. He appears as bright and shimmering now as he feels to her in the Force.
 
“Luke.”
 
Rey frowns, “Do you want him to?”
 
“I don’t think so.” His melancholy tells a different thing. There’s regret here, too much for him to ever properly process it — but it relieves him, at least to admit it. “Luke’s camp wasn’t that bad actually. It was just me who didn’t fit in. I was the wrong thing, not it.”
 
She wants to tell him the opposite, but she already knows his answer. She yawns another question. “You ever wanted to go back?”
 
A shrug, he has already decided his part. “How could I? He tried to kill me. My friends tried to kill me.” His nose brushes tenderly over her hair. “I can’t go back just like you can’t go back”
 
Rey has tried to avoid the homesickness, but she knows intimately what he means. By choosing this, him, she is closing other doors that might become locked forever. On the worst of days she believes this to be a mistake, that this man cannot possibly be worth more than them, but then, he sweeps a loose tendril off her face and all those thoughts vanish like dew in the sun. 
 
“I’m sorry I called you Ben.” She arches her neck so as to kiss his jaw. “I know you don’t want me to.”
 
He sings a little to himself, fingers massaging her scalp. She could sleep like this. 
 
“You said to me once — you didn’t feel like I was Kylo any longer.” Rey peaks up at him through her eyelashes, regretting a little that they decided to put on clothes to go outside. Her dyad goes back to admiring the sky and its twinkling lights. “You are right.”
 
“I’m right?”
 
“I’m no more Kylo Ren than I’m Ben Solo at this point.”
 
Rey scrunches her nose. “Well then, — who are you now? What do you want me to call you?”
 
He presses a kiss to the top of her hair. He smells of sweat and warm things; the best things. 
 
“I don’t know.” The grass sways with the wind, petals and leaves float above them in the languid breeze.  “

You

prefer Ben.”
 
“I prefer

you

.”
 
“But would you call me sweetheart? Honey? Number one?” He chuckles.

“No.”

A nod,

“

Ben it is.”
 
“Are you sure it’s okay with you?”
 
He sighs. “Not really.”
 
Rey turns on her side to look at him instead of the sky. His eyes shimmer with kindness and that amiable calmness that comes after sex. She reaches up and draws a hand over the scar she gifted him on Starkiller base. 
 
“

Ben.

I’m so happy you didn’t die. I can’t explain it, but the galaxy without you,

it’s wrong.

” Her lips quiver. Today seems to have stripped her of all defenses; she is her purest, most naked self. “It was never a question for me. I would have given you everything for you to stay alive.”
 
Ben watches her for a long time, before silently cupping her cheek. “No one needs everything.”

I only need you.

Rey can’t help but finish in her head, and Ben’s smile somehow seems to erase every bad thing that has ever happened to her. Every heartache they have suffered through together.
 
Is this love? 
 
Has Rey been in love with him all this time?
 
She might be. 
 
She is.
 
🝀🜎🝀🜎
 
The following day Rey does not hesitate to pull the binary beacon off her wrist and store it on their shelves; behind boxes of seeds and their sabers.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 3
Family and FallacyI 
The Binary beacon stays on the shelf.
 
The blue light ebbs and flows with each day that passes, like a slumbering child breathing in and out; its luminance swathed by a gentle layer of dust. It isn’t turned off but it isn’t picked up either. It’s temporary seat becomes its permanent throne and in time it is gifted with companions in the shape of scavenged trinkets and boxes of odd nicknacks no one knows what to do with. 
 
It is befitting. It remains the slow heartbeat of Rey’s connection to the outside world, but Rey has no use for it. It is hidden, but not gone and so far it does not tempt her — not yet at least.
 
Its sheltered existence gives it ample time to absorb the events that transpire in the little clay hut. Like all things in the galaxy, the Force flows through its elemental fabric, storing the errant feelings and events from its surroundings, leaving unconscious traces of a life lived. Such is the nature of the galaxy.
 
And could the beacon share its load, it would be a tale of a Jedi and a Jedi killer that find each other. It would be one of laughter and compassion, of trials and tribulations, of two people adjusting, moving their chess pieces with careful prudence until they find themselves on equal footing. Perfectly matched, perfectly in tune.

That

is a

conscious

effort. One that unknowingly began long before their tragic kiss on the Falcon. It seems almost ridiculous in hindsight the way they had toiled with each other, when all they had to do was be honest; allow themselves to spend hours discussing things, whisper secrets in the dead of night, crack jokes that make the other laugh, smile stupidly when they are being sweet. Be vulnerable.
 
The Jedi thinks often of what a waste it was to miss out on the wonderful dimples on the Jedi Killer’s cheeks whenever he smiles, or the feeling when he hugs with such vigor, the affection she feels in every kiss he presses to the shell of her ear, the top of her hair. It is joy to watch the Supreme Leader grow slowly but surely into his new role as lover. He tries his utmost to embody every virtue of it; he spends hours undoing her hair and braids it with flowers he has gathered from the field. He likes how her jokes make him laugh with his whole chest. He likes to slide into her almost painfully slow on the mornings where they have no plans, where they can be lazy.
 
What the Jedi loves most though, is how consistent he is at making her squeal with delight. The excitement she feels at his strong hands hoisting her up on the kitchen table, how he simply devours her; she will never be able to not associate the sound of a fresher with deep moaning, skin on skin and his low laugh rolling in his chest.
 
The hut becomes a home. There is an air of perfect calm when she spends hours sleeping on top of his chest, letting his breath rock her into a soundless sleep. She loves trying out new things, beating him at his own games. Their lightsabers smash against each other in the fields, sometimes with childish delight other times with a ferocious need to win. And, while she doesn’t grow fatter, there is now meat on her bones from his cooking — which she never declines.
 
Could the beacon tell a story, it would be one of laughter and love.
 
🜳🜳🜳🜳

2 years pass.

🜳🜳🜳🜳
 
It is a regular shellday during a regular cold season. 
 
The evening is crisp with frost and the sky is clear. It is cold enough for one's breath to fog, for the petals on flowers to become decorated with glacial fractals. From a distance it could easily resemble a field of clear sparkling jewels; expensive stones that light up with every errant shooting star painting streaks of light across the night sky before they all inevitably fade into obscurity. 
 
It is any regular night at a very regular backwater planet. 
 
Except —
 
— One of the stars doesn’t burn up in the atmosphere. It moves erratically over the black backdrop as if actively trying to resist the planet’s gravity. The closer it gets to the surface, the more clear it becomes that it is not a rock from space, but a fighter. Through the flames licking its hull, scorched durasteel and an ion engine sputtering molten metal become visible. 
 
A lone nerfherder naps against his makeshift shed, but is startled awake to the sound of a wing breaking off with an earth-shattering

boom

and he blinks his eyes open to the sight of a flaming ship spiraling toward the grass sea. 
 
The force of its landing is enough to shatter the ice clinging to the grassy stems for up to a mile. It knocks off several wooden tiles from the shed’s roofs. 
 
And suddenly, where there once was nothing but wild grass burns an x-wing in a crater of its own making.
 
🜳🜳🜳🜳
 
“I’m back.” 
 
Rey groans and peaks over her shoulder to the front door from her nest of blankets on their bed. It's growing dark and it is hard to see him in the unlit hallway, but she spies the shape of him regardless. 
 
The chrono reads sometime in the late afternoon.
 
It surprises her. She had gone to bed with the intention of taking a short nap, while he ventured into town, which apparently had been nothing but short. It’s been hours. 
 
Rey still reels from the drowsiness of sleep, but she is aware enough to shoot him a small “

Hi

”. 
 
The light turns on then; illuminating him awkwardly balancing on one foot as he dries the mud off his boots and shakes droplets of water stuck to his thick woolen coat. In his hands he is carrying a large cloth bag of wrapped fish, pickled things and cabbage. The winters on this planet aren't cold per say. It snows on occasion, but nothing that piles and gathers. It fades much like a dream; there and then not. 
 
“Did you get everything?” Rey asks. The headache she had hoped to sleep away throbs persistently still. It makes her moody, impatient. 
 
He nods and throws the leather boots to the side and ascends the stairs. The steps creak and as he gets closer, she notices the errant snowflakes clinging to his dark hair. There is a frown to his face though — something is afoot.
 
“I overheard something in the village today.”
 
“Yeah?” Rey prods, watching him shed his wet socks and sweat damp sweater. 
 
“Supposedly a fighter crashed near a village some few clicks over from here — It sounded like an x-wing from the description.”
 
Rey sits up

swiftly

. 
 
“An x-wing?”
 
Another nod and she doesn’t even need to feel him in the Force to know he is troubled. It is printed onto his face as deep lines around his mouth, as sharp wrinkles creasing his forehead into a frown.
 
“It sounds like it. I’m not sure.”
 
“You aren’t sure?” 
 
“It’s hard to say. It was a brief conversation. But from what I understood the pilot is staying in the medbay in the next town over.” The bed dips where he sits, making her roll closer to him so she lies parallel with his hip; he gives her a weak smile. “Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe they didn’t even describe an x-wing.”
 
“What does your gut tell you?” 
 
He pauses, glancing out the window where a harsh wind blows across the frosty grass sea. The Force thrums around them and he inhales a loaded breath before closing his eyes. Meditation has never come easy for either of them, so he draws a hand back to stroke her braided hair; the ones he made this morning. 
 
He has been doing that a lot lately — using her to tune himself onto the right path in the Force, anchoring himself to her light to center his perception on what he sees. It isn’t a broken connection. Rey knows that. Just years of voices preying and manipulating his understanding of the galaxy’s will. 
 
“We should be aware.” He concludes after several deep breaths. “But there’s no danger. Not now.”
 
Rey hums, curling herself up into his palm. “We should still go there. I think. See for ourselves.”
 
“You’re right.“ The muscles of his neck stretch as he curves his head to look down at her; his thumb still caressing her meticulously updo. “Talking about guts. How are you?”
 
She winches, hoping he wouldn’t ask. “It’s okay. I just needed to lie down.”
 
The look he gives her tells her he isn’t quite convinced and she doesn’t really blame him.
 
It had started out as any regular morning. Or, not quite. She had been feeling wrong. Her body ached unpleasantly; she felt tired, moody, and everything Ben did inspired some annoyed sensation of a thousand bugs crawling under her skin. It had been manageable at first, at least till she had been halfway through her morning porridge and her abdomen had begun to cramp. Muted at first, then gradually it modified from a light pinch to feeling like a knife stabbing her cut. It  had robbed her of her breath. Her appetite diminished in an instant and it seemed that every sour smelling thing made her want to run to the fresher and empty her stomach.
 
Her lack of appetite was the odd change of character that alerted her companion that something wasn’t right. He watched her first, never making any attempt at hiding the scrutiny with which he observed her. She had opted to ignore it; his questioning gaze and the pushes at the back of her mind wanting to understand.

At least, she ignored him till a cramp bit her insides and she released a grunt in pain.
 
It wasn’t even up for debate. He forced her to remain at home. He could go to the village for food on his own. 
 
Ben hums sympathetically and moves his hand between her shoulder blades. It is warm and wonderful, the perfect moor to keep her tethered to this world. 
 
“Is your stomach still hurting?”
 
“Yeah. A little bit.” Rey rubs her lower stomach in demonstration. His knee dents the mattress as he lies down next to her — so clearly concerned, but trying not to suffocate her with his compassion. 
 
Rey gives him a little smile. It never wears off, this nice feeling of being cared about and cared for. She wonders if she has eaten something bad. Is this food poison? She goes over her last meals, but can’t pinpoint what it should be. Except it has to be that. How else can she explain her abdomen’s protests and the lingering nausea?
 
He whispers something below his breath and picks at an errant piece of hay stuck in her braided crown; his elaborate work of art.
 
It feels nice, everything about him is nice. She arches her neck to snuggle her nose against his jaw. Quite like a loth cat showering him with feline kisses.
 
He frowns mockingly — “You are gonna mess it up.”
 
“And?”
 
“Your hair is going to get all tangled up. Lie on your side, I’ll undo it.”
 
She obliges, and with a little sulk turns her back to him and presents him her tousled braids. His fingers skim the fine hair at her neck and with so much care

and

carefulness he untangles every strand of hair with little yanks. Had he only offered to braid her hair their first year — 
 
— who is she kidding. It would have scared her. This sweet, gentle giant of hers has only become this way through digilent hard work between them. Through years of talking and trying to trust — and even despite this change, he is still much the pretentious asshole she knows he can be, but the attentive and affectionate side of him is allowed to shine through ever wider and wider cracks in his mask. 
 
What they are now isn’t some novel design, it has always been there, they are just paving a track for it to run along. 
 
“Do you think they found us?”
 
“No.” He states with certainty. “They wouldn’t send a single fighter, much less crash it.”
 
Rey sighs. Even with sick lingering in her throat and pain throbbing in her veins, this display of kindness always makes her want him. It is an easy thing to imagine; his skilled fingers moving from her hair to the back of her shirt to unlace it. Perhaps he would kiss her neck. Perhaps he would twist her around and have his way with her.
 
Both sound equally nice.
 
“Maker. You aren’t even trying to hide your thoughts.” He chuckles and kisses her hair, now a mane of curls. “I thought you were unwell.”
 
“I am. But — I want to.” Rey sings satisfied, sounding too innocent for the conversation they are

mentally

having. 
 
“Is this all some elaborate ruse to lure me into bed?” he thinks out loud. 
 
Rey twists her torso so she can sit up and easily throw a leg over his lap to straddle him. He watches her, amused, making no effort to stop her. Her fingers make quick work on the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one until there is nothing but beautiful pale skin and a galaxy of moles scattered across a chest. 
 
“If I said yes, would you make me stop?” She draws a line with a finger between a few of them, imagining constellations and what she’d name them; she likes the way his breath hitches.
 
He doesn’t answer with his words, but with a conscious placement of his palms on her waist. They are large, warm and they leave goosebumps in their wake when he diligently draws them down in one singular long stroke, first enveloping her hips, then grabbing her thighs hard enough for his thumb to dent her exposed skin. He watches her like he wants to devour her; and how can feeling like a piece of meat make her bite her lower lip? Make her cant her hips and stroke her cunt against his already hard cock. 
 
— his mouth tugs into a half smirk. It pleases him.
 
Without much hesitation, he rearranges his hands, so one locks her knee in place and the other trails back up her leg, over her trembling stomach till he reaches her tender breasts and —

squeezes

. Rey inhales sharply, suddenly and he would chuckle if he wasn’t so taken with the meager flesh. He likes it when he can do this. There is this childish delight in his eyes when he gets to suckle on them or can circle her nipples with his tongue, sometimes he even bites them. It is almost as if he is studying how her nipples stiffen against palm, how her tits grow heated with his ministrations. 
 
An academic by heart even with something this visceral.
 
“Will it make you feel better? If we do it?”
 
Rey exhales, arches her back to look at the ceiling and lets him pull the hem of her tunic so he can move her against him more easily. Suits her just fine.
 
“Yes.” It comes out raspy, desperate. 
 
It’s a dance they have danced many times before. Or, it isn’t exactly a dance. It is more of a sparring match. Sometimes he is the one in charge of the drill, other times she is. They switch depending on the mood — occasionally they are equal; loving, slow and soft. 
 
Still, even after all this time though, and a whole lot of fucking, Rey keeps discovering novelties about sex. Or — sex with Ben that is. There seems to be endless places to touch, places to be touched. Last week his cock had stretched her ass and his fingers had made her cunt drip so much it had soaked the bed.
 
The memory alone scarlets her entire torso. 
 
His hands move again; one pulls at the back of her knee to bring her closer and the other snakes below the fabric of her long tunic — aiming directly for her cunt. This is not one of those times where patience is a virtue, and she almost cries in advance at the thought that maybe he’ll tease her! Toil with her.

No

. She feels him whisper in her mind; today he will give her

everything

.
 
A hot liquid chill jaunts down her spine. 
 
She shivers. He

sees

it.
 
Insufferable gloating fills the air around her, even if nothing in his expression gives it away. Many times she has promised herself to stop feeding his ego by not letting him undo her so easily. He has enough Skywalker cockiness for one person — she shouldn’t add to it.
 
And then his finger pushes her underwear aside and he goes to work massaging her tender heated flesh. In fact, it seems more tender than usual; close to hurting but enticing enough for her to believe she could probably come from this alone. And her slick? she hasn’t ever given it much thought, but does it move differently? It feels different.
 
A subtle deviance, definitely not enough for Rey to stop or from howling from the depths of her chest. There’s a terrible smirk on his face.
 
“Wicked.”
 
“No.” Rey whines, attempting to not move too much with his hand, to show how much she wants him.
 
He hums lowly, changing his pace and with a thumb already circling her clit, he prods her entrance with a lone finger. 
 
Rey gasps. 
 
“You are about to cum, aren’t you?”
 
She shakes her head, but he knows better.
 
“How do you want to be

fucked

? Do you want to be in charge?”
 
“No.”
 
“You want gentle?”
 
Another shake of the head.
 
A chuckle, his finger pushes inside. It finds that squishy part in an instant. He barely has to touch it — 
 
“Ah!” Rey chokes. The orgasm is intense, small; enough to make her thighs tremble with exertion. For a laugh to break through.
 
Ben’s mirth is a breezy thing in the Force, he too is surprised at how much she needed this. Sure, he has made her cum fast before, but a finger alone — now that is new. He keeps stroking the inside of her cunt like a master petting his lothcat watching the holonews. Always patient for her. 
 
After a moment, she rediscovers her ability to speak.
 
“I want to be fucked.” 
 
A half grunt, half laugh, Ben lifts himself by the elbow and removes his finger from her cunt, already scooting his pelvis to remove his pants.
 
Rey sits across his legs in a daze. The cramps seem to have stilled, her insides are a lovely rush of starlights — can you need to fuck so much that your body makes you ill? Rey doesn’t believe so, but then again —
 
“Rey. You are bleeding?”
 
She blinks once at the ceiling, then down at him, first noticing the muddled expression on his face, then the sticky red runnels of blood coating the finger he had used on her. He stares at it incredulously, as if he is not entirely sure what to make of it —
 
"I'm bleeding?" Rey asks. The orgasm still works her body and clouds her mind and it has been so long since ...Panicked, she throws a hand between her legs and draws them through her cunt and produces, to her

surprise

, another smear of dark blood.
 
"Shit."
 
Her knee hits the bedpost as she scrambles off the bed, making her all but wobble out the door and down to the fresher. The rustling of bedsheets and clothes tell her that Ben is chasing after her, but that hardly matters. She tumbles over to the toilet, sits down and spreads her legs to inspect herself.
 
Yeah. She is definitely bleeding.
 
“

Fuck

.”
 
"Rey? Are you okay?" He keeps his voice as level as possible, but his eyes never lie. 
 
"Yeah. Yeah. I think." She swallows, trying to gather her thoughts. "It's my cycle."
 
Ben is quiet for a second, lingering in the door, before walking inside.
 
“You seem surprised?”
 
“It is a

surprise

.”
 
“I thought females had it regularly? Have you not had it?”
 
Rey shakes her head, “I have an implant. I have bled spots, but nothing more — My cycle has — it’s never been regular.”
 
“An implant — how long ago?”
 
There appears to be only a few things they are awkward at talking about; most of those topics surround his ancestry, the recent galactic war, and moments from her childhood she’d rather not revisit. 
 
However, sitting here, legs spread over the toilet trying to explain her anatomy to him — it is awkward. Not because they are shy, but there is just such a lack of ...gendered empathy — how will she even begin to soothe his concern, when she can’t even truly make him understand.
 
“Three years?”
 
A pang of jealousy shoots through the Force.

Have she had other lovers?

It is a fleeting intrusive thought, but enough for it to strike him with crippling despair. Rey feels it deep within. Whenever they have sex their bond is always more active, their minds a mush, their emotions spill over — even if he tries his best to not let her see it.
 
It is such a surprise, Rey can’t do anything but sit and let his attempt at rationalizing his toxic emotions wash over her. 
 
He doesn’t blame her, he will never blame her. He wasn’t there, partially due to galatic distance and partially due to being a fucking miserable fuck —  but to know someone could secretly have given her what he wanted to — the regret is making him breathless.
 
However, the envy lasts only for a moment, because another thought pervades his mind — one that turns his pale face

white

like marble. 
 
“Does it have an expiration date?”
 
Rey breathes through her teeth, and goes very

very

still.
 
“I don’t know.”
 
“You don’t know.” He tastes the words in his mouth, rolling them around his tongue, “— we haven’t been careful.”
 
“We haven’t.” 
 
A sigh. Ben all but falls down on his knees in defeat and rests his cheek on the top of her thighs. It takes him the longest time to reply. He taps a finger onto the bone of her ankle, trying not to think out loud. 
 
“Do you think —?.”
 
“I — I haven’t felt a change. I don’t think that…” She swallows the rest of her words and chooses to ask something else. “You want us to go off world?”
 
“No. It’s too risky.” He shakes his head.
 
It is risky. Dangerously so. Especially if the rumour about the x-wing is true. It may be a single errant one or there could be dozens, thousands, waiting just beyond the atmosphere. They can’t know. 
 
Ben’s fingers twitch. She feels robbed of her breath. 
 
The hours spent in the medbay return to her, the droid’s metallic voice repeating over and over again...“— I was told I couldn’t.”
 
Ben looks at her sharply then, she doesn’t even have to turn her head to confirm it. His gaze burns in the back of her neck and his distress flares around them. She has told him many things, but she hasn't told him that. She is not sure why she is telling him? To comfort him? An excuse?
 
“Why?”
 
“I —. A med droid told me it might be difficult.” Rey sighs. Why do her cheeks warm so? There is nothing to be ashamed of. “I was… I was hungry a lot as a kid.”
 
And isn’t that all there is to say about that? She was hungry. She wasn’t fed right. The malnutrition has carved its way into her bones — the very fabric of her being. She may run away from Jakku. But Jakku follows her wherever she goes. She blinks the itching in her eyes away. Ben sees it though. 
 
“When it is safe,” he begins, “We’ll go off world.”
 
“Until then?”
 
“We’ll be careful.”
 
Rey scoffs. The mere thought of them being careful sounds ridiculous to her ears. Do they even know how? They are so in their emotions that she doubts they know when to stop. She glances down at him through her lashes; this larger than life man dutifully kneeling before her. He gifts her knee a kiss.
 
“Is this just an excuse for you to be let off?” Sometimes it is easier to banter with him than to dive into that pool of unsaid things and their implications. She thinks about that grey hair she spotted a few nights ago. The one trying hard to hide behind his mane of obsidian strands, but she saw it. Even the most powerful Force users are victim to time passing. “Thirty three. You are ancient.”
 
A growl, he nipples the flesh right above her kneecap, an intolerable flirty grin grows on his face, distorting the scar she had gifted him. The one that has faded into a barely visible white line — she wants to draw a finger over it. Her mark. 
 
“You seem fine with that.” Ben continues, switching from nipples to open mouthed kisses on her bare leg, — goosebump

flare

across her skin. “You have no complaints about my stamina.”
 
She wants to snicker, roll her eyes, but she gets distracted by the way his open shirt dips low and exposes the great expanse of muscle underneath. It is enough for her to bite her lip to stifle a moan. 
 
“Don’t tease. I’m bleeding.”
 
It's there, the gleam, the one he always gets when he is about to devour her.
 
“And?”
 
Rey presses her thighs closer together, “I — do you want me to bleed all over you?”
 
He blinks dumbfounded, as if she suddenly began to speak an alien language and draws himself up so they are face to face. It is enough for her cheeks to flame and for her to scoot back on the seat. 
 
“An odd moment to be shy,” he remarks.
 
“

Ben

.”
 
“Little scavenger.” Roughly, he pulls her to a stand by her hips and she has to arch her neck to look at him. His words roar inside her chest. “I chose the wrong path in life if I was squeamish about blood.”
 
Touché, Rey wants to say, but she can’t, because he is kissing her. All passion and reverence; enough to distract her from feeling the cramps wrecking her stomach. Enough to remove any self conscious doubt that he would find her repulsive. Of x-wings and implants.
 
“You are such a strange man.” She chuckles against his mouth. Happiness bubbles in her veins.
 
“I know,” he states matter-of-factly as he tugs his shirt off by the shoulder, and telekinetically turns on the fresher. 
 
The mirror clouds with steam as they make feeble attempts to kiss and undress at the same time. She pulls at his belt, throws off his pants, while he takes his time running a hand down her back, meticulously unlacing the back of her tunic till it pools at her feet. 
 
His cock, hard and pulsing, prods at her stomach, but Ben seems to be entirely unaware of how insisting his penis is. He pecks the side of her nose and he guides them both into the tiny shower. Her gaze falls to his bare feet facing hers; how much larger they are.
 
She curls her toes.
 
His attention is entirely on her though; sharing none of her heated thoughts. Or it appears that way from how he unhurriedly takes the soap from the basket attached to the wall, lathers it in his hands below the stream and draws it with his fingers through her hair. Patiently, he massages her scalps, alternating between pinching her ears and tickling the small hairs on her nape. 
 
The scent of blossoms fill the air, along with the steam and her sighs.
 
He is not delicate, but when has he ever been?
 
It is one of the things she enjoys about him, how even with his purest of intentions, he cannot help but push her. He does it now when he lathers her shoulders, rubs them in broad circles, up her neck and even if she knew it was coming, she inhales sharply as his hands caress their way from her collarbone to her tits. He can probably feel how fast her heart is throbbing through her skin. He fondles them sweetly, clearly enjoying how he can tease a blush onto her face, even though his is as red as hers — he is so shameless about his want of her. 
 
Whether that be pinching her nipples with a laugh or offering her to rule the galaxy with him.
 
There is no reason to feign ignorance at this point. Now that she has him, she can freely admit to having wondered what they’d do had she taken his hand. It is a fantasy more than anything, but as Ben rubs the soap into her aching back until he gets to her ass, she is quite convinced they would have had it out on the blood stained black floor. Him pounding into her as the world burned around them.
 
A fate like that would have been befitting then.

Then

is not

now

though. 
 
Rey feels him chuckle at his own cleverness through her collar bone; probably imagining how obtuse he is pretending to clean her up when it is all some ruse to feel her up, rubbing the crease between her cheeks more times than what is necessary for it to be clean. Her cunt throbs desperately.
 
She doesn’t know how to tell him with words, how much she needs him, so she tells him with a whimper and a pitiful thud of her forehead against his shoulder. Rey and Kylo would never have reached this lovely place had they gone down another path — she knows that in her heart from the way he responds to her plea with a kiss on the temple and a hand already going back over her hip to her front.
 
Love. Rey loves him. She hasn’t told him, hasn’t felt the need to. What would be the point? They are a dyad in the Force, it is something grander than love, more powerful.
 
But in moments like this, when he is understanding, gentle — and tall — the urge to whisper the words becomes more pressing than ever. 
 
“Don’t be scared,” she says instead and without much precision he drags the pads of his fingers along her folds. It’s a light rub, more a steady pace as if he is pretending to wash her — it forces her to cant her hips to get more friction for more.
 
He smiles. “Of what?”
 
An arm circles her waist and he lifts her so she can easily settle into a rhythm.
 
“The pilot.”
 
The room is full of steam and soft moans as she rides his hand. There’s a lingering concern that she is staining his hand, but the water cascading down their bodies and his own disregard for it makes it an irrelevant matter at the moment. She kisses him softly and it is a not a sudden orgasm, not like before, it comes like a wave in the distance, slowly but surely — until she gasps, rides his hand one last time and all but bites his shoulder. 
 
“I’m not,” he says, his tone tender.
 
She clears her throat, blinking. “Good.”
 
“He could be dead.”
 
“Ben!”
 
Sleepy-eyed, blissful, she looks down at him as he crouches down, her hands still on his shoulders as he continues to clean and squeeze her thigh, then her calf  — then repeats the same with her other leg. Between his legs his cock stands at attention, flushed and so desperate. She wants to pet it.

“I’ll protect you.”

He doesn’t quite catch her meaning just then, nor does he fully understand when she knocks his shoulder with her knee, silently asking him to halt his thorough cleansing. It takes him a moment, but when he does her hands move from his neck to the thick of his arms and she squats over him and his lovely cock.
 
“Rey,” he sighs reverently; his breath fanning against her chin grows more and more laboured as she guides him inside. This perfectness. She rides him with ease and he can just watch her with a strange pride. He trusts her. In every way. He trusts her power, her kindness. He trusts her to take control. 
 
She presses a kiss on top of his newly washed hair. It smells of fresh and fruity things. Wonderful things.
 
She rides him gently, rolling her hips till her face and her core grow warm again. He responds by burying his face in her collarbone, holding her waist tight and huffing again the wet skin. She sighs like she would after a long day at scavenging parts. 
 
They’ll be careful.
 
🜳🜳🜳🜳
 
The pilot is recovering.
 
Or so they murmur in the streets of their adopted village.
 
A talkative butcher has been to the village next over; he boasts loudly across the market how he got to see the foreigner in the local medbay. A rare thing to have out here in the grassy sea. The medbay is not a fancy one by galactic standard, but good enough to treat simple wounds and a cold. They know that because Rey and Ben have been there on a few occasions to look for scraps they could use on the Falcon and passed by the signs guiding clients to the clinic.
 
There are several villages in their near vicinity. None of them remarkable, but this village, a few clicks over, is slightly larger than their own and conveniently located near big dirt roads which makes it more accessible for the large nerf caravans to reach. This makes it by default a more well stocked town with specialized stores

and

a

medbay

. 
 
A medbay that supposedly houses a fallen x-wing pilot.

Supposedly

.
 
It’s a two hour walk across the hills to the west. It will be a day’s journey to solve this mystery, one they can hardly afford with their heater currently malfunctioning — but what is the alternative? Live in fear? Flee? It isn’t even up for debate at this point. 
 
They rise early enough for it to still be dark out. They eat their breakfast standing over the kitchen counter and put on their warmest shoes and more practical clothes and walk through their white grassy sea. A light rim of frost coats the leaves and petals. Rey can’t help but run a hand over the tips of the sea.  In the early morning they all look like they have been coated in expensive jewels and kyber crystals. 
 
It is a beautiful morning; the sky is bright lavender, and when they exhale it colors their breath a shy foggy purple. Ben is nervous, it pulses in the Force around them, but she senses that he tries to not let it guide him. For too long fear has controlled him. He doesn’t want to any longer. For the past two years he has lived without it — and he doesn’t want it back.
 
She bumps her shoulder into his and gives him a smile. He throws an arm over her shoulder in return and kisses the crown of her hair. There are questions lingering between them, but neither feel like opening that bag yet; Have they waited too long? Should they have found another planet? 
 
With the sudden news that an x-wing might have crash landed here, it isn’t in the hypotheticals any longer. They are at a real risk of being discovered. 
 
The purple becomes orange, then a turquoise blue, before they reach the city. 
 
The settlement resembles their own. It consists of small huts of clay, a market, and a landing platform overgrown with grass. The sun has risen, but the town is barely awake. It is only the ghosts of the last Jedi and the Jedi killer walking through it’s empty streets — with red noses sniffling due to the cold. 
 
They pause at the edge of the city to look at the hand drawn map the farmer had made for them pointing out the little clinic. Ben whispers, “We should see if we can find the fighter first..”
 
Their breaths fog and mingle. He is making a point, even if it surprises her that they are making sensible plans. She had always assumed they would be bold and reckless like they had been to each other. 
 
Then again, they hadn’t had each other to lose then. Rey nods and draws her poncho tighter around her body.
 
Birds chirp a serenade to them while they sneak around the narrow brick streets and open wide marketplaces, but they find no evidence of a fighter within the perimeter of the city nor has it been stored on or near the landing platform. 
 
Rey briefly bows her head, the stiffness in her shoulders wilts in an instant. It seems that the rumour was just a rumour. 
 
Which is too good to be true. 
 
“What’s that?” Ben asks abruptly. He gestures to a cloud of dirty smoke rising in the distance. 
 
The solace shifts into a soul crushing dread. Enough to steal the air in her lungs.
 
They don’t run to the source of the smoke, but they aren’t unhurried either. There is sweat perspiring on her skin from the speed at which they hike over the hills. They pant with exertion.
 
Hope. It is a terrible thing. It can move mountains, inspire greatness — and it can crush you into a shadow of yourself. 
 
Rey doesn’t exactly sob, but she feels close to tears. 
 
It is there, clear as day, an x-wing half buried in the frozen earth below — smoke still rising from its interior. 
 
It can’t be. 
 
Rey skids on the ice when running down the craterside, wetting the back of her pants, but she hardly cares. She all but jumps to the scene of the crime and swiftly wipes her palm through the sod and dirt covering the hull of the fighter. Her throat is tight, the acid burns her stomach.
 
The signature color of the Resistance emerges, along with a faded crest. It is worn and torn, but there is no doubt. 
 
“

Oh Force.

” Rey gasps under her breath, wanting to sink to her knees and bury herself with the fighter. To scream and yell to the skies. “

Fuck

!”
 
The frozen grass crackles behind her, his footsteps draw nearer. “Rey...”
 
She shakes her head forcefully, already pulling away from a hand she expects on her shoulder. There’s a growl stuck in the back of her throat, alongside a series of curses and expletives and she all but hurls herself up and into the cockpit. The metal is still warm from the explosion, the leather of the seat is partially burned, but the dashboard appears intact. 
 
If she can just slice her way to the pilot’s personal code. Maybe it is someone she knows, maybe it isn’t … maybe…
 
The screen lights up when she flicks the switch, the glass is cracked, but she can make out the aurebesh.
 
Ben’s face peaks up from the side of the fighter, concern

leaking

from him. “We should go.”
 
“Not yet. If I can —”
 
A sputter. Sparks fly from the panel and the screen goes dead. It is fried.
 
The strength with which she glares at the dashboard is enough to reset it back on fire. She is convinced she could, if she were able to focus on the Force. But it is also so muddled inside of her. Her emotions churn like a whirlwind. Rey closes her eyes and sacks back against the seat. 
 
Ben is quiet, but she feels his black eyes watching her. His concern appears not to be rooted in fear of being found, but her being upset. She hates that she likes that. He cares only for her, not for the galaxy. 
 
She reaches out with a whimper and places a hand over his which clutches the side of the cockpit in a vice. He returns the favour and twists his hand so their fingers lace. In a low voice, he tries to soothe. “It could be nothing. No one. They might not recognise us.” He presses a kiss onto her knuckles. “The galaxy may have forgotten us.”

Rey sighs and blinks her eyes open to stare over the broken cockpit window to the village ahead. 
 
“They might not.”
 
“We will make them.” He states with alarming certainty. His fingers twitch. “If we forget the galaxy, they will forget us.”
 
She wouldn’t describe the look she gives him as incredulous, but she can’t help but feel stunned at his boldness. Ben’s confidence has always been unwavering, which is charming to some extent, but it unnerves her now. How he speaks of this as if he simply wants to forget...
 
