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Ben takes his lunch in his office, the same way he does every day, save for the ones when there are clients to entertain or meetings to go to. He jumps a bit when his phone buzzes, it’s a text from his assistant.

May I call, sir?

He texts back a simple yes, and seconds later his desk phone rings.

“There’s someone here for you, not on the schedule. He’s got… a gift basket, by the looks of it.”

His brow furrows. There’s no clients today, so there’s no way he ordered a gift basket or even catering. He looks down at his planner and…

fuck.

December 24th.

“Let him in, Karen. I have an idea of who it might be.”

I know exactly who it is.

“Hey, stranger!” Poe exclaims as he enters. Ben stands to walk around to the other side of his desk, surprised when he's pulled into a hug before the door closes, and hopes that no one in the office is watching. “Brought you something,” he says, once he releases Ben, then sets the gift basket down on a side table on the other side of the room. It's a nice one, he can tell from looking at it.

Ben looks at him a moment,

it's been how long?

At least since last Christmas Eve. Poe’s been aging well it seems, a few crow’s feet at his eyes and the slightest hint of grey in his hair, but he seems to still have the same carefree personality he always has. This shitty world hasn’t turned on Poe Dameron yet. He should probably say something, but Poe gets there first.

“Finn and I are well, thanks for asking. Sean too, by the way. Though he keeps asking for a little brother,” Poe adds with a smile.

Sean?

Ah, right, he does remember. They'd adopted a baby a while back, his mother had told him. He thinks he child must be at least seven or eight by now.

Ben's really just been waiting for what he knows is coming.

“Listen, I know it's been a long time, but if you don't have any plans for tomorrow, the old gang is getting together at my place in the afternoon. People miss you, Ben. Especially…,” he stops, clamping his mouth shut abruptly.

Ben doesn't need him to finish that sentence.

“Anyways, we’ll all be there… starting around four or so. Finn and I are still over in Ukrainian Village, off Campbell.”

“You know I won't be coming, Poe.”

Poe nods, he knew. “Still, the invitation stands. You're my oldest friend, I'm not sure I could live with myself if I didn't extend the invite.” His gaze goes to Ben’s desk, the piles of papers and Manila folders, the half eaten takeout lunch. “I suppose I'll let you get back to work, Ben. Take care of yourself.”

He lets himself out and closes the door again behind him.

XxXxX

Hours later and he’s still in his office, working on some finishing touches on the fourth quarter shareholder presentation, when there’s a knock at the door. It startles him, he’s not used to that.

Is Karen up at the copier?

His assistant always texts him when someone is here, he wonders if she’s not at her desk and someone who didn’t know any better walked up.

“Come in.”

It’s Miranda, a bright young lady, he admits, the smartest amongst the ten junior associates, nine of which he sees cowering behind her. If he was the betting sort, he’d wager she’s the only one still here in a year.

“Mr. Solo, sir, we were wondering if we might leave for the night.”

“Are you done with the Anderson files?”

“Yes, Ryan finished them this afternoon.”

Ryan, great. They’ll all be incorrect.

“And there’s nothing else to occupy yourselves with?”

“There is, it’s just, well—”

“Spit it out, Miss Thompson.”

“It’s Christmas Eve, sir. It’s already past seven and we’d like to get home a little earlier than usual, given the holiday and all. Shelly has to drive all the way up to Waukesha tonight.”

He suppresses the the urge to flinch at the mention of that town. That’s where

she

was from.

He twirls his pen around his fingers once, twice, then sets it down. “Fine, I suppose given the holiday and the importance of conforming to social norms, that you all can leave early. I expect you here bright and early and ready to work the day after Christmas.”

Miranda’s face drops. “That’s a Saturday.”

“Well, isn’t that lucky? Monday, then.” He looks down at his laptop afsin, but they don’t leave. “I said you can go, don’t let me change my mind.”

The nine behind Miranda scatter. “Make sure they buy you a round, Miss Thompson. I know you were the sacrificial lamb for this request.”

“Of course, thanks again.” She turns, hand on the door to close, then looks back over her shoulder. “Oh, and Merry Christmas, Mr. Solo.”

He says nothing, only rolling his eyes as she closes the door.

XxXxX

He’s there almost two more hours when he decides to leave - partly because he’s satisfied with how much of the presentation he’s finished and partly because he’s hungry, and the Chinese takeout place he likes closes at 10:30pm. Before closing the blinds, he looks out his tenth story window, looking down to Wacker and the Chicago River below. It’s starting to snow a bit more, and his 911 GT3 is rear wheel drive, but it’s only a few blocks home, he rationalizes, and it’s not like its a blizzard out there, so he calls the lobby to have the valet bring it around for him, instead of calling a taxi.

He tips the valet and starts his drive, a few short blocks north on State Street will get him to his condo. As he’s stopped for a red light at Illinois, he sees someone he knows he can’t be seeing.

It’s impossible,

he thinks. It looks just like Hux, his business partner, dead three years. The shock of red hair, expertly done, the long khaki car coat he always wore, shoes shined impeccably. There’s even a tall blonde lady next to him, statuesque being the appropriate adjective, who bears an eerie resemblance to Hux’s on-again off-again girlfriend Phas. It could be her, he knows she’s still out there somewhere. He still sees her, actually, every so often, at benefits it other work functions - the law firm she’s at has many clients in common with him.

He’s still staring at them, already crossed and on the sidewalk, when the car behind him honks its horn angrily, and Ben looks up at the now green light. “Yea, jackoff, I’m going,” he says under his breath.

He’s dead, and besides, alive or dead, Armitage Hux would never lower himself to walk on the streets with the rest of the world.

He catches a glimpse at the pair on the sidewalk, waiting to cross the other way - it’s so obviously

not

Hux it's almost laughable.

Ben’s barely made it three steps into the lobby when his Chinese food shows up. He asks if he can tip on the card he ordered with, but he’s told no. Sighing, since he’s certain there’s no small bills in his wallet, he shoves both hands in the pockets of his coat. The kid’s eyes light up when Ben pulls out a receipt, a punch card from a coffee place, some business cards, and a very crumpled ten dollar bill. He passes the ten over, and takes the elevator up to his floor.

There’s one business card that stands out.

How long has that been in there?

He flips the card over and back again, leaning back against the wall of the elevator. Solo & Hux. It’d been three years since Hux’s heart attack, stress induced, the doctors all said. Shit, three years ago

today

, which made it just under three years since his name was removed from the business.

This coat needs dry cleaned, and badly.

He puts a reminder in his phone to have Karen drop it off at the cleaners on Monday.

That must be why he’s got Hux on his mind.

He changes quickly, into sleep pants and a T-shirt, DePaul School of Business written across the front. Finding what he wants on Netflix right away, he makes quick work of his takeout, finishing before the episode of Stranger Things is even done.

He slides open the drawers next to the record player, thumbing through albums, finally picking one out. Next, the liquor cabinet - he picks the Rémy Martin, he seems to recall Hux liked that particular cognac, or at least that he’d ordered it once or twice. He pours himself a glass and grabs the latest issue of Popular Mechanics from the pile of mail on the counter, then gets comfy in his Eames lounger, a present to himself for his thirtieth birthday. It’s as perfect of a night as he gets nowadays: his fireplace lit, Chicago skyline and Navy Pier visible through the windows, and Rufus Wainwright being melodramatic in the background.

He must doze off at some point, since he wakes up in the chair, magazine on the floor and the record finished. Ben leans over to pick the magazine up and head off to bed, but hears knocking begin at the door. He checks his watch, 11:45pm, and he’s about ready to open the door and give whoever it is a piece of his mind, and then call down to the lobby security and ask why they’re just letting anyone and everyone upstairs at this hour. He doesn’t get the chance. The knocking continues, growing harder and louder, then stops abruptly.

There’s a voice, finally, one that sounds way too familiar for comfort. “Dammit, Solo, do I have to do everything myself around here?”

Seconds later, the person the voice belongs to comes through the door - not turning the knob and opening it like a normal person would - but straight through the door itself.

It’s Hux, goddamn Armitage Hux, looking everything like himself, from the slicked back red hair, to his pale skin. He’s even wearing the same Armani suit from when they’d buried him three years ago. The chains though, the chains are a new addition. They loop all around him, shoulder, arms, torso, and drag as he walks - a terrible noise as they knock together. None two seem exactly the same, neither in size, nor shape, and the material vary from dark matte steel to the shiniest of platinums.

I’ve got to be dreaming,

he thinks. He pinches himself, hissing through his teeth at the pain.

Alright, apparently I can feel pain in this dream.

“You don’t recognize me?”

“Oh, I recognize you, you bastard. You’re dead, though it seems like somehow you’ve forgotten to be that way.”

In any case, I’m never ordering Szechuan Village ever again,

he promises himself.

“You don’t believe what you see before you?”

“Do I believe I’m having a conversation with the ghost of my old business partner?” Hux,

the ghost hallucination of Hux,

he reminds himself, continues to pace back and forth in the living room. When the light from the fireplace hits him in just the right place, he’s translucent.

“Can you— are those chains? Hux, I know you’ve been dead for three years but did you already forget these floors are oak? For fucks sake, don’t drag those around.”

“Can I sit?”

“Be my guest.” He picks the chains up and stares at Ben pointedly as he makes his way to the other chair. He fans the chains out over the arms as he sits. “Now, will you please explain why —”

The lights flicker once, and then again, and he finds himself looking around concerned. The snow isn’t heavy enough for the power to go out, he thinks, but then gradually the floor beneath his feet begins to vibrate, and the whole of the apartment shakes. Ben clutches at the arms of his lounge chair, knuckles white as the apparent earthquake grows more violent, and when he looks over to Hux, he’s… unhinged. Quite literally - his jaw hangs loose and he lets out a screeching wail, ear piercingly loud and high-pitched. Hux’s eyes have gone black, the entirety of them, from pupil to iris to whites, and Ben, with his hands pushing tight around his ears to try to block out the noise, Ben knows.

“Stop! Stop it, Hux!” Ben screams, trying to cut through the noise. His ears hurt like he’s never imagined, making tears run down his cheeks. “I believe you, now tell me why you’re here!”

At once, Hux’s right hand raises and with one snap of his fingers, his jaw clunks back into place and all of the shaking ceases. Across from him, Ben wipes the tears from his cheeks and sweat from his forehead, he’s practically soaking, like he’s been at the gym for hours.

“I’m here because there’s still a chance for you to escape this same fate,” Hux explains, his voice calm yet sharp, the same way Ben remembers it from dozens upon dozens of board meetings. “You’re forging your own set of chains, bit by bit and link by link, each day with your actions. They’re invisible now, but I know you feel the weight of them daily, as I now realize I did.”

“So what am I supposed to do? Volunteer? Start a non-profit? Donate all the firm’s earnings to Greenpeace?”

“You can start with ditching that smart attitude when I’m trying to help you,” he pauses as Ben huffs and crosses his arms. “You’ll be haunted by three spirits. Tonight, when the clock strikes one. Then again the next night at the same time, and the next night on the last stroke of midnight.”

“Three nights in a row? Are you sure they can’t just all show up tonight? Do they have plans or something?”

“Attitude, Solo, watch it. And no, they’ll arrive when I say, and your only way out of this wretched future, is to heed their lessons.”

“Is that all? Just listen?”

“

Is that all?

Do you need a manual? Yes, listen, learn, grow. Or don’t, and forge a even longer chain. You want to doom yourself to float around the streets of Chicago, chained up with all the rest of the miserable horrible dead? Fine.” The clock in the hallway starts to chime - midnight. “That’s my sign, Ben. I can’t stay any longer. Remember what happened here. Heed the lessons.”

He watches as Hux floats up from the chair, chains clanking together terribly as his form makes its way to the window and wafts through.

Ben jolts up, the feeling of waking up from falling. He’s on the rug, off to the side of his Eames lounger. Popular Mechanics is still opened, upside down on the floor next to him. His head is pounding, and he pinches at the bridge of his nose. “What in the good sweet fuck was that?”

He pads to the kitchen, chasing down an Ambien with the remainder of cognac in his glass. He tells Siri to turn the lights and fireplace off as he walks up the stairs to his room for bed. He’s out as soon as his head hits the pillow.

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

Ben wakes with a start, sitting straight up in bed. His sheets are rumpled at his feet. He can’t remember dreaming, then hears the clock in hallway chime once - he doesn’t recall it ever being quite that loud before.

Fuck, did I really only sleep an hour?

Before he lays back down, he notices light sneaking in through the cracked door. He could’ve sworn he told Siri to turn them off, but it’s been one hell of a night, so he gives in to his curiosity. When he gets down the stairs, it’s the fireplace that’s lit, and a young child sits on the rug in front of it, playing with a collection of Matchbox cars.

“Hello, Ben,” the child says, though he doesn’t look up, just continues to play with the cars around him. Ben keeps moving closer, and once he’s near, the child turns, flashing a wide toothy grin, a front tooth conspicuously missing. His black hair is wavy, with large ears sticking out. He wears a pair of nicely pressed khakis and a polo with the logo for the same private elementary school Ben attended.

“Are you… are you seven year old me?”

“Currently, yes, but I take the shape of whatever form my charge needs most.”

His mind goes back to the earlier… the hallucination of his late business partner, and the warning of being visited by three spirits.

“Am I correct in assuming you’re the first of the three spirits? Sent to somehow teach me to mend my ways.”

“You got it. I’m the Ghost of Christmas Past, or in this case, your past.”

Of course you are.

Ghost Ben stands, pockets one of the Matchbox cars, then holds his hand out. “Come on, we don’t have forever.”

He takes the ghost’s hand, and they exit through the front door of his condo. Instead of walking into what should be hallway, the door closes behind them and they’re in a living room that Ben recognizes immediately - the light pink floral couch, heavy dark wood furniture, and of course, the framed family photographs from Sears on the mantle. He knows that upstairs in the bungalow there’s a room with blue walls and a racecar bed, a wallpaper border near the ceiling with NASCAR designs on it. There’s a 17 inch Magnavox with a NES hooked up to it, and a bookshelf in the corner with the Hardy Boys, Shel Silverstein, and his old favorite, Roald Dahl.

There’s Christmas decorations up, and the floor is a mess of colorful wrapping paper that hasn’t been picked up yet. Sitting in the middle of the floor is another little Ben, about the same age as Ghost Ben, wearing Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle pajamas and attempting to get a new toy out of its packaging.

Present Ben takes a step back when his mother comes around the corner from the kitchen. It throws him for a loop to see her again, and to see her looking so young. She has the receiver of their harvest gold-colored phone pressed between her right ear and her shoulder, and she leans against the wall, looking down at young Ben as she twirls the coiled phone cord between her fingers. “Shara, do you mind if Ben comes around? No, it’s... Han got called into fly again just now. Last minute to Heathrow.” She’s quiet then, listening to the other end of the line. “Of course, he can stay overnight with Poe, he’d like that.” She turns to young Ben. “Wouldn’t you like that Benny?”

Young Ben nods slowly. “Dad won’t be back today?”

“Hang on, Shara.” She sets the receiver down on the kitchen counter, then walks over to Ben. “No, sweet,” Leia replies, crouching down to his level. She reaches out, brushes some of his hair off his forehead. “He’s flying all the way to Heathrow, that’s the airport in London. Do you know where London is?”