She doesn’t mean to sound reluctant — “We can’t ‘get on with our lives’ if we are discovered, Ben.” — but they are subject to the same laws of destiny as everyone else. Even if he is determined to overwrite it.
 
He pulls her a little closer to him. 
 
“Then we won’t.”
 
“Won’t what?”
 
“Get discovered.”
 
Rey chokes on her words. “You — you don’t know that.”
 
“I don’t.”  His expression darkens. This is no longer a simple trip. A wound that had only just begun to heal rips open before them, oozing hurt feelings and old fears onto the tarmac below. “ But I know that charging in, showing your face, that is what is gonna get us discovered.” He swallows, and states in a low voice. “

Let go

.”
 
The smell of scorched flesh and leaking fuel fill her nostrils. The memory of the throne room on the Supremacy flashes before her — a hand beggingly turned towards her. His open plea for her to take it, for them to let the past be the past — to let things go. 
 
“What is the alternative?” she counters, her breath plumes in front of her. A coldness settles in her bones, but not because of the weather. “I can’t go around every day being scared that I might stumble into someone I know. That I cannot live the way I want to. I want to see for myself who it is.”
 
Ben tightens his jaw, he always does that when she challenges his view, especially if he sees the logic in it. He wavers momentarily, before uttering a thwarted “

Fine

.”
 
It is a victory. Even if it feels nothing but. 
 
Rey nods and allows him to lift her out of the cockpit. He is gentle, on the edge, she feels it in how he is holding her a tad closer than necessary. All this time they have spent mending that gorge between them and a single fighter is what it takes to unearth it.
 
Rey kisses him on the lips. Sweet and yearning. 
 
He smiles. It’s not as wide as she wants it, but it is a smile. 
 
“Thank you.” It is a small gesture, but one that matters a lot. Their gratitude and remorse are things they seldom audibly show, but he deserves her overcoming her faults and hear it with his own ears.
 
His shoulders loosen at her admittance, yet, his hold on her doesn’t relent when he places her down on the ground again. He’s scared.
 
“Don’t be —” Rey comforts, “— it’ll be alright.”
 
He rests his forehead against hers, his skin cold and clammy with drying sweat. Rey croons, let’s down her guard and invites him in. The Force swirls around them and they feel all of it; the leaves slumbering, the birds huddling for warmth, death, decay, birth and life. The balance of it all.
 
The light and the dark.

Trust me

, Rey pleads in her mind.

Trust my light.

Ben exhales.
 
“I do.”
 
🜳🜳🜳🜳

There’s a bustle to the village, when they return. People yawn and grumble their way through the streets — everyone is acting normal. Which is unsettling in itself. But Rey assumes they don’t risk anything by an x-wing crashing near them. They aren’t on the run like them. Though they don’t act like it; Ben buys a loaf of rye bread as if his life isn’t on the line, while Rey inspects the map again. The clinic is stowed away; behind a home in a back alley. A green anonymous door greets them. No sign or anything, and Rey seriously doubts if it is even right.
 
They could be tourists. They look the part. 
 
For several long moments they both stare at the door with its cracked green paint and faded sign reading
“clinic”
, each trying to gauge their next course of action. 
 
Ben bends his neck to look down at her, frowns and takes a step closer and begins to roughly undo her buns. 
 
“You are too recognisable with these,” he explains. Rey resists, but he is persistent. “I wore a mask, you didn’t. They have to go.”
 
“My buns aren’t what is giving me away.”
 
“What does then? —” He counters, shaking loose the curls and pulls down his own knitted hat over her ears.  It smells of him; the spicy notes, his warmth and darkness. “— Your cuteness?”
 
Rey lifts an eyebrow in surprise, which he returns with a pinch to her red sniffling nose.
 
He chuckles. 
 
“

Cute

.” She shakes her head incredulously and straightens her back. “Wouldn’t they call me the

cute

Jedi then?”
 
“And risk my wrath?”
 
“Your wrath?”
 
“Only I get to see you cute.” Ben chuckles, cupping her cheeks that flare bright red. Rey blames the cold, but they both know that isn’t true. “I’ve seen you cute. No one else gets to.”
 
“Force.” Rey smacks his shoulder playfully, “Now is not the time. This situation calls for diplomacy.”
 
“You? Diplomacy?”
 
“I’m not saying I’m good at it — “ Rey readjusts the hat over her ears, tugging loose tendrils below the knitted yarn. “— but we can’t just

kill

our way to answers.”
 
“Why do you say that?”
 
Rey pauses. He is watching her with such bright clear eyes and the

oddest

expression on his face. The mirth disappears as if it was never even there. Rey doesn’t know what to say.

He takes that as an answer in itself. “You say it like I

enjoy

it.”
 
There are too few seconds for Rey to process his reaction before he barges ahead into the clinic — not even keeping the door open for her to follow. It slams on the hinges and leaves her alone with the guilt and confusion.
 
Why would this trigger him? All of a sudden.
 
Ben doesn’t look at her when she enters and neither does she. Rey pretends instead to study the little room as she undoes the scarf around her neck. White walls, tiled floors, metal tables and a distinct smell of detergent hangs in the air. It somehow makes her feel a little homesick. It brings to mind the days in the Resistance Medbay. The good and the bad. 
 
Even then — there is something about this place — it feels more like a craftsman’s workshop than the sterile rooms of med droids. 
 
A bell chimes, and through a crack in the door to his private abode the head of the doctor peeks out, toothbrush still in his mouth and blinks.
 
He is an older

Ugnaught

, with white bushy eyebrows and droopy eyes. 
 
He yawns, “You are

new

.” 
 
Ben ducks below a wooden beam, proving an imposing form even if he is wearing an ill-fitting poncho, a scarf that covers half his face and black unruly hat hair. “We heard you are hosting the pilot that crashed.”
 
The Ugnaught nods, spits the toothpaste into a sink and wipes his mouth with the edge of his sleeve. He looks tired, a little grumpy. Sort of like Unkar Plutt, but in a

good

way.  
 
“He isn’t taking visitors.”
 
Rey exchanges a look with Ben, who makes a simple shrug. The scavenger pouts, fumbling with the knitted fabric of the scarf as she steps forward. The Ugnaught watches her curiously. 
 
“We aren’t here to visit. Just to see if he is alright.” It’s a fool’s bargain. It doesn’t surprise her that all she gets in return is a snort. 
 
The doctor wobbles into the clinic and goes to sit down on his metal chair. It creaks under his weight. He is mumbling things under his breath, shaking his head uncritically. 
 
“He isn’t on display either.” 
 
With a swing of his feet, he glides back by his chair and opens a drawer in a metal cabinet. He draws out two latex gloves and continues to speak while tugging them down over his hands. “You think you are the first curious local to come to study our guest?”
 
At a loss, Rey wavers before silently asking Ben for help. He replies with an arched eyebrow and waves both hands in a mocking suggestion of using the force. Had it been any other day and had the circumstances been different, Rey would laugh at the weird display. 
 
But instead of filling her with joy, it

stings

. 
 
He is upset with her. He is mocking her.
 
Derisive, Rey bats his hands away and presents him her back. 
 
“We — aren’t locals.” The wheels of the metal chair squeak, but she sees that he listens to her plea. “We are off worlders too. We thought we might… help?”
 
The squeaking stops. 
 
“Help how?”
 
The Ugnaught sounds ancient; lost to a past. Yet, there is a quality to him. His eyes are kind and she feels it reflected in the Force too; His genuine desire to aid those who suffer. Rey has met enough medstaff to know that this trait isn’t guaranteed, despite the profession they have chosen. 
 
In many ways that applies to the Jedi too — what had begun as a plight of the light path became the hybris of a Jedi Order and its eventual downfall. It makes her want to trust him.
 
The machine behind him beeps. After a pause, he adds, “Have you been to my clinic before?”
 
Rey shakes her head. 
 
Ben scoffs, but remains quiet.
 
“Sit.” 
 
They both oblige.
 
The doctor rolls closer to her by the chair, its wheels draw long white lines across the floor, and hovers both hands close to her neck in a silent request for permission to examine her. 
 
She nods. 
 
The latex feels strange against her neck. Meddroids tend to scan for injuries; they never get this physical. The doctor feels at her lymphs, never once looking her in the face, but off to somewhere. Ben is still standing stiff behind her, but she feels his attention; how he absorbs every single thing. 
 
“Swallow.” The Ugnaught says. Rey swallows. He hums satisfied and then slides his hands down her neck to the lumps under her armpits and then to her chest. It is the oddest thing; a touch. Had this been Ben it would have felt entirely different, illicit, dirty even. But with the doctor there is nothing except deep concentration and pride in methodology. He draws blood from the pit of her arm too and puts listening devices on her back and chest, telling her to breath in and out. She does so a few times and coughs as well. 
 
“You seem in good health.” The doctor finally says after inspecting the samples he fed his machine. He draws a finger down the rows of numbers and letters, nodding to himself once every few lines.
 
In good health. Rey feels like beaming. She hadn’t assumed she wasn’t, but to be told it still gives her a sense of pride. Must have been all of Ben’s healthy food; the daily excercise, the safety of an embrace. Her companion must feel the same, because despite his offense he places a caring hand on her shoulder, rubbing his thumb over the taut tense muscles. A sigh escapes her and she twists her neck to nuzzle his forearm with her nose. 
 
They are good.
 
The Ugnaught glances at the chrono on the wall. 
 
“5 minutes. You can see him for 5 minutes.”
 
🜳🜳🜳🜳
 
The pilot is a young man with straw colored hair, a faded harelip, and light grey eyes. 
 
Rey has no recollection of ever seeing him and neither has Ben. 
 
And the pilot seems to share that notion.
 
“Who are you?”
 
Ben shuffles next to her, crossing his arms and gestures for her to speak. Rey isn’t a talker, why should she know what to say?
 
He doesn’t need to be in her mind for the —

this was your idea

— to pop up.
 
“We — heard about you — we thought maybe...you needed help.”
 
His thin lips stretch into a frail smile. The bruises have only just started to scrap, but he doesn’t look like someone on the brink of death. Just worn from injury. 
 
“Thank you. Do I know you?”
 
They both shake their heads. 
 
“Ah. You just — no. I — I think I remember wrong.” He scratches the stubble on his chin, trying not to let his distress show. Still, there’s a wet quality to his voice whenever he speaks; a man on the verge of crying. “I — don’t remember a lot. I remember a battle. I took a random fighter and then — I’m here…”
 
“A battle?” Ben wonders out loud from behind her. “The war is still going on? Didn’t it end two years ago?”
 
The pilot moves to scratching his hair, looking genuinely disturbed. “I — don’t know. Did it end? I — how long was I out there?”
 
They all look at the Ugnaught who stands in a corner with a testy countenance — Is it possible?
 
“I don’t know.” He sniffles. “I’m not an expert. Far from it. You’d have to go to the capital. There might be some there … but you are far far away and not in a fit state to go.”
 
“Force.” The young man breathes out loud. “I don’t even know my name.” His eyes grow shiny. His voice is trembling. “Did I have a name? I don’t know.”
 
The Ugnaught turns to them once more. “Exposed to space that long, the cold. It could be the cause of his memory loss.“ There’s a seriousness to his tone that wasn’t there before. Both Ben and Rey look at him then. “But perhaps… you two can help him unlock it?””
 
“Us?” Rey asks; her question mubbled by Ben’s harsh — “

No

!”
 
“You said you wanted to help, didn’t you?” A pause, the Ugnaught smacks its lips and then adds. “

Help him

.”
 
There’s a funny feeling in the air; something

ripe

threatening to burst open. It presses against her chest, making it hard to think, to breathe. She glances up at Ben over her shoulder, who flinches at her attention. 
 
The muscles in his throat grow taut, his jaw clenched tight. Rey doesn’t like this look on him — he is usually blunt to a fault, offensive even— but this calculated silence is him picking his words, which is an indicator that he knows what he has to say will not go down well. 
 
Rey reaches out and with a timid touch wraps her fingers around his, hoping it will make him gather the courage he needs to tell his truth. She hated his honesty once, but now she needs it.
 
He huffs and proceeds to drag them both out the clinic and into the backyard. His force signature

pulses

with anger. 
 
"Ben…"
 
"Don't think you can sweet talk me into agreeing! I'm not a doormat, Rey. I won't let you make me complicit in your fool hearted jedi nobleness—" He spits low under his breath "— I'm not with you on this."
 
"With me on what?"
 
"Amnesia. A bit too convenient.”
 
“Amnesia isn’t some fake thing.” She peaks down the alley to check for an unwanted audience, “And what are you trying to say. What horrible thing am I forcing you to?” 
 
“I’m not exposing us to a man who could be Resistance!”
 
“The Resistance isn’t the enemy Ben!”
 
A disbelieving laugh. He draws a hand through his hair. It makes Rey want to cower, hide in a corner — she straightens her neck instead. 
 
“Rey. Your Resistance friends will kill me.” He pauses, and then even lower, “Allegiances aren’t durasteel. They might even kill you.”
 
“You are wrong.”
 
“Force, Didn't you feel it?"
 
"Feel what?"
 
"He recognized us."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 3
Family and FallacyII
As it turns out, there are many ways for Rey to be mad with Ben Solo.
 
There are the obvious ones. His temper. His short clipped sentences. His neatness. His force powers and general anti-social tendencies.
 
He isn’t an easy man to live with. Sure, there are benefits, but Rey often finds herself infuriated with him on a daily basis. It is a mystery how someone can be so blaringly wrong

and

stubborn about not being wrong, when she knows he is smart enough to know better. After years of living with him she has a growing suspicion that he does it because he enjoys riling her up with purposeful obstinance until her face flares red with untamed fury. 
 
Or he can be cruel; ask her questions he knows she doesn’t want to answer or with calculated intent hurt her feelings, when she hurts his. 
 
Ben is not without faults. He has many.  And it is easy to become mad at him because of them. Far too easy.
 
This though? This simmering pique itching deep below her skin is different. She is not sure she is mad at him, but she finds herself often in that mood lately.
 
Maybe it is harder to justify her wrath, because he isn’t wrong about the pilot. Ben is rational, cautious, sensible about something for once — and that makes it harder for her to stay in her madness. Yet, she keeps reverting back into anger, despite reminding herself that his intentions are good — his rejection of her kindness in that back alley still

hurts

. 
 
It hurts to know that even after all this time, his worldview hasn’t changed. He distrusts everyone, he is convinced the Resistance is as terrible as the First Order. He refuses to even entertain any topic that is about the galaxy outside of their little planetary bubble. He either snaps or stays mute. Which makes her angry too. She is angry that he is probably right when she doesn’t want him to be. 
 
Her anger tends to emerge like a flare, burning bright and hot for the briefest moment — making her shout, punch things … and then it fades. 
 
This has yet to fade. 
 
This anger that on one hand feels half-hearted, but on the other she feels it with such potent conviction.

It churns within her. A stewing kind of madness which she has no clue what to do with. Perhaps the simmering quality of it leaves her without her usual valves to release it. She doesn’t want to yell at him. She doesn’t want to punch him. But — it’s there. Softly boiling. Enough of a presence within that she can’t exactly

pretend

everything is nice and well. 
 
Sometimes she thinks of it like a glacial river she saw on Illum; a violent current carving its way below thick ice. One cannot hear it, but it's there. Far below her thick ice of fear, barely kept at bay. Until one day when it erodes it all.
 
Rey tries to comfort herself with the knowledge that so far their compassion has always triumphed over their shortcomings ...eventually. The past two years have been a testament to that. Given time, it will pass. They will slowly forget about it, if they don’t talk about it.
 
And they don’t —
 
— but the village

does

.
 
They can hardly turn a corner without hearing whispers of the crash and its dashing mysterious pilot. And there are several versions of the story floating about and they seem to get more elaborate by the minute. 
 
Suddenly the war, which had become a distant memory, becomes an annoying bug that keeps biting and nipping at her flesh, leaving tiny red mosquito bites all over her arms in a harsh reminder; they truly cannot escape — ever.
 
The ruby liquid in her glass has a bright shine to it, while she ponders the question. Rey twirls it with a loose wrist and watches how it swirls into long streaks of white and red. Never mixing, but trying. Shooting stars on an ominous red backdrop.
 
It’s not her first choice, drinking the dizzying product of fermented berries, but not because she doesn’t like the taste — but because of the memories. 
 
She avoids it when she can, but it's hard to make a pass on it when it is given to her with such bright smiles and laughter by her hosts. She raises the glass to stare down the long table with familiar villagers who have all gathered to celebrate the return of the farmer’s daughter and her family. 
 
Through the glass their faces are red. The hanging lights above too. The whole repurposed barn becomes a shade of wine.
 
From her right two women whisper;

“What is he doing all the way out here? Is he lost?”

Her ears peak up by their own volition, but she doesn’t move her head to look at the pair.  She already knows who they are talking about. Ben, sitting next to her, goes still too. Even if they don’t want to hear, they cannot avoid it.

“They say he was a part of the war out there!”

“Who?”

“The pilot. The one who crashed a few weeks ago.”

Rey takes a long uncharacteristic swig from her drink and slowly slithers down the chair in some feeble attempt at hiding. Her fur lined hood sheaths her face from the jaw and down, feathering her alcohol warm cheeks. Ben peeks at her, but he doesn’t say anything. In hindsight they should’ve known they couldn’t escape the pilot here either. They should’ve stayed home below the covers. 
 
She doesn't need to say the words out loud for Rey to know he feels the same.
 
She hates it though. The silence between them. He hasn’t said a lot lately and he can pretend all is well, but she knows he is avoiding opening his mouth in an attempt at halting some imagined rift forming between them. 
 
He thinks the pilot is an enemy; he said as much that day, in front of the clinic. That the young man had recognised them. But Rey hadn’t. Not even a slither of wrong intentions. She hadn’t felt any of the recognition Ben swears the pilot had. 
 
In her darkest moments, his silence makes her question his motives instead of soothing her thoughts. Would he purposely lie to her about the pilot in some — strange attempt at dissuading her from acting on her compassion of the pilot?
 
It seems so out of character and yet plausibel at the same time.
 
Rey takes another gulp.

“A war hero.”

The girl’s voice is dreamy, her eyes glazed over as she loses herself to a reverie.

“I wonder what stories he has? Any dashing rescues?”

“- He must have! Why else would he be all the way out

here!”
 
“Ben.” A villager suddenly interrupts from the other side of the table, the dark skinned humanoid too obviously caught in the whispered conversation between the two girls too. His pale fur shines golden in the candle light, making the curious intensity of his yellow eyes become more unsettling than it probably is. “Weren’t you too in the war?”
 
The girls fall abruptly silent, their attention fixes on the odd couple next to them. Rey cringes and if she thinks she is succeeding at hiding their involvement she is doing a shit job at it with how she moves nervously on her chair and scratches the back of her neck. 
 
Ben is calm in comparison. He takes a languid gulp of the wine and announces with an unbefitting simpleness —
 
“Yes.”
 
The buzzing of chatter halts much like the wind dying in the eye of a storm and the eyes of a crowd all flash in their direction; glued to the new additions to their village -- the ones who had come in a ship too. 
 
Ben seems distant, almost like he doesn’t care.  Rey would ask him why, but the crowd’s gazes prickle at her mind and she wants nothing more than to fully slide down her chair and hide from their scrutiny.
 
A hoarse laugh erupts from someone at the end of the table. “Really?

Wow

! Were you important?”
 
Ben makes a half hearted shrug, fiddling with the soft doughy insides of his bread and chews the pieces he digs free with an exasperating nonchalance. “No one of consequence.”
 
Rey curbs a snort. Understatement of the year. She narrows her eyes at him, not liking how he sounds as if he is telling another person’s story -- that he didn’t live this. 
 
“Is that how you ended up here? Did you crash too?!”
 
“I

don’t

crash.”
 
Rey arches an eyebrow. He ignores it. 
 
From the other end of the table a fisherman belows over the crowd of people asking questions;

“I saw the landing. You almost did!”

The attendees scoot in their seats, reminding Rey of a gathering of children all tuning in to listen to their grandparent’s fantastical tales. But it isn’t a fantastical tale -- it is troubling, full of hurt and ...
 
A smirk, he nods his head to her. “I wasn’t the pilot.”

“Oi.” Rey protests with a kick to his shin. “

You

try to pilot a ship with a malfunctioning ion engine!”
 
Ben grins into his cup and tugs his shoulders loosely up. “I

offered

to do it.”
 
“As if

that

would have made it better.” His dimples show. Those wonderful dimples that liquify all her insides -- the ones that make it so much harder staying mad at him.  
 
“

It

would have.”  
 
Okay. She takes it back. It is harder, but not impossibly hard. Rey pouts, reaches up and pinches his nose just as he takes another gulp of his drink. He sputters the wine onto his shirt with the grace of a wild nerf. It looks absolutely ridiculous. This man; he has conquered whole star systems and made people bow to him with the force.
 
He appears almost — human. A regular person with faults like her. He chuckles a bit. His teeth are dyed purple from the wine, not at all an appealing sight.
 
But he is hers. Even if he makes her terribly mad and frustrated. 
 
With a shake of the head, Rey reaches up and draws a thumb over a droplet of wine running towards his chin. He isn’t angry with her. His eyes shine bright with gold as he watches her patiently — he is patient with her — the knowledge is like a rush of exploding neutron stars within her chest. Her thumb slides upwards, towards the dimples that aren’t fading.
 
To think she once thought him plain and uninteresting. Or retch at the thought of kissing him, least of all look at him. 
 
Who would have thought, Ben almost seems to say with the wideness of his smile. He leans his cheek into her hand, letting her cup his jovial face.
 
“Is that how you met?”
 
The star-crossed lovers blink at each other. For what felt like a breath stretched into infinity Rey was sure she had been thrown back into their force bond; that they had not been sitting here, but somewhere else entirely. All sound had evaporated, except for his sweet

sweet

inhale and exhale. Just them. 
 
Only them.
 
No, they are not somewhere else, they have been here this entire time. Bashful, but not quite, Rey and Ben both turn their heads towards the young teen who had meekly asked the question. Her eyes twinkle with youthful curiosity. For her there are only the simple things in life. And love, compassion, such novel things that she has just barely begun to know — Rey cannot blame her.
 
But Rey finds no words to describe the burning pit of trash their introduction had been — including their courtship. She looks up at Ben, hoping to find an answer — but he looks as troubled as she feels. His shoulders rise and fall heavily and he licks the insides of his cheek nervously. It is so easy to reach out and take his hand.
 
“You don’t have to,” Rey mouths up at him. And really, they don’t have to.
 
But the entire table has all gathered, their eyes glistening. It is as if none of them have a single clue about the loaded past of their newest arrivals. They act as if Ben and Rey are simple people with a simple love story. 
 
It is nice. To be thought of as one of the insignificant ones; a glorious place to hide in for the rest of their lives. Which is why they don’t have to share their meeting. They don’t have to. 
 
It surprises her then to hear his deep voice bellow through the hushed barn. 
 
“When we first met… it was at the dawn of the war and she had something I needed.”
 
He pauses, smacks his lips in some physical attempt at channeling some version of their story that doesn’t reveal him — or her — or how terrible it had all been. 
 
Everyone has gone quiet, including Rey herself, who is grabbing his hand in a vice. 
 
He gifts her a meek, comforting smile and scratches the curls on the back of his neck. “Well. She didn’t want to give it to me. And I, because of that, didn’t make a

good

first impression.”
 
It robs her of breath, the painful memory alone. Not only because of how he had

forced

her on board the ship,

forced

himself into her mind — but because of how Han haunts it. Their first meeting will forever be colored by Ben’s crime. Her despair. Ben’s soul crushing regret. 
 
Quieter, he adds — “She did though. Make a good impression.”
 
Suddenly Rey feels herself become an equal member of the audience swallowing his every word. He is telling her a story she knows, but one she has never viewed this way. It is heavily and purposely modified, but it remains his version of

them

. Of

her

.
 
“She was strong. Skilled. Bested me in

every

way,” he begins to apprise, growing more and more confident with every uninterrupted sentence. He has never talked this much, but the strength this gives him, putting words to his experience, he appears to grow even taller,

stronger

.
 
 “And I remember seeing her, in the snow...—” 
 
She remembers that, too. 
 
But not like this. The events transpiring in the forest on Starkiller base had been wretched — She experiences it still; the smell of burning durasteel, warm blood coating the white freshly fallen snow, flesh torched.
 
But now … A new memory resurfaces. One she had buried away in her heart alongside the grief of Han —
 
— Ben’s

wide

eyes as she had caught the saber. The snow that gently fell onto his hair, onto his eyelashes. 
 
Her heart had skipped a beat. She had made no note of it then. 
 
“She was everything I wasn’t. But she was also the same.” 
 
His description falters. The dreamy look he had in the beginning transforms into something grimer,

harsher

. They can never have something pure, can they? Always the past. Always the crimes. 
 
“What choice did I have?”
 
Even then — had she felt this pull to him?
 
There is a moment of silence, of everyone absorbing the usual quiet and timid giant’s grand confession. Rey feels the weight, too, but he makes it even worse by staring back at her. Why does he look so frightened? Is something wrong?
 
“

Rey

. What about you? Is it true — you hated him?”

The mere mention of her name pulls her back from her place as an equal observer to the speaker’s chair. Their meager audience churn with desire for her to prove them wrong, just as much as they want to be proved right.
 
The scandal, the romance.
 
She gapes a bit, robbed of speech. How will she even — her version of things feels more muddy than Ben’s account and in actuality, she doesn’t really know how she felt — 
 
Rey stammers, “Yes. I — I didn’t like him. I — I —

hated

him. He was crude,

mean

…” 
 
The description feels wrong for so many reasons.

Did

she hate him? Rey stops speaking, frowning down at her empty plate and the crumbs of bread scattered over the table. Did she hate him? Like she hated Snoke? Like she hated Unkar Plutt? Like she hated the foul taste of expired rations? 
 
“— no,” she corrects. “I didn’t hate him. Well — I’m sure I

disliked

him. But … it's more; I

hated

the

stuff

he did.”
 
Yes. This feels right. She feels it all the way into the back of her spine — it expands her chest, raises her shoulders. It has always been difficult to be sure of anything with Ben; her emotions seethe like the sudden sandstorms in the Jakku — but this though, this she is certain of. Maybe the only thing she is certain of.
 
Her eyes draw back up to his. He senses it too; something undefined slotting into place.
 
“I don’t think I ever hated him.” There is an airy quality to her chuckle, one that deepens his dimples. “Maybe that was the problem. I

forgot

to hate him sometimes.”
 
Isn’t that the core to it all? No matter how detestable he could be, no matter the width of the gorge between them, she could never bring herself to hate him. And neither could he. And without neither knowing in desperation to hate each other, compassion had blossomed instead. 
 
Sure. Rey is mad with Ben. She is right to be mad with him. But she doesn’t

hate

him. Even with all of their conflicts and disagreements, Rey will never hate him. 
 
This thing, the pilot, they can survive it. 
 
Ben’s hand circles hers. There’s an intent there, one she cannot decipher. A resolution to some archaic conundrum. Rey closes her hand over his, her thumb stroking his knuckles. 
 
We are good. She tries to say. We can be good to each other. 
 
“I’m curious,” The farmer interrupts; but they don’t look at him. 
 
“Did you meet it? A Kylo Ren?”
 
Neither flinch. It surprises Rey. The calmness they suddenly share. Kylo Ren had always been a source of contention — but now...
 
“Yes.” Rey says, even though she hates to admit it. 
 
“Was it scary?!”
 
Ben sighs, adding a clipped — “

He

was.”
 
“Do you know what happened to him?”
 
Ben doesn’t look away from her. Not for one second. 
 
And she does wonder, now that it is brought up. Has something happened to Kylo Ren? He goes by Ben here and two years have passed with no incident, no relapse into old habits — had something happened right under her nose on faithful summer’s day a long long time ago when they had lied in the grass together.
 
His shoulders deflate, he exhales harshly through his nose and in the firmest most confident tone he answers her question which she didn’t ask —

“He died.”

🜳🜳🜳🜳
 
Ben had wanted her. Ben has wanted her since the beginning. Ben wants her now.
 
Their eyes are locked over the candlelight and Rey has the strangest feeling of being back on Ach-to — but not just anywhere. They are in the hut, a storm thunders outside, but neither hears it. To them there is only the crackling of the fire, the echo of their soft breathing and the thrumming of

hope

as their fingertips almost touch.  
 
She had forgotten how intense that moment had felt — and how close she had been to falling to his side with how sweet he had looked, mouth softly parted and eyes shimmering with stars.
 
He had wanted her then, as he wants her now. 
 
For the longest time Rey had remembered that moment in the hut with a sour taste in her mouth. That honest connection she had felt — only to realise it had been Snoke’s doing all along had charred every single gentle emotion she felt towards Ben. Snoke had twisted them into something vile and repulsive.  
 
But Snoke had been wrong. She sees it now. 
 
Snoke hadn’t influenced them; what they had felt in the hut had been the

truth

. It was

right

. She had been

right

all along. 
 
It makes her

want

him.
 
It makes her want to be tossed onto the table and subject herself to his claiming. To reach out and kiss him and make him debauch her in front of everyone; slam into her so hard that the wine glasses would rattle, making candles drop to the floor. It is nothing but a fantasy at the moment, but it is enough to have her fingers twitch, her breath shallow and her cunt

clench

. 
 
Ben licks his lips. The awe in his eyes becomes less innocent; they darken with desire. 
 
A plate shatters from somewhere behind them, followed by laughter bouncing off the walls. 
 
They are not alone. A usually unremarkable observation, but right now, it is quite like being forced to drink a health tonic. It is a bitter thing to swallow and she’d prefer to spit it out, but they cannot stop it once it is inside. The medicine sobers them both; clears her brain.
 
Rey inhales sharply. She looks away.
 
“Rey...—” Ben begins, but he doesn’t finish his sentence. 
 
She can feel him closing off his thoughts; which is never a good sign. It bothers her. Not enough for her to charge at him, but enough so for her to eye him like a hawk over her shoulder; as if staring at the scar would eventually make it split open and spill his innermost thoughts. 
 
But does he even need to? Rey suddenly realises. Her mind now lust free gives it space to absorb his words that weren’t compliments — and there was this small thing. The tiniest choice of adjectives.
 
Kylo is dead. 
 
Not —

I don’t know.

Not —

disappeared.

Not —

hiding somewhere.

No. He described him as

dead

.
 
It feels more like a wish spoken out loud. 
 
But — why? Hadn’t their conflict years ago been sourced around him wanting her to understand just how much he couldn’t

stop

being Kylo. He almost seemed proud of it. His darkness. Sure, Ben, as he went by now, had smoothed out his darker edges over the years, but to say that Kylo Ren was gone from him would be a lie. 
 
It seems so...odd for him to so decisively kill him off. Especially the way he had snapped the answer with no hesitation. 
 
Well. At least one of them was sharing, Rey dissents quietly — how much has he opted to not share with her?
 
It is a spiraling set of thoughts that gnaws at her in an unpleasant way; like a shoe not quite fitting, forming blisters on her heel, making it just a little harder to stay positive.
 
The blisters grow larger and larger as they walk back together, as they brush their teeth over the sink, as she removes her clothes to throw them in the same pile she always does — the one Ben dutifully clears every day with no complaint. 
 
Ben has already closed his eyes, but he is not yet asleep.
 
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he whispers after several moments of her staring down at him from her spot next to his on the bed. 
 
Her jaw tenses, she opens and closes her mouth, but whatever opinion she has fails to materialize into words.
 
“Come here,” Ben grumbles impatiently, extending his arm high above his head in an invitation. “Tomorrow.” he adds; a small addition, spoken like he is forging a peace bargain. 
 
Rey watches his arm hanging stiffly above his head. It feels wrong going to sleep with

this

unresolved, but she is not really sure she has it in her to start this fight. It is so tempting to relent, to give in and lie down on his chest and fall asleep to the sound of his beating heart.  
 
“Tomorrow.” Rey repeats, extending a verbal handshake before curling up in his arms. 
 
🜳🜳🜳🜳
 
That night she dreams of smoke, of lightsabers clashing. 
 
She dreams of a man who looks half decaying; his skin loose barely hanging on to his skull only kept at bay by a dark snarl pulling at his blemished face; yellow teeth bared. 
 
Rey thinks for the longest time that she has been transported, that this is real — it lacks that quality of a dream, that airiness with its smudged out details — but then she stumbles back and looks down at herself. She is dressed in a black dress and she knows then it has to be a dream, because clutched in her hand —
 
— is the severed head of Ben. 
 
🜳🜳🜳🜳

“Unnatural they are. The

Skywalkers

.”

🜳🜳🜳🜳
 
The ceiling is black and Rey’s eyes are open, but she can’t think of why. Her heart is pounding, her mind empty. It is as if someone has emptied a syringe of adrenaline right into her heart. Her eyes strain against the darkness. Waking is nothing like a mother’s gentle caress — more of Unkar Plutt yet again raising the prices for rations. It’s revolting and yet she is completely at his mercy.
 
It is still night, Rey concludes, her breathing steady with a snail’s pace. Her eyes feel sore and itchy. Has she been crying and why are all her limbs clammy with sweat? 
 
The snarling grin returns to her then. 
 
“A nightmare. It was just a nightmare.” She extends her hands in front of her face. There is no blood. Not even a trace. Even in the blackness of their bedroom, it is unmistakable. 
 
Still, she had to look. The last image of her dream pinches at that spot between her ribs. His eyes were so dull —

dead

— his skin drooped over his cheekbones and his mouth was wide open, his jaw unhinged. 
 
Rey can still feel every strand black hair she had fisted in her palm. It felt so real. She makes herself look at her hand again, just to confirm that it was a dream. A very real one.
 
Her dreams have never felt this real. Rey goes over them in her head; She has nightmares, but not of this kind. She has had Force predictions that felt like this, but she has only had those during her meditations — never when sleeping. 
 
Rey pads the spot next to her for Ben. “Ben — are you awake. I need to know about —” Except, he isn’t there. His rocky back isn’t denting the mattress and the sheets are cold. 
 
Using the Force, Rey snaps on the light as she throws herself up into a sitting position. 
 
He isn’t there. Her eyes confirm that from where they glue to the spot shaped by him.
 
Still reeling from the nightmare, a thousand things go through her mind; a battle between panic and calming herself. He could be anywhere; he could be getting some water, he could be going to the bathroom — His clothes aren’t on the floor, which means he must have put them on Rey deducts. 
 
Did someone take him? Has he left?
 
She shakes her head harshly.

Be rational.

Rey begs of herself. But logic is hard to come by with every emotion thumping just below her skin. When the unnerving snarl is still

flashing

behind her eyelids. 
 
The floor is glacial and Rey hisses low under her breath while reminding herself to have a look at the heater tomorrow. Now she needs to find Ben and some peace of mind. She draws her sheet over her shoulders and ricochets down the stairs.
 
The hut is silent, except for the wind weeping in the pipes and under the roof. She inspects every room, but finds no sign of Ben. None of the lights are turned on either, which isn't saying a lot — she had after all walked in on Ben chugging a gallon of green milk in pitch darkness once. 
 
Still. He feels far away somehow, as if he isn't even in the house.
 
Rey pads into the kitchen, to the window overlooking the hills. It is dark here too, but the low rising moon shines a pale blue through the glass onto their

home.

It highlights all the things that are theirs; a bouquet of dried flowers from yard on the table, their multitude of pickled vegetables gathered on a shelf, Rey’s tools scattered in some organized mess, the blanket the farmer’s wife had crocheted for them the first winter they spent here.

Their home.

A flash of red is what draws her attention back to the window.
 
There is no reason to be cautious, but she can't help but feel like an intruder. Slowly, she steps closer to the wooden frame to study the source of the red flashing light.
 
Rey has seen Ben in combat many times. She has been on the opposition side of it too. However, it never ceases to amaze her how powerful and skilled he is. He is throwing his saber around himself with taught violence, mercilessly slashing hidden enemies in his path.
 
He learned all of this through years of gruesome work, which benefited him...and around him.
 
In the hide of their kitchen, the darkness surrounding her begins to seep into her heart. Rey has trained...for less than a quarter of her life, and while she knows they are equal, she never fails to notice how different they are. Ben is attuned to the force in a way Rey can never be. To him it is second nature, he was born with it, powerful from the beginning — she had it dormant for so many years and even fewer years to practise. Even now, she has to tap into it on purpose. 
 
And what she knows, she stole from him.
 
The red of his saber twirls and twists with pent up agitation. But Rey doesn’t sense anger. She senses that he is confused, conflicted. He is charging at something unseen, something beyond her. He is alone, which means he could be practising, but it lacks the taste of it. 
 
The dark whispers in her ear; Perhaps his distance is rooted in this, somehow. It's logical. All this effort, a lifetime of working towards a goal, almost achieving it through great odds — only to have it ripped away and forced into a life of anonymous domesticity.
 
He must be humiliated, Rey sighs. He had said he wanted this life with her, but was that more out of desperation or lack of alternatives? 
 
If he could choose, would he choose a different fate for them?
 
Would she?
 
In the moonlight Rey finds him to be a bright spot in the night, ethereal in a frightening way. He is beautiful, so powerful — and now he has been reduced to hiding somewhere. Despite knowing what he’d reply to her, or rather, the disbelief he’d angrily spit at her guilt, she feels it waver within herself; the knowledge that this is not the life he would have chosen had he had a choice. 
 
It must be it. Rey assumes. His regret spilling out, when he had said Kylo Ren was dead. 
 
How long she watches him, blanket drawn tight around her shoulders is hard to say, but eventually she makes the decision to crawl back into their bed. Nothing good will come of confronting him now anyway. Tomorrow, they will talk about it. She had promised him and she wants to honor that promise.
 
🜳🜳🜳🜳
 
He is sleeping next to her when she wakes with a yawn the following morning. Their bed is warm and he is large and sweetly snoring into his pillow, drooling a bit too from where he lies big and wide and flat on his stomach.
 
When he returned, Rey can’t recall, but it fills her with glee to find him back in their bed. Rey skiddles closer and presses a kiss onto his hair. He smells of sweat and sleep, not a pleasant odor, but it's fine because it is his. 
 
“Ben?” Rey whispers against his cheek, nuzzling herself close.
 
He makes a half snort, half grumble, but doesn’t stirr. She strokes his hair free off his face and sighs. He is gone, worn out, and he so seldom sleeps like this — even with all the worry, all the questions in her heart, she cannot find it in her to wake him. Talking can wait. 
 
The hut is a bit warmer this time and Rey tiptoes down into the kitchen, but doesn’t feel in the mood for eating anything. In fact, she feels restless. She needs to distract herself somehow. 
 
The tarmac covering the Falcon catches her attention then, from how it trashes harshly with the wind. One of the steel hooks must have gone loose, Rey realises and goes out to put on her thick woolen boots and warm knitted sweater.
 
It turns out that the problem was not the hook, but one of the thick ropes having somehow untied itself — which it shouldn’t be able to — but it must have, with how it whips about in the air. Rey frowns and catches the rope with her hands and makes an even tighter knot and tugs on it just to be sure. 
 
It’s strange, Rey thinks, as she walks to each hook and inspects the knots just in case. Could it have been an animal? Had Ben untied it or —?
 
She shakes her head and opens the loading ramp to the ship. It must be cabin fever, maybe it was stress that had her think these ridiculous thoughts. Yeah, that must be it, she tells herself as she goes through the Falcon’s internal systems — just in case…
 
But there is nothing to record, nothing to note. Everything is as perfect as they had left it — or as perfect as something can be on the Falcon. So she goes to work dusting off the places where dust could become a problem, vacuuming it with the little portable device stored in the utility closet (amongst other strange widgets gathered by Han throughout the ages, and a porg’s nest with freshly laid eggs). 
 
Once done she puts the vacuum away and, having grown quite sweaty, reaches out for a piece of cloth hanging on a shelf above it. It smells like clothes left in a closet for years, all dusty and old. Feeling a sneeze coming on, Rey removes the shirt from her face, hissing in breath —
 
Is that her old Jedi clothes?
 
“Achoo!” 
 
🜳🜳🜳🜳
 
It feels wrong, odd, to put on the grey wrappings and the black tunic. It feels even weirder to unwrap her buns to recapture the way her hair had looked that fateful day. The person in the mirror looks nothing like what Rey looked like back then. Even if only a few years have passed, she looks so much older now. Not old. But ...older.
 
Rey draws a hand around her jaw, noticing the sharpness of it. She is no longer a child, but a woman. Does that development change anything? 
 
It doesn’t change the girlish nervousness buzzing in her veins. This idea, it feels a bit silly. Maybe even somewhat desperate. One cannot redo the past — but one can...

reenact

it. Poe had once drunkenly explained how some couple’s roleplay fantasies when having sex. It could range between many things, but often the scene would be something that required a certain level of trust between the participants. It could bring relief — pretending.
 
It was worth a try, Rey argues, readjusting the belt around her waist. She draws a breath, willing herself to go through with it. Even if she isn’t quite sure what she is trying to do.
 
The light is on in the kitchen when she returns and she can hear Ben sipping from his caf. Rey trails her fingers along the walls trying to rehearse some kind of introduction ...
 
“There’s more caf in the pot.” He announces, probably already having felt her enter. “Might need to be reheated tho—”
 
He stops his speech the second she appears in the doorway. The cup dangles from his hand and a most surprised, incredulous expression sharpens his face. This is Ben Solo speechless, Rey realises. 
 
A good sign. It must be. Rey sways on her feet, fingers playing with the gray loose wrappings. She wants to smile, to twirl around, but opts for carefully asking; 
 
“Remember this?” 
 
There is a strange fondness beating in her chest. Melancholy too. Ben gapes, closes and opens his mouth. 
 
Rey arches her neck, takes one breath. “Perhaps… Maybe I can remind you…”
 
She takes a step forward, exhaling the words —
 
“There’s still time to save the fleet.”
 
Hoarsely, he almost chokes — “

What

?”
 
The words are strange in her mouth, but she says them anyway. “Snoke is gone. Tell them to stop firing.” She’ll do this; for them.
 
“Rey...”
 
Rey takes another step forward, letting one of the wrapping slide past her shoulder to her elbow. Her cheeks are already growing pink, her body warm. 
 
“Please — save the fleet.” 
 
Another step.
 
He flinches, looking stricken by this sudden development — maybe even a little appalled. She sees his saber lying on the metal table next to him. 
 
“If you save the fleet —” She tries to say as seductively as possible, which is hard with how her chest rises and falls heavily, with how tight her throat is becoming. “— I’ll do

anything

.”
 
“Rey.” He says her name impatiently, placing the cup back down on the table next to his lightsaber. 
 
Another step. A step that takes her right in front of his feet; their toes almost touching. 
 
He has to bend his neck to look up at her, but his eyes flicker everywhere on her body: Her face, her clothes, the grey cloth draping over her arm. He makes it as if to reach out and touch it, but he doesn’t. 
 
She hides her thoughts, her intentions, taking them back to a time where the thread of understanding between them wasn't as tightly wound as it is now. Trying to recapture that sense of urgency from that night.
 
“

Anything

.” her voice comes out as raspy; worn. She licks her lips. “

Please

.”
 
She slides down so she rests on her knees in front of him and sends him the image of the burning throne room, of him on the throne. Victorious, the Supreme leader, Kylo Ren. 
 
“Why?” He mutters, placing both hands on her shoulders to keep her at a distance. Almost like he is afraid. “Why are you…”
 
She feels his fingers dig into her shoulders as she spreads his legs wide. An impossible task given how they seem like such immovable pillars, but they spread easily, almost eagerly. She guides them on either side of her, bringing her nose level with his crotch. 
 
And presses an open kiss over his clothed cock. He isn't soft, but not hard either. He is interested. 
 
His hands pinch her flesh in surprise, followed by a guttural whine from deep down his chest.
 
She can see how it pulses, even through his pants, and oh, how wants to see it. Her hands fly to the zipper with efficiency and it takes her only a second to free him from his underwear. 
 
Rey swallows. The vein is throbbing hard and it is amazing how she can forget how big he is. She nestles her nose to the dark hair at the base, in wonder at how enticing such an act can be to her. How turned on she can be by how he smells of sweat,

of him

. 
 
Doing her best to act the part of a seductress, she looks up at him through her eyelashes, fluttering them how she has seen them do in the holos and with the slowests movement flashes her tongue and glides it from the thick of his cock to the soft underside of the head. He tastes of salt, a little bit of cum. 
 
She has blown him before. She likes it. To take him by surprise, to hear him moan. It drives him crazy. But this feels different — illicit. 
 
She flattens her tongue against the skin to taste it better, to get

more

. 
 
His entire body shudders at her attention, which doesn’t uninspire her at all. No, it spurs her on. She pouts her lips soft and straightens up on her knees so as to kiss the tip wetly. It is soft and pink, practically begging her on his behalf. So she kisses it again and every kiss becomes a bit deeper, her mouth just a tad more open, until she widens her jaw to take him fully. 
 
His cock pinches the corners of her lips and the way it barely fits already makes her eyes water. But oh, how he whimpers. His whine is a drug, dulling the uncomfortable stretch of her mouth. 
 
Through the tears pooling in her eyes, she watches how he studies her with awe. Her cheeks burn and he cups them reverently. He is delirious, like he doesn’t really know what to do. With a difficult gulp, Rey lowers her shoulders so his cock can glide between her tingling lips, over her tongue to the back of her throat. It’s instinct, how he pushes all the way inside, so thick that her teeth can’t help but scrape at the soft skin. 
 
Being fucked in her mouth is different to being fucked in her cunt. It is hard to breathe, the wet slap of her spit and his precum is clearer, more audible, to her ears. And she feels so out of control, yet, she holds power over Ben. Sitting on her knees and feeling them bruise, she should feel like a victim, but she doesn’t. 
 
She is allowing him. She is fucking him. 
 
Rey moans, slides her hands up both his thighs, biting down just enough to pinch his cock and he

chokes

. 
 
Ben likes pain, though. His cock throbs and grows even harder at the feeling. Rey thinks she likes it too, from how her panties grow heavy with heated liquid. Her arousal is a curious thing. She seals her lips around them and gives the poor cock a hard suck — he responds with a

rut

.

“Rey.”

Her spit drools from her mouth and splatters on the floor as he plunges in and out. He is rough today, Rey absentmindedly notices. He presses the tip so far into her till she feels herself gagging.
 
He isn’t usually like this. He’s more… deliberate. Not this… ungainly. This wretched.
 
It's all pretend. Rey knows the smell of smoke and ozone is a phantom, but it fills her nostrils regardless. Her grey tunic threatens to rip with the force he tears it with as he fucks her mouth. The brown pants become black leather in her imagination.
 
She is back on the Supremacy. She is letting him have her in exchange for the fleet. This isn't a regretful memory, more an illicit fantasy she used to entertain on her days back with the Resistance. 
 
Her going over each possible "What if?" Some more — dirty than others.
 
And this is the one where she begs him. Sucks his cock clean.
 
Kylo laughs above her. Her hair hurts from where he pulls at it. "So you did want it."
 
In hindsight she should have been more careful hiding her mind, but a part of her wants him to see, wants him to know… she flutters her eyes open to look at him, tears spilling over her cheeks mixing with the spit drooling over her chin.
 
He looks debauched.
 
With a wet plop he pulls her mouth off his cock. It almost hurts to be empty suddenly. How strange it is to already miss the uncomfortable stretch of his cock threatening to make the corners of her lips tear.
 
His cock looks to be missing her too. It's soft head caresses the tears off her skin while Kylo crams a gloved finger into her sore mouth. He runs it over her tongue, fascinated by how wet her mouth is. He hooks his fingers into the inside of her cheek making her spit leak onto the floor below. 
 
 "You wanted this. You wanted me to defile you."
 
It doesn't really sound like a question, and Rey supposes it isn't. Still, she can help but cough —
 
"I want you to save the fleet."
 
It's the wrong reply. Or so she thinks. Because he snarls in disgust and all but rips his fingers out of her mouth. Rey has no time to comprehend his anger before he grabs her arm and forces her around so her back faces him. It happens so fast. He drops to his knees behind her and roughly pulls her pants down while using his weight to make her lie down on her stomach.
 
She knows it isn't real, but she is convinced she sees her tear stained face reflected up at her through an obsidian floor, flakes of golden flames falling from above, but for just a second.
 
He doesn't bother to take off her pants the entire way and somehow this partial nakedness is more exposing than being divested off all her clothes — to stand naked in front of him. 
 
His hand pushes her flat against the floor but she still raises her hips to meet his pressing. He is spreading with his knees her and swiping his cock over where he is going to fuck her. And she wants it. Terribly so. And he knows. He

hates

it.
 
It's embarrassing how inviting her cunt is. He glides all the way inside in a

single

try and even he has to gasp out loud with surprise. Her face burns — had she wanted it this much?
 
"You think this would have happened," he rasps into her ear, hovering large and looming over her small form. She expects him to stall, to make her beg.
 
But he doesn't linger in his awe though. 
 
No.
 
He thrusts. 
 
He takes her.
 
The pace he sets reeks of a punishment. The constant rough beat, how he prowls over her back and pins her to the floor by gripping each of her wrists and locking them into position. 
 
"You think if you had begged, you'd have me fucking you sore between the carnage?"
 
There is an answer hidden inside her, she knows it, but lust and being full of his thick cock clouds all sensible thinking. She knows only how to stay alive, to breathe and have him have her. He’s panting too, thumbs gently grazing her wrists, completely at odds with his punishing pace. 
 
There are so many feelings floating in the air. He’s angry. Tormented. How he loves this game of hers; pretending to live out the throne room again. How he resents her for it, too. It makes him question everything. Why now and not then? Why was he not good enough then? Why did she leave him? If this is really what she wanted -- why did she — is she trying to make a fool of him?
 
With a snarl, he releases her wrists and lifts her hips back so he can spread his knees on either side of her. She has no time to react, before he digs his hands deep enough into the flesh of her ass and plunges in. 
 
Rougher. Harsher.
 
This no longer is a simple playact, Rey realises. Something about is becoming true. It’s starting to hurt a little. 
 
Still, she feels an orgasm coming from deep within, uncontrollable, relentless. She moans as his cock grinds against the spot, her clit being stroked by his balls with each wet rut of his hips. 
 
He hears the moan. He hears her liking it. 
 
A hand wraps around her throat. Cutting off the moan and her airflow, while he growls miserably. 
 
“The thing is — I wouldn’t do it.” The way he says it leaves no room for doubt. “No matter what you’d say. How much you’d beg. How many times you’d let me fuck you. I wouldn’t save the fleet.” 
 
“Fuck.” It wheezes out through her clamped throat, because she knows he isn’t lying.
 
“I would have let them die.

All of them

. I wouldn’t save them for you —” He slows almost to a stop. He’s close, and won't lose himself until he's ready. Until she understands.
 
“ — Because they had to

die

for you to

let go

. For you to join me.”
 
The orgasm that cascades through her body has her bellow an odd guttural shout. 
 
He stills, hands still clutching her ass, fingers denting the flesh so hard it must bruise.
 
A victim to her own pleasure, swept away by the wave of hot liquid, Rey thinks his inaction is due to holding back his own orgasm — but then he pulls out.
 
“Fuck.” His voice shakes, “Shit.”
 
She blinks against the floor and twists her neck to look up at him. 
 
Her heart sinks. 
 
He is kneeling behind her, cock still out but growing soft, with his hands grasping at his hair — pulling the strands so taut it looks like each follicle will break.
 
“Ben?”
 
“Please — I — “ He’s shaking, looking close to tears. “ — Is… Rey... did you really…”
 
She flings herself around in an instant and scrambles to a sitting position in front of him. Her heart is bleeding for him, while her cunt floods her with pleasant sensations — it is an absurd well of emotions and she struggles to seperate them enough to see through his sudden revulsion. 
 
“What? Ben — what’s wrong?” She peels his hands off his hair finger by finger. “I — please, tell me what I did wrong.”
 
He shakes his head, tears threatening to spill. 
 
“Am I — “ the words fail him or maybe there aren’t words to describe it. 
 
Her hands cup his cheeks and she presses her forehead to his, secretly begging him to open up to her. “Don’t shut me out,” she whispers desperately. 
 
It’s a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, of memories and fears. She senses how much he had liked it, how instinctual this playact had been — too instinctual in fact. And he had hurt her; choked her. And he liked it. She liked it.
 
Two years. Two years he had lived a different life, two years he had nursed parts of himself he had thought gone forever. It had almost seemed possible, to be good, to be the light that his uncle, mother and father had always desired. All those times he had failed them and for the first time maybe — maybe —
 
No, no maybe. He is despicable. He is bad, dark to the marrow of his bone. It’s all pretend. All of this. He can never be different — he can never escape — and it’s horrible how Rey had made him believe he could change. Made him revisit old desires of being the son his family wanted; a dream he had buried so long ago.
 
And she had liked it. 
 
Rey had liked it. 
 
Why did she leave him then!? If she had wanted this since the beginning -- why did she…!
 
“I can’t do it.” A sob. “I can’t

kill

him.”
 
“Ben —” She whispers, “— you don’t have to kill him.”
 
“Of course you say that! You had wanted this all along!”
 
Rey scoots back and uses her hands to force his head up to look at her. A tear falls down from her cheek. 
 
“Don’t assume things about this.” She tries to keep her voice level, but there are just so many things coursing through her veins. “Don’t assume I — “
 
“I didn’t lie, Rey. Kylo would not have saved the fleet. He would have broken you.”
 
It breaks her heart a little, because she knows it is true. She knows it now and she knew it then — maybe not in such definite words, but she left for a reason. 
 
“I know.” She admits. “And I’m sorry.” Rey reaches down and takes his hands so as to clutch them against her chest. His warm hands. “I thought, maybe — it’d help to —. Lately you’ve just been distant and you don’t even want to talk about it and I thought you...

regretted

this.”
 
All this time, she had thought Ben would be offended by this assumption. She had envisioned it so clearly how he’d bar his teeth at her and accuse her of being neurotic. That she didn’t trust him!
 
Ben grows quiet instead, he lowers his gaze from hers and tenses his jaw. 
 
“I do regret it.”
 
It’s relief that floods her first; somehow knowing that she hadn’t been wrong. But gosh, how it hurts too. A hot white scolding pain. Rey closes her eyes. 
 
“I. I will always regret failing — it’ll never go away. But — “ He sighs, “ — I just — I like it. I like

this

. What we have. Yet whenever it gets good, something

always

brings the past into it. That Skywalker legacy. They never leave me alone.” 
 
He presses his nose into her cheek as an apology, some weak attempt at soothing her. “I just want this,

untainted

.”
 
“Ben.”
 
“I really tried to. I thought we didn’t have to…But I know now, I can’t not be Kylo.” He shakes his head then. “You deserve more. So much more.”
 
There are so many things she has to say to that. How that isn’t true, but then again, it is true. But just because it is doesn’t mean they can just pretend stuff hadn’t happened — but she doesn’t want him to live a life full of regret by being reminded every day. She wants him to grow. He has grown. She knows. She sees it — but he is also right. Kylo had escaped just now. Maybe it isn’t growth? Maybe it’s...
 
“And now?”
 
“What?”
 
“Would you save them now?”
 
He heaves, distraught. “I don’t know. Maybe?”
 
Disappointment. It wasn’t the answer she had hoped for. 
 
Rey readjusts the wrapping over her shoulder. It feels cold all of a sudden, the winter outside breaking in. Ben whimpers and swings his arms around her waist to pull her into his lap and proceeds to bury his face into the crevice of her neck. His breath is warm, moist, as it fans over her exposed skin.
 
“Rey — I — I tried.” 
 
“I know.” She sighs, placing her cheek on the top of his head. She strokes the back of his hair. “I know.”
 
They sit like this for the longest time, locked in an embrace while breathing each other in.
 
Until Ben suddenly pulls back and reaches up towards his lightsaber on the table. He pats the desk for something hurriedly and when he finds it he locks it in his fist and brings it down between their rising chests.
 
She can feel it pulse between his fingers. She can feel it all the way inside herself.
 
“I don’t expect you to accept it. Nor carry it. But... — it's yours. It belongs to you.”
 
He unfolds his hands then. And there, so small in the well of his hands is his cracked red kyber crystal. There is no blood, yet, Rey still thinks she sees it — it hurts. Pain flowing off its cracks, fading and disappearing quite like a phantom.
 
“Mine?”
 
“I can’t offer you much. Anything at all — and I’m not the man you want, so — but no matter what, this will always belong to you.”
 
His heart. His bleeding heart of kyber.
 
Rey’s finger skims the edge of the crystal, feeling all its dents and flaws, its perfection too.
 
“You can be my family.” Rey meekly suggests. Her hands close around it and she lifts it to her own heart. They beat in tune. “We can belong to each other.” A smile. “It’ll be enough for me.”
 
He reaches up to clutch her face, locking the kyber between them. He is looking into her eyes so desperately. Even when knowing they can never lie to one another, he looks scared to catch her mendacious. 
 
“I do.” He repeats, “I don’t think I knew how to. I don’t think I could before. But I do. Now I do.”
 
It’s hard to not smile. Even with all the terrible things that have just transpired between them, hearing Ben agreeing to be her family fills her with such wonderful joy that she cannot help but smile her widest smile.
 
“I love you.” She confesses in a spur of the moment. “All of it. I love all of you.”
 
His cock twitches below her, her words rushing the blood that hardens it. 
 
“You do?”
 
“I do.” Rey angles her hips and gently slides down on his cock. 
 
Sex can be many things. It can be passion. It can be comfort. It can be violence even — sometimes all of it. 
 
This gentle wave of rolling hips lacks the taste of any of those. It is an embrace, a kiss; it is them weaving their bond even tighter, pulling the thread into more intricate knots. Their minds are clear and open, no room for doubt. It’s like they are mixing, their body and their force. Their light and their dark. But it isn’t grey. It’s bright and colorful. Two become one.
 
Their kisses melt together, their pleasure too — She cannot distinguish which is his and which is hers. But it is right.
 
His thick cock being warmed by her cunt. Her nerves vibrating with each trust. This isn’t about coming, but they do. On the floor in their little home with the stuff they have made — including the two of them. They made this family of theirs. So when Rey cums, she throws her head back and moans it out loud. 
 
“You love me.” Rey says, feeling him chant it inside himself over and over again. Feeling him burst with happiness.
 
His reply is short.
 
“I know.”

🜳🜳🜳🜳
 
Rey has made a few candid observations about love lately. 
 
One, it is complicated. It can be tainted and flawed.
 
Two. It can come as a surprise, even if one had known it all along.
 
Three. It can be so potent that one doesn’t care about the other two. It can make you flow on a cloud, make your heart light. You become fearless. 
 
She feels it grow within her, Ben’s love. Ever since that day in the kitchen, Rey has been walking around in a daze and she is quite convinced that the world has been painted over with even brighter colors. She has never felt more powerful than now.
 
Her cunt has never been as sore as now — Ben had to tell her many times he loved her. Each time with exquisite results the past week. 
 
He has also told her with kisses, with remorse as he had healed the bruises he made on her neck and while they had both agreed that they had liked the little charade, they must be more careful next time. They had to set up rules. 
 
It is a peace treaty and Rey remembers it every day because of the red pulsing kyber hanging between her breasts. She had wondered how to take it with her and opted for binding it tight with a string so she could carry it close, while hiding it from public view. Ben likes it like that. She sees him cant a smile whenever she’s naked and it rests perfectly between each peak.
 
She almost forgets about the pilot. He seems erased from every conscious memory. 
 
At least, until Rey is hanging up that day’s load of laundry only to be called out by a stranger’s voice.
 
“Hey! You didn’t come back last time.”
 
At the edge of their land, looking healthier and with a bright smile. 
 
“I guess you can call us neighbours now!”
 
Rey drops the basket.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 3
Family and FallacyIII
The basket makes a comically hollow

thump

when it hits the frozen ground below her immovable feet. The freshly dried linen spills over its woven edge and drapes elegantly around her soles much like flying slow spirits coming to haunt her. Rey can’t breathe. She can’t even move her fingers which for the longest time just hang in the air as if she is still holding the damn basket. Despite the rise and fall of her chest, Rey is utmost convinced that she is in fact suffocating. Her head is dizzy and light and the shape of the pilot is becoming a blurry mass of indistinguishable features. 
 
Rey expects to faint any second now. To wake up from some odd nightmare. 
 
But she doesn’t faint. And the pilot remains where he stands; a pesky fly that just won’t go away. He doesn’t even move the slightest. 
 
Well. That’s not entirely true. 
 
He

waves

. 
 
“Surprise.” It comes as a strangely hoarse chuckle, the syllables wavering across his tongue in a nervous stutter. “R — R — emember me?”
 
Oh yes. Rey does remember him. She remembers him very well. In fact, there has hardly been a day where he hasn’t crossed her mind or been a source of contention between her and Ben. 
 
The Ben who loves her. 
 
It only takes her two long strides to reach him at their wonky homemade fence and the previous immobile hands of hers have no trouble grasping at his jacket's elbow; her nails bite into the fabric. It is a sudden movement, as much as a surprise for her as it is to him and he quips slightly at the strength which she drags him away from their garden.
 
“Hey — “ The pilot protests, feet stumbling to keep up. “ — Why…”
 
She dives speedily below the tarp covering the Falcon, eyeing the hut over her shoulder as she pushes the pilot inside, paying little heed to his weak yelps of pain. It is even colder here in the dark and she can barely make out his prying expression, only his fogging breath. 
 
The hut is silent, no swinging doors or former Supreme Leaders looking for her. Rey breathes a sigh of relief and turns back to the stranger. 
 
He’s not a tall man. They are about the same height, but still Rey can’t help but feel that she towers over him nor ignore how he cowers as she steps closer. Concern shapes the curve of his brow. It reminds her of her days as the Jedi. The awe and the fear at the mere sight of her. Her dislike of it.
 
She swallows, her throat dry as sands of Jakku.
 
“Why — What are you doing here?”
 
He blows hard through his nose, it fogs the air around them, the dim light from outside illuminating specks of dust. His jacket rustles from where he is soothing his arm from the pinches she gave him. Suspicion. He is suspicious of her. 
 
“I — I moved here. The doctor is lodging me in a spare hut of his…” Adversely, like he isn’t quite sure he wants to share that information, he points to the hills in the east through the gap in the tarp. “I asked around for you — they said you…”
 
“Who said that?” Rey snaps, her teeth clanging hard against each other. 
 
The pilot shuffles back, one hand already raised in front of him as if preparing for a fight. It surprises her; not his reaction — that is expected — but the way her emotions just flared. Her heart throbs in her throat and she feels her eyes dart through the darkness half expecting to see the eyes of a thousand curious beings all ready to put her on trial. 
 
The Jedi who betrayed them. Filthy woman. Lover of the enemy. She is wrong and broken and they have all come to watch her fall apart. Rey bites her lower lip; her emotions have been so much on the surface lately, more vigorous. Nothing she feels is tedious and trivial — annoyance becomes anger, tripeditation becomes fear. 
 
She feels so out of herself. 
 
“Have I done something wrong?” the meeker voice of the pilot interrupts, palm still stretched in front of his face. His eyes linger on her through the outstretched fingers.
 
Rey exhales hard through her nose. “No.” 
 
She is the one in the wrong. She is the wreck out of all of them. The pilot has done nothing wrong. This is just Ben getting to her.
 
“I can go if — “
 
“No. No. “ Rey shakes her hands in front of her face, skin flushing despite the freezing wind seeping through her clothes. “I —

we

don’t get a lot of visitors.

You

...surprised me.”
 
He arches an eyebrow, not completely convinced. It is enough of a facial change to highlight how his straw colored hair has a shine, and the new fullness of his jaw that can only be the result of him no longer being at the cusp of death. 
 
He can barely be much more than twenty. Closer to Rey in age, even if she feels that she surpasses him by a decade at least. When had she become this roughened? This…older.
 
A bit more carefully, she uncrosses her arms and —

hating

how hopeful she sounds — asks, “Do you...still not remember anything?” 
 
His eyes are a ghostly gray. A stoic kind of neutral. She cannot feel him, Rey realizes. Not because he is unreadable nor is his force lost to her, but it is just strange and undefined. Like he is careful about her —
 
Arching an eyebrow, he —

eventually —

shrugs  — “Bits of pieces, but nothing much.” The corner of his mouth twitches. “Can’t even remember my

name

. Sometimes I wonder if I even have one?” 
 
A worn pilot’s helmet dug free of the Jakku sand, a name inscribed on its side, Finn’s tattoo etched into the flesh of his arm — the memories are impossible to ignore. Finn had chosen his own name. Ben had gone by a different one. Rey is not even sure if she had named herself or her parents. It bites at the tendrils on her heart. 
 
“You can always make one up,” Rey tries to joke, despite not feeling the humor. “Lots of people do. I knew many people who chose a new name. Maybe you did too? Maybe it’s on the x-wing or your helmet.”  
 
In the dim light, she struggles to see his smile; if it is genuine or weak. If he even

smiles

. “Yeah. Must be.”
 
Feeling a little brave, a little hopeful, Rey presses a palm to her chest and shyly reveals that — “I was with the Resistance.”
 
“You were?”
 
She nods — a bit too enthusiastically. “I was only there for a little over a year before the war ended, though.”
 
The wind rustles the plastic so hard that Rey fails to hear his reply, or if he even makes one. That tiny flicker of hope that had warmed her for a brief moment persists stubbornly for an impossible moment —
 
“The war is over?” 
 
She says it without really thinking why she needs to even say it. She doesn’t know why she says it like she needs it to be true, as if it isn’t real until she said it out loud, because — hadn’t she been there herself? Hadn’t she cut her way through them all? Hadn’t she stolen away their sole figurehead? It had all burned. There had been no mistaking it. 
 
It all ended

that day.

“Yeah. You know — the First Order… it

fell

.” 
 
A scowl creases his forehead and the hand resting on his nape scratch his skin hard by the edge of his nails.
 
He doesn’t agree, Rey understands then. But why doesn’t he agree? Is the war still happening? Is it all…—
 
“I don’t think I remember it that way —” He is unsure of his own words. It ripples in the air around them, in the Force. He is unsure about everything, every memory, every fact he was convinced of. “ — but maybe I am mixing things up?”
 
“What

do

you remember?” Rey asks. Her eyes having adjusted to the light, his features become clearer, the worried line of his mouth 
 
“I remember my friends. Us sitting around a campfire, making fun.” The pilot chuckles. A pang of sadness twitches the air. “ — and then — we were attacked.”
 
She doesn’t have much of a choice; the crinkling of Rose’s eyes, the snort of Poe’s laugh, Leia’s overbearing smile and … Finn. His broken expression of confusion and heartbreak as she had left him behind. Her hand reaches for the binary beacon on her wrist on instinct, but it isn’t there. She knows it isn't there. It hasn’t rested on her wrist for such a long time. Does it even pulse at all? What if it had broken? What if Finn had lost his — No. Rey mentally shakes her head. She can’t think like this. It would only mean regret and heartache. It meant coming to terms with what she had done — what she had missed. The awareness of what it would entail going down that path aches her bones like the freezing chill of a winter.
 
“I’m sorry.” 
 
She means it. From the bottom of her heart. 
 
She places a hand over her chest, feeling the sad drum of her soul. She is sorry for him. For his pain. She feels sorry for her friends and herself. ”I — haven’t seen my friends either. I don’t even know if they are

—

.” 
 
She can’t say it out loud. Just like he can’t. But it is not the same. He knows the fate of his comrades. Rey doesn’t. And it would be easy to know, so terribly easy, to reach out across the great expanse of the galaxy —
 
— but what if what met her was silence? What if it ruined her? Ruined all of it?
 
Her breath shudders with remorse; a pang of guilt threatens to cripple her were it not for his quiet whisper. 
 
“I’m sorry I — I wish I could help you with that.” And then, a pregnant pause filled with so many undefined emotions. “Although sometimes I wonder if I even want to remember that? Why hasn’t

that

gone away.”
 
As if summoned, the wind rips the tarp so harsh that it drowns out every other sound for the longest moment; it buzzes in her head like a thousand bees, high pitched and so loud. It

doesn’t

drown out the envy she feels inside her.  
 
He doesn’t have to remember. He doesn’t have to feel the guilt she does. 
 
She envies him.
 
🜳🜳🜳🜳
 
Rey expects Ben to know when she returns into the hut. She expects his temper to flare, his misery to suffocate them; already she can hear his accusations roar through the air. 
 
He has to know. 
 
And regardless of how insignificant the meeting was, Rey knows he will be angry.

Furious

.
 
She has done nothing wrong though. It was a simple conversation. 
 
Then why does she tiptoe through the front door?
 
People who have done nothing wrong don’t stall in the hallway or take their sweet time gathering up the scattered laundry and hanging it up to dry. Their heart do not thump in their chest like a wild beast nor do their fingers shake so severely that it had been a struggle to fling the sheets over the thin wire. 
 
Why does she walk into the house as if charged for a crime she hasn’t committed? It

reeks

off of her.
 
She can hear Ben pacing around the kitchen, pots and pans clanging and a lullaby being softly hummed under his breath. A peace that will break. Her eyes are scrunch shut, already holding her breath; expecting the inevitable — 
 
— but it never comes.
 
“Hi.” Ben greets her with the same muted happiness he always does and presses a kiss to her cheek, while he scoots around her with a pot of something he had spent the afternoon cooking. 
 
She blinks at him wide eyed, and he throws her a glance over the shoulder, one eyebrow raised, and asks, “You alright?”
 
Rey swallows. “Yeah?”
 