“England?”

“Good job. It’s quite far, though, and he won’t be home for a few days.” Ben watches as young Ben’s face falls.

Better get used to it kid, you’re in for years of disappointment.

“That’s Poe’s mom on the phone right now. You can take some of your new toys over to go play at the Dameron’s house if you want. She says you can spend the night, too.”

His face lights up a bit more at that. “Run up to your room, get changed, and pack a bag. Go on, scoot.” Young Ben jumps up and sprints out of the room, his footsteps pounding up the stairs.

“Thanks, Shar… yea, I know.

Again

. ...what am I going to do? Does it matter?” She walks to the hall closet to grab their coats, phone cord stretching as far it’s able to. “We’ll be by soon.”

Soon after, young Ben runs back down the stairs, dragging a turtle shell backpack behind him, and Leia helps him get his winter jacket on. The ghost and Present Ben follow Leia and young Ben out the front door, and as they walk, his mother and young self fade away, and it’s not the snow-covered front yard with the boxwood hedge along the walk and basketball hoop in the driveway that he’s expecting. It’s his dorm room from high school, and an older, yet still young, Ben sits at a wooden desk. On the wall above him, there’s a Marilyn Manson poster and a picture of Milla Jovovich that he remembers carefully tearing out of a magazine. His Far Side wall calendar shows December 1997 and the days are crossed off until the 23rd.

“Is this the game you’re playing?” Ben says to the ghost. “Show me all the shitty Christmases I’ve had?” He doesn’t answer, so Ben continues. “I remember this one, I’d just turned eighteen. It didn’t actually turn out

that

bad. Dad took Christmas and New Years transatlantic shifts, again, and mom… this might’ve been the year she was volunteering at the hospital, or campaigning.” He can’t remember which. It’s been so many years and all those Christmases seemed to blur together now.

There’s a knock on the door and it opens before teen Ben can do anything.

Poe

. His hair is long - Ben had almost forgotten about that look - tied back with a hair tie at the base of his neck. His coat is slung over one arm, and he wears a baggy T-shirt layered over a long sleeve shirt, a ball chain necklace around his neck. He’s wearing those skateboard shoes he loved, though he’d never even touched a board. Poe went to the same school as he had, but didn’t board there, just attended the day school.

“Shit, Ben, why are you still here? It’s Christmas Eve, bro.”

“Then why are

you

here?”

“I forgot some stuff in the day school lockers,” he shrugs. “Like

all

my Magic cards. I saw your room light on when I was leaving.” He walks over and flops down on the extra long twin bed, blue plaid bedspread expertly made and tucked in. “You don’t have to stay here, ya know. My parents would love to have you over.”

Teen Ben refuses, saying he’ll be fine there on his own.

“You just really didn’t want to accept anyone else’s help, did you?” The ghost asks, but gets no answer.

“I know you’ll be fine, but like… wait. The cafeteria is closed. What are you supposed to eat?”

Ben gestures to the microwave and mini fridge across the room. “I’ve got some cup noodle and pizza rolls so --”

“Nope. I can’t let you stay here.” Poe rises from the bed and walks to the single closet, pulling a red duffel bag out. “If my mother hears that I let Ben Solo stay in the dorms all Christmas to eat ramen and pizza rolls, I’ll never hear the end of it.” Ben is still sitting at his desk, so Poe pulls him out, chair and all. “Get packing.”

“Fine. But I’m doing this for you.”

“Whatever.”

Ben throws whichever clothes are closest into the duffel, shuts down his computer and pulls a jacket on. “... is your mom making that German chocolate cake again this year?” he asks as they make their way to the door.

Poe turns, that shit-eating grin on his face, as he jumps up and pulls him down into a headlock. “Hah! I knew you had an ulterior motive.” Poe messes up Ben's hair a bit before letting go. “And of course, she is!”

The ghost and current Ben watch them leave the dorm room, and seconds later when they themselves exit, their world swirls and they're transported to another time and place. It’s the living room of a not-so-nice house, and it smells like beer and vaguely of sweat. The music is loud and there's a lot of people that look familiar but he can't quite place who they are anymore.

It's not until he sees someone’s DePaul University hoodie abandoned over the back of a chair that he puts it all together.

“I know this party,” he says to his Christmas Past companion. “This was Poe’s ugly sweater Christmas party. 2001, I think.” He sees himself then, wearing the Rudolph claymation sweatshirt Rey had found for him at GoodWill and those ridiculous wide legs pants from Hot Topic with the straps going every which way. There’s a drink in his hand as he sits on the couch - he does not want to be there.

Not a second later, Poe stumbles in, Finn in tow, both adjusting their clothing. It was right after they'd first gotten together. “Hey, Ben, why don't you go find Rey? It's almost time for presents. You know she'd hate to miss it.”

He watches Past Ben nod his agreement and start his search. He follows himself, and finds Rey in the kitchen, fussing with a ribbon on a long slender box.

“Oh, Ben. Good, it's you.”

Shit, he'd forgotten how adorable she'd looked that night. Her hair was down, for once, and she's wearing a tight red sweater with Christmas lights embroidered on it, and a white circle skirt, flared out just above the knee. He remembers thinking that only she could pull off looking absolutely stunning at an ugly sweater party.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing really, just can't tie up the ribbons on the package to save my life. It's fine though.”

“Oh?”

“I, um, it's for you.”

“Me?”

God, was I really this bad at talking to women?

She nods, walking towards him. He leans back against the fridge, finding a slim spot not covered in polaroids and pizza delivery joint magnets, and takes the present from her.

“You can open it, if you'd like,” she suggests, so he does. It's a tie, a nice one, dark grey wool with the tiniest of black dots scattered about. “It's not really a fun gift, but I thought… you've got that interview for your accounting internship soon. This would go well with that grey suit you've got, and your eyes,” she adds quickly, softly.

“You notice things that go well with my eyes?” He knows what comes next, remembers wondering what sort of courage it took her. She takes a step closer, taking the tie and box out of his hands and setting them on the counter, then another step.

“I notice a lot of things, Ben.” Another step. Her eyes go straight to his mouth, and then up towards the ceiling, his gaze following hers.

Mistletoe

. And then it happens. She's up on her tippy toes in those red ballet flats, and her hands take hold of his hips as she presses her lips to his. Seventeen years later, and he remembers how soft they were on his, how she tasted like candy canes.

The ghost grabs onto his t-shirt and walks him away, but he gets in one last glance over his shoulder, his 22 year old self pulling the girl he'd wanted since he first saw her against his chest.

This time, when they walk through the doorway into what should be Poe’s living room full of people, it’s completely different.

“We’re going to be late for your own party, Ben,” Rey says, heels of her black leather boots tapping on the ground. They’re outside now and it’s cold, Rey pulls the collar on her peacoat up higher. “We’re all here to celebrate you making partner.” She turns around then, expecting to find him trailing behind her or warning the valet kid not to get any scratches on his car.

But he’s not.

He’s down on one knee on the brick pavers outside the Chicago Waldorf Astoria, the hem of his navy Burberry trench skimming the ground, snow falling around the both of them. His arm is outstretched, offering up an open ring box. Present Ben sucks in a sharp breath, he’d been

so

nervous.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

His Rey did always have a way with words.

“Is that a yes?”

“Ben, of course it's a yes!” She doesn't have the words fully out before he's standing up, placing the ring on her finger, and kissing her soundly. In the background, two young bellhops start to clap.

They get inside the elevator along with Rey and Ben, who are huddling together in the corner. He leans over her, possessive, protective, with one elbow perched above her head, his hand lazily playing with her hair, as the other runs back and forth across her hand with the ring on it. “Do you love it?” He asks, voice barely above a whisper.

She nods. “And I love you, too.”

“Yea?”

“Yea, the future Mrs. Solo loves you very much.”

“Solo?” His face lights up at that, liking the way it sounds. She raises her eyes to his, smiling in reply, and he crashes his lips against hers, hands finding her hips under her coat as he presses her into the corner of the elevator.

Present Ben turns and faces away. It’s one thing to watch your younger self interact with your parents and friends, but he finds it entirely too weird to watch himself make out with his ex-fiancee in an elevator, standing next to a ghost who

also

looks like him. “Are you old enough to be watching this?”

“Just because I look seven doesn't mean I am.”

Thankfully the elevator dings and they pull apart, walking hand in hand to the restaurant.

Their group stands when Rey and Ben enter the private room he’d booked for them. “As your oldest friend,” Poe starts, as they’re both just removing their coats, a glass of champagne already raised, “May I be the first to congratulate Ben on--”

He grabs the glass from Poe, cutting off his speech. “Sorry, but, before we get to all that, I want to you to introduce you to the future Mrs Solo!”

Rey holds her hand out, displaying the ring, as Rose practically screams at the news, rushing up to her to give her a hug and get a closer look at the ring.

“Shit, Ben, the size of this thing! Are there are diamonds left for when Snap finally gets up the courage to make an honest woman outta me?”

They laugh at that, all except Snap, who looks sheepishly at the floor.

As they watch the group settle for dinner, time starts to pass more quickly for them, like someone has hit fast forward. “Okay, I think here is about good,” the ghost says, and the scene comes back to normal speed.

In a huff, Rey sets her fork down. “Ben, would you just answer your phone already? Whoever it is, they apparently can't take a hint.”

He pulls it out of the jacket pocket and flips it over. “Shit, it's Snoke.” Rey sighs, cradling her forehead in her hand. “I have to take this.”

Ben excuses himself and gets up from the table, speed walking towards the lobby of the restaurant while he answers the phone. At the table, Rey apologizes to the group for Ben.

A moment later he comes back, not sitting down, but instead taking his jacket off the back of his chair. “I'm so sorry, Rey. He needs me to come in.”

“Ben, it's Christmas Eve and we’re celebrating our engagement with friends.” Present Ben notices the look in her eyes, the tears she's trying to suppress. He can't remember if Past Ben noticed. “This really cannot wait?”

“You know how it is, Rey. I just barely made partner, I can’t make him angry and mess it up now.”

“Well, I’m not staying if you’re not.” She turns in her chair towards him, picks the cloth napkin out of her lap, folding it and setting it down on the table next to her plate.

His hands go to her shoulders as he bends down to stop her from getting up. “No, Rey. Please. Stay. Have dinner with your friends. I’ll make sure there’s a car to take you home.” Rey nods, but doesn’t say anything as Ben leans in a presses a kiss to her temple.

“You know what…” Poe starts, not finishing his thought before he pushes up from the table to rush after Ben. The ghost tugs on current Ben’s t-shirt again, and they follow quickly down the hallway after him.

The elevator door is already almost closed, and Poe starts to run then, making it there in time to shove his hand in and stop the car. “Why don’t you tell Snoke you’ve got plans for once? Is work that important that you’d rather go back to the office?”

“You think I’d rather go to the office than spend the evening with my best friends and the woman I love?”

“It seems that way.” It’s a cold tone from Poe that he doesn’t usually use. At the ghost’s suggestion, he sidesteps around Poe and enters the elevator, leaning back against the wall next to his younger self.

Ben takes his trench from over his forearm and pulls it on properly. “Go back to dinner, Poe.”

“I will. Just… watch out, Ben. You keep this shit up and you’re gonna lose Rey before you’ve even really got her.”

When the elevator dings and the doors open again, Present Ben already knows the drill, and they walk out into what should be the lobby of the Waldorf, but of course, it’s not anymore.

“How many of these are you planning on showing me?” Ben asks his young guide.

“As many as it takes.” They’re in the kitchen at his condo, his old one, the one he bought using his first bonus as a down payment, the one he lived in with Rey, the one where she --

“...no.” The word slips out of his mouth so softly he’s not certain he said it aloud.

“Yes,” the child ghost replies, sounding almost like he enjoys torturing Ben this way.

The door knob turns and in walks another Past Ben, a year older than the one in the last flashback. He drops his briefcase on the bench in the foyer.

“Ben?” His head whips around at Rey’s voice. “Is that you? I thought you said you’d be back an hour ago.”

She comes out of their bedroom, busy putting in her earrings. She’s in

that

dress, the one he bought, that he loved to see on her, though she protested that it was way too much money for so little fabric.

That’s why I love it, babe,

he remembers himself saying.

“You better change out of your work clothes quick, we’ll be late for dinner with Finn and Poe.”

“...don’t get angry, Rey, but —”

“Ben! Seriously? Again?”

“You know what my job is like, Rey. I came home since I wanted to tell you in person instead of on the phone,” Ben explains, as if that makes it better. “He needs me there.”

“

He

needs you?” she snaps back at him. “Jesus Christ, Ben, ya know, sometimes I don’t know what’s more important to you, me or your goddamn job.”

His throat goes dry watching the scene unfold. “You don’t think I’ve relived this night enough in my mind already?” he asks his seven year old self, who doesn’t answer. Unsatisfied at not getting an answer, he goes closer to the forms of himself and Rey. “Dammit, you idiot!

It’s her

. Would you please just tell her it's her?” He points at Rey as he chokes the last words out of his mouth, then goes to try and grab his younger self, to shake him or do something, he’s not really sure, but there’s nothing to grab hold of. His hands slip right through.

He watches, unable to alter these events as Young Ben falters, a second too long to answer, “Rey, I --”

“No, Ben. Just, just stop. If you can’t answer that question without thinking then there’s no reason for me to be here anymore.” She grabs her remaining earring off the counter and puts it in. “You go back to the office, I’ll go to dinner.”

He takes a step closer towards her, but she steps back, hand held out. “Go to the office, Ben.”

“I promise, Rey, tomorrow. We’ll spend the entire day together tomorrow.” He puts his coat back on, grabs his things, and heads out.

Present Ben remembers that he meant that.

God, I was so fucking clueless.

Alone now, Rey wipes at the tears in her eyes with a nearby dish towel, then retreats to the bedroom.

Mercifully, the ghost doesn't show him the next morning. It doesn't need to, he remembers all too well. He'd come home from the office on the next morning's first train, ready to apologize, to tell her it's her, he will always choose her. From the moment he entered the condo, there was something wrong. Rey always had a bad habit of dropping her purse on the floor of the foyer, and it wasn’t there.

It was still so early, and he'd figured she was probably still sleeping. He had plans to wake her up, promise her that he’ll do better by her, and make love to her like she's the only thing that matters to him.

He didn’t get the chance. In the kitchen, a baby blue Tiffany’s box sat on the counter with a handwritten note beneath it. He still knows exactly what's in it.

You were always more than enough for me, love,

she wrote.

I'm sorry I couldn't be enough for you.

“Take me home, now,” he orders, eyes red and his own tears staining his cheeks. “I

understand

.”

“Do you?” The child asks. “Do you understand how your actions affect others?”

Before he can answer, the world in front of him swirls, changing to another familiar place - Poe and Finn’s rowhouse. He’s inside the house when the doorbell rings, and he follows Finn as he goes to answer it. Ben realizes then that he’s being shown the first flashback he wasn’t part of the initial time around.

“Oh, Rey, babe. You're gonna catch your death of cold out there.” He puts his arm around her and ushers her inside. “Wait, are you crying? Why do you have luggage? ...where’s Ben?”

She walks in, past Finn, and drops down on the couch. “I left him, Finn.”