He scoffs, standing up to his full height and steps close enough so he can plant a hand on either side of her cheeks and rests his lips long and hard on her flushed skin; nervous sweat trickles down her temples.
 
Any minute now.
 
“You are a little hot.” He wiggles his nose and pushes her back by the shoulders to inspect body fully. “You should be more careful when you go outside.”
 
“What?” Rey quips, feeling a little confused at the tenderness he is showing her. Can’t he feel her conflict? Her guilt? They always seem so in tune — nothing is a secret between them and she is terrible at hiding any of her feelings

now

.
 
“I’ll go outside tomorrow.” He suggests, mouth twitching with mirth as he tugs her sweater tighter around her body, fastening it by the buttons at her chest. “Stay inside. Stay warm.”
 
“I’m fine.” She presses the back of her hand to her forehead, “I just run hot —”
 
“I know. Doesn’t mean I can’t worry about you.” The twitch grows into a sweet heartwarming smile; he looks perfectly content. Happy. “Doesn’t mean I can’t fuss.”
 
Rey looks at him; the scar she has carved into his skin has faded into a thin white line. She barely notices it at all — it is like it is healing. He is healing. This tranquility is good for him. His hands nuzzle her arms through her sweater, eyes caught on his kyber crystal resting there and his expression grows giddily nervous and in a low whisper, he rasps.

“I love you.”

Her breath stutters. The words never fail to make her insides swim. She takes a step closer, It isn’t a choice, and wraps her arms tight around his midriff and buries her face deep into his collarbone. He is so warm, so solid. He is not a translucent memory or faded friendly face. 
 
True, she has revealed more of herself today than she had to any of the other villagers. It had been stupid. A friendly face and a speck of maybe knowing the people she cares about had been all it took for her to abandon all ideals. Rey is a fool. A fool. He could be the enemy — he could be Resistance — which, to her own surprise, somehow is just as bad as if he was First Order. 
 
It would be kind to tell Ben about the pilot. To open her heart and mind and let him know how her heart is aching. But it had taken so much for them to get to this point. 
 
Rey chooses the easy life. 
 
He is here. And he loves her.
 
It is so easy then, to sow her mouth shut and keep her errant meeting with the pilot at bay. 
 
“I love you, too.” 
 
🜳🜳🜳🜳
 
To her luck, the weather seems to grow worse the second she steps inside. The rain becomes snow and it covers the grounds around them and hides their crops in layers of fine white dew. It hasn't snowed here before, and never has there been such a sudden coldness in the air. She is a desert creature. The biting wind doesn't feel right — she knows the feeling of sand biting her cheeks, but not the frost. 
 
But it stops her from seeing the pilot by accident. It stops him from showing up uninvited and it stops Ben from knowing.
 
It is easier to live with Ben’s grumbling annoyance with the blistening wind seeping through the huts' cracks, whistling between the roof beams and the pipes clocking with ice. His temper becomes short and he talks less and less, but Rey prefers it to the discord of him knowing about the pilot would sow. It does come with some benefits though, the cold —  the inevitable fucking below covers to stay warm — 
 
But even fucking grows trivial after a few weeks of being stuck inside and by the end of the second week both Rey and Ben are struck by a strange cabin fever. 
 
Ben’s mood goes sour. He grumbles and complains much more than usual. Something is itching inside of him and perhaps it is the confinement of their situation, them being trapped against their will. He furrows his brows, and for the longest drawn out moment looks like he is about to say something. His jaw works and grinds around the words, but he recourses to give her a simple nod.
 
Rey’s mood isn’t better, just more… subtle. Now that she no longer can distract her mind, she finds that those pesky feelings of longing for her friends resurface with a striking potency. Suddenly all those hours in a day are threaded with a trace amount of regret and conflict, making the carefree days she used to spend slumbering with Ben unenjoyable. She doesn’t stop loving Ben, she doesn’t stop enjoying his company, but they are no longer simple things. They are complicated.  
 
She feels it quite literally like a heartbeat in the Force. It drums against her skull. It takes her time to notice what it is — but when she does, it is hard to ignore. 
 
She catches herself standing on the staircase, staring at the spot where she knows it is hidden away; fingers itching to touch it. They tremble with need as they skim across the dried clay to the shelves dug into the walls stacked with all their physical memories from their time here; her fingers coat with a gentle layer of dust and red clay. 
 
Because — What if it had something to tell? What if

it

wanted to speak to her?
 
Or

someone

?

Finn.

Finn, I wish I could talk to you.

But she doesn’t reach out. She closes her heart with a loud slam each time and mentally places the temptation back on its shelf. She doesn’t let go though; the tip of her fingers linger on the flaking walls. It won’t let her go. It wants her to take it.

Don’t you miss talking about your days? Don’t you wish you could reminisce or share your fears and dreams?

It seems to ask her. Beg her.

No

. Rey blinks. They never did any of those, now that she thinks about it. 
 
Still.

The Binary Beacon

. Her sole attachment to the galaxy pulses harder and harder every day.
 
It makes her sick.
 
“Hey?”
 
Rey blinks herself back to reality. 
 
Ben. He is sitting across from her at the table, having put on his most impassive neutral face, but she can see the cracks in it from the way he chews the bread slowly between his teeth; his knuckles are white with strain. 
 
They stare at each other for a moment, neither saying anything for what feels like an eternity. 
 
“Sorry—” Rey croaks, shaking her head. “I lost myself then —”
 
His eyes catch on the loaf dangling from her fingertips, but he doesn’t remark on it. Not that he has to. His muted response says it all. 
 
Rey looks down at their dinner, the one she hadn’t even noticed she had begun eating, “What is this?”
 
“Soup.”
 
“It’s good. Good soup.”
 
Why did he have to see that? Why couldn’t she just…?
 
Just what, Rey?

Please center your breath, Rey. Focus on the Force.

Eyes locked on her, he uses one foot to drag her stool closer so she is sitting next to him.  
 
“What are you hiding, Rey?” He arches his back, defiant at her quips of protest.
 
“I — “ 
 
“Yes.”
 
“What is there to tell — “ Rey tries to counter, but Ben stares her down. 
 
Sometimes she hates how he can feel her, how she can have no secrets. Rey thins her lips. And to him it is always about exposing those secrets, to strip her bare of everything till she is raw and pink. 
 
He is

so annoying.

“Why?” Rey replies with equal stubbornness. She leans her elbow on the table. 
 
He is quiet. So quiet. 
 
“

Why

?” He asks back, but Rey doesn’t reply, she just looks at him. She can best him at his own game. They are terrible to each other like that. Ben breathes out of his nose and sacks his shoulders. 
 
He relents. “You haven’t noticed.”
 
Rey rubs her nose with the corner of her sleeve, listening to the bobbles pop in the soup. A gentle sort of simmer. Like them. They are simmering, but if she cranks up the heat, puts on more suspicion and doubt — the simmer will be a thundering boil. Maybe even an explosion.
 
Rey leans back, taking him in. “Notice what?”
 
“You feel different. Something is different with you.” His brown eyes search hers. “You feel

…static

?”
 
“I’m static?” Rey protests, scrunching her nose with offense.
 
“I — it’s hard to explain.” A pause, his hand twists the fabric of his pants.  “And that is the problem. You’ve been… hard to read lately.”
 
“What?” 
 
“I get glimpses. You are annoyed with me. You are being secretive about something.” He taps the side of his skull. “You are closing off. Or — no. It’s like, I can feel you, but also not…”
 
“I’m not —” Her fingers pick on a loose piece of wood at the chair, her nail pulling absentmindedly at it. “Not on purpose.”
 
It’s not a lie. It isn’t the truth either. If she has kept her knowledge of the pilot from Ben it is not by design, but by some stroke of luck —  Rey shrugs, crossing her arms, faking disinterest. “Why is whenever I feel — different, have a bad day — It is an inquisition?” 
 
His jaw snaps shut, his eyes burn. Rey arches her neck in a challenge; daring him to try her.
 
His nostrils flare.
 
“You know what — I need to get out of this house.” Ben announces abruptly, pushing the chair back with a screech. “Come for a walk with me.”
 
Rey’s heart drops at the finality of his tone.
 
“Now?”
 
“Sure.”
 
“Won’t it be cold?”
 
A twitch of the mouth, Ben is already picking off their coats from their hangers — “I’ll keep you warm.”
 
He stays true to his word. He has wrapped her so tight with scarves, hats and gloves that one has to think they are venturing off to Illum for an extended outdoor excursion, when they are merely walking to the lake a little distance off their home.
 
It does something though, the crisp night air to the stuffiness in her brain that has lingered for the past month. She draws in a deep breath, listening to the grass cracking with frost as they walk side by side down the hill. The same hill they had battled on. Where she had smeared his face with mud and screamed so loud her lungs hurt.
 
And now, he is not frowning. He isn’t smiling, but his cheeks are relaxed as he stares up at the night sky. The stars. It is all so bright. The snow shimmers white in the moonlight and Rey had never thought a night could resemble a day so much. And the lake —
 
“Is it completely frozen?” Rey asks, tapping the sole of her shoe on the cracked surface. It doesn’t give.
 
“Who knows.” Ben remarks offhandedly, already stepping out on the ice like a man with a death wish. His hands are pocketed as he effortlessly glides towards the center. The ice crackles.
 
“Hey —” Rey squeaks, attempting to follow him — but her feet don't slide like his. They slip back as if the ground is nothing but marbles. Her arms wave in front of her and only barely does she catch her balance; her legs spread wide and shoulder stiff and unmoving. 
 
She glares up at Ben, who stands perfectly amused and gives a little huff, one that shakes his shoulders, and he proceeds to slide back to her — his palm extended towards her. Rey blinks up at the hand and the tiny flakes of snow coat his warm skin. All around them the snow falls gently like tiny feathers. It is an uncanny visual reminder of a not so calm event. The fire, the sweat and the smell of blood. 
 
This time though, she doesn’t hesitate the slightest. Her fingers wrap around his and she lets him pull her up and close to him. 
 
She lets him take her other hand too. She lets him drag them out onto the ice, feeling so safe and content, despite the ice groaning and cracking below them. Ben holds her close and catches her every time her feet give — until she gets the hang of it and they glide in perfect tandem.
 
Skating, Ben tells her it is called. “My mom took me once, I didn’t get it then.” He snorts, “ — still don’t.”
 
“It’s too graceful.” Rey comments, “You aren’t graceful. You are a brute. You know how to fight.”
 
“I’m only that?” There’s a smirk threatening to grow on his face. He stops gliding with her and pushes back at her hands. “What about you? Rey of Jakku. You aren’t the epitome of grace either.”
 
“Bastard.” She retorts, using her weight to shove him back. 
 
“Sand rat.” Their feet skid, the soles of their shoes scratch on the strange mix of ice and snow. Rey grins. 
 
“Kiss a bantha!”
 
“Kiss a nerf.”
 
“Kiss a wookie.”
 
“Kiss a Hux.”
 
Rey laughs, “No!”
 
“No?” He chuckles too. And it is enough of a distraction for him to miss the slippery gap in the snow — because one moment they are wrestling mockingly, the next Ben is lying on his back with Rey sprawled on top. It looks so much like their saber battle years past, but it is nothing like it.
 
Rey squeezes his cheeks with her hands and giggles with her entire chest. “Be careful. You aren’t getting younger.” She thinks about the gray hair she saw a few days ago — a single one tucked between strands of midnight black. It had

entranced

her. 
 
“Well. You aren’t getting any smaller.” He huffs and flips them over so they lie side to side on the ice. The fur of her hoodie cocoons her face as she rolls on her back and looks up at the sky. 
 
There are stray clouds with snow, but the stars are clearer than ever. They twinkle and shimmer — the gas of the galaxy is a wonderful range of bright colors; purple, red, blue, green, yellow — 
 
And out there, somewhere, her friends live their lives, blissfully unaware of where she is, and who she is with. Or worse — they could never know because they are…
 
She squeezes her eyes tightly shut. She feels out of breath; a pain stabs her insides. She doesn’t want to think about it. She doesn’t — she really doesn’t.
 
A warm hand envelops hers.
 
He whispers it like a secret, an unkind one, but the truth all the same. “You can’t go back to them. You made your choice.” 
 
The words hurt, but he doesn’t say it as if he is contemptuous. It pains him to say them; as if he is making amends. 
 
This is an apology. 
 
“That’s not what …”
 
“Not now.” He interrupts, then softer,  “

Not now

.”
 
His eyes are so sad when she flutters her eyes open. He pities her, she realizes. 
 
“I’ve seen you

looking

, Rey. I didn’t understand the sadness I felt in you. But I do now.”
 
“What are you trying to do, Ben?” She can’t avoid snapping. Afterall, he is stripping her of all her armory, all of the walls she has built to keep him in the dark.
 
His fingers lace with hers and he turns his gaze to the sky. “I  — I can make you

forget

about it.”  His throat bops with a thick swallow. “If you want.”
 
Rey frowns. “

Forget

.” The mere mention of it brings a sour taste to her mouth. Even if she has wished to forget sometimes, because it tastes too much of who he was before, his vileness, his — “You want to use the

Dark side

on me?”
 
Ben sighs, a strange exhale embodied with frustration and shame, “It isn’t necessarily a Dark thing. It can be a good thing too; it can remove a burden.”
 
“Ben.” She has to look away for a moment. “Why would I want to forget?”
 
“Because the memories make you unhappy.”
 
“Yes. But they make me happy too.”  Her body begs her to resist, but he sways her; his gentleness. She guides her face close to him, pressing her nose into the soft fabric of his coat. “Would you forget if you could?”
 
“Yes. But I don’t deserve it. I have to remember.” His eyes glisten and he can’t quite look at her. “I’m…

trying to be better,

Rey.” It is not as much a wish as it is him begging her. Or close to begging she can expect from Ben. 
 
“I know.” Rey protests. “I made a choice, Ben. Yes. I miss them. So much. But it doesn’t make it

wrong

.”
 
He doesn’t appear struck by her words. He expects it, Rey realizes. Yes, he flinches, but it appears more like an instinct than the shock of it. 
 
Guilt. It reeks off of him.  “And that’s why you didn’t tell me.”
 
“Because — I feared this. I feared you’d misunderstand it all.” She hides her face into the fur of his hoodie. “I feel like I’m walking on ice with you.”
 
“Quite literally.” He jokes to himself; his breath fog the air. “I understand why you wouldn’t trust me.”
 
“I trust you. I didn’t want to hurt you — Because I

love

you!” Rey raises herself up on her elbows and hovers over him like a lunar eclipse. “I would have murdered you many years ago if I didn’t.”
 
“

Sweetheart

—” the endearment splits from his mouth, through the gap in his teeth “ — you did try to kill me.”
 
Rey arches her brow, and he falls silent. “Sweetheart?”
 
She leans closer, their red nose almost touching. “Sweetheart?” 
 
He shakes his head, playfully shoving her away by the shoulder, but she doesn’t budge. “I’m your sweetheart?”
 
Cooly, he flips them so she is the one lying below him. The galaxy frames the back of his head like a halo. She wants to reach out and touch it; she wants it to be real.
 
“

Yes

.”
 
It shouldn’t be like this. 
 
It shouldn’t be easy.
 
“I even

like

you

,

Ben. ” 
 
“Sure.” He smiles, “

Sweetheart

.”
 
It comes gently — waves of light dance across the night sky. Northern lights, she has heard them called, despite them not always being found in the North. Rey gasps at the sight of them. The transcendent experience of watching a solar flare transform into a show of light and color. Ben glances up and over his shoulder and she hears his breath release through his nose. Even he can be surprised sometimes.
 
They lie here, shoulder to shoulder, sharing the heat of their bodies, until the lights fade away as if they were never there. But Rey knows they were

there

. She saw it. 
 
She is here, too.

🜳🜳🜳🜳
 
By the time the weather clears enough for Rey to go to the village for repairs, she is out of the door and into the fresh, warming air. It has the taste of spring; perfumey and itchingly potent and everywhere she looks below the remnant cover of snow, green buds are sprouting gleefully from their slumber. 
 
It reminds her of a promise. That everything will be alright.
 
She can feel her mood increase instantly. Granted, none of the reasons she had been stuck in a melancholy has vanished, but it is a reminder that it is okay to be hopeful and that even in the coldest and darkest hours, specks of light lie dormant underneath. They just need proper nursing.
 
Rey smiles to herself as she climbs up and over the hill, bag slung over her shoulder and her staff tight in her other hand. Afterall, had any of the other years been proof of it, with the blooming of the fields Ben will bloom too in that way of his — strangely giddy, he’ll gather the flowers and braid them into her hair and place them in pots and flasks around the house.

She likes him that way. Peaceful and relaxed.
 
She thinks of the sight of him sleeping soundly when she rose; splayed wide across their bed and snoring away to his heart’s content. It is the strangest pride she takes in that — that she can foster such carelessness in him. When has he last felt that? Or had the option of sleeping as long as he wanted? 
 
She is still smiling as she enters the city; she waves eagerly at the villagers whom she knows and observes the routine way they go about the day. It has been so long since she was here last. She has missed its narrow streets, the colorful shutters and the children playing in the backyards.  
 
It is as if everything is coming alive in a whole new way — and the colors — has it all been so vibrant?
 
She knows the path by heart to the scrap dealer, she hardly even looks up to see if anyone else is in there. She is too busy smelling the warm bread being baked down the street and gazing at the couple drinking caf through an open window. 
 
She doesn’t notice the form of a man already standing at the vendor’s desk; not when she half runs up to it, nor when she smilingly greets the familiar alien face and puts in one of her many requests. She doesn’t even consider the option that she should be cautious …
 
At least not until a voice goes —
 
“Oh. It’s

you

.”
 
Her shoulders lock tight. She knows that voice. She knows that —
 
Her eyes flash to her right. 
 
The pilot.
 
“Oh. It’s me?” Her smile drops into gaping disbelief. She shakes her head. “Yes. Yes. Hi. How are you?”
 
The pilot isn’t smiling. His mouth is drawn tight, not quite frowning either. His chest rises with a settling breath and his fingers play with a trinket on the counter as he meekly goes — “I’m fine.”
 
“Good. Good.” Rey says a bit too quickly. “Cold — it’s been okay?”
 
He shrugs. 
 
Rey licks her lip, her throat suddenly dry like a Jakku desert. The vendor, an ardent conversationalist, has already disappeared into the storage area, leaving the two almost strangers on their own in the most awkward silence.
 
Not knowing quite what to say, her eyes fall to the trinket in the pilot’s hands.
 
“Oi. That’s a Pan-directional Alert Scanner.”
 
He blinks, then follows her gaze to the round durasteel
scanner
. “Oh. It is. Yeah.”
 
“I — We used those a lot in the Resistance. I didn’t even know he had one.” Rey tries to joke, “Kind of makes you nostalgic? Right?”
 
Dryly, he goes — “

Right

.”
 
“Right.” Her smile falters again, her nails dig into the wooden desk. She had known their last meeting had been terrible, but it can’t have been that terrible…
 
Why does that even matter?
 
As if summoned, the vendor returns with a list of items, and the Pilot scrambles. 
 
“I — I forget my wallet.” He mumbles under his breath and before either can say anything, he is walking as close he can to running. 
 
“Strange fella —” The vendor remarks in his half-broken basic and turns to Rey and places each trinket on the desk next to one another. Rey doesn’t have it in her though to scrutinize the quality of it as she usually does. Her fingers skim them with barely contained worry — no — frustration.
 
Why did he seek her out first? And now, when they meet by accident he is running off?
 
“Oh.” 
 
Rey looks up at the vendor, who is holding a leather pouch in his three-fingered hand. 
 
“Isn’t this his wallet?” He asks out loud, twirling it around in the morning light as if it’d give him a clue.
 
“I’ll take it to him.” Rey doesn’t even bother to phrase it like a question. Her hand has already caught it from the vendor’s and she is running in the direction where the pilot had gone. She already knows she can’t catch up to him — but his force — the remnants of it — it lingers like a bread trail.
 
It takes her through the east side of the village, in the direction towards her own hut, but not quite. She half runs up and over a hill and there it is — just like he had said — a little hut he had borrowed from the doctor.
 
A headache is forming at the base of her forehead, but she is too curious, too desperate, to let this go. And he had lost his wallet. He’d want it back. She is simply being a good samaritan. 
 
The hut is smaller than theirs. More run down. Of course, the pilot has not had the time to renovate like they had, but it strikes Rey the state of disrepair. The door, an old style on hinges, is closed, but hangs crooked over the opening and there’s a distinct trace of rot at the bottom. 
 
She raises her hand to knock on the wood, but to her own surprise, she unfolds her fingers and pulls on the handle, almost stupidly, just to see…
 
…and the door opens. 
 
Rey wants to groan. People on this planet are far too trusting of each other.
 
Or maybe they just don’t expect someone to walk out in the middle of nowhere to break into a run down hut. 
 
That too.
 
She swings open the door to the hut, careful not to let the hinges squeak, and her feet skim the floor as lightly as possible as she makes her way through the tiny living space. Someone tells her the polite thing would be to call out again, but her mouth is sewed tight. 
 
The hut is painted in night blues, but she can tell it is decorated with a calm air in mind. The walls have dark red wall carpets, and there is a plush dark green chair in the corner and two wooden ones opposite a table. Plants are everywhere, ranging from the wildly exotic to the familiar. Her fingers trace the plant next to the front door, its lush leaves curled in an intricate pattern.
 
It feels like a pleasant place to stay.
 
She fills her lungs with air and gathers her courage.
 
“Hello?”
 
No reply.
 
She inhales sharply, grasping the pouch tighter against her side.
 
“Hello?” She says it a little louder.
 
Still no reply.
 
She turns a corner, walking into the small kitchen.

It is a mess; cupboards left open and in the sink there are unwashed dishes. She takes a step closer, as if his leftovers somehow can give her a clue to his true nature. Or perhaps a clue to making him remember. 
 
She doesn’t know why she is intruding. She doesn’t know why she is doing any of this. It is as if her body is guided by something — an instinct.  It makes the headache grow stronger and that faintness she has suffered from the past weeks begin to simmer at the bridge of her nose.
 
But she has to finish this. Whatever it is. 
 
Just breathe, Rey. Just breathe, just …
 
She steadies herself on a table, closing her eyes and takes a deep deep breath. One that expands her ribs til they almost hurt. 
 
Her fingers tingle.
 
They

tingle

. 
 
Her eyes dart to the teak table and notices that constructed into the wood are two drawers with durasteel handles. She tugs on one. 
 
It is locked.

She tugs again. Still locked. 
 
“What are you doing?”
 
Rey jumps at the sound of his voice. But not because he is here, but because she didn’t even feel him approach. Sure, there had been a buzzing, although it didn’t compare to the overwhelming urge to get that drawer open. She feels him now though, potent and clear — and angry. 
 
“I — You forgot your wallet?” She tries to excuse herself, lifting the pouch to dangle in front of her face. 
 
“You broke into my house.”
 
“Your door wasn’t locked.” 
 
His thin mouth stretches into a long exasperated frown. She can see how his nostrils vibrate with anger, breath flaring hot and wild.
 
“Get out.”
 
“Sorry?” Rey blinks. A wave of dizziness rolls over her, making her fall back against the table by the hip.
 
“Get out. I don’t want you —” 
 
His skin is warm where her hand grabs his arm — scorching even — or is that her? Nausea bellows in her stomach, she heaves desperately and crouches over to stop it from coming to fruition. 
 
And there —  charred into his skin — a sequence that reminds her so much of someone else —

GF1475

.
 
A Stormtropper?
 
And then — darkness.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 3
Family and FallacyIV
Rey knows she has fainted. She knows it even if she doesn’t remember anything between the hut and waking up in the medbay a village over. It is an unmistakable feeling — how at one moment, she had been staring down at

that

sequence of numbers, then, it had all faded into some strange dream and suddenly — a bright overhead light blinding her.
 
She blinks against the sharpness of it; there’s a headache forming. Did she hit her head?
 
She groans. Her mouth is too dry and her tongue feels strangely swollen, which turns the groan into some half choking sound. It catches the attention of someone, because the light is suddenly blocked by a massive shadow.
 
“Ben.” She smiles gratefully. She can’t make out his features, but she feels him in the Force. Solid and clear.
 
He presses a wet cloth onto her forehead, but doesn’t utter a word. It’s nice how his large hand gently eases the tension at her temple. Still smiling, her hand fumbles ahead until she grabs the corner of his sleeve. 
 
Yeah. It’s Ben. 
 
“You’re here,” she croons, nuzzling her nose up and into his palm. “

You’re here.”

“You say that like I wouldn’t be.”
 
“Just happy —” Rey persists “ — it’s

you

who’s here.”
 
He is mute for a long moment. The chair he’s in squeaks and she can hear him roll closer and then she feels the heat of his body as he leans close to her face. Eyes closed, she relishes in the sudden warmness of his body and his nose blowing sweet gusts of air onto her cheekbone. 
 
Then he whispers. 
 
“I’m not the only one here.” Ben pauses, perhaps waiting for her to absorb his meaning. “A certain pilot brought you over. I had to hear from

him

that you fainted.” 
 
Another pause. This one is tighter though, even without the aid of the Force, she senses his unrest, how furious he is with her… but also...
 
“ — in his house.”
 
Still dizzy, eyes not quite adjusted, Rey attempts to sit up, but is pushed back onto the bed by an insistent hand. Ben becomes clearer; face clad in shadow — he looks torn apart.
 
“It’s not like

that

.” Rey protests, appalled that he’d even suggest it. “I — “ but then she sees the blurry form of the doctor and next to him the young pilot — no,

First Order soldier

—  in deep conversation. 
 
 Rey swallows thickly, and locks eyes with Ben once more.
 
He has to know. 
 
“Ben. We need to talk about

him

— “
 
“Not this again,” he scoffs, nostrils

flaring

. “Rey…”
 
“What do you mean not this again?” Despite

whispering

the words, the offense is clear as it rolls off her tongue. How can he just —? “I’m trying to tell you something

important

.”
 
Had the circumstances been different, Rey is convinced he would have relented and had her tell him. However, something is off from the way his jaw is tight; muscles pulled taut despite his best efforts, a nerve pulses below his eye… it isn’t anger. No. It’s something else..
 
The hand, which he had used to push her back onto the bed with, moves sternly from her shoulder all the way down to her lower stomach. Each finger rests against her hip bone, his hand is warm and comforting. But she feels like what he has to say won’t be.
 
“What is it?” Concern fills her chest.
 
He breathes, shoulders rising and falling, but there’s a shaky quality to it — as if he is close to breaking.
 
“You’re pregnant.”
 
“...

No?

” It slips from her mouth. 
 
A bit firmer, he leans forward, eyes dark and serious.
 
 “

You are pregnant.

”
 
She glances off to her right, to the screen displaying a sequence of numbers she has no idea what is supposed to say, but it hardly matters, because below is a static muddy image —

🜳🜳🜳🜳
 
A child.
 
There’s a child growing inside her. She is going to become a mother.
 
Ben, a father. 
 
Her throat is so dry. She wants to throw up. Her mouth is thick with spit and a distinct acidic taste of bile is rising from her stomach. She wants to scream and run. She wants to bury herself into the grass and disappear.

A child.

It feels so purely hypothetical, unlikely, impossible even!
 
Yet, she had seen it on that screen, clear as day. It is as true as the Force flowing through her veins.
 
Any word that she had been ready to spew about the pilot was lost the second she saw that fleeting heartbeat pulse ahead with life. It is barely a thing. Barely anything. But it could be something. It is ready to become someone — if given time.
 
Parenthood — she had never even considered it. It had seemed like just one of the many things life would deny her. Why bother even entertaining it? Jakku had not been a home for a kid, she can testify to that — and now she is a Jedi —
 
Panicking, she remembers having walked out of the medbay with some vague excuse of needing air. She hadn’t stopped though. She had kept on walking back to their hut and Ben had followed her; his concern thick in the Force.
 
She wouldn’t say that their walk back from the doctor had been tense or awkward. 
 
It could look like that; her sprinting ahead and Ben, head down, trailing her path across the hills. She kicks a pile of rocks, but they produce no satisfactory violence, scattering aimlessly in every direction. She pulls at her hair, wavering between sobbing and crying. It isn’t a cold day by any means, but it seems to freeze her insides regardless. It pinches at her ribs, stabs her heart. 
 
Their walk never even got to be awkward. Not when both were busy grappling the news. 
 
A child. Inside her?

No. No. It can’t be.

Rey sniffs, wipes her nose in her sleeve and continues her aimless trek around the lake. 
 
Ben is silent. Too silent considering the topic at hand. It isn’t difficult to deduce what is churning in that thick head of his, but a part of her wants him to tell her anyway. She wants to hear every single syllable, every single errant train of thought. She wants to feel him, she wants to know where his opinion lies. 
 
Because while she thinks it should be a simple matter, every fiber of her being tells her it is going to be complicated. 
 
Rey tries to argue with it —

I can't be a mother, when I don't have the patience for Ben. How will I handle the wailing of an infant? Or the questions from a toddler? The poop, the puke, the let downs, the inevitability that I will fail? How can I be a mother when I barely had one myself? And that one

sold

me!

— but rationalizing will not sway it, because in the back of her mind a timid fragile voice squeaks of a child lost to time —

But it will be ours. It will be our family.

She won't be alone. Someone will belong to her.
 
It's the logic of a scared little kid on Jakku, but a logic that is hard to suppress, because what is more powerful than the hope of a kid? 
 
The rock she kicked hits the water with a pathetic ‘plop’. Rey kicks another at her feet. 
 
There's a scream stuck in the back of her throat. But she pushes it down. All the way down into the pit of her stomach. She has done it before. All those terrible times on Jakku she buried in favor of practical solutions. 
 
Except, unlike any of the other times, this dumb fantasy is accompanied by a single technicolor image. It doesn’t mock her, nor does it beg a question, it is just —

there

. 
 
Ben, holding an infant in his arms. Black curly hair. It would be so small. Ben would be so gentle. They’d be a family. A proper one. 
 
It’s an image she has seen before. An image she has tried her darndest to get rid of.
 
“A trick. It was a trick.

Snoke did it

.” Rey curses his mentor, shakes her head and half runs the remaining distance with such vigor that she barely makes it to the fresher to empty her stomach.
 
The acid burns her lips, the tears fall in thick streams over her cheeks. 
 
She is pregnant. 
 
She is in hiding.
 
And there’s a kriffing stormtrooper a few hills over.
 
— whom Ben refuses to even talk about! 
 
It just breaks her. All of it.
 
A sob robs her of breath and she weeps silently into the pit of her elbow. Raw shame shakes her core and if she didn't know better she would be convinced she is about to self combust.
 
His feet are a slow thing coming, but she hears them clearly enough as they cross the threshold. Gentle taps over the duracreet till they reach her obvious hiding spot.
 
Rey bends her knees, draws her arms tighter around her face and waits for whatever reckoning he brings her. 
 
He will condemn her. He will leave her. He will take it all wrong.
 
It’s a slow torturous coming. The faucet turns on, then off, and he sits down on his knees in front of her and hooks his finger under her chin to push her face up to his. 
 
She blinks through the tears and lets him pensively wipe the sick off her mouth with a wet cloth. His gentleness should ease her shame, but it doesn’t. 
 
“You okay?” he asks, probably already knowing the answer but asking anyway.
 
“No." 
 
He nods. It is a simple response. An affirmation of her reaction; that she is in the right. 
 
But nothing about this is right.

Nothing

. 
 
“You?” Rey

asks

, but it sounds like an accusation. An accusation stemming from years of anger and frustration over their circumstances, from her regret and her shame. Rey pulls away to look at him while drying her mouth by the edge of her sleeve. 
 
“Me?” he repeats, stupefied. 
 
“Yes.

You

.”
 
He swallows.
 
“Let’s…” There’s a nervous tick to his eye. It is a small thing, but enough for Rey to know this isn’t easy for him. She expects the worst, already squaring her shoulders while he licks his lips. 
 
“ — I’ll make some caf.”
 
Rey blinks.
 
“Now?” Scrutiny squeaks her voice. “You want caf.

Now

?”
 
A sigh. Like a parent trying not to scold a child. “Rey…”
 
“You are —” It is hard to look at him. But she can’t stop staring at him while scrambling to her feet. “ — How can you. We get this news and you want caf! —”
 
He scrunches his nose. “No. Rey. I — I need to

clear

my head. I need to absorb all of

this

.”
 
“What is there to absorb?” She presents her stomach by aggressively pushing it forward with her hands; that flat expanse of skin that couldn’t possibly — “I’m kriffing pregnant!”
 
“I know.

I was there.

” He is rooted to the floor, gazed locked onto her bodily display as staring long and hard enough will provide him an out. “I just don’t want to make a rash decision —”

A decision.

Rey can feel her eyes roll to the back of her head. Because who is he trying to kid. 
 
“You’ve already made one,” she declares, moving towards the door. ”You are just trying to figure out how to break it to me!”
 
A hand seizes her wrist in a vice, pulling her back with a stumble. 
 
“Rey. Are you hearing yourself?”
 
“I hear myself clearly.” 
 
It’s hard to ignore his rising form or the way he crowds her up the door frame, but Rey is not ready to surrender to his logic. Not yet. Not yet. 
 
“Are you hearing

me

?” she spits back at him, expecting some feeling of vindication to soar through her, but it falls flat. It rings hollow even to her ears.
 
Muted and careful, frustratingly calm, Ben talks into the crown of her hair. 
 
“Children.“ A swallow bops at the back of her head and she lets him tug her closer. “I — it is a wonderful idea. The image of it — but Rey. We are not regular humans. Even without the war, the First Order, we are

Force sensitive

.”
 
Rey stares daggers at the wooden grain of the frame, because if she strays and turns to him she’ll see him

fully

. She’ll see how his hair is growing long and his curls are straightening. She’d run her hand around his ear to brush away a loose tangle and then she’ll see his tormented expression. She’ll see that this is hurting him.

“— It is iniquitous. We are not simple — a child. It would be dangerous. For us, for it...I…”
 
A squeeze on her hand, he sighs —
 
“I don’t think having a child is for us.”
 
There are many things Rey is. Observant, smart, resourceful, and there are things she isn’t. She knows she compartmentalizes things, pretending they do not matter, and granted, she has become better at being honest with Ben —
 
— it still comes as a surprise how his

confession

makes her

flinch

away. 
 
It surprises him, too.
 
She throws herself into the kitchen, palms rubbing her eyes to stop the tears.
 
“Rey?”
 
The frost is harsh today, it makes her eyes itchy — at least that’s how she justifies it to herself; this urge to burst into a sob. She shakes her head and looks away, drawing her hands close and tugging them tight below her armpits.
 
She can’t have him touch her. She can’t.
 
“Rey. I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m trying to be realistic.”
 
“Well. You

are

.”
 
“Why?” He prods her mind more out of demonstration than an actual effort at reading it. She knows because she can expel him with no effort. 
 
“Why

what

?” she snaps, baring her teeth like an animal. 
 
It roots him to the spot. And she can see every emotion cross his face as he comes to some daunting realization. 
 
“You

want

a child?”
 
Rey opens her mouth to throw some retort back at him, but they all stick to the lining of her throat. 
 
“You

do

.” 
 
Ben draws a hand through his hair as he gawks at her. It’s hard to counter his observation, but not because he is right. But because he

might

be right. 
 
“Force.” His words vibrate low in his chest. They choke him and strain his speech. “There are things we can’t have, Rey.”
 
“Why?”
 
“

Rey

.”
 
“You said it was a wonderful idea!”
 
“It is. But — I have lived that life. I was a

surprise

. A product of legends!” He lifts his arms to tug the back of his head in frustration “It isn’t easy to raise a child in that, much less if they are attuned to the Force. And — we aren’t just legends Rey! We are here — in

hiding

— a child. It would make us vulnerable!”
 
Truth is a rancid thing. A foul-smelling brew that one is forced to swallow, never knowing if it’ll heal you or poison you. 
 
Rey knows all of the things he says, she knows what he says is the truth, but it doesn’t make them any less palatable. She scoots back and finds herself glaring at her dyad; hands protecting her flattening stomach. 
 
His mouth thins into a strained grimace. One by one, his palms twitch in tune with his labored breath and fall to the front of his chest. He is trying to be calm. She sees it. Simmering below the surface he is as close to breaking as she is.
 
 “The Skywalker line. It is cursed. Another one — I couldn’t bring someone into that curse.”

Miserable. They are so miserable. Want so much, but cannot have it.
 
She sees the hurt thrum in his veins and softly, he confesses, “Had... If things were different. Maybe — “
 
Tears are welling in her eyes and she blinks hard to hold them at bay. What is there to say? They had never even talked about this — and yet, some part of her —  
 
“It’s not too late to — “ He takes a step forward, palms raised to either side in some muted attempt at reconciliation. 
 
“Too late for what Ben?” Rey whispers. “Get rid of it?”
 
He stops in his tracks; and it feels so wrong, so unfair, that his face crumbles into a crushing heartbreak. As if he is hurting too. 
 
“

You

said we’d be careful.” She stabs his chest with a finger. “If you really didn’t want this,

you

could have stopped it.” 
 
The events of the day rupture inside her, flooding every vein and crevice with bleaching emotions. There are so many that she can hardly say what she feels, least of all makes sense of them. 
 
“Rey, please just … it’s natural, for your emotions to …—”
 
They all break open — the pilot, a stormtrooper and — life, inside her. 
 
“Force. You are such a

prick

.”
 
Ben stiffens, his mouth droops into a sour expression. 
 
“

You

— ” he says far too calmly, “ — are acting like a child.”
 
“You are acting like a cold peedunky!” Her chest heaves with angry sobs. Her entire body trembles. “You pretend like you want to talk, but you already made up your mind! It’s that version or nothing to you.”
 
“And if it is not your version, then I’m in the wrong?!” Ben charges back. “If it doesn’t fit your ‘heroic jedi narrative’ then it doesn’t exist at all!”
 
Several things happen at once. Some they notice, others they fail to. 
 
“

Heroic Jedi — In a different world

— “ she mocks. “You would never choose this! Never choose a family.”
 
“Never choose this — ?!” Ben’s voice roars through the hut, his hand gestures at her stomach as they accuse each other of the same faults. “I have done nothing but choose this! I’ve chosen this for the past few years!”
 
Rey’s anger pulse and twitch inside her — and — something more. A darkness. A terrible selfishness. He is taking her child away from her — he is —
 
She reaches her hand out, pulling at the Force to do —

something, anything

— 
 
It crackles with violent power.
 
… and by the tips of her fingers lightning shoots furiously through the air. 
 
And hits Ben straight in the shoulder. 
 
🜳🜳🜳🜳
 
It happens so quickly. 
 
One moment she is yelling at her lung’s full capacity and the next she is crouching over Ben lying in pain on the floor. It had been so sudden she hasn’t even truly had time to process what she has just done. She tears his shirt off him and whimpers at the sight of his charred skin. 
 
She remembers ceaselessly chanting apologies and she remembers Ben croaking small words of reassurance that ‘it is okay’, ‘it is fine’. How they managed to take him to their bed she cannot recall. One moment she is panicking on the kitchen floor and the next she is applying their last bacta patch onto his skin. 
 
To her relief, Ben isn’t terribly angry with her. Sure, the bolt of lightning had hurt and there will be branches forever charred into his skin, but he isn’t

angry

with her. Whatever he is, appears to be some contradictory mix of residues of frustration and newly birthed concern. 
 
He doesn’t audibly tell her his concerns, nor does he have to. 
 
Rey shares them. She feels herself tremble with fright. 
 
She is scared, too. 
 
“Rey, it’s okay,” he whispers as the sedative begins to take effect. He clings to her arm like he is afraid of what will happen when he is no longer awake. “It’s fine.”
 
It isn’t fine though. Nothing about this is okay. She doesn’t contradict him though, mostly because she is fighting to keep back the tears already welling in her eyes. 
 
She had

used force lightning

. She could have killed him. 
 
And he is acting like it is no big deal. He isn’t granting the situation the gravitas it deserves nor does he pretend to know how absolutely horrible she feels. Because what she had exhibited had been the

dark side.

And the horrible truth of it is that it wasn’t a simple act of darkness. She had achieved an act of pure rage and selfishness. An act Ben had never succeeded with and he had trained with

purpose

. 
 
How can she be a mother, when she is powerful enough to tap into the dark without even breaking a sweat? Force. She feels her control slip. She feels her entire life break into pieces and smash onto the floor. And Ben had just… accepted it?
 
Had he turned her dark? All this time she had thought she was slowly pulling him to the light, but what if it was the opposite? What if Ben had tricked her? Is that why he was so strangely calm? Why he didn’t look at her with hatred?
 
Is this what he wanted?
 
The tears she has kept at bay while healing him begin to fall the moment she walks down into the kitchen carrying the little basin of water and blood. 
 
The tears fall heavier and heavier as she empties it into the sink, eyes glued to the swirl of water, blood and now her own tears as it all goes down into the drain. Rey clamps a hand over her mouth and muffles a wild sob, while curling herself over the kitchen sink in some weak attempt at hiding herself from the world.
 
Because — what was she thinking? What are they even doing? They should have been careful. They should have been — Her, a mother? Rey is a fool. 
 
A fool.
 
A

dangerous

fool. 
 
If only someone could —
 
No. It’s preposterous. 
 
“Now this is new.”
 
To say Rey jumps from surprise would fail to describe the way she all but hurls the unwashed glasses off the counter as she extends her hand and pulls on the force. They smash into a thousand pieces, spilling remnant drinks and clatter fragments across the floor — all the way to…
 
“What are

you

doing here?” she demands.
 
Luke. 
 
“You called,” he says.
 
Her fingers are still spread wide, ready to make the world as she wants it. To hurt the intruder. But it hardly matters. The man standing before her is a ghost. A shadow of the physical stranger she met all those years ago. Except his countenance no longer resembles that of a broken man. This is a Jedi. 
 
Rey doesn’t know this Luke Skywalker. He appears more the image of what she had thought him to be, but not what she knows he was. 
 
“I did

not call

.”
 
Luke’s smile is crooked. A somber thing, the mirth of a man who has known too much for too long and despite it all, he keeps hoping. He believes in the Light. And he looks the part too. His blue transparent form has his hands clasped at the front of his white robes, mediative and wise. No sign of that misguided regret and anger that had marked their first and only meeting. 
 
Rey doesn’t know what to do with it. 
 
He stares at her as if he is asking her something, but his lips never move. But how is she supposed to answer something she has no clue what is. 
 
With a scoff full of distaste, she draws back her hand and straightens her spine. 
 
“This is a very bad time.”
 
Universal code for ‘kriff off’.
 
“How so?”
 
Rey laughs, shakes her head, and turns around to find a bowl to put the pieces of glass in.
 
“It’s complicated.” His blue form is rooted to his spot, watching her clear the floors by picking each little shard up with her nails. “ — and it'll be a bit awkward talking to you about this.”
 
“We don’t have to talk.” He strains his neck as he takes in their surroundings; like a curious little child, except he isn’t. “But that’s not what you want, is it?”
 
Rey glares at him through her eyelashes and dries her hands with a worn-out cloth. The tip of her fingers still tingles from the lightning. “Why don’t you just tell me what it is you think I want to talk about?”
 
A sigh. 
 
“Rey of Jakku. I may see things differently now that I am a part of the Force, but I’m not an omnipotent being. No one is.” He takes a step towards the window, but his feet make no sound. “In fact, for the longest time, you have been closed off to me in the Force.”
 
He gives her a look over his shoulder and all the kindness is gone and she recognizes that he is in fact serious — and concerned. “ — You and Ben both.”
 
Her chest expands with a tremble. Relief? Surprise? Dread? It should be expected that Luke knew about them, but somehow she had assumed they were a well-kept secret. Only for them to know. 
 
It spills from her like a well flooding after a torrential downpour. 
 
“I’m pregnant.”
 
Luke exhales as if unsurprised.
 
“I shot lightning from my fingers.”

This

makes him pause. His face contorts with clear dismay. Even in death, the Jedi master can be surprised.
 
Rey arches her chin at him defiantly. There is some satisfaction in knowing that she appalls him, that he fears her. 
 
Luke seems to realize it too because his offense is substituted by an air of regret. His expression falls and his shoulders sag defeated. 
 
“What happened all those years ago, Rey? When I saw my nephew in that hut?”
 
Rey shrugs and stands to her full height to carry the bowl of glass to the sink. Because what had happened in the hut? It seems like such a long time ago and yet — if she imagines it hard enough, she can still feel the fire lick the air. She can still hear the thunder and rain clash outside. She can still remember her drenched hair latched to her collar bone, droplets running down her skin. 
 
She should have felt cold and alone. But she wasn’t.
 
“He

listened

.” Rey laments, licking her lips and staring down at herself reflected in the fractured glass. All those Reys she is, those she will never be, and those she can become. “He

understood

.”
 
Luke is silent for the longest while, absorbing her reality with the greatest sincerity. 
 
When he speaks, it is with grave remorse. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be the one to guide you. Perhaps I could have spared you both pain.”
 
Pain. It had been rather painful. All of this. 
 
However, what was the alternative? Sure, Rey may have led an uncomplicated life had she never met him. She could have lived a full existence on Jakku, died in the sand, and it would perhaps be preferable to this —
 
“We would have found each other anyway,” Rey admits. There was never another life for her than this; “Whether out of choice or the will of the Force. I know it now.”
 
“Which one is it?”
 
“What?”
 
“Is it the Force or a choice?”
 
She knits her brows, not really sure what he is getting at; “Does it matter?”
 
Luke stares at her, piercing blue eyes that see right through her. She supposes it should make her feel bare, uncomfortable even, but it doesn’t. In fact, there is a strange comfort in being seen. For all the good and all the bad. 
 
The time for Luke’s humanity has passed. Without his physical body, he is no longer chained to that toxic need for self-preservation, and for the first time, besides those moments of clarity during meditation, does he see Rey for who Rey is. Even if Rey struggles to show him. 
 
He folds his hands behind his back and begins to pace the room — or wherever he is. “I thought I understood the Force, when I was alive — and to a certain extent, I think I did. However, now, being embedded within it, I have begun to wonder if that saying ‘the will of the Force’ is entirely

accurate

.” 
 
His fingers reach out to touch a bouquet of dried flowers, but she cannot see if he can actually touch them. “Maybe — it isn’t a

will

per say. It seems a bit far-fetched to think there is an all divine source with consciousness pulling the strings. It is probably a lot more simple. Life tends to prove that. Maybe it is just balance. The nature of the galaxy to seek out balance. Within ourselves as well as the entirety of our world.”
 
“What are you trying to say?” Rey crosses her arms, feeling a bit fed up with this inopportune belated Jedi lecture. 
 
“That you should remember —” A smile, one of a man finally at peace. “ — You are more than a vessel. We are all more than that.”
 
“I know that.” Rey rolls her eyes and begins to rinse the cloth under the faucet so she wipe the floor clean.
 
“ — but there will be consequences.”
 
Her hands

still

under the water. The stream bites at her joints, cold and unforgiving.
 
Of course there will be consequences.
 
“Have you come to warn us?”
 
“I have come because you let me.” A sad smile crevices the corner of his eyes “ — because you were ready to face the truth.”
 
“What truth?”
 
“That if you bear this child, it will force the dyad apart — and if you don’t, you can live your life in peace.”
 
Rey exhales with her whole chest. Somehow she knew this. She didn’t know before, but the second he airs it, it is as if that is how it has always has been. 
 
“Ben — he says you won’t talk to him.”
 
His face is unmoving, but his lashes flicker a bit too quickly for him to be unmoved.
 
“He is not ready.”
 
“Yes, he is.” Rey insists, taking a step closer. “He needs you. There is still conflict in him, there is still —!”
 
“Conflict?” Luke smiles wickedly, like a man with far too much knowledge. “Is there, really?”
 
And that is all he ever tells her. She never manages to pull another word from his lips. 
 
He fades into nothingness, leaving the kitchen as messy and silent as before he appeared. In fact, it is like he was never even there. No footprint, no speck of dust to even suggest there has been a visitor. 
 
Nothing but that rumbling feeling inside of her. Of wheels churning in her mind and in her heart.

🜳🜳🜳🜳
 
She is standing outside, watching snow fall in thick lazy patterns by the time Ben wakes up. She feels him stirr, but decides not to rush to his aid and instead gives him space to catch his bearings. A lot of things have happened today — a lot of good and a lot of bad. 
 
And perhaps she needs the space as much as he does, Rey thinks quietly to herself, drawing her coat tighter around her body. The sun set hours ago — it's just her, the moonlight and the snow.

A child would separate them

. 
 
She tastes the prophecy on her tongue, because — truly — it is such a vague statement. It could mean so many things. The Force was cruel like that — It could be insignificant; like him having to go to the market one day or profound —
 
What if she lost him? 
 
The mere thought runs cold down her spine. It is not an unlikely future. Afterall, she could have lost him today — by her own

hand

.
 
She brushes a palm over her stomach, soothing a phantom sensation that can’t possibly be there. It reminds her of a memory she has of Leia; the matriarch sitting lonely at a starport after Han’s passing. Oh, how thick the air had been with grief and regret. Rey didn’t understand back then, her sensibility to the Force was a work in the making, but she had understood Leia’s torment — Ben, their dearest blessing, had separated the couple for good. 
 
What if history was doomed to repeat itself? What if their child would kill them?
 
“The Skywalkers are cursed.” Rey’s breath fogs the air as she repeats Ben’s words and taps her fingers on her coat's thick fabric. “...

cursed.

”
 
He had said that, but Rey just can’t find a single thread of truth in it. 
 
Too lost in thought, she fails to approach him before she suddenly finds herself enveloped in a tight embrace; his hands wrapping around her front and his nose digging sharply into her collarbone. 
 
It is the most glorious feeling in the galaxy. 
 
Which just makes her crime even worse.
 
Rey twists around as much as she can and nuzzles her nose into his hair, tears already pooling in her eyes. “I’m so sorry.” Rey tries to speak through her breaking voice. “I’m so very sorry.”
 
He shakes his head and just hugs her even tighter. It hurts him to do so, his groans pained but he won’t allow her to escape even when she tries to. 
 
“It’s okay,” he whispers into her hair. “It’s okay.”
 
“No.” Rey gripes. “It’s not okay. I used the dark side — I …”
 
He stops her with a squeeze. “

It is okay.

”
 
"How can you

say

that?"
 
"Because I know. Because I've done the same. Because everyone has it in them."

No. They don’t.

Rey wants to throw back at him. He hasn’t shot lightning at people and that is a given for most people, if not all. However, he does know. She cannot argue with him that he doesn’t understand just why she’d do it, because he has been through the same. He knows how anger and fear can cloud your mind and fog over every single sensible emotion. 
 
Ben does understand, but is that enough?
 
"I'm still sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you."
 
Ben sighs. His breath is warm on her scalp. "I'm complicit too. Do not put all the blame on yourself."
 
Palms still cradling her stomach, she frees one hand so as to touch the arm she has scarred. She traces her thumb over his shirt, all while keeping her face buried into the crevice of his shoulder. 
 
Another scar. She just keeps adding to the list of ways she marks him, Rey concludes silently to herself, trying to not let the shame seep through the bond. 
 
“I saw

it

in the force. When we touched hands.'' She whispers the secret into his hair; quiet and hesitant.
 
"This?"
 
Rey caresses her stomach through her shirt, expecting to feel something, anything, but it remains flat and unmoving. 
 
"I saw you.

Us

. In the

light

." She swallows. "And...a child."
 
From the corner of her eye, she can see the careful way he studies each tiny movement of her hands, but he is as tight-lipped as ever; almost forcefully so. 
 
"You saw

this

?" he asks after the longest time, sounding strangely defeated.
 
"The shape of it. But yes." It feels wrong to say it out loud. It had been her secret so long and  honestly, she had truly come to believe that it was a false mirage. A trick.
 
But maybe…
 
"What I'm trying to say is…" She turns around in his arms, cheek still resting on his collarbone. "I want this. I want it with you. I have been without so many things. And even now, I can't have it all." She slides her arms around his torso, putting all her love for him in her hug — "but I only want this

with

you. So… if you don't… then. Then that is it."
 
Ben is quiet, but his expression is far from impassive. His eyes flicker sharply across her face and he looks like a man close to tears.
 
Rey tries to smile. But it is hard to do. Her heart is already breaking for them. 
 
"Ben?"
 
He covers his mouth and looks away from her. A million things pass through him and Rey is almost too afraid to try and sense them. Somehow an answer is worse than infinite possibilities of the good and bad. 
 
Her hands fall to his waist and she can already hear the words. He is going to say no. And he is just trying to figure out how to tell her without putting a foot into his mouth. 
 
"Okay."
 
Rey can hardly breathe. She can hardly see. Her body is lit with the purest joy. And she wants nothing but to throw herself at him, but she stops herself. It is a fragile state they are in and she doesn't want to overstep. 
 
“Okay?” she asks.
 
Ben looks at her then. Eyes shimmering and then, closely, slowly, he presses his forehead to hers. He is so careful. So unlike how the galaxy knows him — but Rey knows him. 
 
“Okay.” He repeats. “It’s

over

, then. We are moving on. No galaxy. No Skywalkers. No Force. No First Order —” and a bit tighter, " — no breaking into strangers' houses."
 
Rey is about to tell him then. It is just at the tip of her tongue. The pilot’s identity had been lost to this unforeseen development, but it is an important one. It had cost her a lot and they could be in danger — but the second she is about to hurl every revelation at Ben, something stops her. 
 
A smile. Ben is smiling down at her. Not by a lot, but enough for her to see relief rushing through every vein and steels his resolve. He caresses her hair, tugging a loose tendril behind her ear with the sweetest gratitude.
 
She can’t, Rey realizes. She can’t do this to him. She can’t take this wondrous moment away from him because of a single pilot. Who knows? Maybe the pilot isn't dangerous. Perhaps they could forget. Perhaps they could disappear.
 
Rey forces a laugh, “I’m scared.”
 
“It’s alright.” Ben breathes. “I feel it too.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 3
Family and FallacyV

“Force.” He half grunts half laughs, hands grasping at her thighs. 
 
They have had sex a lot the past weeks; mostly on her accord. Her hormones ripple through her, making her more emotional, true, but alas it also makes her desire him more.
 
An impossible thing to imagine, but even he has pleaded for mercy.
 
Now, he lets her be in control. He lets her have him. 
 
“Who is distracted now?” Rey gloats, enjoying how his lips part as she rides him slowly and deeply.
 
“Distracted? I’m not distracted —”
 
His perfect crooked teeth. His pink tongue. Coated with clear spit as he heaves for breath.
 
Her fingers reach out on their own and press down on his tongue, forcing his jaw to open wide. He blinks, but lets her thumb glide over his lower lip in a strange trance, all while she guides her hips over him slowly;

torturously slow

. His teeth are sharp, yet smooth — they pinch the tip of her finger as she runs them over his molars. 
 
He is a monster in that way. She had imagined it before, his mouth digging into the flesh of a person, ripping it apart, blood coursing down his chin. It had not been an unnatural thing for her to believe about him — it didn’t even feel false to see it in her mind. Him, on all fours, tearing through his enemies.
 
And this monster, he lets her come close, lets her own him. He exposes the weak part of his belly to her and willingly becomes her possession. 
 
“Suck them,” Rey bites through her teeth. 
 
His mouth softens around her fingers, his lips pouting around the knuckles and sucks at the ends of her fingers, his tongue glides over the scavenger’s calluses like it’s velvet.
 
His tongue is firm and it surprises her how robust yet soft it is as he dutifully runs it over skin. 
 
Despite being on top, despite being in charge, Rey feels a little helpless — and a little breathless from his attention.  
 
“Fuck me,” she commands.
 
His hips thrust upwards, her fingers still cocooned in his mouth and his cock hits something so pleasant within. She hugs her knees around his ribs and thrusts hard enough to knock the air from her lungs. Her muscles stretch and build into a sweet warmth, a rippling pleasure that coils deep within. He grunts around her fingers, teeth grazing and pinching her skin.
 
She feels her tits jiggle, their bed rocking and creaking as he fucks her mercilessly, grunting hot, saliva dripping from his mouth.
 
It is delicious. Bone melting. Rey moans and tries to focus on the pressure rising low in her belly. She draws her fingers out of his mouth, tracing his skin, his deep dimples and day old stubble, leaving a thick layer of his spit over his face. It’s filthy sweet in a way. Coating him and owning him.
 
And it is enough. A jolt of electric pleasure tears through her and she comes with a surprised gasp that empties her lungs of all air.
 
It’s perfect. He is perfect and the way he scrambles any of her coherent thoughts with his cock… it's perfect. 
 
“Marry me,” he grits as his hips

stutter

with orgasm, his voice tense and breathy at the same time. 
 
Rey blinks, legs still trembling, her cunt still rushing with pleasant waves of prickling ecstasy. There’s nothing but white noise in her ears, at least that’s what she thinks.
 
And then …
 
“What?”
 
Ben is quiet below her, still breathing fast, but when she looks at him his eyes are welded shut with regret. Mouth tight in a grim line.
 
“Ben?” Rey tries again, moving a little closer. Her stomach, a bulging thing, drags over his muscles. “Did you ask me to marry you?”
 
He exhales, “I did.”
 
He grimaces as she lifts herself off his softening cock and settles a little off his groin. 
 
“Why?”
 
A shrug. “Felt like it.”
 
“You felt like it —” Rey repeats, but there’s a giggle hidden within. She hears it clearly. He hears it too, because something tugs at his lips. " — But a marriage wouldn't mean anything. It won't change anything."
 
"It's a nice

idea

." His mouth twitches with a half contained tease and his hand glides over her swollen stomach to her sore tits he had so inelegantly popped out of her shirt. It tickles. "I simply enjoy the idea of it. That I could be your husband. "
 
Rey shakes her head and leans over him, cocooning him with her hair, which has grown far too long, and uses it to shield them from the world. 
 
"I didn't think you were a traditionalist."
 
"I have my vices."
 
Exasperated, Rey hums and nuzzles her nose against his. His smile grows into a wide grin and Rey can't help it…
 
"Third time's the charm?"
 
"Third?" 
 
"Are you telling me marriage wasn't on your mind on Starkiller? On the Supremacy?"
 
Ben scrunches his nose as he reflects on her question. A bead of sweat runs down his cooling chest, over his muscles that have softened with the years, over his constellations of moles and scars. Some she gave him, some a cruel galaxy bestowed. 
 
How many hours has she not spent tracing imaginary lines between them? How many hours have she not laid like this and had his deep voice whisper sweet things?
 
"It must have been.” He concedes after a long moment. “It was not my motivation, but the fantasy was there."
 
"Mmhmm?"
 
“You do not believe me?” His chuckle shakes her body. “I do not always have a plan.”
 
“So the whole Snoke thing wasn’t a plan?”
 
“No.” He admits simply, “And I never thought you’d want me. I just — “ A little more bashful, he almost whispers “ — the image. I'd see you as what you truly deserved to be seen. Powerful. As

mine

. By the Force and the Galactic Law."
 
“As an Empress?”
 
“As my equal.”
 
Rey shakes her head mirthfully. “I’m not your equal. In some ways, yes, but not all ways.”
 
“What do you mean?”
 
She turns the digits of his hand, imagining a ring firmly anchored on his finger. It is an absurd idea. Her, a scavenger, him, a prince, a legacy — yet he has never made that difference clear. It is only the Galaxy that insists on reminding her.
 
“You can cook. I

can’t

.”
 
“Isn’t that a marriage, Jedi? Two broken pieces becoming one whole?” There’s an edge to his laugh. He knows that wasn’t what she meant, but he also knows when not to pry. They are in each other’s head too much, they can afford a little privacy.
 
“You think too much.”
 
“And you too little?” He boops the tip of her nose with his finger. “Will you think on it?”
 
“On marriage?”
 
“Yes?”
 
“There isn’t much to think about.” Rey leans her cheek into the palm of his hand and stretches her arm till she reaches his left and twines their fingers together. 
 
“I’ll take your hand this time.”
 
Ben doesn’t beam, he doesn’t vibrate with excitement or jump from happiness, but the way he glows bright in the Force at her answer, is goddamn close. He hardly breathes the word, but it is the clearest thing she has ever heard.
 
“

Finally

.”

🜳🜳🜳🜳
 
There are bubbles in her stomach, Rey casually observes as she runs her palm over her shirt. A bump is growing, but it is hardly anything right now, maybe some people would notice if she would walk past, but only if they

looked

. In many ways, carrying a child has been a relatively easy experience (the side effects aside) and she has not properly noticed a change in her.
 
Except now — tiny bubbles seem to burst inside her like the fizzy drinks they had at the Resistance base. It is a strange feeling. Who would have thought this would even be a thing? She’d expected kicks and an aching back, not a gentle reminder.
 
Rey smiles like she can’t help it.
 
“Have you checked the hydraulics?” Ben asks, face stuck behind a large crate with a thick coat of dust.
 
“Yeah. Needed some adjustments, but they still look good.” Correction, they look better than ever. Han had really let the Falcon go in his care.
 
“Good.” Ben remarks, depositing the crate on the galley floor with an unceremonial thump. He wipes a hand over his forehead and stretches his back like it hurts. It makes a pop. 
 
Rey tugs her legs below her and leans forward on the dejarik table with a hint of interest. Their yearly check up on the Falcon follows a specific set of tasks that they have divided between them with little words. The engines, the filters, the fuel tanks — it is an unending list, but a necessary one. If they were to flee, then the Falcon had to work and not be a work in progress.
 
She tilts her head and watches her dyad work on freeing the rusty latches with a screwdriver. She had been more tired than usual and had withdrawn to the galley to relax, only to fall asleep and wake many hours later. Ben hadn’t complained and simply finished the remainder of her tasks (and draped a scratchy blanket over her body) and Rey hardly knew what to do with herself. The glee at having him in her life.
 
“What’s that?”
 
Ben turns the crate so as to show the crudely carved words.

‘baby’

.
 
“Baby?”
 
“Might contain some of my old clothes.” He elaborates with a grunt as he breaks open a latch. Then, with a little blush “ — We’ll need clothes. For the little one.”
 
Warm feelings rush over her with massive force and she feels her lips curl into a little shy smile and her cheeks heat. He has been tiptoeing around the topic of the fruit of their union — never truly engaging with it nor purposely avoiding it — just — absent. Rey had resolved to not address it, considering the drama that had resulted from the revelation and she has learned the hard way that Ben needs time  — he'll come around in his own time. 
 
Still, hearing him plan their child’s arrival, hearing him think about it, it inspires such happiness within her she can barely contain it. 
 
Ben notices, because his cheeks burn bright pink in response. Swiftly, he turns his head to refocus on the task ahead, curled in on himself like a shy teen caught red handed.
 
He is quite beautiful, Rey casually observes from her vantage point at the table. His dark hair, his constellation of freckles and warm tender eyes. It would be wonderful if their child took after him — a small little thing with hair black as the night and lips as soft as a pillow. Fondness prickles at the corner of her mouth.
 
Had someone asked her, at the beginning of this strange journey, she would never have expected this puzzling turn of her life. The Falcon’s ceiling loomingly arches above her, the backdrop to all of this. To meeting Finn, to meeting Han, Leia, the Resistance — and Ben. How did a simple scavenger arrive at this place? To be surrounded by people touched by destiny and she by chance. 
 
“Do you think you would have come to love me if you had never found me on Takodana?”
 
“Yes.” He says it with no hesitation. Not even looking up at her, busy rummaging the chest he scavenged off from his father; lying stomach down on the cold metal floor of the Falcon. 
 
Rey traces the tiles of the Dejarik board, but her eyes are fixed on him. “What — if Alderaan was still here and you were a prince and I was — “
 
“Yes.”
 
“What if I didn’t have the Force? And you didn’t either. Still?”
 
He grunts. “Yes.”
 
“If you were a smuggler and I was just a scrawny scavenger…”
 
“Rey, yes.”
 
“Okay. What if I was a secret princess and you were…with the First Order and we were forced into an arranged marriage and …”
 
“Yes?”
 
"What if… I was a man and …"
 
He looks up at her then, eyebrows tight with playful confusion.
 
"Yes." He rises onto his knees and places a holo onto the table. "Don’t you have something better to do?"
 
"What do you think is on it?" Rey sighs, studying the faded title of the disc. “If it is your father’s holovideos I’m not sure I want to see…” 
 
"I

know

where

those

are." Ben interrupts with a hint of latent mortification, before climbing up into the booth and sitting next to her; heavy and solid against her side. “This had handwriting on it.”
 
“Someone wrote on it?” 
 
She turns the disc in her hand, and true, there, faded by the years, is a little crude marker written name;

“Ben, 3 years”

.
 
A wicked idea enters her mind, no — a need. Rey quickly flips the disc and pushes it into the projector attached to the table. The image whirs to life in an instance. A little toddler, with a mane of hair, running towards something unknown.
 
“Ah!” Rey can’t help but squeal, “Is that you?”
 
“Force. Turn it off.” Ben groans next to her.
 
“What! No.” She covers the disc reader with her palm, “I have never seen holos of you, least of all like this.”
 
“Rey.”
 
A pair of hands reach out and take the toddler by his armpits. The recorder shakes and focuses up on the woman. She is younger, beautiful, with long auburn hair free flowing from her back. The toddler laughs and Han’s voice rumbles from somewhere behind. 
 
“Gosh you are adorable.” Rey dodges his attempt at shielding her eyes, “Leia is so young.”
 
“Give it back.” 
 
“Such chubby cheeks!”
 
He could easily take the disc from him. Her connection to the Force has been strange and disconnected as of late, making it even harder for her to fight back if she wished, but he doesn't. He half heartedly presses into her and reaches for the disc, yet his fingers just dangle weakly in the air.
 
He must enjoy her giddiness and the way she giggles at his younger self’s chubby cheeks and obsidian black hair with some kind of porridge leftovers.
 
At least that is what she thinks, until his hands drop and he makes attempts at a different method. Distraction.
 
He is large and so much bigger than life, when he swings her legs over his thighs and he hums too innocently, like she isn’t completely aware of what he is trying to do. How he is trying to distract her. 
 
“What a good place to rest,” he sings, fingers running across the hem of her shirt, brow resting at the top of her skull. “Even a better place to watch a poorly put together holo.”
 
She doesn’t resist the urge to roll her eyes, hating the slight smugness tinting his deep voice, but she makes no attempt at pushing him away, not even when his fingers inevitably slip under her top and he thumbs at her peaking nipples. 
 
“It’s not going to work,” Rey challenges, placing the holo directly in front of her stiffly.
 
“I’m not doing anything,” he remarks, perfectly aware of how sharp and shuddering his breath is becoming.
 
Rey pretends to the best of her ability, even as he pinches the sensitive bud of her nipple; a sweet kind of pain that makes Rey twist below him. He knows her so well by now. He plays her body like an instrument and her whimpers of pleasure is the accompanying chorus to his main act. 
 
Little Ben giggles with his heart's delight at being covered by Chewie's long locks of fur, all while the grown version kisses and licks at her neck, eroding the stubbornness she had clung to, and melts her into a puddle of sweaty nerves and twitching muscles. The little chubby figure, which she had insisted on watching, compares little to the manner in which his older self makes her lightheaded and dizzy. A curbed laugh leaves his lungs in a hot rush of air out of his nose. He presses a palm over her clothed cunt. 
 
Rey closes her eyes, fingers slip from the holo device. 
 
“That's it,” Ben croons and sharply guides her head back up to his mouth. “Good Jedi.” 
 
When he is sure her attention is on him, he gently releases her jaw and begins to fondle her chest and cup her breasts roughly through her shirt. She had expected him to be rough, to have his temper guide his seduction, but there is something kinder in his actions tonight. As if this is more for her than for him. 
 
She shudders at the feeling of his finger slipping inside of her, the wet squelch so potent it drowns the monotone quips of C-3PO. She flushes. It is a filthy thing, a symphony of power and reverence. He is the one charting the course, his calculated thrusts that slowly but steadily work her into a peak and she is nothing but an object of his devotion. 
 
Only he can demand of her body this exquisiteness.
 
And it makes her contradictory.
 
Sliding the holo to the edge of the table, Rey turns around to quickly grab it and fumbles off his lap. “You are such a bully.” She laughs and it strikes her how that sentence holds none of the vileness which would have poisoned her words years ago. It is a tease. 
 
“On a galactic scale even…” He half growls, half chuckles up at her, arching his neck and all but prowls after her.
 
Rey loves him. And it is the most wonderful feeling in the world. 
 
The father of their child. 
 
She clutches the holo to her chest and skids around the corner down the hallway in a mirthful escape from his wicked reverence. Her stomach has grown too much for her to run as fast as she used to, but Ben doesn’t chase her to catch her. It is a game after all — would it be any fun if it ended too soon?
 
They circle the interior of the Falcon, until she sees her opportunity and sprints down the ramp and out into the green fields around them. Ben is quick and they stall at her broken down speeder.
 
“But you look so adorable.” Rey laughs, the holo still clutched tight to her chest.
 
“Perhaps.” Ben smirks and his wicked smile is distraction enough, because before she notices, he is grabbing her arm and pulling her down with him and into the grass. 
 
“No fair!” Rey protests, as he divests her of the holo and puts it into his jacket pocket, followed by an apologetic brief kiss to her lips. 
 
Rey pouts down at him, but it is so hard to be mad at him. His hair pools around his face in a dark halo. He looks like an angel, but he is the one staring at her with such reverence. Her fingers brush a loose tendril behind his ear and she can still hear the ghost of Luke.