“Finn?” Poe yells from the kitchen, his footsteps getting louder as he comes towards the living room. “What the hell is --” He stops dead in his tracks, still carrying the tea towel he was drying dishes with. He drops the towel and rushes to her side, sitting down next to her.

“For good?” Finn asks.

She nods, sniffling. Her face is red and puffy, and god, he hates to see her this way, hates that he’s the cause. “I love him so much, but I just can’t stay. I can’t be second place, or the consolation prize, I won’t take the backseat to work and bonuses and the stockholders. Not anymore.”

“Finn, will you go get the spare room set up?” Finn nods, leaving the room and heading upstairs.

“Poe, what am I going to do? I don’t have anywhere to stay… even my cell phone is on his plan.”

“Hey, hey now, shh,” Poe shushes her, pushing her flyaway hair off her forehead and pressing a kiss to her temple. “We’ll take care of you, Finn and I, yea?” He watches as Poe, his oldest friend, his best friend, pulls Rey into his side, cradling her against him as she begins to cry harder, shaking as she sobs.

Present Ben watches the scene unfold, his own tears now mirroring Rey’s. He falls down on his knees, eye level with the young ghost of him. “Take me back please,” he begs, “I can’t watch anymore of this.”

“Don’t blame me, Ben. These are all things that have passed, not tales made up on my own.”

“I know, I know,” he repeats. He pulls his t-shirt up and wipes at his tears. “I understand that I made this, my selfishness caused all of this.”

“If you say so.”

The room swirls in a way that’s all too familiar, but instead of depositing him in yet another vision of the past, he wakes up in his bed. He rolls over to the side, the digital clock on his bedside table only shows 1:08AM. It had to be a dream, no way all of that happened in only eight minutes.

Besides

, he tells himself,

you don’t believe in ghosts, or the paranormal, or god, for that matter.

On a whim, he pulls open the drawer of his bedside table and stares at the locked metal box inside. He doesn’t need to open it, won’t open it. Ben knows what’s in there. A square box, robin’s egg blue, because he couldn't make himself go back into the store. A folded up letter, words written in hurried, messy handwriting. There’s more - there’s pictures and postcards, a woven friendship bracelet she’d made for him during an art class project while she was student teaching, a piece of Lake Superior Agate they’d found on a camping trip outside Duluth, a mixed CD she burned for him - he still knows the first song, Britney Spears’ ...baby one more time - an inside joke from the first night they met.

******

Halloween, 2000; his junior year. Poe’s throwing another party, his favorite thing to do since they moved out of the dorms and into that shitty house in Wicker Park. He’d been outside on the stoop, talking to someone, though he can’t recall anymore who it was. When he came back inside, the crowd had squeezed into the front room, and a girl he didn’t recognize was being pushed by Poe and someone who must be her friend to front and center, and then up onto the coffee table.

“Fine, fine, you guys. I’ll do it,” she agreed. “Put the damn song on.” She’s dressed up as schoolgirl Britney Spears from the ...baby one more time video, which is…

whatever

, he thought, until the music started and she turned around.

Something in Ben’s mind

knows

that he’s seen pretty girls before, but all of a sudden, they all paled in comparison to her. He’s tall and off to the side, but still had a good view of her dancing, she had every bit of the choreography down. He could hear her singing over the CD and

she’s good.

Poe must’ve noticed his obvious ogling, and as soon as the song was over and crowd had dispersed a bit, he practically dragged him over to her, and introduced them.

Rey, her name is

Rey

. He repeated in his head, knowing he wouldn’t want to forget it.

“You’re, um, you’re really good at that. The dance. You must’ve watched TRL like every day to learn that.”

She blushed, a pretty shade of pink blooming on her tanned skin. “Something like that.”

“Your costume is good too,” he said. He wanted to tell her she’s gorgeous and a million other less than appropriate things, but he didn’t know how, and plus Poe was still watching them.

“Thanks! I like yours too. Marilyn Manson, right?”

Ben stumbled over his words, Poe laughed so hard he snorted.

“What’s so funny?”

“Ben’s not dressed up, he just always looks like that,” Poe answered, then clapped Ben on the shoulder. “I gotta check on the bonfire, have fun you two.”

Rey reached out, fingers going to the hem of his long sleeved grey henley shirt, the one he’d cut thumb holes in. “It’s a good look,” she said, quietly, eyes down at where she’s holding him in place, then up, catching his eye. “It suits you.”

She didn’t talk to anyone else at the party that night, she seemed content with him. Content to sit on the front stoop, Britney Spears and the Marilyn Manson who wasn’t trying to be Marilyn Manson. Her name is Rey, Rey Jackson. She’s a freshman, just turned 18 last month, a Virgo. She’s already declared for secondary education, focusing on arts, theater, and dance, which explains the earlier performance. She was born in northern Minnesota, moved down to Waukesha in junior high; he’d wondered where that adorable accent came from.

He grew up in Chicago, he told her,

private school, if you can believe that,

he added. A junior, an accounting major, he’d turn 21 the first week of December. He’d listened as Rey gushed about getting the part of Rizzo in the student production of Grease. Ben had never seen Grease before and didn’t care at all about musicals, but for her? For her, he’d have season tickets and front row seats.

A week later, in the middle of a Saturday afternoon, Poe yelled up the stairs, “Ben, you’ve got company!”

He wasn’t expecting company.

Ben got halfway down the staircase when he saw her -

Rey

. Rey from the party, from Waukesha, she was in his house, wearing low-rise bell bottoms that showed off sharp hip bones, a Roxy baby doll tee, and black wedge sandals. He slowed when he saw her, trying not to seem as excited as he actually was.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” she repeated.

“What’s going on?”

“Not much, really. I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d see if you wanted to hang out or something.” It shocked Ben into silence…

she wants to hang out… with me?

“If you’re busy it’s cool. Some other time.”

He noticed Poe behind her, giving him a smile that said

I know you’re halfway to in love with her, now don’t blow it, you idiot.

“No, no. I’m not busy at all. Come on up.”

They climbed the stairs to his room, the only room on the top level of the house, and she shrugged her canvas backpack off one shoulder, opening the the top and pulling out a CD. It’s new, still in the plastic. “So, I’d stopped at Tower Records today and picked up a new cd, I thought you’d like it.”

He wasn’t sure what it’s gonna be, based on her pop princess look at the party. She hands it over to him, Linkin Park, Hybrid Theory. He was surprised at her choice, to say the least. “I think I heard a single on WKQX the other day.” He flips it over to look at the back track listing. “You want me to put it on?”

“Can’t hear the rest of the songs if you don’t.” Rey flashed a toothy smile at him as he used his teeth to start pulling the plastic wrap off the CD case.

That smile. She’ll be the death of me.

“Is that an N64?”

“Yea. I’ll put the CD in and we can play something?” He watched as she crossed the room to the TV stand, crouching down and looking through the cartridges. “I’ve got pretty much everything. Mario Party, Mario Kart —”

She sat down on the floor then, and turned towards him, a game cartridge in hand. “Perfect Dark?”

Yep, she’d definitely be the death of him.

******

He shakes off the memory, thinking back instead on what that young ghost of himself showed him, whether it was a dream caused by bad General Tso's chicken or not, it still all happened. Ben yawns, and his exhaustion suddenly hits him hard. He slams the drawer shut, throws the covers back over himself, and falls asleep once more.

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

When Ben wakes again, he rolls over to look at the clock on his bedside table, not surprised at all to see that he's only got two minutes to spare before it's one am

again

, before the second spirit is supposed to show up. He's still reeling from the first visit, head pounding and nose stuffy from crying, unable to remember the last time he actually gave himself what feels like a sinus headache from crying. The memories of childhood Christmases and usually one, or both of his parents’ absences was bad enough to live through again… but Rey. That night, when she left… it's hard to imagine it'd been ten years since then. Ten years since cutting people off, since he threw himself even more head over heels into the business, anything really to keep him busy and occupied, distracted from all that'd he fucked up. Being thrust back into those memories has only managed to make him dwell on more occasions he missed out on.

Poe

. Poe still comes back and tries to mend things each year, ever the optimist. Still sends a birthday card, still invites him to the house for friends-Christmas, the tradition he started when they were all at DePaul.

That could be it

, he thinks.

A fresh start, a --

The suddenly overly loud clock in the hallway strikes one at the same time as Ben watches the digital clock change time. Not seconds later, light starts streaming in through the bottom of the bedroom door, and he hears the opening chords to a song he hasn’t heard all the way through in years. At least twenty years, if he had to guess, probably even more. It’s one that he switches off in the car, or that will make him leave a store if he hears it come on the PA - he abandoned a cart full of groceries in the aisle at Trader Joe’s once, just stopped and walked right out of the store.

The Allman Brothers, Ramblin’ Man.

He knows exactly who is downstairs, and based on the previous spirit being the Ghost of Christmas Past, he assumes this one is from Christmas… present? No part of him wants to continue, not after what he had to relive before. Ben pulls the covers up and over his head, willing Gregg Allman to shut the fuck up, for the love of god, but it doesn’t work.

“Ben! Will you get down here and stop ignoring me?”

With one arm, he throws the covers off himself. “Fine, dad!” he yells, sounding just as petulant as he had as a teenager, as he sits up and shoves his feet in to the slippers at the side of his bed.

When he gets downstairs, he’s right - his father is down there, shoes still on as he rests his feet up in the Eames lounger, but he’s different than any Han Solo that Ben remembers. He’s young, for starters. Not young like the last ghost, but the young man like Ben vaguely remembers from photographs, from before he’d even met Leia. His hair is that shade of sandy brown that Ben recalls from childhood, cut in a shaggy 70s style. He wears a light yellow t-shirt with the Lynyrd Skynyrd logo across the front, bell-bottom jeans, white Nikes, and a brown leather bomber jacket.

“I suppose you’re my Ghost of Christmas Present?”

“Well, I see we’re cutting right to the chase, eh kid? No,

hey pop, how’s it goin? Sorry I couldn’t be bothered to attend the funeral and all.

” Ben doesn't reply, just looks at him. “Don't worry, we'd need a helluva lot more than one night to go over that debacle. Ready to get a move on?”

He’s not sure if it’s actually his dead father, since the young ghost had said he could take any form, and so maybe this one can too. He sounds just like his dad, and it bothers him all the same.

“Guess so. I’d rather go see whatever it is you’re gonna show me than hang out here and listen to the Allman Brothers.” He shoves his hands in the pockets of his sleep pants. “So just, ugh, make the rooms swirl or whatever so we can get going.”

“Make the room swirl? What’ve you been smoking?” Ghost Han shakes his head, then takes a drink from a can of Stroh’s that Ben knows is not something he has in the fridge, and sets it back down on side table, ignoring the coaster. “Go grab your coat, we’re taking the L.”

“The L? Fine. But I’m putting real pants on.”

Someone might recognize me, although I probably wouldn't be the only weirdo on the train at 1am in pajamas.

Five minutes later, and Ben comes down the stairs, changed into a sweater, jeans, and wool socks. The music has changed, thankfully, though it’s still the Allman Brothers, Jessica this time. He pulls a North Face jacket out of the hall closet, puts on some boots, and they head out.

They start their walk to the closest train station, and he’s glad it’s only a block south to the red line station at Grand, since it’s gotten colder out as it got later. He guesses it makes sense, if he could feel pain during the last ghost’s visit, he must still be susceptible to the cold. Ghost Han doesn’t seem to mind. He wishes he’d brought a pair of gloves, and stares longingly at the Starbucks on the corner at Ohio, at least a coffee would help warm his hands up.

“They’re closed.” Ben bristles at the obvious remark - it’s the first thing Han’s said since they were in his condo, which he finds odd, since his father was always the charming chatty Cathy type.

“I can see that.”

“What do you need a coffee for, anyways? It’ll keep you up all night.”

“Don’t you need me to stay awake for this?”

“Fine, fine. Guess ya got a point there.” He nudges Ben with his elbow and gives him a coffee pulled from out of nowhere, holiday print Starbucks cup and all. It’s warm, and it smells like coffee, which is good enough.

They go down the stairs at Grand, and when he sees the turnstiles he realizes he didn’t bring his wallet and doesn’t have money for a train ticket or his Ventra card on him. Instead, and somehow he hadn’t noticed it before, but Ghost Han walks over to the handicap entrance and walks straight on through - right in front of a CTA worker - who says absolutely nothing to him, doesn’t even flinch as he cuts through without paying.

“None of these people can see you, son, now get a move on.”

There’s a woman not far from him, and he tests this… invisibility… out. He walks in front of her and waves his hand not inches from her face, bracing himself for her to recoil and yell at him.

Nothing

. As convinced as he’s going to be, he walks through the handicap entrance and follows Han down to the platform. A southbound red train arrives and they board, but no one else enters the same car, and there’s no one on the train already. The doors close and it creaks away from the station. It gets up to what feels like normal speed and then keeps going, faster and faster, reaching a speed he knows is not safe for how worn out the L trains are. He watches as the train flies past the stations without stopping - State/Lake, then Lake, and Monroe should be next but… the train turns, in a spot he knows it shouldn’t and then -

Washington? That’s not on the Red Line.

He looks over at Han, leaning up against the door, right next to one of those signs that expressly says

not

to lean up against the door. The speed and the fact that they’re blazing past stations they shouldn’t be doesn't seem to bother him in the slightest.

“Are we on the Blue line?” The car zooms past the Clark/Lake stop, then Grand… “How far are we going?” Ben asks. He doesn’t need Han to answer, he’s lived in the city for almost forty years and knows for certain that these are now Blue Line stops. Through the window, he’s able to make out the signs for Chicago, then Division… then the train finally comes to an unexpected screeching halt at Damen. The force makes Ben stumble, and he reaches out to grab onto the strap to stand.

“We’re here,” Han announces. The car doors open and the cold night air comes in, since they’ve been above ground the last few stations.

“What exactly is your plan? The Christmas Past ghost showed me all the ways I’d fucked my life up in the past…” Ben’s been to this station before, but he still follows half a step behind Han, unsure of what changes might have been made for tonight’s lesson plan. “Are you going to point out all the way I am continuing to fuck it up?”

“No. I’ll be reminding you of what you’re missing out on.”

Ben knows the neighborhood well, or he used to, years ago when he lived with Poe in that shitty house on North Winnebago. They exit the station and quickly make a sharp turn onto Milwaukee, stopping in front of a bar - The Flat Iron. The neon signs above the matching windows flanking the entrance spell out

Beer & Booze

and

Open Late

. By now, it’s almost 2am, and only the workers and a few stragglers remain inside.

“Oops, gotta rewind just a bit. Hold on.” Ben stares at him as the scene in front of him starts to go backwards. The people on the street stop, then start again in reverse, somehow not bumping into neither him nor Han on the sidewalk. The cars and busses take part too, along with the L train overhead, and the clock on the outside of the Bank of America branch at the corner counts back, slowing to a stop at just after 10pm. He follows Ghost Han inside when time comes back to normal speed.

The inside is nice, for what Ben guesses is probably a bit of a dive - there’s old Pac-man arcade games and skee-ball lanes along with the pool tables and darts you’d expect. Someone has went to town with the decorations too. Cut-out Santas - the fat jolly traditional kind you find on packs of Coca-cola - hang on the wall, and there’s garland and strings of Christmas lights everywhere. Most of the patrons must be regulars, he figures as he watches people excitedly call out friends’ names when new people enter the bar, waving them over excitedly to already crowded tables or rushing up to greet them at the door.