If you bear this child, it will force the dyad apart — and if you don’t, you can live your life in peace.

Ben presses another kiss on her lips. She had forgotten their deal. To let the past be the past and he recognises that, but he is not angry with her.

Her

Ben isn’t angry, because he knows the struggle. 
 
"We'll make new memories."
 
She wants to disagree with him, but settles for a reluctant nod. 
 
His hand reaches around and glides over the swell of her stomach. "

All

of us."
 
He makes a persuasive argument, and it is just stuff after all. They could use it for better things, take it all apart and optimize their little hut. They could trade it with the scrapper for credits or maybe even other stuff. 
 
They have enough, but things will eventually break down. She will give him that.
 
“We will,” Rey whispers into his cheek. 
 
It’s easy to get to work after that and not feel that pinge of wrongness between her ribs whenever she takes toys apart. His promise resonates in her mind, whenever her gut threatens to betray her decision. The weeks pass with every bolt she unscrews and every item she sorts into piles of usable and sellable. 
 
Ben helps where he can,  but mostly it is a solitary occupation for her. 
 
It’s instinct, not much different to her life on Jakku, except — she isn’t alone. Someone loves her and that little spirit within begins to move by its own. Perhaps that is why, one afternoon, as she walks past the unusable scrap meant for burning, she cannot help herself.
 
Here lies all the things Ben would call his own. He has gotten rid of everything that reminds him of Ben Solo and of Kylo Ren; his childhood has been broken into unrecognizable pieces by her hand, even his kyber crystal and saber are ripped apart and placed in her care. 
 
Rey touches the cracked kyber under her shirt. Its pulse is irregular, but it is growing steadier and steadier. Envy strikes her with such virosity. He has things to burn.
 
He has the opportunity to rip himself from his past quite literally. 
 
Rey has nothing. 
 
Nothing.
 
Except his scrap.
 
A small stuffed tuka doll rests on top of the pile. One eye has fallen off. It's purple fur is grimey and full of dust. But oh, how it had been loved. It had been gifted with love too.
 
She cannot burn it all. 
 
She refuses.
 
🜳🜳🜳🜳
 
“Looks alright to me.” The doctor grumbles as he runs the scanner over the swell of her stomach. “Two feet, two hands, a nose, a mouth.” Rey stares hard at the ceiling above, her heart drumming against her ribcage. 
 
“How do you know?” Ben quips next to her, holding her hand in a vice, eyes glued to the screen. 
 
“Well. If you were expecting a Rathar, then this would look wrong for sure. However, a human baby — then yours looks how it is supposed to look.”
 
“But it is not perfect.”
 
“Nothing is perfect.” The doctor says simply, turning off the screen and wiping her stomach clean of goo. “No one is. Especially not a child. Or adults for that matter.”
 
Rey bites her lip. Their little bean has begun to make itself known. She feels it in that strange tumbling within, that awkward breathlessness. It had surprised her and it had worried her. A lifetime of starvation and malnutrition, would her body even be right for a child? Could it take care of it?
 
The doctor types on the machine, noting down numbers and then adds — “However, she is healthy.”
 
Her heart jumps. Ben’s hand twitches.
 
“She?” Rey asks meekly, for the first time looking down from the ceiling.
 
“Oh. I’m sorry!” The doctor exclaims, “I — did you want to know?”
 
A girl. They were having a girl. Ben exhales hard and twists to press his forehead tight against hers. He is trembling. 
 
“It’s okay.” Ben responds, “We are just… surprised.”

A girl

, Ben mouths into her cheek, his teeth showing in a timid smile. A girl. That little undefined thing inside of her is a girl. That little round thing with a heartbeat, ten toes and ten fingers are going to be a little human, a real little girl.
 
A pinching breathlessness snakes up from the pit of her stomach all the way through her ribs to her throat. It's hard to say anything, it's hard to even think…

A girl

.
 
Then, as if summoned, the doctor quietly asks. “Can I speak with Rey privately for a moment? It won’t take long.”
 
Ben glares with barely contained mistrust and clenches her hand tighter. "Why?"
 
"Women's health… can be a very sensitive thing to discuss."
 
"Women's health," Ben repeats, tasting the words on his tongue.
 
"It's okay." Rey pats the top of his knuckles, giving him a weak smile. One he definitely sees through, but he senses her plea too —

it's hard enough as it is, please don't do this.

"I'll wait outside." He relents with a grunt and presses a hidden kiss into her hair and humps out of the clinic, leaving Rey all alone with the doctor she isn't quite sure how to feel about. His whiskers vibrate as he considers his words. 
 
“How are you, Rey?”
 
Rey swallows, “I’m fine.

Healthy

, as you said.”
 
“Hm.” He mumbles, sounding neither affirmative nor outright disagreeing. He taps his fingers on the screen, “Your vitals are good, but I’m not talking about pregnancy.”
 
“No?”
 
“How are

you

?”
 
Rey draws a deep breath, one that expands her whole chest. She rests her palms on the top of her pregnant belly. “I — “ Her eyes close and she feels for that little flicker of light within. “I am scared.”
 
“About what?”
 
Rey shrugs, puffing a hot gust of air, “I — I grew up an orphan. I — I know nothing about this. I — I haven’t ever held a baby.”
 
The doctor stares for a hard moment, before wiggling closer. His whiskers furrow and that usually harsh glean to his eye melt into something softer. 
 
“I see.” He pulls down her tunic and presses a palm on her stomach. “You have not spoken to any of the women in the village?”
 
“I — no one knows I’m pregnant.”
 
“Why?”
 
Rey doesn’t reply. 
 
“A pregnancy can be hidden. A child though — they will know. It is a hard secret to keep. The sooner you announce it, the easier it will be.” A smile, the first one he has ever truly given her. “It takes a village to raise a child they say, to protect it, I think you should talk to the women.”
 
It takes a village to raise a child. Rey can't stop thinking about the phrase even as they walk home and go about their day. She ponders the saying as she twirls her fork in her pasta and timi noodle. She ponders it as she washes the dishes, folds the clothes and puts it in the closet in the room furthest upstairs.
 
Their nursery, she supposes. However, right now there is nothing but crates of random stuff, a broken roll up blanket and extra storage space. It is far away from anything resembling a child’s room. How are they even going to get the things they need? Sure, Rey had raised herself, but even when she was a baby, someone had cared for her. She must have had a place to sleep, to play… someone

had

to have cared for her.
 
Someone will have to care for their girl, Rey sighs and caresses the little growing bump, and that someone will be her and Ben.
 
“We should paint this room.” 
 
Rey twists around, arching an eyebrow. “Paint?”
 
There’s a strange giddiness to him since they came back from the medbay. A barely contained smile seems permanently etched into his cheeks and he is …nice. Ben is a kind man, but there’s always an element of sarcasm and contradiction to him. He can be kind and tender, but nice — he isn’t quite

that.

He steps closer, presses a kiss on her cheek and nests his scarred face into her wild hair. There is no other way to describe it, this sweetness coming from him. 
 
“She should have a place with color.” Ben mumbles into her hair, “I had a room like that on Chandrilla, I want that for her too.”
 
Rey didn’t have any color in her AT-AT, just scratches, endless scratches knifed into the rusty metal.
 
“Do you even know how to paint?” Rey distracts herself and wraps his arms around her chest. He is warm and solid and here, unlike all her fears that only exist in her mind. 
 
He hums, “Crudely, but that is besides the point.”
 
“How so?” 
 
“It’ll be something

we

did.” His hands slowly move down and rest on top of hers so they cradle their daughter together. “None of that…

performance

.”
 
Rey imagines it. They could paint the ceiling blue like the sky, they could paint the grassy hills outside, maybe a Jakku desert full of flowers, perhaps even the vast darkness of the galaxy with its stars.
 
“But is that enough?” she whispers carefully. “Painting a room doesn’t make us good parents.”
 
He is quiet, before nuzzling his nose into her neck. “What

did

you and the doctor talk about today?”
 
It takes her a while to answer, unsure of how to explain, but Ben has always understood her in a way no one does. He knows her. He knows her light and her darkness. Rey sighs, “That I’m scared. That I know nothing of raising a child — I’ve never even held a baby.” She bites her lower lip and shakingly adds, “He says I should talk to the women in the village. That it is okay to ask for help.”
 
The roof creaks in tandem with the unwavering wind, the crossbeams groan and the glass clatter in the window panes. Ben strokes the round of her stomach, gently absorbing her truths, her fears. Fears Rey suspects he even shares. 
 
“I do not like it,” he eventually says, “ — but, I want a good life for her and if exposing us is what aids us, then that is that.”
 
“Are you sure?”
 
“No.” He presses another kiss on her skin, this time to the rim of her collar bone. “But I want this, so…” — he never says the words, but he doesn’t need to either.
 
With a smile, Rey adds, “So. We’ll paint this room.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 3
Family and FallacyVI 
There are experiences and life lessons that one only gains by living in small tight knit communities. Experiences that neither Ben nor Rey are familiar with — Ben, because he has lived a life in either lavish metropolitans or strict military hierarchies; Rey, because no one wanted to risk attachments on a planet that threatened to kill you if you slipped just a bit. Communities were too risky.
 
Their experiences have resulted in very lonely lives. Lives where it was hard to trust your neighbor and where secrets were the better option at any point.
 
So, when the doctor had suggested for them to open up to the village for help and guidance, the Dyad had little experience with what that would lead to. 
 
Rey remembers trembling the entire walk to the river where the laundry was washed, pressed and dried. All while imagining their reactions, their sneers and open condescension. Afterall, that is what usually happened when she had disclosed something to her fellow scavengers on Jakku. It is what would have happened if she had shared her secrets to the Resistance. Why should the village be any different?
 
However, as stated before, the Dyad did not know what it meant to live in a close knit village as this. They didn’t know what a life without legacy or enemies did to people —
 
— because they expected to share a little secret — but by the time they left, the entire village knew and a wedding was already in the works.
 
Something neither Jedi or Jedi-killer, to their own surprise, objected to.
 
🜳🜳🜳🜳
 
In fact, it was such an odd event, that Rey found Ben laughing to himself in their daughter’s room as he sorted through piles of clothes thrown at him by eager mothers in the village square. 
 
“That was a surprise.” Rey smiles a little, leans against the doorframe and strokes the top of her stomach.
 
The knitted shirt he holds up in the light looks so small between his finger and thumb. To imagine — she’ll be that little. Ben’s eyes crinkle and he gestures for her to join him. “It was.”
 
Obliging him, Rey steps over and picks the knitted shirt from his hands; she is sure one of the farmer’s grandchildren wore this a few years back. The pattern seems familiar, or perhaps it is the remnant warm feelings of the mother putting it on her child, or the child wearing it as they ran through the grass ocean.
 
“Was it too much?” Rey asks, fiddling with the worn out buttons and loose threads.
 
“Yes.” Ben sighs, not unhappily, and looks up and around the room they had painted together. The once sandish walls have now become a world of mountains, lakes, deserts and forests — and on the ceiling a galaxy of stars dotted with white paint. “But I don’t mind.” 
 
“You are getting your wedding.” Rey snickers and follows his gaze’s journey around the room.
 
It had started out small. Just a little tree here and there, but then Rey had painted a crude AT-AT in the sand and shown it to Ben with childish pride. He had frowned, made some deadpan comment about aesthetics and then crudely drawn a nerf next to it. Followed by a forest, then a waterfall… and suddenly a whole world had grown inside this little room. 
 
Her eyes fall to the small group of people hidden between the trees. Finn, Rose, and Poe. And in the sky, a Millenium Falcon, with a Wookie and a dashing pilot… 
 
If he had noticed them, Ben chose not to remark on it. She is not sure how to feel about that.
 
“I do want us to marry,” he replies flatly and reaches out his hand in a silent request for the shirt she still holds in her hand. “But it is your wedding too.”
 
“Perhaps — but I’m not the sentimental type — like someone I know.” Rey grins and stretches the shirt by the sleeves over swollen stomach and shyly twirls her torso in a dance. Ben, hand still hanging in the air, stares at her with barely disguised reverence and

nervousness

. 
 
“Does it fit?” Her voice breaks in a careful whisper and she twists her heel to move her stomach demonstrating the latest fashion. 
 
Hoarsely, Ben replies. “I don’t know.”
 
Her smile falters a little, but she persists — “It’s strange.” Her hands cradle her stomach. “To imagine what she’ll be. What she’ll look like.”
 
She cradles

“it”

, drawing the woolen shirt tight as possible over her own ill fitting clothes. It’s like nothing fits any of them anymore. Rey has become too large for her clothes and Ben’s muscles have grown less defined. They too have outgrown their old things it too seems. 
 
A kick. Rey winches and presses the palm of her hand at the spot just off her belly button. She shushes, “It’s okay. It’s okay.”
 
A dark current pinches through the force, making her chest ache and tightens her throat.
 
“Is it too hard?” Ben’s voice asks from his spot on the floor. She eyes him over her nose, taking in how he clenches his hand hard, but his face is unreadable.
 
Did the darkness come from him?
 
Rey shakes her head. “She’s lively, that’s all.”
 
The basket creaks as he sets it down, and she senses his heavy feet approach her, each step a slow calculated one — and then she finds this large man suddenly kneeling down in front of her, eyes hard on her belly. 
 
She snickers, but Ben is stoic as ever, each palm awning the pregnancy through her shirt. Then, he presses his soft lips to the top of her swollenness and whispers.
 
“Be kind to your mother.” His breath is warm through her shirt. “She has been through so much.”
 
“It’s okay.” Rey laughs, curling a single finger through his dark locks she cut this morning. It’s short now, making his curls tighter and unable to hide his wonderful ears. Perhaps their girl will share these traits of his? Dark curls and protruding ears. It’s an easy fantasy to conjure; their girl will be adorable like that. He is adorable. “I’ve been through worse.”
 
“It’s my duty.” Ben kisses the words into her shirt. “I’m her …—” 
 
He muffles the word with another kiss — like every other time the subject is brought up and like every other time he fails to say it. It seems to lock in his throat.
 
That he is to be a father. 
 
That he will be someone’s dad.
 
A flicker of a thought escapes him. She cannot see it clearly, but the bitterness and regret can only mean one thing.

Han.

It must be that. The snap of darkness she just felt. His thoughts on his father always made him revert back to his old self. The dark.
 
“Not yet. She is yet to be born.” Rey tries to distract him. “Why hurry to raise her? Let’s enjoy this.”
 
“Hm.” Ben grunts. “Enjoy this.”
 
She denies him a reaction to the solemn tone of his voice. A part of her reasons that he needs to be ignored when regret strikes; that feeding the monster that howls within him only makes it more present. Another part of her keeps reminding her that he is the cause of his own misery. No one forced him to turn on the ignition and commit patricide.
 
Forgiveness is such a strange thing. Rey has long forgiven Ben for his crimes — but sometimes her forgiveness is tangled up within his refusal to forgive himself. Making her forgiveness only half hearted and reducing her to a complicit part of his past — or so it feels.
 
She draws in a deep breath through her nostrils. The air is warm and dry. Not Jakku dry, but that of days with no rain and thirsty plants.
 
“If you can make it rain. That will do,” she teases, but she can’t help but think.
 
Will this be all she’ll ever know? Will they live out the remainder of their lives here knowing nothing but the planet’s seasons and the galaxy’s splendor being but a memory. Memories that will fade, but never go. 
 
Will she forget the faces of her friends? Replaced by the crude smiles painted onto a wall in her child’s bedroom? 
 
It pains her to think of it. Nineteen years she had gone without and now she is to do it again. Lately that thought has taken up more and more space in her mind, especially with the due date only two standard months away.
 
A swallow. She gathers courage.
 
“Ben.” Rey speaks carefully, thumb gliding over his cheekbones. She cannot quite make herself look at him. “ — Do you think we could go off planet just once before she is born? Just one last time.”
 
His shoulders tighten. “Why?”
 
“I don’t know — to see the stars? To have a little adventure …”
 
“This is adventure enough in itself. It’s a dangerous game —”
 
Rey grunts. His reply is expected, but it annoys her anyway. “I know. I know. I just — wanted one last thing before I never got to have that again.”
 
He is quiet from his place at her feet, one ear still pressed to her stomach. The thumb that had stroked her skin through her shirt has gone still as well. It is not hard to know what goes through his mind — after all, he knows how novel the galaxy is to her. He has felt her bone drilling excitement at seeing Takadona when he had stolen her memories after all.
 
Regret is not something Ben Solo feels openly, but Rey knows his silence to be it.
 
“It’s okay,” Rey says reluctantly, pulling away. “A silly dream of mine.”
 
“It is not silly.” 
 
“Of course it is. You are right. It is dangerous. We cannot go in the Falcon — it might have trackers and —”
 
“Yes. But it isn’t silly,” Ben says more firmly, standing to his feet so he towers over her, casting her entire being into shadow. His palms are cold and clammy when they cup her cheek, but there’s warmth in the gesture itself. 
 
Rey leans into them, closing her eyes.
 
“ — You are not silly, Rey. You just dare to hope.” A thick swallow moves his throat. “I’m not as brave as you.”
 
She knows disagreeing with him won’t help, so she holds it in and instead, asks — “If it wasn’t dangerous, would you want to?”
 
“Yes.” 
 
His cheek comes to take a rest on the top of her hair. Rey nuzzles at the unshaven stubbles down his throat. 
 
“Where would you take me?”
 
“Everywhere,” he states simply.
 
🜳🜳🜳🜳
 
Rain falls in thick drops a few days later and the farmer’s wife offers to lend Rey a dress. They will be married at the harvest festival after all. 
 
Rey pretends it is the rain sliding down her cheeks at the gift.
 
🜳🜳🜳🜳
 
The rainy season brings relief to the budding family. It serenades the breaking of the summer and is a soothing lul that adds a twinge of softness to their lives.
 
Rey has always hated this humid weather, but as she lays sleeping in their bed, she lets herself enjoy the seeping coldness replacing the last few weeks blistering sun. 
 
It has not been easier with their little sprout taking up more and more room. Rey struggles to regulate her own body temperature, and it is somehow harder to sweat and breathe with her daughter weighing her down.
 
So the coldness is a nice change. A pleasant one, even if it makes the air thick with humidity. However, she knows by now that the rain only lasts for so long, before it is replaced by the budding warmth of fall.
 
With a yawn, she stretches her arms far above her head, smacks her lips and kicks the sheet lazily off her feet. 
 
Ben grunts a snore next to her and she opens her eyes to look at him. Lately, she has seen so little of him it seems. He has helped the farmer with the harvest as he usually does, meaning he leaves early and comes back late. He hasn’t even had the stamina to have sex most nights. 
 
“Poor thing,” Rey mouths, studying the way his curtain of curls falls over his beautiful face. His nose is buried into the pillow and a trickle of saliva runs from the corner of his mouth.
 
Like a man who is content. A man who is safe.
 
Sweetness blooms warm deep within her chest and it is so easy to just reach out with the tip of her fingers and pull the dark strands aside to reveal to her the man she loves. Her

Dyad.

A strand of hair glimmers in the light. It’s silver.
 
Rey pauses and studies the lone thing with utmost attention. His hair is turning gray. He is getting older.
 
To imagine that so many years of his life was wasted because of his family and their history. They don’t talk about it much, but Rey knows that those years were painful. He may not have been a good person, but he was forced on this path.
 
How many years did he struggle to sleep? From their shared memories, she knows that sleep has eluded him always. Either because Snoke had whispered in his mind and if not that, the images alone from the crimes and the hurt he has inflicted on others. And the hurt that was inflicted on

him.

It took him over thirty years, but

finally

he can sleep through the night — because he feels safe.
 
Rey leans forward, presses her forehead to his and closes her eyes.
 
What she wouldn’t do to keep him like this. She has cut out everything she has ever known just to have this with him.
 
“I love you.” She kisses into his hair.
 
A grunt. Rey smiles and reaches around for the blanket …

“Interesting.”

Rey flinches. 
 
She knows that voice. 
 
Not truly believing it, she eases herself up on her elbow, body trembling at the thought alone.
 
And there he is, in the corner. As real as the day she had shipped herself on to the

Supremacy

.
 
Snoke.

“A child.”

His crooked teeth leers and the Force around him pulls at her.

“The Skywalkers resist their fate.”

A finger crooks at her.
 
Like that day in the throne room, and she can feel that splintering pain already. She can feel his wicked poison stab her mind, his every move inside her deepest secret.

“He should have killed you. His weakness.”

“No!” Rey shouts, closing her eyes and pulling away.
 
“Rey?” Ben’s voice comes from next to her. Sleep still lingering in his speech. “Rey, what’s wrong?”
 
Her entire body is shaking and by instinct, she hides her face deep within her arms. Blood rushes through her ears and she can feel and hear every ribbing beat of her trembling heart. Ben has to ask thrice before Rey even hears him. 
 
With frail courage, she glances over her shoulder to the spot near the cupboard.
 
No sign of Snoke. 
 
A dream?
 
Ben’s eyes shimmer with concern. He must be able to feel that deathly fright coursing through her veins. 
 
She knows what happened was not true. Snoke is dead. They cut him open. She was there.

She saw it.

“I’m okay.” She musters, letting him hold her tight. “I’m okay.”
 
Her gaze locks on the dried trail of drool at the corner of Ben’s mouth. That evidence of his interrupted sleep.
 
She swallows.
 
“A nightmare.” Rey manages to quiver, “Just a nightmare.”
 
🜳🜳🜳🜳
 
When Rey had agreed to marry Ben, it had been an easy answer to an easy existence and that was that.  After all, the last few months, no, years, had warranted no caution or made any arguments that would make her say ‘no’. 
 
To marry Ben, this Ben, wouldn’t be marrying the Supreme Leader nor the heir apparent to a galactic legacy. 
 
She was agreeing to marry a simple man who enjoyed sleeping in, cooked her meals every day and rubbed her lower back when her pregnant belly became too much of a burden. The Ben she had come to know was so unlike the vicious apprentice of Snoke’s or the glimpses of a lonely child.
 
He liked playing Sabaac and they’d spend hours some evenings battling each other on who’d be able to cheat the most without getting caught. He liked digging his fingers into the dirt and more than once she had overheard him whisper encouragements to the plants. Ben was a man who spoke before thinking, but he always gave things an adequate amount of thought regardless. 
 
And he was gentle to her. Something Kylo would never be able to do. Something Ben Solo would be too cautious of.
 
So yes, with everything she knew about him, old and new, it had been an easy thing to agree to.
 
However, she had not given it any thought as to how a wedding was to happen, least of all that it would happen. To her, it was enough just to say it — admit it to his beautiful face that she no longer feared him or hesitated.

The words were enough on their own. To her at least.
 
The village had other ideas.
 
And so a wedding was to be held. And no matter how far into the future it seemed, the wedding was to happen. And today was that day.
 
The farmer’s wife tugged at her hair, complaining about the wildness of the strands as she braided them into a lush crown over her scalp. The children and young maidens not yet old enough to be swept up into a romantic match stood eagerly at the foot of the table, eyes wide with interest and hands fulls of freshly plucked meadow flowers.
 
The wife gestured for the oldest to approach and licked her lips while draping each stalk into Rey’s brown hair. The perfume of the white daffodil filled her nostrils and it was almost too much.
 
“You will be so beautiful, Miss Rey,” the youngest of the farmer’s grandchildren squeaked. Already more fluent than her parents at Basic. “I want to be like you when I’m older.”
 
Rey resisted the frown. Who would want to be like her? Orphaned and hiding with the enemy? Whom she is carrying a child with — and oh, is getting married to? However, those were not the answers the child was looking for —
 
Instead, the scavenger manages a timid smile. “Why?”
 
“You just look nice.”
 
“I don’t look nice all the time,” Rey challenges.
 
“Ben thinks so.” Another child grins. “He thinks you are very pretty.”
 
Like a teenager, Rey blushes furiously and looks away. Her cheeks burn with mortification. It’s always odd to hear the perspective of someone outside of their bond. Is this how they look to people?
 
“I hope he doesn’t say such things to you.”
 
The wife shushes the children away and continues with her work with diligent attention, but not without adding. “Some things are not said with words, Miss Rey.”
 
Rey resists the tilt of her head as it grows heavier and heavier with each flower added, and while she cannot see her own reflection, she senses that this is more than the average ornamentation she let them braid in the past years for the festival.
 
“Force. Is he that obvious?” Nervously, Rey brushes her hand over the off white dress. A simple one with a band underneath her breasts and an airy skirt leaving plenty of room for her stomach.
 
“Do not be angry,” the wife whispers. “This is a good day.”
 
“Oh.” Rey blinks, never having noticed her change of demeanor. “No, I’m not angry with him…”
 
“Sadness comes at weddings,” the wife replies in broken Basic and steps in front of the last Jedi with a concentrated look. “But it is a happy day.”
 
“It won’t change anything.” Rey closes her eyes as some black liquid is smeared over her lid. “Won’t change how I feel.”
 
“Maybe. But can still be important.” A sigh. “Your parents would be very proud.”
 
Something heavy falls to the pit of her stomach. 
 
“My parents.”
 
“Very much so.” 
 
Rey doubts it. Even if she avoids thinking about it, the memory of that day on Jakku, Plutt dragging her back by the arm as they had entered into the ship — never even looking back.
 
Had her mother been excited about meeting her, as Rey is about her own daughter? 
 
Or was she an unnecessary burden?
 
Rey’s eyes flutter open and is greeted by a soft look from the older woman. It makes her nervous. This matrimonial nostalgia. She is probably recalling her own daughter’s wedding, maybe even her own.
 
Of course. It’s not really Rey she is happy for. It’s never Rey. Only someone else.
 
Rey only has Ben.

Dread lingers, Luke’s words echo in her mind. That doing this means she will lose Ben in the end. And now she is dreaming about Snoke and her parents —
 
Or maybe — some horrible side of her whispers — this is the Force trying to force them apart. Perhaps this was not what it had intended? Yes, it wanted them to come together — but not like this… Or maybe Snoke wasn’t dead? Maybe he had survived somehow and they had been so careless lately…
 
All these secret feelings and thoughts. No wonder she is feeling overwhelmed.
 
“Ma’am.” Rey whispers, averting the intense gaze by pretending to adjust the dress.
 
“Rey.” The farmer’s wife says carefully and ever so patiently. “You look beautiful. You will be a good mama. And Ben good husband. No anger. Anger is for other days. Not today.”
 
“Right.” Rey hoarsely laughs — and then, she is suddenly caught in an embrace. So tight and warm.
 
“You are good girl.” The wife smells of cinnamon, of warm things and love. “Be good.”
 
Rey can’t recall what her own mother’s embrace smelled like.
 
But she can recall Ben’s.
 
🜳🜳🜳🜳
 
The sun has not set by the time the scavenger is led to the city square by her entourage of giggling small girls fighting over who gets to hold her hand. 
 
It is custom to have the bride and groom get ready separately, but unlike the traditions she has heard of, this planet does not emphasize them not seeing each other before ceremony. What would be the point anyway? It is not like they can get any more cursed. 
 
Rey smiles at the villagers putting up decorations, sweeping their front steps, and setting up tables. They wave and cheer and she musters a weak wave as she is paraded through town. It is a strange attention and it makes her nervous. In her mind, the two of them had always been a separate entity to the rest of the village. Strangers and unfamiliar, keeping to themselves, but it appears that they did not think of them that way. They are a part of this small conclave whether they want to be or not. This is as much a celebration of the Dyad as it is a celebration for the village.
 
And their daughter equally so.
 
An image comes to her mind. Of a little black haired girl playing with the youngest here. She won’t know anything about the Jedi or the Sith. The Skywalkers and the Palpatines. Their daughter will be free. A part of this community. 
 
It is a comforting thought.
 
Will she have the force too?
 
“Miss Rey!” A voice calls from the shop off to her right. “Wow!”
 
Rey forces the children to a stop and turns to the most familiar of all the village people. The scrapper, usually covered in dirt and cuts, even for formal occasions, has washed himself for today’s celebration. His wild hair has been combed back and on his cheeks, normally covered by sod, Rey notices a galaxy of freckles.
 
“R’iaa!” Her cheeks pinch from the force of her grin. “How you look!”
 
A bit embarrassed, he runs a hand through his grey hair and looks down at his worn out shoes. Even those have been shined and it must have been years since he has worn this ornamented tunic. It stretches a bit too awkwardly on his aging body.
 
Rey doesn’t care. This man has helped her and Ben more than anyone in the village. He reminds her the most of home. Of Jakku. She reaches out and takes his hands. 
 
“Thank you for coming. You look amazing.”
 
“Oh, no. Rey.” He smiles shyly, missing teeth and all. “You are the flower of the evening. That old woman has done an amazing job with you. Truly.”
 
A laugh. “Thank you. This is more than I had ever asked for.” — and they had given it willingly. Refused all her attempts at denying them. “But with the little underway, I appreciate it.”
 
He studies her stomach and smiles with a fond fatherly expression. The one Han sometimes showed her and sighs. “I cannot wait to meet her.”
 
“It’s soon enough.” 
 
Then, as if realising something important. “Oh, Miss Rey. Can I borrow you for a moment? I’ve wanted to ask you something and before the ceremony and all …—“
 
“Sure.” Rey nods and follows him to the shop, careful not to stain her dress and watches him dig through a pile of paper before slamming one on the table. The children next to her jump in shock, but seem intrigued as to what the scrapper wants. 
 
“Someone asked for this, didn’t know what it looked like, but it appears new. Can you tell me what it is?”
 
Rey scrunches her nose at the handwriting, deciphering the letters apart.

TLJ-09-RJ.

“That’s a radio frequency receiver. Usually found in old Empire ships. They aren’t rare — I’m sure you should manage to look one up.” She twirls a pen in her hand, ignoring a yelp from the teen about dirt on her hands and scribbles down a crude drawing of what it’ll look like. “Who is asking for it? And why?”
 
“Oh — you know, that amnesia pilot.” The scrapper says as if it doesn’t matter the slightest. “Said something about wanting to contact friends.”
 
Rey freezes, dropping the pen from her hand. 
 
“What?”
 
“Daid I should keep it secret, but I know you knew what it was so …” The scrapper winks and folds the paper into a neat little square. “Let’s go to your wedding. We can talk more later.”

A radio receiver. He wants a radio receiver.

Her heart is in her throat, and her spine grows freezingly cold.

He wants to contact friends. Friends who have Empire technology.

Her insides her bleach.

He wants to contact the First Order. He wants to expose us.

An image. Of Ben’s happy secret smile. Of the drool trailing down his chin.
 
“No!” Rey blurts. 
 
The children and the scrapper look at her with puzzled looks.
 
Rey blinks, momentarily stunned. 
 
“I — uh — I need to see Ben first. To tell him something.”
 
She needs to warn him.
 
She needs to keep them safe.
 
🜳🜳🜳🜳
 
“

The last Jedi and the Supreme Leader married in a small ceremony on a backwater planet.”

His voice is sweet relief the moment she hears it. He must have sensed her approach, because he speaks before she even crosses into the alley, from where he casually watches the villagers prepare the festival. “How many credits would the holonews not pay for that headline?”
 
“Ben.” Rey pants, holding her stomach as she trots closer to him. He doesn’t look at her, but she sees that little smile she knows so well. It floods her with relief. 
 
“Sounds like some of the romance holos I discovered on the First Order bases.” He narrates to himself, tapping his foot restlessly on the dirt ground. 
 
Rey is completely covered in shadow, before he hums and turns around to look at her. He stops, hesitates, then smiles so wide it makes her chest want to burst.

Beautiful,

she hears him think in the Force. “Did they inspire you?”
 
“What?” Rey stammers, out of breath. 
 
“To kidnap me.” He begins, then presses a quick kiss on her cheek. “So you could seduce me.”
 
Rey frowns, pulls away. “Seduce? What are you talking about?”
 
“On some planets that is part of the courtship” He deadpans. Then reaches up to tug at a flower and exhales

relieved

. “You are transcendent.”
 
A blush heats her cheeks and she can’t help but shake her head shyly. “I didn’t do this. It’s all the women’s fault.”
 
“Fault? It’s not a bad thing —“
 
“Ben.” Rey interrupts, stepping closer to him.“Ben, I need to tell you something.”
 
The toothy smile of his wavers, he furrows his brow. “Now?”
 
“Yes —“ Rey persists, but when it comes to it, she finds that none of the words she wanted to say cross her tongue.
 
His expression softens at that — and it is then she finally notices him. He is dressed simply too, in faded whites like her, a tunic and a pair of pants — and on his head, far less elaborate than hers, rests a crown of meadow flowers. 
 
Like an Emperor and an Empress. 
 
Not those he dreamt of. No. This is the reverie she had of him on the Resistance base; at night, when no one was looking — Of Ben Solo standing next to her the light. 
 
A tightness in her releases with a ripping snap. 
 
Her shoulders drop and she allows herself that foolish enchantment of being hopelessly in love with Ben Solo. He has never not been handsome to her, but this — this softness. The way he stands opposite her, timid and hopeful, allowing her to take in his transformation. 
 
“Ben,” she breathes, reaching out with both hands to grasp at his. Her throat is dry and no word she knows will be adequate enough to describe the way he makes her feel right now. He turns his palms up and lets her take them into hers. “You look — different.”
 
“So do you,” he adds, taking a step closer. “In a good way.”
 
“Oh.” Rey blinks. “You too. You look —

good.

”
 
Sometimes she imagines what Ben would be like as a teen. Awkward and gangly, with a shyness only teens possess. And she thinks this must be it, that way he hunches his shoulders and smiles to himself. He seldom received compliments, she assumes; he doesn’t know how to react.
 
She can’t lose him. 
 
With a scavenger’s stubbornness and sensibility, she does manage to shake her head free of the spell he’s put her under and tugs him closer by the sleeve, looking over her shoulder.
 
“I — I think we are in danger.”
 
“In danger,” he repeats, at first not truly hearing her words, then to not sounding convinced.
 
“I —” She takes a deep breath and turns to look him in the eye. “I think. I think the pilot is building a comm device.”

A comm device

, Ben mouths, grimacing, then —
 
“For fucks sake.” Ben runs a hand over his face. “Why today, Rey?”
 
“Ben. I’m serious.” She leans closer to him, mouth tight. “I think he is trying to summon someone. I think he…”
 
“He has had more than enough time to expose us. He has had enough time to try and kill us. He hasn’t…” Disappointed, he sounds disappointed. “And even with that in mind, you promised me we would forget about it. For us. For our

daughter

.”
 
“I’m saying this because of our daughter! Because of us!”
 
“But why now?” He huffs like a nerfbull; tightening his mouth. “Minutes before we are getting married…”
 
“Ben. If we are in danger, a wedding is the last thing we ought to focus on.”
 
He flinches. 
 
“Ben.” Rey says more firmly. “Don’t do that.”
 
“Do

what.”

“You are purposely misinterpreting me — you —“
 
“And what are you doing then?” He squeezes his lips tight. “Disregarding my feelings at every turn?”
 