Finally, a familiar face comes in and he realizes why the ghost may have brought him here.

“Miranda! Took ya long enough!” he hears from behind him. It makes him turn towards the door in time to see her walk in - the only competent junior associate he’s got.

“Sorry, sorry,” she apologizes, pulling off her hat and gloves, and unwinding the large circle scarf from around her neck. “You knew I had to stop home and feed Bruiser before I came.”

The rest of the group scoots closer together in the semi-circle booth that’s already too small, leaving a bit of room for Miranda to sit, though she’s practically in the lap of the person next to her.

“By the way, now that I’m here,” Miranda starts to say, “The boss man says that you owe me a drink, on account of me being the one to get us outta there early tonight.”

Everyone agrees, and they flag down a waitress to order another round.

“A toast,” the woman next to Miranda says. It’s Julie, one of the associates who is at the top of his competency list with Miranda. “To our dear Miranda! Helping us break free from the watchful eye of our tyrannical boss, if only for a few hours!”

“Oh come on, give him a break.” She takes another drink from the mug in front of her. Miranda might not see the looks some of her coworkers give her when she defends Ben, but he most certainly does. “He’s not

that

bad, you guys.”

“That’s probably just because you’re his favorite,” someone says.

“If I’m his favorite it's because of my impeccable attention to detail.”

She’s not wrong.

“Yea, you’ll be real happy for that attention to detail in twenty years when you’re still paying Loyola for their fancy accounting degree,” Matt comments, getting his share of laughs from the group. Ben hired them all and knows what he’s referring too, out of all of them her choice for university was private, probably saddling her with a lot more loan debt than the rest of them. “Really though? Not that bad.”

“I mean, yea, I guess. The late nights and overtime suck, and there’s the constant fear of being yelled at… but I think I just feel bad for him.”

“I don’t feel bad for anyone that makes as much money as he does, lives in swank condo up on State Street, gets to drive a fucking Porsche around goddamn Chicago, and still acts like they’ve got a permanent rain cloud following them around.”

Tell us how you really feel, Hayley,

Ben thinks. He looks over at Ghost Han, casually leaning back against the bar with a knowing smirk on his face, and realizes his employees’ airing of grievances is not yet done.

“My roommate’s girlfriend works for BDO, and said they had they rented out the Field Museum for their Christmas party.” A good number of jaws drop, as if on cue. “The Field Museum. Can you imagine? And we don’t even get so much as an Amazon gift card.”

“Exactly!” A man across the table agrees. “Randy, don’t you remember two weeks ago, when I stayed there til almost ten every damn night working on the quarterly filings for the Patterson group? I turned them in and he doesn’t even thank me, just sends me an email with a list of mistakes I made the next day.”

“Well, Dylan, maybe if you did things correctly…” Miranda says, voice trailing off. She gets a few laughs around the table for that, and Ben chokes back a laugh as well. “But seriously, you want an explanation? Fine. You ever see him take a long weekend? The afternoon off? Shit, he doesn’t even go out to lunch for some fresh air. And his friend that came in today? That’s the first time we’ve had any hint that he even knows people who aren’t clients or that guy who delivers Jimmy Johns. I don’t think he’s such a workaholic because he loves it, I think he’s always there because he has no one and no place else to go.” She shrugs, rubbing her hands on her forearms like she’s suddenly cold. “It’s more sad, really, when you think about it.”

“Alright, Debbie Downer.” The voice behind that comment is Lucas, a tall man with perpetually windswept blonde hair, who looks better suited to Southern California than the Midwest. “Thank you for that dose of Christmas guilt. I thought I’d miss out on it this year by not going to midnight mass with my mom, but I guess not. On that sobering thought, I think it’s time for the Secret Santa presents.”

“Oh yes, presents,” Miranda remembers. Ben is not at all surprised that she seems to be the leader of the pack. “We all remembered to stick to the budget... right?”

“We don’t need to watch all this,” Han decides, and squints his eyes a bit as the time starts to speed up. Everyone pulls out presents and passes them around, opening them at probably triple the normal flow of time. The group disperses a bit, a few going up to the bar for more drinks, and some heading over to the darts and pool tables.

Han stops the fast-forwarding as Ryan pulls Miranda over to the side of the skeeball machines, away from their friends. The ones who stopped at the bar are back at the table now, and they’ve started playing a game of quarters. Its noisy with the sounds of music and conversation and he can’t hear them, just watches from afar as Ryan pulls a small envelope out of his jacket pocket, pressing it into Miranda’s hand. She’s surprised, obviously not expecting any other gift than the one she got during Secret Santa. But she carefully pulls open the envelope, taking out two slips of paper, and Ben can tell by the size they’re for some sort of outing, like a concert or sports game. Something that most certainly did not fall within the Secret Santa budget. They must be something incredible though, by the way she stares at them in disbelief, mouth hanging wide. Ryan says something and she nods her head furiously before he’s even got all the words out. She puts the tickets back in the envelope and slips it into her purse, then shrugs, looking a bit sheepish.

“Looks like she’s caught without a gift in return,” he hears his father say. Ben’s been so engrossed in what’s going on that he almost forgot about Ghost Han until just now.

She takes a step closer, and he’s trapped, back up against the skeeball machine, and she points upward towards the ceiling.

Mistletoe

. She looks up at him, doe-eyed and waiting, and finally she must get tired when he doesn’t make a move since she closes the gap between them and pulls him down to kiss her, hanging on tightly to the collar of his jacket.

Well, if that doesn't hit a little too close to home.

They get back to the table, hand in hand a minute later, and Dylan pipes up, “Hey, Randy, if I buy you Hamilton tickets will you makeout with me too?”

The rest of the group bursts out into laughter as they make room for their friends.

Ben feels himself smiling at their group’s easy, teasing banter, reminding him so much of how their old group was able to make all sorts of crass remarks and innuendo-laced jokes, how they’d gang up on one person sometimes but everyone knew it was all in fun.

We had a bar, similar to this, a little less clean, though.

The neighborhood itself is a trip, he remembers going to shows at the Double Door, right across the street.

“I see that look on your face,” Ghost Han says as they make their way towards the door.

“It’s nothing.”

“Like hell it’s nothing. That right there’s a bright young lady, don’t ya think?”

“Too bright.”

Ah, fuck. That was out loud.

“Only because she’s right about you. Don't you remember what it was like to be that way? Content with what you had?”

Oh, he remembers being content. Content with nights out with friends, with taking off-center disposable camera selfies as a group in front of the Bean and ice skating on the rink right in front of it. Content with double dares to jump into the icy waters of Lake Michigan, or see who could eat the most deep dish pizza at Lou Malnati’s - it was Poe, always Poe. Content to roll over in his bed on a Sunday morning to see Rey next to him, hair messed up and going every which way, and then seeing Poe and Finn curled up on the couch asleep, right where they’d left them the night before.

Oh yes, he remembers it. He just doesn’t

appreciate

the reminder from Han.

“Just like how you were never content with me and mom?” He snaps back. It’s a conversation he never got the chance to start with his father when he was still alive. “You don’t think I learned this habit of pushing the people that mattered away from someone?”

“Perhaps.”

“Perhaps?” Ben repeats, incensed by father’s indifference and how he doesn’t stop, just keep walking towards the station. “You were gone all the time. And Christmas, and New Years. For what? Holiday pay? Time and a half?”

“Blame me all you want for whatever happened when you were a kid. Hold a grudge against me for trying to support us, hold one against your mother for doing what she needed for herself without me around.” He stops abruptly at the corner, pointing a finger at Ben’s chest. “You could've learned from it, been better from the get-go, but I suppose the apple really didn't fall far from the tree in this case. Like I said though, this little visit ain’t about you and me. It’s about you and your future and what you could have if you removed your head from your ass for five goddamn minutes.” The tone in Han’s voice is final, so Ben leaves it there.

They climb the stairs at the corner of Damen, boarding another empty L train. “Where to next?”

“South,” is all the reply Han gives. The train starts, heading back toward downtown, before it dips underground in the loop again. When it emerges, after somehow successfully jumping from the blue line to the green without changing tracks- he’s stopped asking questions - it’s daytime on what he assumes to be Christmas Day. He watches as they fly south from the city, the street name numbers growing higher as they go, and again, without warning, the train comes to a screeching halt at 47th.

They walk a few blocks through the neighborhood, it’s not the best area, but not the worst, but he still cannot think of a single reason why he’d be in Hyde Park, down a random side street, stopping in front of--

“You’re taking me to church?” Ben looks at the unassuming brick building in front of him, which looks more like office building than a church, but the sign says Hyde Park Community Church all the same. “I think it’s a little late for that.”

“Just go inside, you won’t get struck by lightning.”

Ghost Han must’ve meant physically struck by a real lightning bolt, because once he’s through the lobby and into the fellowship room, it sure as shit feels like he is.

Rey. Rey’s here. She’s here on Christmas morning in this run down little church on the south side of Chicago, serving breakfast to those less fortunate.

He's surprised to see her, but not at all surprised to see her here.

There’s dangly Christmas tree earrings in her ears and a wide smile on her face as she makes small talk with a few people who must be regulars. Her hair is pulled up on top of her head in a messy bun, and she's dressed sensibly, she always did, but he wagers this is even more so due to the likelihood that she'll get messy. There's a plain black apron around her waist with a white dish towel tucked in; she uses it to wipe up the metal counter in between handing out plates of bacon, eggs, and pancakes to people in line.

And she's happy. A genuine cheerful happy as she helps plate up food for the visitors.

Ben finds an empty spot at a table and sits, wondering if it’s creepy to watch he from afar. It’s not like her or anyone can see me, he thinks, supposing that’s the point of this visit. One minute turns to five, and then ten, and fifteen, and soon he realizes he’s spent a half hour watching her as she serves up food, his resting in his hand and a dopey, longing look on his face. Another lady comes up to Rey, also dressed in the same apron and hairnet, and Rey nods as they switch places, and she hangs her apron up on a hook behind the serving line, pulling her purse over her shoulder. He wonders if she’s leaving already, but is relieved to see that she takes a paper plate and makes her way down the line, filling it up with pancakes and bacon.

“Miss Jackson!” He doesn’t see the young girl who calls out Rey’s name, but he’s sure it belongs to the little girl with a head full of braids and a green and red Christmas dress full of tulle who runs towards her as she looks for a spot to sit. She nods her head at whatever the little girl says, in a much quieter voice now, and allows herself to be pulled over to where the girl’s family - a boy who looks high school age and an older woman - are already sitting.

Han fast-forwards the scene, and he shoots him a confused look. “You wanna watch her eat?”

Ben doesn’t reply but think he hears Han whisper

creeper

under his breath. They wait as Rey eats breakfast with this family she’s obviously familiar with, laughing and joking the entire time, all at triple speed. After they’re finished, she grabs her coat from the front closet, walking along with the family as they make their way out into the cold. Ben follows, and the scene comes back to normal speed once he’s caught up to them outside.

“I keep hearing rumors the school board’s gonna shut the program down, loss of funding or some bullshit,” the mother say to Rey. Both children are dawdling behind, with the older brother attempting wrangle the little girl, who is probably sugared on up maple syrup. “Terry adores you and your classes, the after school programs too. He’s been saving up money since Thanksgiving, ever since he got into Columbia’s musical theater teen camp for next summer.”

Ben can tell that Rey’s trying her best to keep a straight face. Her poker face was never great - on stage, she could make you believe anything, but in person she was an open book. “Just keep fighting for me. It does make a difference when everyone shows up to the board meetings, really.”

“I will, we’ll all show up.” She grabs Rey’s hand in both of hers, and then catches her daughter running around out of the corner of her eye. “Marcy, come over and tell Miss Jackson your big news.”

The girl’s face lights up and she sprints the few yards to catch up with the adults. “I got my first role! I’m going to be Gretl in Sound of Music!”

“Really?” Rey exclaims. He knows her excitement fully genuine, she’s not just playing it up for the young girl. She kneels down and hugs her. “Marcy! That's wonderful. I remember my first community theater role.”

“You do? But that had to be

so

long ago.”

“Oh, it was quite long ago,” Rey laughs. “I was in Annie.”

“Your first role was Annie?”

Rey lets out another laugh, louder than the first. “No, sweetheart, no. I was orphan number five,” she explains with a wink. She stands, turning her attention back to the girl’s mother. “Make sure you tell me when it is, I'll be front and center on opening night.”

He watches them part ways, Rey walking off to wherever her car is, and he walks back to the station in silence, for another ride on the train. He’s almost used to it now, flying through stations and jumping to different lines. This time, the sun hurries its way across the sky unnaturally fast.

When the train finally stops, he’s only ready because he’s sitting and has nowhere to fall. The sun has stopped moving, sitting in a spot in the sky that signals mid-afternoon. Another walk, a few blocks from the station, leading into a quieter tree-lined neighborhood full of brownstones and row houses, with small apartment buildings scattered amongst the single family homes. When Han stops, they're in front of a brown brick row house, one that he doesn’t recognize, but the rainbow-colored American flag on one side of the porch and flag of Chicago on the other tell him whose house it is.

“Poe and Finn’s?” Ben asks, even though he knows the answer.

“Yea, not exactly a big mystery, eh? Seems like you’re accepting Poe’s party invite after all.”

As the pair let themselves inside, even though he hears the door shutting and the audible click of the lock back in place, no one inside seems to hear, or notice the bit of cold air that sweeps in. The living room is decorated to the nines, and Ben suspects every other room in the house matches. There’s a large real christmas tree, standing plump in the corner, decorated with popcorn strands and color coordinated bulbs, and the mantle has three stockings hanging across the front, their names cross-stitched on the top. Across the front window are strands of pine garland with light woven in, hanging down in half circles in each window pane, and he notices that all of the pillows and blankets on the couches and chairs are also Christmas-themed.

He’s not surprised when he sees Poe and Finn rushing back and forth between the living room and what must be the kitchen, hidden behind a swinging door with Christmas cards taped all over it, as they bring out bowls of snack food and bottles of alcohol and mixers over to a credenza with a Christmas-plaid runner and ice bucket on it.

The rest of the guests begin to arrive not long after Ben’s had just enough time to survey the place. None of them bother to wait for the door to be opened for them, with most just knocking and loudly announcing their presence. He watches, leaning against the fireplace mantle, as the members of their usual group arrive in quick succession.

Snap, holding the hand of a young girl who looks around four, and a very pregnant Rose waddling behind him.

Rose’s twin Paige, in town for the holidays, one arm holding a stack of gifts, and the other a large tote bag of snacks. “Hannah, go set these down under the tree,” she says, handing a couple of the presents to her niece. “The top one’s for Sean.”

Kaydel Connix, with a boy on her hip who looks to be about three years old, wearing a cowboy hat with matching boots that peek out from under a huge puffy winter jacket. She sets him down once inside, and he bolts over to sit with Hannah and Sean on the floor in front of the tree. “Hey there, partner,” Poe calls out as the boy runs by, in his best John Wayne impression, but the kid is too distracted by his friends and the bucket of Legos on the floor.

“Sorry, Poe, can’t charm ‘em all. Not when there’s Legos.”

“Where’s your man at, Kay?” Poe takes her coat over his left arm and pulls her into his side with the right.

“Oh, Doph can’t make it. Pulled the short straw and has to be at the station tonight. It’s kinda shit, but it happens.”

“Bet he makes up for it by fulfilling all those sexy fireman fantasies of yours.”

“I have absolutely

no

idea what you’re talking about.”

Jessika Pava, along with some lady he doesn't recognize, both dressed like they’re going to somewhere much more fancy than a friend’s house for dinner.

Han fast forwards through their catching up, stopping just in time as Paige yells, “She’s here!” from the front window, where she’s helping the kids pick out candy canes from the tree. “Guys, Rey’s here!”

Poe and Finn hustle to open the door, and despite that he saw her only ten minutes ago, Ben feels his breath ripped from his lungs when he sees Rey, her hand up in mid-air ready to knock.

“God, Rey, send a text next time you're gonna be late,” Poe chides, ushering her inside.

“You’re gonna spoil the joke.” Finn’s there now, both of them pulling her around and out of her forest green peacoat and matching plaid scarf like a model backstage at a fashion show. Her face is a little red from the cold, almost like blush, and Ben can’t keep his eyes off her. She’s changed out of her sensible volunteering clothes from earlier to something a bit more dressy, yet still casual enough to hang out with friends, and he knows nothing will stop her from getting on the floor and finding out if the kids will let her play too. Her hair is tied up halfway, and she’s wearing a rose pink colored velvet blazer over a white button down, slightly baggy dark wash jeans cuffed above her ankles, and a pair of leopard print ballet flats.

“Joke? Finn, what’re you--”

No one else seems to pay any mind as Poe walks off with Rey’s things, and Finn pushes her down the hallway. “Quick, Rey, hide, hide,” he whispers excitedly.

“Guys, what the hell is this?”

“A surprise for the guest of honor,” he says in a rush. “Just be quiet and play along.” Rey follows Finn’s instructions, and allows herself to be pushed into a spot in the hall closet, standing awkwardly between their special occasion jackets and the vacuum.

For the life of him, Ben can’t think of who else was missing, although in ten years it’d make sense that they’d made new friends. He figures it’ll be someone new until he hears three short staccato knocks at the door.

Of course it is.

Leia enters, looking every bit as put together as Ben expects her to look - her hair is set, her oxblood leather gloves match her coat and scarf, and she’s taken her outfit down just a notch from how she normally dresses for Chicago City Council meetings, where he’s used to seeing her on public access television representing the 43rd Ward. Finn takes her wool overcoat and scarf and hangs them up in the same hall closet that Rey is in. He puts his finger to his lips to shush her, then leaves the door conveniently open. After Leia gathers hugs from all the guests, Poe pulls out chair for her, her back facing where Rey hides. If Ben was uncomfortable seeing his mother, it’s forgotten now, intently watching where this little joke is going.

“Good,” Poe starts, clapping his hands together. “Now that we’re all here, I say it's time for some food.”

“Hold it mister,” Leia says as she scans the room. “Aren’t you forgetting someone?”

Poe feigns confusion for a moment. “Oh geez, Finn, did you forget to tell Leia about Rey?”

“Shit, sorry,” Finn apologizes, overplaying his regret. “She can’t make it this year. Thinks she got some bug from school.”

Rose pipes up, starting to play her own part in the joke. “You’d think she’d be immune to whatever those little germ factories have by now, but guess not.”

“Guess I’ll have to give her a ring and see if she wants to do lunch over her winter break.” Her face drops when she realizes Rey isn’t coming to the party. “I hate missing her at these things.”

Rey can hear everything and must’ve figured out what they're all doing. Ben sees her peek out from behind the corner, and tiptoe towards the table. When Rey comes up from behind and hugs her, Leia lets out the most undignified screech he thinks he’s ever heard, sounding more like she’s see a rat run across the floor than been hug-attacked by Rey. The rest of the group roars with laughter, himself including, even though he saw it coming a mile away. Next to him, Ghost Han is doubled over, clutching at his stomach, and when stands he brushes tears from his eyes.

“Jesus, Rey! I’m glad you’re here but I’m not getting any younger, ya know,” Leia scolds her as she turns to hug her back properly. “You guys can’t scare me like that.”

“Sorry, Leia, we just couldn’t help ourselves.”

“Don’t apologize, just go make me an old-fashioned?” It’s posed as a question, but Rey knows there’s no way to refuse.

“Sure thing.”

“They’re your state’s official cocktail and all,” Leia reminds her, “So I assume you know what you’re doing?”

“Don’t you worry, I’ve got this one covered. As long as I’ll make Wisconsin proud.”

She returns from the kitchen a few minutes later, a drink in hand for Leia and a tray with some for other people too. Finn follows, and a few others, as they bring the food out and start setting the table now that everyone is there. Paige carries up a plastic picnic table for the kids, the same one that Ben remembers from playing at the Dameron’s house. It’s at this point that the scene fast forwards again, and stays that way until everyone is finished with dinner and done helping bring empty plates and the unfinished food back into the kitchen.

When it finally stops, everyone is getting settled in a circle in front of the fireplace, and he’s not surprised at all to see Finn walk over with a stack of Post-It notes and a Sharpie. They pass the stack around, hiding what they’ve written from the person to their right, while a few short the person to their left to gauge their reaction. He’s ready for Ghost Han to do what he seems to enjoy doing and fast forward through this, but thankfully he doesn’t. Ben watches the entire game, almost a full hour’s worth, and he moves around the circle as the person doing the guessing changes, as if he’s playing along as part of the group. He sees Wex as King Kong, Finn and Poe as Maverick and Goose, his mother as the Queen of England - which somehow is oddly fitting, and Rey as the Mona Lisa. It’d take her more time to guess hers than it took anyone else.

“Oh, come on,” Rose begs,when Leia tells the group she should head home. “One more game? It's the first time I've had in weeks to hang out with other adults that aren't Wex or my OB.”

Leia agrees, telling Rose she remembers how that is, and once they’ve gotten the Post-Its passed out and stuck on their foreheads, someone asks who should go first this round.

Rey volunteers, starting with the usual questions first, the group replying in unison to her. They’ve played this game enough by now, one of their favorites along with euchre, and sometimes Rey has a good idea of who or what is on her Post-It note depending on the person next to her, but it’s Kaydel next to her this time, and try as she might, she’s never established a pattern from her.

“Is it a person?”

Yes.

“Are they a man?”

Yes.

“Is he a real life person? So not make believe.”

Yes.

“Famous?”

No.

There’s more questions and more answers, and she must be asking just right ones, what with the snickers and giggles coming from the rest of the group.

“Oh, shit!” Rey yells excitedly, then covers her mouth, looking her over shoulder. “Sorry, Hannah.”

“She’s heard worse,” Wex laughs.

“I think I’ve got it,” she continues, and begins to list off the traits on her fingers as she talks. “He’s a not-famous man, that I know personally. He’s a grump, who is

not

my local barista, but loves pretentious coffee; I don’t know him from local theater, but he secretly loves musicals - Paige, thank you for the outburst and extra clue, by the way. He’s not Principal Steinman, but he’s also stupid tall. Is he also quite dashing, with shampoo commercial hair, and a love for fast cars? Because I’m pretty sure there’s Ben Solo written on this post-it.”

She pulls the post-it from her forehead, confirming she’s correct, throwing her fist in the air and yelling, “Hah! Yes!” The room explodes in laughter and cheering. Leia is practically doubled over, hanging onto Kaydel for support.

But all of that laughter, none of it is with malice, or anger for his behavior and selfishness, or resentment for how he’d treated Rey years ago.

“Oh god, I’m so glad for the pretentious coffee clue,” Rey manages to say once she’s calmed down. “Ben would’ve loved that one.”

They’re acting as if he’s still there, still one of them.

Like they still care.

“I… I thought they…,” Ben starts, his voice shaky, unsure of what he sees, or how it makes him feel. “...that all this time…”

“You thought they hated you?” Ghost Han supplies. And of course, he’s right on the money.

“They’ve got a hundred reasons to, probably more.”

And yet they don’t.

“Oh, believe me, you were in the shit for quite a while. A long while. They’ll never forget what happened, but I bet just got tired of holding a grudge. Good times outweighs the bad.”

Leia leaves after the end of the game, around ten-thirty, a cab called for her by Poe. The rest of the guests gradually make their way home after that, some with tired or sleeping kids in their arms, all with containers of leftovers and cookies. Afterwards, it’s just the original trio left, and Poe finds Rey on the couch, chin in her hand, staring off at nothing.

“Hey, what’s got you down, Rey-babe?”

“Just stuff.”

“Too many sips of the old-fashioneds you made for Leia?”

“What? No, I’m not sad buzzed.”

“You wanna tell me?” He joins her on the couch, leaning back with his arms on the back cushions. “I know you don’t feel good when you bottle shit up.”

She nods. “One of my students and their family came to the church kitchen for the free breakfast this morning. I… the mom asked about the arts program.” Rey leans forward, arms resting on the tops of her thighs. She visibly relaxes as Poe reaches down, rubbing her back. “I told you there’s been talk about the program getting axed when they approve the new budget for next year.”

Fuck, it should be me she’s confiding in.

He’s jealous of Poe in that moment, that he gets to be there for her, be the one to offer comforting touches. Ben wants nothing more than know what it feels like to have her back in her arms, but knows that he can’t here; his arms will pass right through her if he tries. If he ran into her on the street in real life tomorrow, or whenever this dream ends, he’s sure to scoop her up and never let go again,

“What’d you say to her?”

“I lied, told her it’ll help if she keeps going to board meetings and speaking out about the programs, how much her son gets from it.”

“But it will help, if the board sees that the program makes a difference.”

“No, it won’t. Who’d’ve thought we’d see the day when I’m not the optimist, eh? It’s not just

my

school, or

this

district. They’ve been gutting arts education for years, we’ve been lucky to hold out this long. Yea, some schools make it but we don’t have the funding and we sure as shit don’t have any big donations rolling in. I’d bet you anything that come June I’m packing up boxes into my car and shit, I dunno, moving back up to Waukesha.”

Ben’s eyes are wide as he listens. He’s not ignorant, he knows how school budget cuts have been axing arts programs like Rey’s, but it’s never dawned on him that it could happen to her. To her livelihood, her passion. He hates the idea of her being forced to move back to Wisconsin, away from the city she loves and her best friends.

“Waukesha? Come on now, there’s plenty of other places in the city for you to teach, that’d be lucky to have you. Or private dance studios. The theaters downtown.”

“You think they’d have me?”

“You’re talented, you’re qualified. They’d be crazy to say no to you.”

“Thank you, Poe. Somehow you always know what to say.” She leans in and wraps his arms around him, squeezing tightly, then settles back against the couch, much more relaxed than before. “Oh, hey, did you see Ben yesterday?”

“I stopped by on my lunch. Dropped off the basket, which, thank you again for helping pick that out.”

At the mention of his name, he rises from the chair at the dining room table and walks over to the couch, sitting on the coffee table in front of Poe and Rey. It’s the closest he’s been to her since… since the night she left. She can’t see him there, and he feels almost intrusive - able to see she’s exchanged the festive tree earrings for tiny gold hoops, matching the delicate bangles on her wrists. She smells like cinnamon cookies and the mulled wine Finn had served up earlier.

Rey smiles, then toes her leopard print flats off onto the floor and brings her feet up on the couch, pulling her knees to her chest. “How did he look?” The concern in her voice makes his heart swell, yet feel crushed at the same time.

“Quite handsome, as always. He’s got a bit of that salt and pepper look coming in that I know you like.”

Her jaw drops. “I do not!”

“Like hell you don’t! Girl, I have

seen

how you look at Jeff Goldblum.”

“Oh, and Jorah Mormont!” She looks up to see Finn’s head peeking around the kitchen door.

“Finn! Aren’t you usually on my side?”

“Sorry, love, couldn’t help it.”

“And Poe, you know that’s not what I meant.”

“I know. He seems… fine. Like always. For all we know, he’s got work friends he grabs drinks with and a whole big fulfilling life that we are just not a part of anymore.”

“No, no, no. He is most certainly

not

fine.” He leans forward on the coffee table towards them as he speaks, his right hand on the edge of the couch cushion to steady himself.

“You’re right. If he’d have still wanted me — I mean, wanted us he’d have done something years ago.”

Oh, Rey, sweet, I most certainly do.

Poe doesn’t dwell on Rey’s correction of her sentence. “I’d thought of that, a lot, lately. If it’s still worthwhile to keep reaching out.”

“It’s worth it. No matter what happens he’s still our family. Family means no one gets left behind.”

“Did you just quote Lilo & Stitch to me?”

“I dunno. Maybe I

am

a little buzzed,” Rey laughs, “If I’m busting out the Disney quotes.”

Out of nowhere, they hear a commotion in the kitchen then, pots falling, Finn yelling something incomprehensible, and then the sink faucet turning on full blast as he yells to them.

“Poe! It caught on fire!”

“Not again.” He rolls his eyes and lets his head sink back against the back of the couch. “Whose bright idea was it to buy him a blowtorch?”

“Oh, shit, not the creme brûlée? Not again, even after last year?” Poe’s eyes are closed as he nods his head. “But the fire department came!” Rey jumps up and grabs him by the arm, running into the kitchen with him at her heels, leaving Ben speechless and kneeling on the hardwood in front of an empty couch.

“That’s about all we’ve got time for here.” Han announces.

It takes Ben a moment to stand, using the coffee table as a prop to help himself, the joints in his knees popping. “There can’t be anything else?” he asks, following alongside Han towards the front door.

“For you, there’s plenty,” Ghost Han explains, “But not for me.”

As Ben opens the door, he hears the clock inside the house begins to chime. Midnight, which means it’s time for another spirit to take Christmas Present’s place. “Fun night, kid. I’d say we should get together and do it again, but I don’t think we’ll need to.”

Ben turns to look back at his dad, who should be right behind him, but there’s nobody, and he’s just looking into the Poe and Finn’s empty living room.

When he turns back towards outside, the clock makes its final chime for midnight, and Ben breathes in sharply when he notices the cloaked figure waiting for him out on the sidewalk.

Good. I’m glad this night is getting better.

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

Ben is cautious as he slowly walks toward the cloaked figure on the sidewalk. It looks like Death, like the stereotypical harbinger they show in horror movies or the costumes you buy from those Halloween World stores that pop up in strip malls for the month of October and disappear promptly on November 1st. It’s garbed fully in black, and the cloak hides its wearer’s face. All that’s missing is the scythe.
 
When he’s a few feet away, the spirit moves to stand fully in the glow of the street light and… and then Ben squints, realizing that the cloak

isn’t

black after all. It’s a criss-cross pattern of dark blue, forest green, and strands of white, and more than that, it’s not even a cloak, more like a poncho with a hood, not full length at all, and the air smells strangely of patchouli.
 
Once he nears, only an arm’s length away, pale hands reach out from the long sleeves - but they’re a living skin color of pale, not pale bluish white like the dead, just like that of someone who stays out of the sun, or slathers on SPF50 multiple times a day. Or, wears a poncho.
 
Ben starts to think, quickly. He’s known the other two spirits, his younger self and his father, and this one, with its poncho and incense…

Oh, for Christ’s sake.