“What? No! I’ve always …”
 
“No.” He points his finger. “Do not

deny

it.”
 
Ben instantly regrets it, or maybe more regrets the manner in which he says it. He means it. Rey knows he does. Rey cowers away, tears stinging in her eyes. 
 
“You don’t believe me.”
 
“Force.” Ben grunts. “Rey —“
 
“Say it.”
 
The musicians practise somewhere in the background, adjusting the tunes of their instruments. Somehow befitting this moment. 
 
“No. I don’t believe you,” he says with conviction. “I think you are looking for a way out.”

“What?”

“It always happens like this. Whenever you have to commit to me, some… important excuse happens.”
 
“It is not an excuse!”
 
“Then why all of these things? Why the sudden questions about leaving on the Falcon? If you weren’t pregnant. If I weren’t the Skywalker legacy. Are you still here?”
 
Rey lets go of his hands with obvious repulsion. This still? Hadn’t they been over this? Hadn’t she repeatedly shown her commitment to him?
 
“For someone who really wants to get rid of the past, the Skywalkers take a lot of your headspace!”
 
She wraps her arms around her stomach, the adrenaline rushing through her is making their daughter restless too. She kicks and hits the inside of Rey’s stomach, moving restlessly in response to her mother’s worry. 
 
Ben stares at her hard. Eyes narrowed at her rebuttal like those times on Ach-To. Except this time he actually has the power to hurt her. She knows that because she is wiping the corners of her eyes furiously. 
 
“Later,” he offers in exchange. “Can we have this? Without… Can we talk about it later?”
 
Rey doesn’t reply. She can’t even look at him. To think he still suspects her of all these things, when she has shown nothing but loyalty to him? 
 
“Rey.” He tries again, crouching on his knees so he can look up at her from below. “Do you want to marry me?”
 
The gleam in his eyes tells her that this discussion is not over, but he is begging for a moment of respite. It is so unlike him. Kylo Ren would never beg. He would never bargain. 
 
“Please.”
 
Rey pouts, having no reply to that, which won’t flare up their fight once more. So she settles for a nod and takes the hand he is extending to her. 
 
🜳🜳🜳🜳
 
The village chief is smiling at the both of them as he officiates their union. They stand in the middle of the square, the entire village standing around them in a circle with flowers and lit candles in their palms.
 
He is saying words about love, of family and the galaxy. Ben is standing next to her, holding her hand tight in his like he is afraid she will slip away. 
 
Rey is not absent, but their fight in the alley still pulses within her. That betrayal she felt at him openly admitting that he didn’t believe her. That he didn’t trust her.
 
It’s childish. It’s cruel. The thought that enters her head is terrible, even at a distance. However, her wrath courses through her like an unstoppable tsunami, only spurred on by what must be a cocktail of hormones and exhaustion. His spiteful accusations echo inside her chest and she can hear his condescending words as clear as day. She hardly hears the chief of the village recite some formalities he must tell every single couple, she only hears the questions:
 
“What will be your name?”
 
It was nothing they had agreed on. They hadn’t even discussed it. And they should have, but Rey opens her mouth and spills out the most vile response she can think of —
 
“

Skywalker

. Rey and Ben Skywalker.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 3
Family and FallacyVII 
The moment Rey says that name, she knows the crime she has committed. His gaze alone on hers tells her enough about his feelings. It is a stare of betrayal and hurt that pierces through her chest.
 
Is an oops sufficient?
 
She is about to open her mouth, to say …something — when a firm grip latches onto her arm and then — the crowd is dragging them off and into the center of the tables. 
 
Music crescendos with each drum and string instrument as the adults clap and swirl around each other. Above them the hanging lights gleam and twinkle like stars in the galaxy above and the sunset paints the entire sky a deep shade of maroon and purples. The crowd cheers as the newlyweds are placed among them and with little instruction, Rey suddenly finds herself in the embrace of a villager who begins to twirl her into a dance. 
 
The faces of the inhabitants blur as she is swung about and into the hands of another man, who twirls her by the hand and whisks her off to yet another stranger. Around her the skirts, flower crowns and manly laughter fill her senses as the village join in on the dance. They clap along with the beat of the drum and Rey stumbles ahead, her swollen stomach heavy and her two left feet making her balance off course. 
 
A pair of fingers dig into her arm, stopping her from falling. They dig hard enough for it to bruise. Maybe even hard enough to draw blood, followed by another hand that rests carefully on her waist — and she’s lead into a dance. 
 
Rey doesn’t even have to look up to know who it is, but she does regardless. Ben is not even looking at her, as he guides her gently around the dance floor. However, his gentleness is only a compromise, because the shy blush on his cheeks has become an angry
red.
She can feel his pulse quicken. He is fuming.
 
Ben has never truly danced with her at these events. This is the first time and while she senses his skills from many years of practise, his fury makes him less — patient. He drags her along, making no effort for her to catch up to his quick feet. 
 
He doesn’t let her fall either. 
 
"Skywalker?!" He bites low. "Are you kidding me?"
 
Rey looks away, ashamed. "No one was using it.”
 
"Are you going insane?" His brows knit together into an odd tapestry of concern and wrath. "Why would you do this to me? After everything…" 
 
Rey frowns. "I don't see what the big deal is… it's just a name…"
 
"You are infuriating. Absolutely

horrible

! I told you we’d talk." 
 
“Would we have?” Rey counters with her entire stubborn heart; lifting her chin and exposing her throat. “You don’t believe me.”

“Rey.”

“Kiss!” A woman chants next to them. And it doesn’t take long for the roar of the village to join in the chorus. Kiss. Kiss. Kiss. They chime. 
 
Ben and Rey look at the crowd unknowingly celebrating their marriage like the scavenger hasn’t committed the gravest of sins. 
 
"I'm never going to use that name." Ben whispers in her ear as he reaches up to cradle both her cheeks, his fingers curling around her neck in a strange choke. "And our daughter will no way in hell be called that either."
 
It doesn’t feel right. The way his lips press onto hers, but she lets him. Passion, good or bad, is not present, as he slants the slightest of kisses over her painted lips. He has never kissed her like this. 
 
Betrayal, it tastes like that. 
 
The village knows no better, because they simply clap and cheer. Oblivious to the conflict between them. 
 
Rey curbs the need to cry as he slowly pulls away, hands still clutched at her neck — until he releases those, too, so she is standing on her own. Completely on her own.
 
Lifting the hem of her dress, struggling to keep the tears at bay, she turns and disappears through the crowd and into an alley —
 
— She barely makes it into the darkness, before an arm snatches around her waist and lifts her off the ground.
 
“No!” She protests, kicking her feet futility. 
 
“Yes.” He grits, holding her to him tightly and drags her off into a secluded area. “You can’t run this time.”
 
Someone whistles in the crowd from the village, but no one follows them. The music plays on carelessly and Ben holds her till they both calm down, or at least until Rey stops fighting him. 
 
“I wasn’t going to run.” She counters with her entire stubborn heart. “I’ve never tried to run!”
 
Ben rests them both against the wall and slowly glides her down until her feet make contact with the ground. “Then

what

are you doing?”
 
How long they stand like this, Rey doesn’t know. She can feel his heart beat against her back and his arms are locked around her waist as if he doesn’t truly believe her. Their daughter turns restlessly within her, as if sensing her own mother’s turmoil.
 
“It was unwarranted.” He snarls into her ear. “Nothing I’ve ever done warranted what you just did.”
 
“Really?” Rey says without thinking, staring petulantly ahead into the darkness. It threatens to swallow her up, pulsing faster and faster as its edges try to envelop her. 
 
A sigh, Ben presses his chin to the top of her head. “Why are we in a fight, Rey?”
 
This makes her anger dim ever so slightly and draws her attention away from the tantalizing power of the darkness. She edges her face closer to his, wetting her lips with a nervous tremble. Why are they in a fight? There are so many reasons for them to be in a fight, but which one is it? 
 
“I thought — being a Dyad meant this would be easy.” Rey whispers, “That you would

trust

me.”
 
"Trust you." Ben repeats bitterly. His anger is a pulsing current in the air. It is suffocating. His thoughts waver between physically fighting her or —
 
He drags her face to his and slams his mouth over hers. Punishing and cruel - hard enough to draw blood. It isn’t a kiss a husband and wife share.
 
It is the kiss someone gifts their enemy — reluctant and full of passion. 
 
Rey cannot protest nor does she try to. Her lips struggle to keep up with his; his blood is soaring and he struggles when he tries to turn her around — to be closer — to punish.
 
Her back hits the clay wall and he imprisons her by placing each palm next to her face. Rey stares up at him, to the red flushing scar that threatens to burst open and his dark pupils that can’t decide where to look on her face or her body. Breath is hard to come by.
 
“How can I trust you, when you hide behind my back.” He croons, stepping closer, and without breaking eye contact, he snakes a hand into the cleavage of her dress. 
 
Rey gasps. His fingers are cold as they reach her breast and squeeze it hard enough for her to whimper, hard enough for each digit of his hand to imprint on her flesh. 
 
A smirk tugs at Ben’s mouth and he draws a thumb over her stiffening nipple, making heat flush straight to her chest and her cunt. 
 
“How can I trust you, when you say one thing but do another?”
 
With his bare knuckles he pushes the fabric outward and away from her tit, exposing it to the warm summer air and to his heated gaze. 
 
“How can I trust you?” He asks, eyes falling to the white flesh that have grown so much in size. To the nipple that has grown darker and larger with each month. His thumb caresses the underside of the tit, bouncing it up and down to his delight. 
 
 It is ridiculous how wet it makes her, an observation he shares when draws his free hand between her legs and over her cunt. 
 
“Do you trust me?” He asks with an awe inspired disgust; his pupils dilated to the point of blackness. Rey can do nothing but arch her neck back and give him a weak nod. 
 
He growls.
 
And kisses her again. 
 
This time he is more gentle, but mostly because his focus is on getting below her dress and tugging off her panties. It’s a sloppy maneuver, especially when done in an alleyway only a few feet from their celebration. Rey lifts herself by placing her arms around his shoulders, fingers curling into his hair and shakes off her undergarments as he proceeds to unzip his pants, pulling out his already hardened cock. 
 
Someone is laughing nearby, loud and drunkenly. Rey can’t help but look over her shoulder to the light streaming in from the city square.
 
Until Ben demands her attention once more, by slipping his calloused fingers over her back, rounding her ass and pulling her flush against him. She squeaks before she can stop herself. One of his hands slides torturously slow over the back of her thigh and rucks up her skirt to her waist.
 
Out of breath, Rey presses her forehead into his shoulder and revels in the way his blunt fingers glide so easily between her folds. Teasing her with painfully slow moves around her entrance, just rubbing without ever really pushing in. 
 
She drags her teeth over his neck. He pulls his fingers from her, and tilts his mouth so close to her ear she can feel his warm breath whisper softly. “Skywalker.” 
 
Her tit falls into his mouth as he lifts her up the wall and her legs lock around his waist. His tongue glides over the hardened nipple, prickling the skin and tickling her entire core. Once he could hold her entire tit in her mouth, but now, it is a struggle. One he nonetheless challenges as he mouths and licks at her skin. 
 
“Ben.” Rey whimpers as she feels herself drip with wetness onto the cock he teases her with. He moves his lips to her neck as she shifts her hips against him, reaching for the sparks that she knows prickles through her skin every time his cock slides up against her.
 
Fireworks are lit in the distance, briefly lighting them up in bright blue colors. 
 
“To be a Skywalker.” He bites into her tit. “That is what you want. That legacy.”
 
His cock presses against her clit, so lightly. Her head falls backwards, exposing her throat to him as she bites down on her tongue to keep from groaning.
 
“No —“ Rey attempts to deny, but her entire body shivers, and she feels it so acutely — the head of his cock nudging her entrance.
 
Ben grunts into her neck, “Here.” Then a kiss. “Take it. Take the Skywalker cock.”
 
Rey cannot hold back the moan as he thrust his cock into her with unsurprising violence. Her thighs shake from where her knees are clamped tight around his waist and she cannot do anything except letting his cock split her open. And he just keeps at it. Filling her, stretching her until moans pop at the back of her throat like bubbles.
 
Fireworks rupture the sky again, Ben loops his elbows under her knees, trapping her stomach between them, and they are painted in all greens.
 
"Ben —"
 
His lips cover her, almost like a punishment as he begins to thrust with uncurbed wildness. Her tongue dances with him, kissing him back and sucking in air as he pounds her body into the clay walls of some random alley.
 
His cock reaches something deep inside her, something so tight and special, and she can do nothing but listen as he pants. “If that’s all you want from me. I’ll fuck it into you. Every day. I’ll give you that stupid legacy.”
 
“Please. Ben — it’s not …”
 
His hips slam into hers so hard, her teeth rattles. However, he doesn’t pause, he keeps at it. “It is like that. It’s always like that.”
 
"Please—"
 
"No—"
 
"Ben."
 
"Fuck, fuck, fuck—"
 
A tension is boiling in her, a delicious dangerous kind of tension. 
 
"This fucking legacy," he says, pounding relentlessly till one of her shoes fall off. “Fucking Skywalker. Fucking Snoke. Fucking Jedi.”
 
"I —"
 
He nods. "I see it now. I see it clearly.” His hand grasps at her tit once more, tweaking the nipple as he licks the sweat off her neck. 
 
Rey whimpers as their hips slap together.
 
He pulls back suddenly, staring down at her chests, then up at her face. “Fuck you.” He whispers. And without warning, his hand slithers down to her clit, but he never stops fucking her and bounce her tits into his face. “Fuck you for being so wonderful, that I might forgive you.”
 
Rey barely manages to hang on as his hips snap violently and his fingertips connect with her clit in their frantic coupling. She barely manages to make out that torturous expression on his face. He makes her climb higher and higher …
 
“Fuck you.” Rey sighs, “Fuck you for being so scared. Fuck you for being the exception.”
 
He looks into her eyes then. “I am scared.”
 
She bites her lip and her walls flutters.
 
“It could end any moment. This. They’ll take this from me. You’ll be a wonderful moment in a terrible life.”
 
It was so tight. Everything was so tight inside her. 
 
"Need to fuck you. Need to feel you come, Rey." He chokes. “My wife.”
 
“My husband.” Rey crests, letting every muscle squeeze and the blinding pleasure overtake her. 
 
It was as if the words relaxed something within him, because just as suddenly as this thrust began, he pulls out of her and lets his come splash onto the ground below. 
 
His hair is wet with sweat, his clothes rumpled. Her crown is skewed and she is sure her face is red with exertion. He kisses her blearily, eyes barely open as he lets her down to the ground. They kiss with full hearts, gentle and consumed, unlike that fury they had started this escapade with.
 
“I’m sorry.” Rey murmurs into his cheek as he kisses the bone of her jaw. “I’m sorry about the name.”
 
He draws her mouth back to his, pressing tiny pecks on each corner of her lips. 
 
It comes as a taught admittance, but an admittance nonetheless. 
 
“I’m sorry that I’m scared.” 
 
🜳🜳🜳🜳
 
Rey doesn’t exactly smile into the crevice of his neck while he caresses her belly over the woven fabric. It’s hard to smile carelessly, when their existence isn’t carefree at all. 
 
However, as they sit hip to hip at the tables, watching couples dance
in the center of it all, Rey allows herself a moment of respite.  Their issues will still be there tomorrow. Her concerns will not lessen just because she will stop thinking about them now. 
 
Ben’s arm is heavy behind her back and his fingers trail lazily over her pregnant stomach. He has hardly touched his food and neither has she. At the edge of his fingers rests a goblet of wine, it too untouched. 
 
“I’m scared too.” Rey tells him after a while. His warmth melts the caution she carries everywhere she goes, letting her be vulnerable in ways she seldom is. “I’m so scared.”
 
A hum, his fingers flatten into palm that pulls her closer to him. 
 
“Stay with me.” He kisses into her hair. “Stay with me and it’ll be alright.”
 
“How do you know? How do you know if it’ll be okay?”
 
“I don’t.” He gazes up at the lights dangling in the wind, to the flower bunting stretching across the width of the plaza and the string of cotton blossoms cocooning them all. The beauty of the place. Their sanctity. “But you are my wife.”
 
Rey follows his eyes, but she doubts she sees what he sees. She sees the stars, the unlimited vastness of the galaxy out there and the knowledge that maybe the pilot has already summoned a force that will wreck them. 
 
Will it be enough? Just the two of them to keep it all at bay?
 
Her hand clasps over his.
 
Tonight, it will have to be. 
 
🜳🜳🜳🜳
 
Something is different about it. 
 
Rey brushes her thumb over the fracture on the red kyber crystal. She feels every single dent and sharp edge to where he had bled it so many years ago, but somehow — it feels different.
 
With a scowl, Rey lifts it off her chest and up to the sun to see it better. Around her the dry grass cocoons her into her little shelter, shielding her from the wind and sways in turn.
 
She turns the crystal with her fingers.
 
It looks the same; red and pained. It must be some trick of the light that makes her think the crevice is smaller, that the redness has fated somewhat. Is it even possible?
 
She has read of Jedi

healing

Sith crystals, but no one has ever

mended

one. She is not even sure one can. They are forged in dying stars, pressed so densely together until all that is left is the remnant of a star’s soul. No one has that power. 
 
In that regard, she had been lucky when she repaired Anakin’s lightsaber, after they had broken it into pieces on the Supremacy, because the kyber was intact.
 
The interior — not so much, but those had been replaceable though. Not an easy fix, but manageable. 
 
A bird chips in the distance and above her insects flutter quickly from flower to flower. It's a nice day, a warm day. 
 
She should be relaxed, but she feels far from it.
 
Her mind keeps being occupied elsewhere.
 
Rey tugs the kyber back under her shirt, shielding herself from everything by hiding amongst the long stemmed leaves with grains ready to burst. 
 
The doctor had told her to rest, to take a break from heavy lifting and strenuous activity to avoid their daughter arriving too premature. There had been spotting and pain, something he hadn’t liked. Rey doesn’t know what is good and what is not, and was prepared to disregard his command, if Ben hadn’t been adamant enough to ensure that every instruction was followed by the letter and ignored her every offer of help. 
 
So she spends her time doing nothing, lying in the grass and enjoying the birds singing. 
 
And she is

bored

. Oh, so bored.
 
Giving her ample time to think

everything

over. 
 
Which probably explains why she is starting to study every crack of the kyber — because if she doesn’t do that, she has to think about the Pilot and her need to confront him. 
 
Every day she vows to herself that tomorrow she will walk to his hut and make him explain why he is building a comm. If he is their enemy. 
 
Like clockwork though, every following morning, she cradles her daughter and feels that inescapable fear and terror that confronting the pilot would end up hurting her child. 
 
Every day she fails to take those crucial steps over the hills. Fully knowing, that with every day that passes, the potential of him having finished the comm and summoning maybe — troops — becomes more real.
 
Rey closes her eyes. Would she even be able to walk there? Their daughter has turned and everything in her body aches and hurts. Would she even make it past the first hill?
 
“You alright?” A voice hums from above her, followed by heavy steps cracking the stems of the grass. It crackles softly. Autumn has not dried out the weeds yet and there’s still a wet softness to each crack.
 
“I’m okay.” Rey confirms, cracking an eye open when she feels him drop down next to her.
 
He is drawing a hand over his nape, sweat beading off his skin and she notices the dirt coating his hands. He must have been busy harvesting for the pickling they’ll need to prepare soon for the winter. Hopefully before their daughter arrives.
 
“You’ll tell me if you feel any changes.”
 
“I’m not proud like that.” Rey chuckles, turning over to face him. “I won’t hide it.” 
 
Ben nods, takes a sip from his cannister and reaches forward for the books she has placed next to her. The grimace he makes when see it is the Jedi texts is expected, but doesn’t make her any less amused. 
 
“Not a fan?” Rey asks. 
 
“Luke made me study these for hours. They made no sense.” He drops it back on the blanket with a disgusted thump. “I still have nightmares.”
 
“They are hard to read. Even harder to understand.”
 
Ben takes another sip of the cannister and lies down next to her. No —

Her husband

lies next to her.
 
“I think it’s intentional. The Jedi’s ego. If it was hard to understand it seemed more important, made them more important.” He snorts. “However, I know better now.”
 
“But the Force

is hard

.” Rey counters, “Hasn’t it been hard for you?”
 
He shrugs.
 
“When did you start showing signs?” Rey brushes a hand over her stomach to make him catch her drift. 
 
He eyes the cradle of their child, bites his lip in thought, before whispering what she already suspected.
 
“I’ve always felt it. I have never not known it. Leia said she felt me when she carried me too.” He swallows, looking up and down her body, before adding. “You?”
 
Rey blinks. It’s an odd question, one she hasn’t ever bothered to ask herself even. In many ways, she thinks she has felt it always too, but just never knew what it was. No one had been there to guide her, to show her the way. No one like Leia.
 
It wasn’t until Ben forced it out of her, that she knew what that feeling was. 
 
“Like you.” Rey reflects, brushing another hand over her stomach. It’s a relief to lie down. Their daughter is heavy and is locked deep in her pelvis. It has made it easier to breathe — but her bladder is another story. “I don’t feel her response within the Force.” 
 
“Like Leia and I?”
 
Rey nods, “I feel her, her everything, but it’s one sided. No reply.” Then, with trepidation, she looks back up at her husband. “What if she isn’t like us?” 
 
This takes him by surprise. He blinks momentarily, eyes her stomach then locks gazes with Rey again.
 
“It’ll be …unique. The force is strong — in my family.” He reaches out and brushes his dirt stained knuckles over her shirt. “Maybe she has been spared.”
 
“Spared?” Rey wonders out loud.
 
“Yeah. To me — it's a curse.” With a sigh, he rests his chin in his palm and continues to softly caress his wife. “When you think of it, it just makes you a tool. A tool to the Force, a tool for the Jedi — Sith. In the past you’d be taken from your parents and put into the Jedi Order. And if you didn’t want that — what was the alternative?”
 
“The Sith got you?”
 
He doesn’t answer that, instead he scoots closer and kisses the top of Rey’s hair. “I’m not saying the world is better now.” Then a kiss to her forehead. “But in this time and age, we can love.” She feels the smile in his kiss he presses to her cheek. “We can grow attachments.”  A kiss to her lips. “If not having the force makes her free to do that —“
 
Sliding down, he holds her steady while pecking every inch of her stomach. 
 
“— then I don’t want her to have it.”
 
It must be the hormones messing with her mind, because for a second as he looks up, Rey finds that his scar has suddenly disappeared. However, just like the crystal, it comes back the moment he moves his head and the shadows cast differently. It is faint, but there.
 
Kyber crystals cannot be mended, she needs to remind herself.
 
“You know — we should really agree on a name…”
 
Ben smiles, happy and wonderful. A leaf catches in his hair and gosh — can they be like this forever?
 
“Not now. Later.” 
 
🜳🜳🜳🜳
 
One time on Jakku, Rey landed wrong on her foot and twisted her ankle. It was painful and for weeks she imagined that this must be close to being invalid. She starved, was permanently dehydrated and when she could finally scavenge again, her ribs were thick protruding branches on her chest. 
 
Yet, as it turns out, it compares little to being pregnant and having crossed your due date. 
 
It’s painful standing up. It’s painful lying down. She has to pee constantly and then there’s that persistent back pain, those phantom contractions and oh — that headache which won’t go away.
 
Ben is patient with her —

them

, she supposes. 
 
But he is just so annoying. 
 
He’s lingering just outside the corner of her eye at every moment, even when she goes to relieve herself, waiting for the moment he’ll have to sprint to the doctor’s.
 
Which made her throw a cup at him yesterday. 
 
Good for him he is skilled in the Force and has superb instincts so it didn’t hit him. It hit the wall instead.
 
And the soup dripping down the sandy stone made her cry.

No. Wail

.
 
Rey cannot even recognise the person in the mirror any longer. Her hair is thick, but limp, her body is heavy with water and she has constant dark lines under her eyes — She is not a spiritual person, but she is close to begging to whatever maker, Bendu, The Force, the squid god, to end this soon. 
 
Then Ben had kissed her forehead, taken her into the shower and washed her hair, her body and her stomach, while she did nothing but sniffle like a little child. 
 
Yet, today feels like an even shittier day than the past weeks. There's a heaviness in her back that pinches every nerve and force. It hurts to sit down, it hurts to lie down and Maker, how many times has she had to go relieve herself last night?
 
It's barely dawn when she wakes again and from the way the rain splashes on the grass roof it must be a torrential downpour outside. It's damp and cold and her toes burn when they touch the freezing stone floor. Maker, this day will be awful.
 
Every inch of her body wants her to stay in bed. Wants to stay under the covers with Ben and sleep in, but she also doesn't want to pee in their bed — so she must go.
 
Her hand pads the clay wall blindly as she wobbles down each step to the fresher and curves along the corner till she reaches the door. Their house is gray and dark and it is hard to see even if she senses that the sun is rising somewhere in the distance. 
 
Rey rests her head against the wall, willing herself not to sleep.
 
Relief. Nothing can quite describe the act of relieving yourself but sweet relief. 
 
And then …
 
It isn't unbearable, but it is not comfortable either. It comes sharply, a pain that runs all the way from her back, over her stomach, until it tightens down into a painful little ball and pinches …
 
It robs her of breath the brief moment it courses through her body and she needs to steady herself with both hands on the wall.
 
And then — it's gone.
 
She blinks, breathes the surprise away and shouts —
 
"BEN!"
 
🜳🜳🜳🜳
 
It had only been a passing contraction, but unlike the plucks of pain she had felt the past weeks, this was different.
 
Today would be the day.
 
Rey is surprisingly calm as she rests at their dining table while she watches her husband throw on his clothes with surprising inaccuracy. The shirt is backwards and there's a sock missing from one foot as he speeds around the kitchen.
 
"It'll be hours, Ben," She reminds him, smiling at the confusion in his frown. 
 
It hadn't been fair of course. She had awoken him mid slumber with the news and he had all but fallen out of bed and crawled downstairs.
 
"It will take me hours to fetch the doctor," he reminds her back, putting on the last sock as he supports himself by the shoulder on the doorframe. 
 
"I'll be fine. I'll take a nap while you are gone." Rey sighs, brushing a hand over where their daughter is resting in her lower stomach.
 
It won’t be long now. Finally she will be able to meet this lovely thing and it will be hard, for both of them. She wants to urge her daughter to sleep, to be strong and patient — Rey will try to be the same.
 
Ben snakes his arms through the sleeves of his rain coat and throws it up and over his shoulders, still fastening it when it steps closer to her and gives her a kiss.
 
"I'll be back as soon as I can."
 
"I know."
 
"You love me?"
 
“I love you.” Rey smiles into another kiss. 
 
It takes him too long to leave, but she can feel the nervousness radiate of him. He is close to trembling and it’s not from the cold.
 
“It’ll be alright.” 
 
Rey doesn’t know that. So many things could go wrong and she still thinks about Luke’s words. That she will lose him if they keep the child.
 
For the longest time Rey had purposely chosen to interpret it as vaguely as possible. Afterall, the Jedi’s were known for being obtuse to a fault and that didn’t even compare to the Force itself.
 
Sensing that he is stalling unnecessarily, Ben takes one deep breath and ventures out into the rain. It’s with a sense of foreboding Rey stares at his back, already missing him.
 
The rain is heavy and the air foggy with thick perspiration. He disappears almost instantly from her line of sight as he charges through the mud. 
 
Oh. If she could call after him, make him come back and stay with her. 
 
It comes with little introduction this time, but she knows what it is. Her entire stomach tightens down into a painful little ball and she attempts to steady herself by a hand on the table.
 
It is over as soon as it begins, but the pain isn’t any less powerful because of it.
 
Drawing in a breath, she gathers herself and wobbles upstairs to the bedroom, stopping briefly to look up to their child’s room under the roof. Even from the patio she can see the painted walls and the charm of intergalactical animals hanging from the ceiling. A gift from a local woman.
 
Soon, it will host something cherished and loved. This room will have an occupant. The toys in the corner will be played with and bed slept in.
 
It is so unreal to imagine it. 
 
And yet, a strange regret strikes her then. 
 
This will be Leia’s grandchild. Han’s too. And neither will ever see her, will ever know her truly. 
 
Rain patters on the roof and Rey treads into the room they had shared for so many years and scurries under the cover and lies down on Ben’s side.
 
It smells of him. Of all the wonderful things he is and the things he isn't. It is so uniquely him. Warm and all consuming. 
 
Her nose scratches on the worn out wool. Sadness lingers just behind the excitement. It is so easy to see it. Han and Leia with the little thing cuddled up in their arms. Han is playing with her. Leia strolling through the parks on Coruscant with a grandmother’s pride.  
 
She slides into a daze with those images at the forefront of her mind —
 
— and she wakes with a yelp. 
 
Another contraction, this time stronger than before. It rises like a wave, peaks and falls. 
 
The sharpness of it makes the content of her stomach bile in her throat like bleach and Rey needs a moment to calm herself before looking over at the chrono.
 
“Shit.” Rey groans, rubbing the corner of her eye to see the numbers more clearly.
 
It’s barely been two hours since Ben left for the doctor. He won’t be back before another hour has passed the earliest; who knows how muddy the fields have become?
 
It’ll be okay, Rey has to remind herself.
 
Still weary from sleep, she curls into herself and lies back down, ready to be drawn back into that peaceful slumber.
 
A sound catches her attention then. 
 
It’s familiar, but it takes her a minute to even fathom its source. Whirring, clanging of metal, the sound of engines turning on.
 
The Falcon.
 
Even in labor, even with a stomach so large she can’t truly walk, Rey manages to force herself to a sitting position and then up on her feet to look out the window over their bed. It’s difficult with the rain, but she can see the tarp having been pulled off to the side and the engines glow bright blue. The light at the ramp is on, meaning someone has entered (— but hasn’t left) and the repulsors are not in a position to lift off. 
 
“Ben?” Rey asks out loud.  
 
He wouldn’t be back this fast and why would he go outside to turn the Falcon on for flight? 
 
Is the doctor gone …?
 
“No.” Rey admits out loud. “It isn’t Ben.”
 
There’s a tenseness to her uterus, but luckily no contractions. As she told Ben, it will be hours before something happens — and somehow she knows she can’t wait for Ben to return. 
 
Time is of the essence. And they only have one ship. If someone were to steal the Falcon…
 
Ben will yell at her when he gets back. Oh. He will be furious. However, Rey is prepared to handle it, if it means they still have their transport.
 
She forgoes her shoes, knowing full well that if she attempts to put them on, she won’t get up again and wobbles out the door and down her stairs.

Take it.

The force trickles down her spine, pulling at her attention. Rey pauses on the last step and turns around to look at the shelves.
 
Even with the dust, the metal of her saber glows and begs for her to take it. It has been sitting there for years, behind books and trinkets, but she sees it clearly now, as if nothing else is there.
 
In many ways it is ridiculous, to grasp for the dust covered saber. What can a woman in labor do with a weapon now? And so far there have been no signs of danger.
 
However, with time Rey has learned to know the Force and knows to not take its heed lightly. She tests the saber in her hand, pressing the ignition, watching the blue beam pulse in the air and turning it off. 
 
She keeps it by her side, thumb ready on the trigger as she wobbles out the door.
 
The mud is cold and clammy on her toes as she steps out into the open landscape. It is a difficult walk and she struggles to keep her balance with one hand supporting her lower stomach and the other clutching a saber. 
 
She stops at the ramp, struggling to catch her breath and looks up and into the familiar interior of the ship. It is rumbling, valves go on and off as if someone is trying to turn on different mechanisms but to no avail. 
 
Already she is tired, exhausted, but Rey would never have been a good scavenger if she had given into those feelings. With a stubborn intake of breath, she  forces herself onwards by grasping at the hydraulic support beams and pulling her up one by one. 
 
The halls are void of life, the padding which has once been white, are still tainted yellow from time and the light bulbs that had blown a few years ago are still broken. 
 
Her hand’s shake as she ignites the saber. Anakin’s saber glows dimly in the trashcan of a ship and the closer Rey curls around the wall’s edges to the cockpit, she thinks she can hear a voice.
 
She takes up the saber with both hands, breathing in, reaching out —
 
— a contraction hits her then.
 
She couldn’t have stopped the cry even if she had tried.

“Ah!”

The ship goes quiet.
 
Knowing it is too late, Rey still slams a hand over her mouth, muffling her cries of pain and turning off the saber to hide her presence.
 
A blaster clicks, recharging, followed by the clang of heavy boots treading over the metal floor plates.
 
The pain passes, but it doesn’t help. She is too heavy, too much in agony to quickly hide herself. Had she not been pregnant it would be so easy to turn off the valves and flood the ship with toxic gas. Just like she had planned with Finn back in the day. 
 Instead, she is forced to press herself against the wall and hope he won’t notice her until she is ready to strike. The steps come closer, slowly. In her head she counts the seconds of every clang, the intensity of the boots — until she knows the person is right…there — 
Instinct drives her at this point. She twirls around, saber already drawns, blue kyber piercing the air, growling with pain at the intruder — The blaster plasma shoots through the air, hot and white glowing — and it is a struggle, but she deflects each and every one. 
 
It’s the pilot. 
 
Rey halts, surprised to see the young man standing before her. She had forgotten how frail he looked since that time in his hut. All this time she had twisted his memory into something cruel and vile — into someone who’d hurt her. Now though, she sees with clarity his turmoil. His hair is unruly, his curls have faded into a greasy blond and dark heavy circles mark his face. He is shaking, afraid, but he doesn’t lower the weapon.
 
“Don’t make me hurt you.” The conviction which he threatens her with makes her want to laugh.
 
“Why are you stealing our ship?”
 
He wavers on his feet, finger poised on the trigger. 
 
“Is it your ship?” Doubt rings in the Force, but she feels the emptiness of his words. “Or did you steal this too?”
 
“You know who we are. I saw it.” Rey bites, feeling so embarrassed that she had wanted to be friends at the beginning. “Why risk stealing it?”
 
“It’s my only chance. To get back.”
 
“Your comm didn’t work?”
 
He flinches, drawing back the slightest. 
 
“Is he Kylo Ren?”
 
Rey blinks at the pilot. 
 
“What?”
 
“He is. Isn’t he?”
 
It dawns on Rey then that he must never have seen what Ben looked like without his mask. He must have seen only the imposing figure. The hoarse mechanical voice and the terror he inflicted on the Galaxy.
 
In fact, does he even know Ben’s true name? Does anyone know the relationship between him and the Skywalkers?
 
“Yes.” Rey replies, feeling she at least owes him the truth. 
 
The truth ripples over the pilot’s body with a disgusted grown, altering the youthfulness of his face. The hopefulness, it becomes dark — regretful.
 
The Force is hard to reel for her, but she can feel the disappointment with her answer, or maybe he is disappointed with Ben —
 
“Why would Kylo Ren sire a kid with

you?