“... Uncle Luke?” Ben blurts out. “

You’re

my third spirit? But you’re not even dead!”
 
A familiar hoarse laugh comes out from underneath the hood. “Tough shit, kid, I’m who you’re gettin’.”
 
And he was right, of course. The pale hands shrug out of the long sleeves and push the hood off, revealing the very much alive-looking face of his uncle - blue eyes with laugh lines around them, sandy brown hair that’s long enough to braid. Off-brand Willie Nelson, Han used to say.
 
“I saw the cloak and thought it was... I don’t even know,” Ben shrugs, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. He finally feels the cold of the winter air now that he’s realized it’s only his hippie uncle, not some River Styx ferryman. “The grim reaper or something.”
 
“Grim reaper? I’m sure he’s plenty busy without having to waste a night on you. Besides, you really think anyone is gonna trust me with a scythe?” Luke closes the gap between them and Ben realizes he’s going to hug him. Of everyone in his family, his uncle had always been the hugger. His father was much more the ruffle your hair type, and his mom the calm and comforting, yet protective, hand on your shoulder.
 
He has his own flashback to childhood trips to his uncle's… cabin? Commune, he’d realized sometime in his early twenties. It’s easy to remember the smell of the pine trees, the annoyed clucks of the hens when he had early morning egg duty - and one day, when some escaped the coop and he spent the better part of an hour chasing two Rhode Island Reds around the yard. Oh, and how bad Luke was at chopping wood. “No, that’s probably for the best,” he agrees. One winter, when Ben was about ten years old, Luke had almost taken his own hand off with an axe, and only had half a pinky on his left hand to show for it. “So how’re we getting around?” Ben asks when Luke releases him from the hug. “Walking? Wavy transporting?”
 
“Nope,” Luke says, then turns towards road and nods his head.
 
Parked along the curb is that old Chevy Blazer, the one Luke had painted a matte forest green color to help it blend in with the woods around his home. It still looks like shit since he had just paid some kid to do it instead of getting it down professionally. He wonders how he didn’t notice that eyesore as soon as he walked out of Finn and Poe’s house - it definitely sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the newer hatchbacks and SUVs parked along the street.  
 
Ben follows him towards the road and gets in the passenger side, unsurprised that Luke hadn’t bothered to lock it, then unsure if that was even necessary since technically they’re in some sort of dream realm. Everything is so close to what he remembers from real life, so much so that he wishes whatever Inception architect was constructing world had paid less attention to certain details. The passenger door still squeals and squeaks in protest when he opens and closes it, desperately calling out for someone, anyone, for a liberal spray of WD40. He scrunches up his nose, wondering why the dream Blazer still needs to smell like such a distinct mixture of body odor, barnyard, and… oh, fryer grease.

That’s a new one.

“Your car smells like a McDonalds,” Ben remarks as the engine reluctantly comes to life and they pull away from the curb.
 
Luke leans forward to pat the dashboard, almost lovingly. “Converted the old gal to run on fryer oil last year.” He glances over at Ben a second. “I think she likes it.”  
 
“I can’t believe it’s still running.”
 
“Ya know, I say that ‘bout myself sometimes too, but here I am.” He glances over and flashes a toothy smile. “Alright, let's get cracking.” He merges onto the Dan Ryan Expressway, pushing a cassette into the tape deck at the same time. Even before it starts to play Ben knows who he’ll hear - Jerry Garcia.
 
As Luke drives south, Ben notices the sky starting to rapidly lighten. With how his life has been going, it doesn’t even phase him, he just sits back in the seat, watches the pre-dawn light turn into the sunrise, and then even brighter, and listens to whatever the Grateful Dead is trying to tell him.

But I’ll get back on my feet some day

The good Lord willin’, if He says I may

I know that the life I’m livin’s no good

I’ll get a new start, live the life I should

Luke is too busy lazily drumming on the steering wheel and humming along to the music to notice Ben’s eyeroll at the lyrics.

Well, isn’t that fitting?

They exit the highway and a moment later Luke pulls into the parking lot of a high school - the sign at the entrance has the dates of that year’s Christmas vacation scrolling sideways on the LED screen. The lot is empty, save for a black mid-90s Corolla in the far back corner, with a layer of snow on top and a very flat tire, and two newer, but still not brand new, cars parked in the circle drive at the school’s main entrance, a white Subaru Outback and a blue Ford Escape, both with their back doors and tailgates open, but no owners around. When they park and walk closer to the building, Ben glances back at the school sign in time to see it flash the date: Sunday, December 29, 2019, just a little over a year in the future. He notices the door to the school is propped open with a brick, and as they round the cars he sees two very telling bumper stickers - a COEXIST sticker on the Outback and a purple rectangle on the Escape that says “Thespians Do It Onstage” in white writing.
 
Once inside, they only get about twenty feet before the sounds of footsteps and voices become audible. Whoever it is, they’re not down this main hallway - it’s a straight shot down to another door. The sounds grow louder and they see two people round the corner of what must be another hallway. It’s hard to see too many details on the pair, the main lights are off and the hallway is only illuminated by dim emergency lights every so often.
 
He recognizes the voices before he can see their faces - Rey and Finn.

Should’ve known it was her by that bumper sticker,

he thinks. She’d had a purple shirt with the same phrase on it in college, all the drama students had them made one year. They walk through the glow of a floodlight and that’s when Ben sees that both of them are carrying large cardboard boxes, lids barely folded closed.
 
“God, Rey, I can’t believe you’re going to be teaching

English,

” Finn comments as they walk past Ben and Luke, his disdain for the subject evident in his intonation.
 
“English?” Ben asks no one. Luke doesn’t bother with a reply, and, as he expects, Finn and Rey are oblivious to his existence, walking right on past both of them. Once they’re past, Ben follows them down the hall towards the propped open door.
 
Rey shrugs her shoulders, as much as she can with the cardboard box in her arms. “Gotta pay the bills somehow, Finn.” She shifts the large box around in her hands, trying to get a better grip on it. “Besides, I’m lucky I was able to get

any

job, what with how late they announced the program cut. It’s practically a miracle that the high school had a liberal arts teacher who just happened to be going on maternity leave this Christmas.”
 
“Yea, and it could always be worse. They could have you teaching math.”
 
Ben sees her turn her head towards Finn, and though he can’t see the look she’s giving him, he knows which look it is - the one that says,

“just because I still have to show my work when I tip at restaurants, doesn’t mean you get to make fun of me.”

“Very funny. At least with English I can assign the class to read some plays. Death of a Salesman, that kind of thing.”
 
“Exhilarating,” Finn mocks. Ben knows as well as Finn does that Rey respected plays, but always had a penchant for more flamboyant musical productions.
 
“Like I said, I gotta pay the bills somehow. Cost of living might be less in Waukesha, but it’s not free.”
 
They continue talking as Finn holds the door open for her, but Ben’s stuck on that last point.

Waukesha. Back at home.

He knows there’s not even anyone there for her anymore, not after her uncle passed a few years back. Poe had offered up that tidbit of information a couple years back, one of the few times since the fall out that he’d contacted Ben not at Christmas.

There’s the house though,

Ben realizes. He doesn’t know for sure that it got left to her, but he can’t think of any other close relative it would’ve gone to.
 
Ben watches them shove both boxes into the cars, one in each, not bothering to close any of the doors or trunks before heading back inside. This time, Ben follows as they walk down the main hallway, turn right, and go through another propped open door, with a plaque that reads

Theatre Department

on the outside. They must’ve been working on packing things up for a while now, the room looks much more sparse than he figures a theatre department storage space should be.
 
“I can’t believe they’re letting you keep all these costumes and props.”
 
Rey shrugs. “What else are they gonna do? Whole program is cut. Besides, I made the majority of these anyways.”
 
She looks over a moment later when Finn clears his throat loudly. He’s holding up a black leather jacket and a smaller pink one, one eyebrow raising up in challenge.
 
“Grease.”

“That was an easy one,” Finn concedes, tossing both in an empty box, before he picks something else off the rack and holds it up - a pair of shiny gold hotpants.
 
“Rocky Horror.”
 
Ben watches as Finn continues to quiz Rey on each item, he knows she’ll know exactly what each is from.
 
A tattered French flag. “Les Mis.”

A smaller box with a dozen or so fake switchblades inside. He flicks one open and stabs himself, the fake blade retracting back into the base. “West Side Story.”
 
After that it’s mostly costumes and small items, but, sure as shit, Rey immediately recognizes each one, spouting off the musical it’s from without hesitation. She could probably rattle off the year and semester too, if she really wanted to show off.
 
“Oh, dear. God.

Rey,

” Finn nearly yells out, his voice emphasizing each word. “What the fuck is this creepy nightmare fuel from?”
 
As he turns around, he holds up a red and gold gilded box with a circus monkey on top, its hands holding two cymbals. Rey takes one glance up at it, and her face crumbles, snd there’s surprise and confusion on Finn’s face as her watches shiny wet anime tears start to roll down her cheeks.
 
He puts the monkey

thing

down into the box and rushes the few feet across the room. “Oh geez, Rey, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He wraps his arms around her, pulling her close. “It's a very nice drummer monkey toy, I didn’t mean to make fun of you.”
 
Rey shakes her head against his chest, then pulls away. She wipes tears off her cheeks and lets out a bit of a laugh. “I know it’s creepy, Finn. It’s just… that’s from Phantom. My first production.”
 
“You don’t think putting on Phantom for a first show was a little bit of a reach?”
 
Her tears have stopped and she blurts out a laugh at Finn’s insinuation. “It was. Didn’t you guys come to that one?” She pauses to grab a few more items to take with her. “Remember? The set was awful, my choreography for Masquerade was a mess, and there were about ten dancers too many on the stage.” Rey takes another quick glance around the room before she shrugs and cocks her head towards the door.  
 
“Wait, wait. I remember. Didn’t the chandelier malfunction every night?”
 
Rey groans loudly and rolls her eyes. She looks up and down the long hallway, checking to see if anyone is around, and then pushes the theatre department sign out of its holder on the door, sliding it into her cardboard box. Ben would love to be able to join in on the conversation, and the reason he can’t isn’t just that they can’t hear or see him - he wasn’t there. There’s no way he remembers the apparently infamous chandelier malfunction, not when he’d spent late nights working, neglecting to see her hard work on display.
 
He had always been there, when they were in college, before he graduated. God, he’d sat front and center during every one of the productions she’d been in, no matter how small her role. When she was in the company in Chicago, he’d stood and cheered, whistled for her like she was playing Velma or Roxie, not a nameless voice. Even plays she produced, that avante garde student performance piece he didn’t understand yet made him awkwardly aroused, he’d been there.
 
Until he wasn’t.
 
Rey had always been there when he needed her, always moving her own schedule around or rushing to get things done on time when he needed her on his arm at some event or another, or to take his mother out shopping when he flaked out on plans, or whatever else he needed. She wasn’t a pushover, no, she’d give him hell if she thought he was really being ridiculous, but if it was within her ability, she was there.
 
And somehow, once he started working, the late hours, entertaining clients, the fear of seeming like he wasn’t all in, or not promotion material, caught up to him, and fast. The benefits from being seen as willing to do anything, work until any hour, fly somewhere at a moments’ notice, did not go unnoticed or unrewarded by management.
 
“Alright, that’s the last of it.” Rey announces as she closes the hatch of her car. Another closer looks inside her car and Ben sees other boxes labeled

summer clothes, kitchen,

and

misc. living room

. That’s when he realizes she’s not only moving, but she’s moving

now.

“Sweet,” Finn replies, pulling his keys from his coat pocket. “You wanna get some food once we’re out of the city? Maybe around Highland Park?”
 
“I’ll follow you,” she agrees. From the sidewalk, he watches as both Finn and Rey get into their cars and drive away.
 
“How could I miss so much,” Ben wonders, his voice quiet when the Blazer pulls out of the school parking lot. He isn't sure if he actually asked the question so that his uncle could reply, but Luke does anyways, of course.
 
“Ya know I loved Han like he was my own brother,” Luke starts, cautioning a glance over at his nephew in between checking for traffic before making a right turn on red. “But the apple certainly didn’t fall far from the tree.”

It’s strange. How the similarity is right there, and you don’t fucking see it,

he thinks. Missed holidays and late nights, weekends over at Poe’s. Mr. and Mrs. Dameron taking him out for Dairy Queen Blizzards after youth soccer games. He realizes now that they must’ve felt sorry for him, showing it in little ways which young Ben didn’t have the wherewithal to notice in elementary school. Letting him stay over when he needed, saying

okay

when he asked for extra scoops of Oreos in his Blizzard - even though they said no when Poe asked the same thing.
 
He knows that, just being there for her, is something he can definitely make good on if he gets the chance. If she would give him the chance.
 
Oh, and if somehow, somehow everything aligns and fate or luck or the gods are on his side and he gets his chance? He’d do anything to be there. He swears he’d sell the firm and become a house husband - there’s enough in his savings and investments to take care of them both for the rest of their lives - and he could focus on their relationship and making up for lost time.
 
But he needs to get through these visions and get that chance in the first place.
 
The streets of Chicago pass by outside the windows as Luke navigates them through the side streets, then back onto the highway. They drive north for a while and finally exit in an area he’s not really familiar with. It’s different though, all of a sudden - he first notices there’s no snow on the ground anymore and the grass has that look of early spring: not quite dead, yet not alive yet, new green and winter brown mixed together. There’s not even snow plow piles along the sides of the road. Rain begins to drizzle and starts to grow in intensity as they grow closer to their destination.
 
The second he sees the cemetery entrance, and the shiny black Cadillac-badged hearse with a short line of cars with flags parked behind it, he knows what this is. But why? Surely who or whatever is orchestrating all these visions knows that showing him his own death… well, that’s never been something he was particularly worried about.
 
Ben hazards a guess that it’s sometime in the future, since none of the models of cars look familiar to him. When they pass through the entrance gate, the rain picks up again, verging on pouring, big fat drops that echo on the car hoods and umbrellas. He sees the familiar faces walking across the grass, towards the limestone pathway that leads to the waiting cars. Whatever burial ceremony there was had already finished.
 
Luke parks the Blazer on a different road, across the grass from everyone else. He shrugs the hood of his poncho over his head, kills the engine, and then motions to Ben that it's time to get out of the car. He’s wearing the same outfit as he was… a day ago? A few hours ago?

Who knows.

Mottled grey wool fisherman sweater and jeans from when he left his condo with his father, and he’s thankful now that he’d grabbed his North Face with the hood. He’s almost certain that he can’t get sick from standing out in the rain in this dream world, but he’s learned that he can in fact feel the cold, and so being soaking wet doesn’t hold any appeal. The air is thick, heavy with the humidity of a midwestern spring rainstorm as he walks closer to the small group of people crowded around a gravesite.

Finn is the first person he sees heading back towards the cars, walking with who he assumes is grown-up Sean, and also a younger girl, a second child he doesn’t know of, all huddled close together under an enormous Northwestern golf umbrella. Finn looks somber, if he had to describe him, and both children are politely quiet as they walk away, the young girl biting at the cuticles on her left hand.

Neither of them ever knew you, they couldn’t care less.

Behind them is a woman in a fashionable, yet still sensible, grey sheath dress, professional no-nonsense heels, and strawberry blonde hair that falls just past her shoulders, with a clear umbrella dotted with black polka dots. She pulls a smartphone out of her purse, taps a few quick times with one hand, then puts it back with a sigh. He squints his eyes and then he realizes who she is.
 
“Miranda?” He asks aloud, having stopped bothering to keep his thoughts to himself a ghost-and-a-half ago. “Why… how is she still around?”
 
“I’d hope she’s still around, the company’s hers now.”
 
“...what?” His head whips over to look at Luke, who has a look on his face as if it makes total sense.
 
“You took Hux’s name off, oh, five years ago. Promoted her up to partner.”
 
Ben finds that he’s actually pleased at this bit of information. Miranda is one of the most competent people he’s ever worked with, even more than Hux in some areas.

She’s certainly less snippy than Armitage.

He makes a mental note, that when this whole mess is over, to set a one-on-one with her, and see what she thinks about taking on some bigger clients. This has been the one shred of information he’s been comforted by this entire time.
 
Mentally cataloguing the attendees, his mind barely has time to think that he hasn’t seen Poe yet - odd, since he can’t imagine a future in which Poe wouldn’t attend - when a group of stuffily dressed people he doesn’t recognize call out for Miranda and move out of his line of sight.

Must be colleagues I haven’t met yet.

He sees her then. Rey. Seated by herself on the folding chair closest to the headstone.
 
Ben feels stuck, struck by lightning or glued to the ground. There’s a twinge rippling through his two-sizes-too-small heart as he just watches her hang her head and let the rain pour down on her. After a moment, she gathers herself up and he thinks she’s going to leave, but instead of turning towards the pathway to the cars, she takes a step closer to the headstone. Her hands are fisted at her sides, as she tries to decide what to do.
 
Ben knows for sure that the funeral is for him, so when he finally closes the gap, walking up behind Rey, there’s no surprise to see what’s written on the stone.

Benjamin Solo, Born 12-3-1979, Died 4-7-2033.

He does the math quickly in his head - fifty-three years old. Not exactly old, but not exactly young enough to be called a tragedy. His head snaps up when she clears her throat.
 
“I don’t know what to say to you,” she starts, and for a split second Ben thinks she’s talking to him and not his grave. “I always knew this would happen someday… don’t the women usually outlive the men? But shit Ben, I never imagined it this way.”
 
She pauses, and then as if it was a lovely sunny day, Rey bends down, uncaring that she’s in a skirt and heels, and begins to sit down on grass.
 
“I loved you, you bastard,” Rey yells through her tears, her voice hoarse and stuck in her throat. He can tell she’s trying to be loud, but it just won’t come out that way. “I loved you, and you… you just…” Her voice cracks and fades out, and she sits there, on the wet ground, legs crossed underneath her.

You let me down,

he supplies, answering for her.

Again, and again, and again.

He bends down, kneeling on the grass next to her. She’s close, but he can’t touch her and it’s killing him. God, he’d give anything in the world to feel her hand in his again, or her breath, warm against his shoulder when he pulls her into his chest. He’d reach out to her, rub comforting circles into her back. Just then, he hears wet squishing footsteps behind him and looks up to see Poe sprinting across the grass, large golf umbrella in his hand. He’s let his hair grow out a bit longer now, it’s still as thick as it ever was, but he’s got a streak of grey that goes all the way back, and laugh lines around his eyes Ben knows got there from plenty of practice. The legs of his suit are wet around the hem from where the umbrella was unable to shield him.
 
“Rey, we have to go. You’re getting soaked.” But she doesn’t move, not even when he reaches a hand out to help her off the ground. His voice is soft, yet there’s a firm undertone to it, like when you’re trying to get a child to do something for you.
 
Instead, she takes a deep steadying breath. Her eyes go up to Poe, and then back to the headstone. “I loved him,” she repeats, her voice adamant.
 
Poe’s face falls, and Ben sees every single one of his emotions playing out on his best friend’s face.

Except regret. That’s all you.

Poe crouches down next to Rey, pushing away some of the hair that’s glued to her forehead. “Oh, I know, baby, I know. But he’s gone. And sitting here in the muddy grass and getting rained on? It  isn’t gonna bring him back.”
 
She nods then, a weak

I know that

coming out of her mouth. She can be a stubborn one, Ben knows, and it wouldn’t surprise him if she sat here for hours. Instead, she turns her head to Poe, sniffles loudly, and lets him help her off the ground. Her feet are unsteady as her heels try to sink into the wet grass, and there’s smudges of dirt on her shins and knees.
 
A thought comes to him then. “How come it’s Poe?”  
 
“Who else would it be?” Luke answers, his voice verging on snarky, another reply that says he thinks his nephew is asking the stupidest of questions. Ben watches as Rey hangs limply on Poe, as he supports her weight on the walk back to the car.
 
In a confused huff, he points at the stone, obstinate. “The date on the stone there, it’s fifteen years from now. Where is her boyfriend? Her husband. The family she’s made.” He pauses abruptly.

That she wanted to make with me.

“There has to —”
 
“Oh, there’s been dates, a steady guy or two. But not much lasted. You were it, Ben. For some reason, that even I cannot fully comprehend, it was always you.”
 
As if it wasn’t broken enough as it is, it feels like his heart manages to find a way to break apart again. He’d always told himself she’d be okay, more than okay. That she would thrive. She had a loving and supportive group of friends, the most giving and vibrant of personalities he’d ever had the privilege of meeting. Surely she’d find someone else who could appreciate her, love her properly, better than he ever could. It’d been easy to tell himself that his absence wouldn’t have any profound impact on her.
 
But it did.
 
And Ben wasn’t prepared for that.
 
“I can change this, everything,” he starts to say, turning towards his uncle. “I — I don’t know how for sure, but I’m going to figure everything out. I will.” Luke is silent, not even bothering to look down at him, and Ben waits a beat for him to throw him his two cents. He doesn’t, and it make Ben more incensed.

What’s the point of this whole fever dream if I don’t get the chance to make everything right?

With that, he continues, yelling out promises to his uncle, to no one, everyone.

Does Luke seem unconvinced?

Cold rain mixes with the hot tears on his face.
 
“I’ve learned, I swear to god or whatever brought you three here.” Ben reaches up, trying to push the tears off his face with a hand that’s soaking wet. He reaches up, grabbing onto the sleeves of his uncle’s poncho as he shouts, “I can fix everything!”
 
His uncle turns then, quickly, and he’s different. Paler, the lines on his face more profound and the bags under his eyes darker. He stares down at Ben, into him, and the wind picks up, making the still empty limbs of all the trees rustle together and blowing Ben’s coat hood backwards. It’s the first time, in any of these dreams, that he’s felt honestly scared. Not since the initial encounter with Hux.
 
“Are you sure, Ben?” Luke’s voice booms. It could be the shadow created by the poncho’s hood, but his eyes seem dark, like pots of ink, the bright amiable blue completely gone. “Why should I believe you?”
 
Ben can feel the moisture from the rain drenched grass starting to soak through his jeans. He pushes a hand through his hair that’s fallen in his face, plastered to his forehead since his coat hood blew backwards. “You have believe me,” he rasps, voice cracking, not unsimilar to Rey’s earlier. “I don’t want this future. I don’t want to be in this dream anymore, I want to go back and make things right!”
 
“If you say so,” Luke whispers, and Ben’s world goes to black.

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

Ben awakes with a jolt, sitting straight up in bed.

Or, rather, trying to sit up.

And, to add to that, he quickly realizes that he’s not in his bed, he’s… in an undignified heap on the hardwood floor, stuck with his top sheet twisted around his body. He can think of two other times he’s gone to sleep in a bed and woken up on the floor: once, from falling out of bed after a nightmare when he was little, and once in college, from falling out of the loft bed when he was drunk.

At least he doesn’t have a sprained ankle this time.

Looking up, he sees one of his pillows across the room and his duvet hanging halfway off the side of the bed. It takes only a moment of confusion and then he remembers everything.

The ghosts.

Hux, scaring the living daylights out of him and starting off this whole escapade.

The younger version of himself, showing him memories he still thought fondly of, until making him watch Rey leave him again, as if that memory didn’t already play on repeat in his head day in and day out.

His father, who’d always seemed to enjoy life or float past it’s hardships with a lighthearted smile, appearing as the young version of himself that he can’t blame his mother for falling head over heels for, showing him everything he’s missing out on. The real, human connections he could have, and that he’s the only one standing in his way.

Uncle Luke, who isn’t dead in real life, not by a long shot, who showed him some of the repercussions his mistakes had on others.

A past that can’t be fixed, but a present, and future, that most certainly can.

He untangles himself from the sheet, tosses it back on to his bed along with the duvet and pillow, then runs downstairs. His condo is exactly the same as it had been, when he’d fallen asleep reading Popular Mechanics the first time.

Fuck, that feels like a lifetime ago.

There’s no circle of Matchbox cars on the rug, just the magazine that must’ve fallen on the floor. He checks the record player; no sign of the Allman Brothers, just Rufus Wainwright’s Poses album, long since stopped spinning. Thankfully, there’s also no half-finished can of Stroh’s on his side table. He crosses the room, and changed though his attitude may be, he still checks to make sure there’s no dirt on the footstool of his Eames Lounger left behind by his father’s sneakers.

It’s spotless.

“Hey Siri, what day is it?”

He sees a flash of swirling light from the HomePod on top of his credenza as he walks from the living room into the kitchen. “Today is Thursday, December 25th.”

Christmas, thank fuck.

He hasn’t missed it.

Ben looks at the blue numbers on the microwave - quarter past six in the morning - and does some math in his head. He’s still got… almost eighteen perfectly usable hours to make things better. Or start to, at the very least. He knows he won’t be able to fix everything perfectly in just one day, but he’s dead set - no pun intended - on making some good headway. Though he feels desperately in need of a shower, and his body somehow aches much more than it should for his thirty-nine years, probably from being on the floor, he decides that the shower and heat pack can wait. There’s so, so many ideas swirling through his mind that he needs to get to, and there’s somethings he needs to do first, someone he needs to call first. He spins a bag of grocery store cinnamon raisin bagels open, pulling one apart into its two halves, and popping them into the toaster in front of him. Leaning against the counter, he calls out to the HomePod again.

“Hey Siri, call…,” he pauses, then takes a breath, resolving to actually do this before the device gives him shit for waiting too long. “... call Leia Organa.”

XxXxX

He hears the low, muffled sounds of conversation and children playing, mixed with music, before he even reaches out to ring the doorbell. It’s probably a Christmas album from The Pogues, if Poe still has the same taste in music. He needs to stop raising and lowering his goddamn hand and just ring the bell already, since he’s been standing on the front stoop for longer than normal by now, and is starting to worry the neighbors might think he’s casing the place.

For Christ’s sake, you can stand up in front of boardrooms and executives to make speeches but you’re afraid to ring the doorbell of your best friend? All that time you spent trying to find some place open to buy something for the party will have been wasted if you never get inside.

It’s true. He realized mid-morning that there was no way he could show up at Poe’s house for the party without some sort of party gift, and something for Sean, especially not when he’d been absent for years upon years. Every little corner store and bodega was closed, Whole Foods was closed, even that gross Jewel grocery store was closed… which is how he found himself going to the Jewish bakery near his condo, then all the way south to Chinatown, then back north again to Wicker Park. It was either that, or try to piece meal something together from the Shell station.

That’d be great,

Ben had laughed to himself.

Hey, I’ve been MIA for eleven years, but I come bearing two for $5 Monsters, a gift card for gas, and a shit ton of scratch off tickets, so please forgive me.

Ben shifts once more on the front porch, moving the tote bag of Rugelach and a children’s Mahjong set from his right to left forearm, before he finally rings the doorbell. It’s the kind that plays a few notes of some tune, not just the buzzing type. He’s thankful they don’t have a smart doorbell, or he’s sure that he’ll have just provided weeks or months of entertainment for them.

He hears someone yell that

they got it,

and then there’s footsteps closing in on the other side of the door. It opens, and it’s Poe on the other side, his gaze still fixed on something happening inside. When he finally turns and notices it’s Ben, his eyes widen and and he brings his chin in towards his neck in surprise.

“

Ben.

”

“Poe.”

They stand there for a moment, just staring cautiously, sizing each other up. Ben realizes it's the most casual that Poe’s seen him since… well, since for the past ten years or so he’s only seen him once a year at his office, let’s just say it's been quite a while.

“I… I didn’t think you’d actually come.”

Ben shoves his hands into his coat pockets, the tote bag now cradled in the crook of his elbow, and he gives a small shrug. “Surprise?” A half smile plays on his lips. When Poe doesn’t reply right away, whatever little smile there was drops from his face. “The invite still stands, right?”

There’s a split second where Ben thinks he’s actually going to get tossed to the curb, but then Poe’s expression flips, and he’s all sparkly eyes and toothy grins, like Ben’s used to. “Of course! Let’s get you inside before you freeze to death.”

“It’s 35 out.”

“You wanna stay on the porch, then?” Poe suggests, the smile not leaving his face.

Oh, this.

This

is what he’s missed. Easy banter, good-natured, yet often sharp, jabs at each other. That certain charm that Poe had that he’d never been gifted with.

“Depends. What’s for dinner?” Poe rolls his eyes, then grabs him by his coat sleeve and pulls him inside, kicking the door closed behind him with a socked foot.

“I’ve got a big surprise for everyone,” Poe announces, taking the tote bag and setting it on the floor so he can help Ben out of his coat.

“Is it Santa?” A woman’s familiar voice calls from the other room.

It’s not Rey. Maybe Rose? Or Jess?

“Well, he brought some presents, but he’s not quite fat or jolly enough to be Saint Nick.”

The first person he sees after he leaves the little foyer area is Finn, who’s walking out of the kitchen with a Pyrex casserole dish between two bright green oven mitts.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Finn mumbles out, his voice monotone and his eyes wide in surprise. For a moment, Ben thinks he’s in shock, and that someone should really grab that dish before there’s green bean casserole all over the floor.

It’s the longest, most awkward split second of silence for Ben, as Finn stares and everyone else realizes he’s actually, finally, showed up. It’s enough for him to start worrying if this was really a good idea or not. Poe seemed happy enough to see him, but everyone else?

He’s just about to make his apologies and scoot out the door when a child’s voice rings out across the silence.

“Daddy! Papa said a swear!”

The small group gathered roars with laughter, and he watches as everyone softens. The shocked look on Finn’s face is gone when he looks back at him. He puts the casserole down on a hot pad, shucks off his oven mitts, and scoops up Sean off the ground. Sean’s younger than Ben had thought, maybe only five and not seven or eight, all messy blonde hair and bright blue eyes, with a red tartan clip-on bow-tie that’s gone a bit lopsided.

“Yes, Papa did, didn’t he?” Finn says, fixing his son’s bow-tie with his free hand. “I was just surprised though, one of our old friends has stopped by.” He walks him towards Ben. “Sean, this is Ben.” Finn sneaks a quick glance over at Poe, who nods, before he continues. “He’s your daddy’s very best friend from when he was your age.”