”
 
“What?” Rey spits appalled.
 
“The enemy. You are the Jedi. We have chased you the entire galaxy —“ He is rambling. He is shaking. Rey doesn’t know what to answer. She isn’t here to give answers either nor comfort him.  “— and he is

married

to you?”
 
It comes in an instant. Rey twists her wrist and barely avoids the beams and only reflects a handful. He skids back, but Rey manages to get closer, feeling close to dying from her exhausted body, from everything. 
 
His lack of awareness of her skills must only be some First Order indoctrination. How else would they explain how unafraid he is, how unassuming he is of her power. 
 
It’s hard. Harder than it has ever been, but she manages to pull on the Force, manages to manipulate the air around them and grasp the blaster out of his hand and throw it far into the cabin. 
 
He trips and lands halfway into the cockpit, staring up at her with visible terror. Even pregnant, Rey can put up a fight. 
 
She holds him down with the Force, wobbling to him with the tip of the saber pointed at his face. 
 
“Leave my ship.”
 
There is no question. He must have been the danger Luke had talked about. The source of why she’d lose Ben. 
 
The hall isn’t uneven, but she finds herself needing to support her body by a hand on the wall. There is a distinct ache in her back.  It makes it hard to even stand right, with that unfathomable soreness.
 
It is strangely unceremonious, going into labor.  The cramps she feels are slightly stronger than the ones she got during her period and they arrive not as frequent as she had assumed.  But it is enough to make the Force slip from her finger the second it hits.
 
It’s a yell. Or she thinks she is yelling, because she is suddenly clutching her stomach and falling to her knees. Her saber rolls across the floor, but she cannot pay it any mind. 
 
Something is off. It didn’t hurt like this before. Rey pants through each scorching rip and there’s a growing wetness between her legs. Slick and warm. 
 
Then, she hears the ignition of the saber and looks up. 
 
“You’re the enemy.” He reminds himself. “You are the one who ruined it all.”
 
He is struggling. The weight of the saber is unfamiliar, but he manages to lift it over his head, preparing to strike …
 
… only to be thrown back and into the cockpit with a sharp crack. 
 
“Rey!” 
 
Relief, it is such a glorious feeling. Her eyes are closed, but she feels him cup her cheeks and the panic rushing through him. 
 
He came for her. 
 
“Are you alright?” He asks, patting her up and down, only to stop — “Rey. Why are you bleeding?”
 
“What?” Her eyes flutter open and for the first time since she has gone into the ship, she looks down between her legs. Her nightdress is soiled, dark red stains cover the thighs and the floor. “What?”
 
“The doctor is coming, can you —“ 
 
Ben flinches away, just avoiding the blaster beam shot directly at his face and just as fast as it came, just as fast does Ben shoot his hand out into the air — and lifts the pilot up by the throat. 
 
A gurgle escapes the young man’s mouth and his hand reach for the invisible fingers the curl around his windpipe.
 
“Traitor!” The pilot screams from his entire chest. “How can you stand here and just — We believed in you!”
 
Ben’s fingers twitch in the air, not quite crushing the pilot’s windpipe. But dangerously close. Rey can hear the wheezing of air with every spite the pilot throws their way.
 
“We believed in everything that the First Order was. We would have done anything. We died for you. And now you — “ Tears well in the corner of the young man’s eyes. “Were we nothing but pawns to you? A game!?”
 
“Quit it.” Ben bites through his teeth, taking another step closer. “You don’t get to say that when you tried to kill my wife. My child.”
 
A sob wrecks the pilot’s body, “And what about my family? What about the family everyone had in the First Order. My friends… Why do you get to have that? And I don’t?”
 
Ben’s fingers twitch with exertion, from curbing the desire to extinguish the life of his former comrade. Another contraction wrecks through her body, the hand which she clings to Ben’s elbow pinches his skin. 
 
“Ben. Don’t.” Rey tries to say and he glances at her with obvious concern. His brows high and mouth parted. 
 
“You never believed in it. You just wanted power!”  The pilot croaks.
 
Ben is close to snarl, he is close to breaking. Rey can see it, and she grabs his arm by the elbow.
 
“You never wanted it. You never cared about the First Order.” A tear falls down the pilot’s red spotted cheek. Down the youthful freckles that seldom have seen sun because of the helmet. “We were pawns in some weird plot. And now you just walk around like you haven’t done shit.”
 
“Ben.” Rey whispers, pushing her body close to his. “Ben, please.”
 
“You mattered to us. And you just… left us.” The pilot looks away, like he can’t even fathom looking Ben in the eye. “You killed us. And it doesn’t even matter to you.”
 
Ben scrunches his eyes shut and Rey is convinced she has lost him. He has fallen to his deeper urges, to his darkness. 
 
But after the longest pause, he lowers his outstretched hands and lets the pilot go — who falls to the ground with a terrible thumb. 
 
“You didn’t lie.” Ben finally breathes. “You told me the truth. You tried to warn me …” 
 
“What —“ Rey pants in pain, nails ripping into his shirt. “— Ben, what…?”
 
“All this time. You told me what he was. Told me what he wanted to do.” Ben wraps an arm around her ribs, holding her close. “And I … said you lied.”
 
The pilot wheezes from his spot on the floor, one hand holding his throat where a bruise is certain to form. His eyes are fixed on the ground, unable to look up at the two people he hates more in the world.
 
“I’m a monster.” Ben finally breathes. “I don’t deserve any of this. I was selfish to you.” He looks Rey in the eyes, then, shoulder’s heaving with strained breath he musters the courage to look over to the pilot. “I didn’t care about the First Order.”
 
The pilot looks up and over his eyelashes. Gray eyes taunting them both. 
 
Ben sighs, works his jaw torturously slow, before admitting. “Your friends are dead. The First Order is gone. That’s why no one replies to you.” Then, slightly more insecure, he adds. “I cannot make it right. I cannot bring them back.”
 
Rey watches the pilot rise to his knees, no longer afraid of the Supreme Leader — or whatever shadow he sees of him. 
 
“You deserve to kill me.” Ben admits with grim finality. 
 
“What…” Rey objects.
 
“But I won’t let you do it.” Ben adds, standing up, careful not to hurt her, before stepping closer to the pilot. “I want this life. And I’m not honorable or brave enough to let it go.”
 
“Ben. Don’t hurt him.” Rey meekly protests through a contraction, clutching her stomach. But he doesn’t reply, he simply walks up to the young man whose life he has ruined. One of many. 
 
The pilot closes his eyes, expecting the worst to happen, embracing the inevitability of death. 
 
Ben’s trembling fingers glide down the crown of the young man’s ashy hair, clutching his skull tight between each digit. 
 
“I won’t.” 
 
The pilot shivers, looking close to passing out. 
 
“I’ll make it go away.”
 
The Force flows in steady streams through the ship, thick and heavy. Rey, even in pain, feels it acutely. It is a strange sensation — the pull is neither light nor dark, but is powerful. She sees the pilot’s eyes flutter as Ben works through his mind, shifting and sorting through the memories —
 
— making him forget.
 
It seems to take forever and she just stares at the masterful way he removes all the pain and life from the pilot’s life in order to grant him a new one. In order to set them free. However, it must have been short, because as soon as Ben is done, the doctor is running through the ship with a bag in hand.
 
He stops, looks at the pilot slumped back into a seat — and then to Rey and the pools of dark blood between her legs. 
 
“There’s no time. Get her to a bed

now.

”
 
🜳🜳🜳🜳
 
A piercing wail runs through the Millenium Falcon like a ghost of the past. It vibrates the metal, shaking loose all the events that had unfolded within this small confinement. It stirs the fabric of the universe itself, rushing across gas, stars and planets like the Force is nothing but a woven blanket stretched thin. 
 
Something profound has happened in the wee hours of the morning. Something that no one had expected.
 
A child has been born between the Last Jedi and the Jedi killer. 
 
However, the moment feels not as profound to the witnesses of the act. It had all happened so fast and there had been shouting and screaming, followed by a child, beaten red and scrunched, barely having been born before the cord was cut and she was thrust into the arms of her father.
 
Rey doesn’t remember much. In many ways she’s glad, because she catches only a glimpse of Ben staring down at the small human covered in birth before the face of the doctor makes new demands of her. 
 
The placenta had loosened, she was bleeding and they had to stop it. 
 
Then she passes out, lost to the darkness, but not before she thinks she sees the blue hues of force spirits begin to gather around the newest addition to the Skywalkers. 
 
It must be a trick of the light, but she dreams of the same faces while she is out. Of the concerned looks and the excitement. She sees Luke and next to him a young man with brown curly hair, a scar cutting across his brow.

Anakin.

Her eyes flutter open and are greeted by bright daylight and her own bed. How many hours have passed? 
 
Coming to, she sits up, but immediately regrets it. Her entire body is sore and she feels weak. A distressing sort of weakness that consumes her entire being — not to mention that stab of pain in her groin.
 
“Shhh.” Someone shushes next to her. “It’s okay.”
 
The mattress dents and it takes her a moment to recognise him, but it can be no other. Her enemy, her lover, her husband. Her Ben. 
 
“See.” He turns his upper body to her and that’s when Rey sees it; a little bundle of joy with jet black hair and skin pink with exertion. “Your mom is okay.”
 
Weeping does not even begin to describe the way Rey’s happiness spills over and down her cheeks. She’s exhausted beyond comparison. She is hurting everywhere and she just wants a glass of water. However, none of them matter the second her eyes land on those chubby cheeks and the dark eyes staring down at her. 
 
“Is she okay?” Rey pleads, reaching out with both hands and he smiles but it lacks …

something

, but it is so brief Rey can hardly question it before he hands over their child into her eagerly awaiting arms. 
 
It’s instinct, the way she places her to her bare chest, feeling the warmth of that unknown child inside her so real against own skin. Something clicks into place. That rightness she always felt with Ben, that same rightness now. 
 
A grunt, their daughter’s little nose wrinkles with the most sour looking expression Rey has ever seen. The laugh that escapes her is wet and she stares up at Ben, who looks back at her with a somber pleased expression.
 
“Has she been good?” Rey asks, pulling back the blanket to stare down at the lovely face. 
 
“We gave her some formula. Until you came to again.” Ben wrings his hands, ashamed almost. “The pilot is with the doctor.”
 
Rey frowns, briefly distracted from her daughter’s adorable cheeks. “I — I’m sorry.”
 
“Why?”
 
“I should have stayed back, I shouldn’t have gone to —“
 
“Yes.” Ben agrees, sitting ever so closer to them, running a finger of his child’s cheek. “I’m sorry too.”
 
The way he apologizes is sharp with pain, as if the truth of it all torments him.
 
Ben looks away, moving his jaw as if to stop crying. 
 
“You tried to tell me. You tried to warn me and I — I just brushed you off. I didn’t want it to be true …”
 
“Ben —“ Rey begins, but he shakes his head. 
 
“You were in danger. Not from the pilot, but with the labor as well. Had I listened —“
 
Their daughter interrupts his confession with the weakest of wails, stretching the blanket swapped around her, arching her back whimpering.
 
They both turn their attention to her and Rey pulls up her tunic, freeing her breasts and guides the wailing mouth to her swollen nipple like she had seen the other women do it. 
 
It takes a moment, but eventually the girl’s tongue latches on to her breast and feeds.
 
It’s the strangest feeling, but the endorphins courses through her body with every suckle and it is so right. So - so right.
 
Rey sighs relieved and looks back up at Ben who is just staring down at their feeding baby.
 
“What happened to him?” 
 
Ben blinks, brought back from somewhere and coughs. 
 
“I — made him forget. Erased the memories of the First Order.” A pause, “He’s with the doctor now.”
 
Rey nods, scooting a little bit closer to him so she can rest her head on his shoulder, to which he lets her. Even with all the sleep after the birth, she is still exhausted. It is tempting to just drift off.
 
“It was horrible.” Ben rumbles from above her, “You bled so much.”
 
The blood is a memory she’d rather sooner forget. That stench of iron and the pain. No, there are other things she’d rather remember. Other things that matter.
 
“You held my hand. You held it for all those hours.”
 
“I couldn’t let go.”
 
“Why didn’t you kill him?”
 
He grimaces, taking his hand away from where he is caressing their child and that is when she sees the bruises — the red skin from having washed it too eagerly, for too long.
 
“Ben — what is it?”
 
“It’s wrong.” He wrings his hands, looking away. “He is right. I don’t deserve this.”
 
“Ben.” 
 
He stares down at his palms, to the scratches from soap. 
 
“They are dirty. Blood. It won’t come off — it wouldn’t come —“
 
Rey grabs his hand forcefully, one arm cradling their daughter. 
 
“It’s not about deserving Ben.” She is tired. So tired and she wants this moment to be happy. Want him to know how happy he makes her. “We want you here. I want you here.”
 
“I killed my own father!”
 
“I know.” Rey charges back. “I know.”

The last twenty four hours come crashing down and the tears cascade silently down his cheeks. He leans over them both and presses his forehead to hers. 
 
“I am a terrible person. I’m a monster. I ruined that pilot’s life I —“
 
“Yes.” She confirms it, rubbing her nose to his. “You are all those things. But you are also my husband. My salvation —“ and then softer. “You are her

dad

.”
 
“I can’t be someone’s dad…” He begins, but Rey grasps his hand hard, almost punishing.
 
“Han did it.” Rey adds, “He said the same thing, but he still did it. He still tried to the end.”
 
Ben seems unable to stop staring at their child. At the curling hair and soft suckling at Rey’s chest. A hand falls down to her head and he strokes the still grimey strands as if lost in a thought.
 
“The worst part —“ Ben swallows, “ — I felt it, when I killed him. He forgave me.”
 
“I believe that.”
 
Ben grimaces, “She looks a bit like Han, actually.” 
 
Rey looks down at their daughter feeding at her breast, to the frown between her eyes, to the pointy nose that resembles Ben’s father somehow. 
 
“She does.” Rey finally agrees. “She’s a Han.”

“Would it be wrong —“ Ben swallows,“— to name her after him?”
 
“No.” Rey smiles, so tired, but so happy. “Not at all.”
 
“Hanna.” He agrees, leaning down and kissing their now named daughter. “Our Hanna.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 4
Duty and DesireI “Force!” Ben growls pathetically, scooting sideways into their tiny bathroom. He eyes Rey with a look of utter betrayal that makes her arch an eyebrow in question. Toothbrush sticking out from her mouth, she pulls her hair back into a braid and mumbles, “You okay?” "You feed her too well," he complains, pulling his shirt forward to inspect the stain on the fabric. “How is it even possible for someone that small to produce that much?” Grimacing, Rey pulls back and scrunches her nose. “Maker, is that where the smell is from?” “What I wouldn’t do to have a nanny droid,” Ben breathes aloud while trying to dab the shirt clean with water and soap. “No wonder they leave this out of their stories. Who in their right mind would submit themselves to this?” “Maybe we should try more fiber stuff?” Rey suggests between spits. The toothpaste foam lands with a soft thud in the sink. “Oh. Rich coming from you. You ain’t the one getting food tossed at you and dealing with a tantrum whenever it's dinner time.” Rey masks a chuckle, scooting awkwardly out from under Ben’s arm and throws a towel at him. “No. But I have changed as many nappies as you.” "Not like this," Ben protests sharply, half grunting to himself. "How did it get all the way up there…" “Whatever it was, it sure must have exhausted her—you weren’t up there long.” “If she wakes up tonight, you are taking her,” he demands sternly, trying to highlight the ferocity of the crime he has suffered. It is adorable—the way he hunches over, too big for the place, with a petulant pout that she knows is nothing but pretend. After all, she has seen him softly sing a lullaby when he lulls their daughter to sleep and the meticulous care he takes when cooking her meals. It is a love that can't be faked. A laugh spills from her lips, a deep sort of laugh that gently shakes her shoulders and makes it just slightly harder to breathe. Who would have thought that the greatest wrong to ever grace the Supreme Leader would be that of his infant daughter’s bowel movements? The angry crevices on his forehead soften with each chuckle, and suddenly all the stains on shirts are forgotten. His hands softly cup her cheeks so he can gift her a kiss. It has been a hard year. A terrible one. Her recovery had been difficult, and Hannah had struggled to feed. Neither of them was used to much sleep, but to be this sleep-deprived had forced their most vile selves to resurface. There had been fights—and no time to make up after the fights either. She remembers crying to herself in the kitchen when Hannah’s fever wouldn’t break, and no matter how much she swayed her in her arms, the poor thing wouldn’t sleep.  And then, those days became fewer—and somehow, they’ve managed to get here. As a family. Ben pulls away with a soft exhale, and those brown eyes of his shimmer as brightly as they did the first time she saw them, all those years ago. “You are doing a good job,” Rey whispers carefully, almost afraid that he will anger, but he doesn’t. He smiles. “As are you.” He smiles, kissing her once more.  A hum, Rey lets him love her with each peck on her cheek, on her forehead, and on her neck.  And then he says, “I saw the Pilot—no. I saw Geoff today.” Rey freezes, blinking at the words exiting his mouth. The pilot was not a banned topic in their house, but the pain of that day on the Falcon was too recent and sharp for them to have broached the topic since that day.  Rey swallows and croaks a tense, “Yeah?” Ben looks away, grinds his jaw, and half-mumbles, “He has a girlfriend apparently. I saw him walk hand in hand with a village girl.” “Really?” “He seemed happy,” Ben says, snaking his arms around her waist, tight muscles warm against her bare shoulders. “Not in pain.” Pity pierces her chest, followed by doubt. "I never asked..." Rey says under her breath, gathering courage from deep down in her stomach. "... what did you see when you removed his memories?" Her husband pauses, making Rey wonder if the pilot is still too soon for them to discuss. If they even have anything profound to say about it.  He looks straight ahead at the plastered wall still damp from her shower, but he isn't really looking—not at that at least. It comes as a whisper, a secret revealed to the crown of her hair.  "He was stationed on a planet with his platoon,” there's a quiver to his chest, like he feels the memories. And maybe he does? When he erased the pilot's troubled past, perhaps he didn't make it disappear, perhaps he just took them inside. Stole them. “They must have been one of the last stands of the First Order, and he was the only one who escaped when the Resistance inevitably turned up. He was the only one who escaped by hijacking one of the enemy's X-wings."  Ben’s embrace tightens, and he exhales warm air onto her scalp.  "He saw them all die. His friends—no, his family—blasted into pieces by the Resistance." Rey wouldn’t say she regretted belonging to the Resistance, but she can’t deny that the sharp sensation in her chest doesn’t taste somewhat of doubt... and regret. "Do you think we did right by him?"  "I don't know."  Even without seeing it herself, Rey can sense from Ben how happy the pilot had appeared when he had seen him today. That there had been an ease to his walk, to his entire person. Does that justify it though? A happiness born by ignorance. Could he not have achieved it with those memories? Or would he have been haunted by the trauma of war every waking moment, never able to get close to someone else… to hope? It felt wrong to justify it like this because, while he may have had a new go at life, they had taken away his agency. His choice. They don't look at each other. They don't need to anyway. Not when she can acutely feel him at all times. His thoughts, his emotions. "You offered the same thing to me once,” Rey says quietly, “Did you think it was right then?" "No," Ben replies instantly, then adds with more hesitation, "but I didn't like you sad. I didn't know what else to offer." "You offer what you can." Rey twists around his waist with her free hand and rests her forehead on his shoulder. "But I understand." "I know."  They stand like this for a while. Two violent creatures at peace in their little sanctuary. They let themselves be who they can never be anywhere else. Vulnerable—in doubt—but most of all, in love. Rey knows that because they rectify their crimes by beginning to kiss again, by scrambling up to their bedroom to invite each other inside—in the physical world and in the Force. It is a sanctuary from everything. From everything that will take Ben away from her. Everything that will shame her and misunderstand her. And all those grey and terrible choices they've had to make in order to enable this life. It all is worth it, though, because nothing is as beautiful as their daughter. Stubborn and unruly as her father, with freckles that grow in the sun and dark curly hair that seems impossible to control. So much time has passed that everything that has happened seems like a distant and foreign dream. The First Order, the Resistance. That's until—without either noticing—the Binary beacon starts to flash ever slightly faster on the shelf.   ◐◑ The ship rattles with a horrible screech! She chokes on the air, grasps at the leather armrests, and throws herself forward in surprise, followed by a sharp yank of the seatbelt digging into her chest. The sky is bright, almost painfully white, and Rey has to squeeze her eyes shut to stop herself from being blinded. A low laughter tickles the air next to her. A friend’s laugh. “You were so tired, I didn’t have it in me to wake you.” Rey blinks, turns to look over her shoulder.  “You never slept like that—back then.” Finn smiles at her. His smile is so kind and genuine, but his words barely hide his bitterness. A bitterness that has been years in the making, from that moment when she had left him just after their victory. “You even snored just now...” “I did?” Rey asks.  She knows she snores. Sometimes even louder than Ben, but she can’t say that to Finn.  Her fingers itch from where they had touched Finn's temple, from where she had slowly but surely unthreaded his memories—  Another rattle shakes the hull, and the white sky becomes muddy with rain-filled clouds that condense on the window and draw long streaks of water up the shield—like veiny drawn-out tears. Finn smiles apologetically and readjusts the ship.  “We lost a lot of gear during the war. I had to make do, but at least it isn’t falling apart like the Falcon.” There are so many things she could reply to that, so many stories and wonderful moments she could share with him. Still, she finds that she can only muster a strained, closed smile in recognition. It is strange to sit here with someone whom she shared bunks and meals with, someone who in many ways still exists—but someone she also finds… changed.  A scratchy voice demands their code over the comm system, but it takes Finn a few attempts before the flight control accepts it. He shrugs it off, but there’s a nervous twitch to his eye.  “Must be quite a storm,” he half tells her, half rationalizes. “The weather control systems aren’t up to date either.” “Can’t be that bad?” A heavy shadow emerges next to them through the clouds. Rey squints through the glass, while Finn strains to make sense of the radar. Lightning flashes, igniting the clouds, and only then does Rey see it. It’s a building. “Coruscant,” she gasps as the small rods on the building meant to guide the electricity down to the ground flash with sparks, illuminating the glass panes and spires. She leans forward. “I thought it had been ruined.” Finn grumbles, “Yeah. It has been ruined in many ways, but that's where we've camped out for a year now. Ruined or not, it is a powerful political scene regardless.” An alarm goes off in the cockpit, and her friend glares at it with the same impatience he always has. Poe and she were the pilots, the ones who loved to fly and navigate the stars. For Finn, it was a necessity. Then, with an uncanny somberness, he adds, “That’s where we housed some of the kids too—until... yeah.” “Someone took them?” “I assume so. Then again, the Jedi temple has many secret doors.” He eyes her with a seriousness that doesn’t sit quite right with her, almost as if he blames her. With a harsh swallow, looking away, she hears herself say, “I’ll see what I can do.” “Don’t worry,” he replies. It’s not quite an apology, but close. “You won’t be going alone.” And just then, with a swoosh of air, the clouds disperse above them, revealing the city below. Skyscrapers, some still standing, others crushed into rubble or worse, gaping dark holes that descend further and further into the ground, maybe even to the center. Rey imagines what such depth could hold, but all she conjures is knowing that between the thousands of durasteel layers rest the souls of many innocent people—mothers, fathers, lovers, children. Had Ben ordered these attacks? Did he know what he subjected them to? The kyber appears to grow hot against her skin, its fracture bleeding fire between her breasts. Her hand reaches up and grasps it. She holds it tight between her fingers, maybe to stop it from glowing, maybe to stop Finn from noticing. She sneaks a glance at him, but he is too busy threading them down between the once glorious skyscrapers filled to the brim with wealth and glory. A flash of red catches her attention, a billowing cloth waving in the wind, and the familiar sight of the First Order logo hangs limply down from the building. Torn at the seams, ripped almost in half, yet somehow still hanging on to the top of the spire. A chill runs down her spine. It makes her want to talk to Ben. She wants to ask him, wants to confront him, wants to know what he has done to this place. And then she wants to ask Finn. She wants to know why remnants of the First Order still remain, but she stops herself because she knows the answer. Because she left. She fled like a coward, leaving the remnants of the forces of good behind to clean up this mess. Guilt washes over her like a wave. She had lived a peaceful life, giving love to the enemy. Every touch she has given Ben, every kiss and love, a child even—all while her friends had struggled. Tears prickle at the corners of her eyes. A silly thing. Because why should she cry? Rey has always wanted to see Coruscant, and she should be happy. She should be taking it all in. But she doesn’t. Instead, she closes her eyes and tries not to think of all these years. All these years. ◐◑ They land on the platform of one of the more well-preserved buildings and the only one where the New Republic banners hang fresh and proudly off the sides. The steel is clean, and the orange flight suits are freshly pressed without a stain of smoke and dust. She leans close to the window, her nose pressing slightly against the cold glass, and peers over the crowd. They stare at the freighter; a few even emerge from the sliding doors and gather below. It occurs to her a little too late why. For five years, she has lived a life of little importance, enough time to forget what attention it brings when the last Jedi returns. Finn attempts a comforting smile at her, and Rey attempts to return it, but the crime of erasing his memory still stings her fingertips. “A hero’s welcome,” he grins, forcing the freighter to a halt by the throttles. “There are many rumors about where you’d run off to.” “Hopefully good?” She chuckles nervously. “Of course. Most think you chased down Kylo Ren and killed him,” Finn states matter-of-factly before he eyes her with some scrutiny. “All those years on a backwater planet isn’t quite the story many expect.” Rey shrugs. “What can I say? The Falcon broke down.” He doesn’t comment on it. He is being careful, she senses, doing his best to avoid scaring her off. He knows her well enough to understand that she is like a frightened sand mouse. Or at least that is what churns in his Force energy, and Rey can’t quite get why he’d think that. She had gone with him willingly, after all. She wants to ask him but doesn't find the words before the engine is turned off, and he is unbuckling his seatbelt and reaching out a hand to her. “Come on, Jedi. Let’s get to work.” She forces a smile because he deserves it, but like all those years back, she finds that she can’t make herself take his hand. After all, that hand had only hours before scrambled through his mind and erased all those memories of her family. So she ignores it in favor of removing her seatbelt and scoots the seat around so she can head towards the ramp. Finn doesn't say anything. The same can't be said about the crowd forming at the foot of the ramp. Their roars are as loud as the early midday sun: blinding and overwhelming. She had purposely dressed similarly to when she had left. Her old scavenger outfit had long since grown too small for her, but the wraps had worked still, and as she had donned the black turtleneck and dark gray pants, she found herself drawing the cloth around herself differently, more like how the villagers would sometimes do it. Now it just threatens to suffocate her. The wraps rest only in one singular band, no longer a cross, and flow serenely between her legs from the Coruscant wind blowing harsh and violently. The tower is high enough for clouds to form droplets of water that wet her skin and stick to her eyelashes. Then Finn shows up next to her, grabs her wrist, and raises her hand in the air. “Rey of Jakku, Jedi!” They hardly need to be prompted because a roar courses through the crowd instantly. They cheer and whistle, gathering even more impossibly close. Some take her hands, others bow and shake her by the shoulders. Rey tries to breathe the best she can, ignoring the stiffness of her cheeks from forcing smile after smile— And then, just out of nowhere, a shorter, older woman stands in front of her. She has a cane firmly grasped in her hands, which is the only way Rey would ever suspect any fragility in that proud stature of the General. Leia. The smile is real now. It hurts so much to see her like this, aged yet still standing. Who opens their arms first is hard to say, but the embrace is the same: warm and solid. Motherly. “Rey,” the older woman breathes. The sincerity of her emotions cuts through Rey and makes it hard not to weep after such a long absence. After all they've been through, don't they deserve it? “You have grown,” Leia fondly comments as she takes a step back to truly inspect her. “You look like a woman now.” Rey laughs, tucking down the shirt over her hips, feeling a bit shy. “Not much I could have done about that.” “Come,” Leia says, still holding her hands. “You must have so many things to tell me. Come.” If only Leia knew. If only she knew. ◐◑ It takes her a few moments, but bit by bit, Rey begins to notice those small culprits of time that weren’t visible at first on Leia Organa. Leia’s hand is familiar, but different too. There are wrinkles and frail bone where there previously weren't. Her back is hunched, not by much, but there is a dip in her spine and a limp in her leg when they walk across the landing pad to the elevator. Leia had used a cane back when Rey was with the Resistance and told everyone it was a part of the healing process from being subjected to the vacuum of space. It must have never healed though. It must have altered her more than she let on. If the crowd had been large outside, it grows even more in size as they enter the lobby. It's like a parade of old faces when they enter. People come running from side corridors and balconies, all not truly believing the rumor but are pleasantly surprised to see that the Jedi has in fact returned. She gives a small wave, hoping it’d suffice. “Even I have never had such a welcome,” Leia smiles fondly back at her. It comes much like a dawn. Slowly but clearly. The what-ifs. The life she would have led had she stayed. Would she lead an army? Be starting a school? Reform the Jedi order? Everything was so new back then, and while she thoughtl herself incorruptible when younger, the wisdom of age makes her acutely aware of just how naive and gullible she was five years ago. They could have corrupted her. They could have made her do horrible things in the name of justice and good. She can hear Ben say it: that neither side was much different. Only now can she recognize the truth of those words. Bitterness bleaches her insides when she thinks back on how cockily she had dismissed his every claim, his every hard-earned lesson, and his scarred teachings. Her wrists hurt from waving by the time Leia escorts her to a small lobby with an adjacent, even smaller, sitting room. It is nothing but a half-circle with plush seats and massive durasteel windows overlooking the city skyline. In the center, over the faded marble table, is a large chandelier with crystals adorning the soft yellow lights. It’s not in good condition, and some fractals are missing or broken, but it doesn’t minimize the scene of grandeur and importance. A plate with small sandwiches, hot steaming caf, and two durasteel cups are already waiting for them on the table. It will only be the two of them. It both daunts her and relieves her. Rey goes to sit down on the rounded couch when Leia, to her surprise, waves her to sit down next to her. It is clear that the woman desperately wants their meeting to be with Leia herself, not a general or a princess. An equal. They clasp hands like friends. Like a mother and a daughter... It thickens in Rey’s throat, cutting off her air just slightly—the secret she carries. That Leia is also a grandmother. She wants to tell her. She wants to please her and see the surprise and excitement bloom on the aging face. Oh, how wonderful it would be to be the source of her happiness, to be the one who can ease the woman’s lifelong suffering. But she can never know. Even with everything they have been through, even with all the difficult choices they have had to make, Rey cannot trust Leia enough. It may be years since she stayed with the Resistance, but she recalls the scrutiny and the knowledge that nowhere is safe to share secrets. There are eyes and ears everywhere. Even if they are supposedly friends. “Rey,” Leia breathes finally, smiling wider than she would at any formal event. This is not a controlled affair for the princess. The older woman’s feelings are on her sleeve, and so are her questions. This will not be predictable, which makes it ever more dangerous for Rey. “How are you? Are you well?” “I’m well,” Rey smiles back. “I’ve been well.” “We knew you’d come back sooner or later. I’m sorry we forced you to come before you were ready,” Leia's lips quiver for the briefest of seconds. “What have you been doing?” It was a given that she’d be asked this question. She had even prepared her answer on the flight and run it through her head a million times. However, as she sits across from this ever more frail woman, she struggles to get the words off her tongue. Leia doesn’t deserve a lie. But half-truths— “I was looking,” Rey manages to croak. There’s a heavy pause before Leia takes a deep breath and puts on that stoic tone. The one that doesn’t reveal the depth of her wound. “So it is true—Kylo Ren survived?” “Yes,” Rey looks away. “Until… he didn’t.” It’s what happened. It’s not false. Ben had relinquished that name and taken another. He had acknowledged how that part of his life was no more—and regardless of what he’d do, that person could never come back. Kylo Ren was dead in so many ways. So it wouldn’t be false to claim him as gone… “Did—” Leia strains, “—he suffer?” “No.” Their hands clench simultaneously. She feels Leia’s hand growing cold, clammy, desperate not to be alone. “He suffered a lot in life,” Rey admits, scooting closer to Leia for comfort. “But he didn’t suffer then.” “Good.” Leia’s eyes shimmer, and the heartache of being the last remaining person of her family is not lost on Rey. She doesn't have to ask; she can see the grief washing over the general. “For a while,” Leia begins, “it had felt like he was still there—in the Force—but it changed, and… I guess that’s what I felt.” The brown eyes that glisten look back up at the Jedi, and it hits Rey like a brick. She recognizes them... …the same ones Hannah has. It is so clear now that she sits here that some of the General lives on in their daughter. The suddenness of it mutes her, makes every word dry out like the Jakku desert. It makes her want to vomit. Leia frowns, as if sensing it, opening her mouth to say something, when a buzzer goes off in the distance. “General. There’s an urgent comm for you.” The sweet reunion comes to a halt. Leia and Rey both stare at the door, each knowing that something profound was about to happen, but that moment is gone now… there are things unsaid between them. With panic, Rey says quickly, “You can go… I have many things to tell you, but—” “All in due time.” Leia pats her hand, disappointed but understanding, before slowly releasing it. “—And only when you can.” The General proceeds to put on that formal mask she always wears, stiffens her back, and grabs the handle of her cane with a determination that age has not eroded. “Wait,” Rey half-yells, but she isn’t sure what she wants Leia to wait for. What can she even do to ease the mourning of a mother? Not without risking it all… Leia looks at her intently, trying her best not to intrude and go where she doesn’t want to go. To take knowledge from Rey she isn’t willing to give. There is a potent silence. A thick sort of veil with unsaid truths and weak lies. Rey has only one thing to give. Not one she has permission to regift, but she so desperately needs to fix this. To acknowledge that she was in the wrong and the hurt Leia cannot publicly show. The kyber is cool in the palm of her hand as she pulls the heart of Ben Solo from where it has rested against her own beating heart. She doesn’t dare look at it and she keeps it tightly palmed when she presents it to the princess. “Here. I… you should have it.” The kyber quivers between the crevices and calloused skin, almost as if it is afraid. And the look Leia gives that pulsing thing—she is scared too. Rey has overstepped. Maker. This is wrong. Leia is mourning, and now Rey is throwing the grief back at her tenfold. Then, with tentative fingers, she opens her aged, worn hand below Rey’s. The kyber lands unceremoniously in the bowl of the general’s hand, but it feels far from that. There’s hurt and joy, the memories of a mother who only knows the face of a young man. A mother who failed, who didn’t see her flesh and blood grow up and the proof of that failure physically resting in her hand. But it is Ben’s. And that is what makes Leia bear it. “Thank you,” Leia breathes and closes her eyes to feel the remnants of her son locked into the fractals of the crystal. “—for bringing him back to me.” Rey doesn’t comment on that, and the General can’t elaborate. They nod in union, and Leia leaves the small sitting room— —despite feeling ravenous, Rey finds she can’t even take a bite of the sandwiches.