“Hi Sean.” Ben isn’t sure what to do. His first instinct is to try to shake his hand, but he knows better than that. He doesn’t really interact with children much, and with Rose’s daughter also here, that makes two more than he’s used to being around. “I brought you something,” he continues, and now he’s got Sean’s attention. He pulls out the children's Mahjong set so he can see it. “It’s called Mahjong, and I’ve never played before, but I think it’s like a picture matching game. Maybe we can figure it out after dinner?”

Sean nods excitedly and starts to get squirmy, so Finn lowers him to the ground and he takes the box Ben’s holding out.

“What do you say, Sean?” Poe calls from across the room.

“Thank you!” he replies, a halfway yell that is most definitely not an indoor voice, but no one seems to care since he managed to diffuse the earlier potentially awkward situation.

After that, everything starts to get back to normal, or find a new normal. He knows that everyone there isn’t used to having him around anymore and were probably just as surprised as Finn was, but they have to know that Poe was still reaching out, year after year. Rose reintroduces her sister Paige, whom Ben remembers from their senior year Spring Break trip down to Pensacola, meets a couple of his friends’ significant others, and is met with applause when he busts out the rugelach and says which exact bakery he went to earlier.

About a half hour later, his eyes go wide when the doorbell rings again. Ben’s calmed down by now, assuaged by all the conversations he’s been pulled into, catching up with everyone and made to feel like he’s still an old friend, though maybe just one that they only see at holidays instead of once a decade. But he knows who it is behind the door, just by process of elimination.

“Can you grab that? Finn asks, his eyes looking over at Poe. “She must have her hands full if she’s actually ringing the bell and not just coming on in.”

“Rey!” Poe opens the door and pulls her into a hug.

“Sorry, I’m a little later than I thought,” she says, pulling her scarf off from around her neck. “The Dan Ryan was a damn mess.”

“It’s fine, but Rey, I just wanna let you know we have a surprise guest.”

“Is it your mom?” Her eyes light up at the idea. “I thought she was staying in Sarasota this year.”

“No, Rey-rey, it’s --”

“It’s me.”

Stunned is too weak of a word to describe Rey when she sees Ben round the corner from the dining room and into the living room, where she’s standing. Time passes in slow motion as he waits for some kind of reaction - yelling, nervous laughter, fainting - something more than just a sharp intake of breath and a wide-eyed stare that’s going straight through him. It's hard to recall times when Rey’s been speechless.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

“Miss Rey said a swear!”

XxXxX

It’s just after three in the afternoon, that lull between watching the parade on TV or opening presents and when dinner is finally served. When you’re on the couch, deciding if it's worth it to watch A Christmas Story on TBS for the third time in as many days, and wondering if the bird is out of the oven yet so you can try to sneak some. None of the junior associates at Solo & Hux have checked their work email all day, or longer - not since they were able to head out early the night before.

Okay, well, that’s not true. Miranda’s checking her emails. There’s almost nothing new, a few automatic emails and a special Christmas discount code from their Hertz rental car corporate account. Her phone vibrates loudly while she’s helping set the table at her grandparents’ house, and she excuses herself for just a moment to see if it’s important.

It’s a meeting invite from Mr. Solo.

She pales. Her first thought is that hell froze over and Solo’s finally lost it, that he’s gonna make everyone come into the office tonight or this weekend for something they could surely just get done once they’re back on Monday.

But it’s not. It

is

a meeting invite, but it’s for New Year’s Eve and it’s not at the office, it’s at…

“Holy shit,” she breathes out.

Two minutes later, she’s read the invite at least ten times over and is finally convinced she isn’t reading it incorrectly or hallucinating. All over the city, suburbs, and parts of southern Wisconsin, Ben’s group of junior associates and interns answer a FaceTime request from Miranda.

“What’s going on, Randy? I’m trying to watch Christmas Vacation here.”

“Did everyone else get that meeting invite? From Mr. Solo.”

There’s a loud chorus of

no

replies, and an exasperated Lucas asks, “Why the hell are you checking your emails on Christmas?”

She rolls her eyes. “It doesn’t matter why, just… Just go look, now, okay? And tell me if I’m crazy or not.”

Miranda waits as everyone obliges and checks their emails, but she doesn’t have to wait long before there’s loud surprised gasps, whispers of

holy shit,

and one very loud

what the actual fuck.

“Is he serious?”

“He has to be, he never jokes.”

“This is a goddamn Christmas miracle.”

“Are you gonna go?”

“We’re

all

gonna go, right?”

“You guys, did the see the other email? He’s giving us vacation until the 2nd!”

“What?!”

From:
Solo, Ben

To:
employee_listserv

Subject:
Company New Year’s Eve Party

Location:
Shedd Aquarium, 1200 S Lake Shore Dr, Chicago, IL 60605

Time:
9PM to 2AM

Everyone,

My apologies for the late invitation. Please join me this New Years Eve for a company-wide party in the Caribbean Reef Rotunda room at Shedd Aquarium. I hope everyone is able to make it, despite the late notice - even I had to pull in some favors to get this set up.

Friends and family more than welcome, please RSVP to Karen with your headcount by 12/28, 3pm.

From:
Solo, Ben

To:
employee_listserv

Subject:
Christmas/New Year’s Holiday Time

It has come to my attention that all of our accounts and projects are up to date, and that the majority of our clients have taken off the time between Christmas and New Years. As such, I don’t feel there is a need for us to stay open. Human Resources will count these days as paid holidays for everyone. January 2nd will be our first day of work for 2019.

XxXxX

Sean’s second outburst makes everyone laugh for a moment, apparently taking care of awkward situations is something he’s good at. The laughter eventually stops though, and while everyone else seems at ease, Rey and Ben are left standing and staring at each other. There’s still disbelief on her face, and he’s slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans to keep from nervously wringing them together. Thankfully, Poe notices the staring contest.

“Let’s… let’s give these two some privacy,” he says to the group, then turns back towards them. “Is the kitchen alright?” Ben and Rey both nod in agreement. “Just holler if something catches fire, you know how it is when Finn cooks.”

Ben turns and takes the few steps towards the kitchen door - they’ve got the restaurant-style kind that easily pushes open from both directions. He’s closer and holds the door open for Rey as she walks in.

They’re both silent for a moment, and, because odd thoughts seem to always come to him at times like these, he realizes it's odd how many important moments in their life together have taken place in kitchens. Really.

How much time they spent together in the kitchen of the house he shared with Poe in college, the one with the shitty stone steps up to the front stoop. There were always so many people milling around, being loud and drunk, and when Ben would find his escape to the kitchen, Rey always followed. She’d boost herself up onto the formica countertop, and he’d pass her a beer from the fridge - something good, not whatever was in the keg Poe lugged home from the liquor store that weekend. He remembers how she’d pull her hair back with glittery orange clips, tiny ones shaped like butterflies, and how she always wore chunky sandals and ankle bracelets. So many conversations, about everything and nothing. About the important things, like what she plans to do for student teaching, and not-so-important things, like how they both thought Julie was the best house member on The Real World: New Orleans.

Their first kiss had been in that same kitchen, and he remembers her not-so-ugly Ugly Sweater outfit, and the way she sighed when he pulled her against him for the first time, and her bright laughter when Poe burst in mid-makeout and loudly said something like,

it’s about goddamn time.

He starts to remember another kitchen, from later on, the one in their condo. The one he came home to the next morning, only to find a hastily written goodbye note and her ring in a box on the counter. He decides to break the silence between them instead of dwelling on that memory.

“You look amazing,” Ben finally manages to breath out, the look on his face almost reverent. And she does, not just because it’s been years. She’s dressed exactly the same as she was in the vision his dad showed him, rose pink velvet blazer, cuffed jeans, and leopard print ballet flats.

“

Ben.

” Her voice is clipped, almost verging on chastising. She leans forward, forearms on the butcher block island, in between a stack of cloth napkins and two pies that are cooling down. “I know you didn’t just come here to tell me how good I look.”

“I did not.” Ben shakes his head and comes a little closer to her, not much, but he also doesn’t want to feel like he’s shouting across the kitchen. He stands with his back against the fridge, careful not to knock off any of Sean’s artwork. “I came here to try to make amends, with everyone, apologize for hours for being the stupidest man on earth, and try to figure out what it’ll take for you to forgive me.”

And take me back,

he wants to add, but doesn’t. He knows better than to push it with her, not now.

“I forgave you years ago, but if you expect that you can walk in here, unannounced, after what? Eleven years? And I’ll just run back on into your arms, then —”

“No, god, no,” he interrupts, which he knows she hates, but he really doesn’t want that thought in her head. Ben’s not delusional, he knows very well that him just showing up at the Christmas party wasn’t an immediate fix-all to the situation he created. “I want the chance to get to know you again, who you are now. Shit,” he swears, pushing a hand back through his hair, “I want the chance to get to know who the hell I am now.”

He stops talking then, and watches as Rey regards him, chin propped up in her left hand. He feels like his fate is in her hands, she’s the judge and the jury in one. Ben watches her eyes flutter shut as she takes a deep breath. She stands up straight when she opens them, her hands grasping the edge of the island.

“I want that chance too.”

His eyebrows raise. “You do?”

“Yes.” Her reply is immediate, confident, and it bolsters his belief in himself.

“Can I….” Ben starts, knowing what he wants to ask. He’s unsure if it’s okay, but fuck it. “Can I give you a hug?”

Rey nods in reply, then walks towards him, arms extended. It’s a short, friendly hug, but that doesn’t matter. For at least fifteen seconds she’s pressed against him again, her arms are around his shoulders and she’s up on her tippy-toes. It takes all of his willpower to allow her to let go - never in a million years had he thought he’d have the chance to hold her again. When they part, Ben takes a step back against the wall, and Rey takes over his spot on the fridge.

“I know this might seem sudden, but I’m throwing a party for New Years. For my employees, but it’s open to everyone,” he explains, “If you’d like to join and don’t have other plans. I already told the rest of the group before you got here. It’s at Shedd, and I know how much you love the aquarium.”

“I think I’d like that.” Her face lights up at the mention of the aquarium, and he’s so grateful that Leia was able to pull some strings with the board and get a hold of the Reef Rotunda. All the money he had to donate will be worth it for the look on her face. “It’s a date.”

“Is it now?”

Be cool, Ben. Be fucking cool right now.

“Yea. I think it is.”

They’re both silent for a moment, until Ben looks up and sees it.

“Rey…,” he starts, his voice drawn out. When he sees he has her attention, he moves his head to look above them at the bunch of mistletoe hung from the ceiling fan. A small hint of a smile plays on her face as she pushes herself off the fridge and takes a step closer. He really, really thinks she’s going to kiss him and he’s paying such rapt attention to her face that he almost jumps when she takes his hand and quickly pushes a holiday foil wrapped Hershey’s kiss into it.

“It’s too soon,” Rey explains, barely above a whisper. She closes the space between them, and leans up against the wall next to him. She finds his other hand, fingers circling around his wrist. “I want to,” she adds, “But it’s too soon. I need time.”

“I understand.”

He can see her smile from the corner of his eye, and then her fingers move downward from his wrist and she laces him together between his.

“This,” Rey says, squeezing his hand, “This is good though.”

With that, Rey stands and he allows her to pull him off the wall, and lead him back to the party. It’s more progress than he can imagine, her warm hand in his, guiding him back towards his friends in the other room. There’s hope, and Rey’s right. It’s good. It’s so, so good.

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

December 31, 2018

One Week Later

Shedd Aquarium

Rey gave him her new cell phone number before the end of the Christmas party. It’d been such a long time that her old number had been lost somewhere in that flip phone to smart phone switch. Actually, he got everyone’s new numbers, but hers is the only one his fingers itch to type messages to. Ben holds back though, despite wanting to text her and let her know every little thing he’s doing.

The latte of the day he orders, honey vanilla with caramel drizzle, that he knows she’d love.

The picture he covertly took of a fluffy goldendoodle dog that was with its owner next to him at a crosswalk.

He did text her a few times, to make sure she knew the time of party, but what he really wanted to ask was,

are you still coming? You weren’t faking all of the niceties to get back at me?

Ben knows he’d deserve something like that, but also knows it's completely outside of Rey’s personality.

A couple days after the party, he met up with Poe for brunch. He let Poe pick the spot, since he usually either skipped breakfast or ate whatever donuts or bagels that Karen or someone else in the office picked on their way to work - he realized that he never brought anything in, and made a mental note to get in the habit.

Doing something so normal as this - grabbing breakfast at Wildberry Pancakes with his best friend - it made him wish he’d been visited by ghosts years ago. There was a lot of news from Poe, and not just about what him and Finn and everyone had been up. While everyone is glad to have him back, most have some of worry about it. Not suspicion, more like uncertainty.

Will he stay, and for how long? Or will it be back to usual, same old Ben, who puts everything work and his business above the friends he supposedly cares for?

“They’ll just have to trust you, like I do,” Poe tells him, holding the miniature metal cup of maple syrup completely upside down, in hopes of wringing every last drop out. “And you’ll just have to not fuck it up again.”

So far, the party is going off without a hitch, thanks to all the event planners that came along with reserving the space. Ben’s there early to supervise and make sure everything is going as planned, and also so he’s able to greet everyone when they arrive. They’ll probably all break off into the same little cliques they do for lunch, but he wants to start the party off with a good impression on his part.

Poe and Finn arrive just after nine, hand-in-hand, looking very red carpet in matching burgundy tuxedos. Ben has no idea what sort of prior occasion called for those, but he’d bet money that both of them jumped at the chance to wear them a second time.

Ben does a double take when Rey walks in. Partly because she’s

here,

she showed up, and partly because good fucking lord, she looks amazing. Some weird sort of masculine pride ripples through him when he sees her dress and

knows

it’s on purpose, it’s too close to

that

dress, the one he loved from years ago, and he knows it isn’t a coincidence.

He holds her close when he hugs her hello, holding on longer than he had in the kitchen at Poe’s party, but still short enough to not get weird at a work function. Ben whispers to her before he lets go, tells her just how incredible she looks, and notices her own appreciative looks back at him.

Almost forty and I’ve still got it,

he laughs to himself.

Rey flits around all night, the bits of fringe at the hem of her short silver dress whooshing around her legs. She talks to everyone, which isn’t surprising, she was always quite the social butterfly. Their eyes keep catching though, which he enjoys, this little flirtatious dance they haven’t done in years.

Ben finds her just before the countdown starts, offering her a flute of champagne, which she accepts as she leans into his side. Who would’ve thought that he could feel so much like a teenager on his first date when he’s with a woman he’s known almost twenty years. The countdown starts, and she doesn’t step away from him when he splays his hand across the exposed skin at her lower back.

At midnight, Rey goes up on her toes, pressing her lips chastely against his. He did

not

expect that, and is sure the look of shock is evident on his face for all to see.

She smiles then, softly, and clinks her glass against his.

“To second chances.”

April, 2019

Four Months Later

Southside High School

“No, a little bit to the left… too far, too far.” Then there’s a pause. “Do you need me to just --”

“Ben, for Pete’s sake, would ya stop it?” Rey shifts her weight to her left side and crosses her arms. “It doesn't have to be perfect.”

The maintenance worker lets out a sigh of relief at her statement. “How’s right here?” He gestures towards the spot on the wall, cordless drill in his hand.

Rey shoots a look over at Ben, and inclines her head towards the wall, and gives him a smile that he understands very well. “Yes, I think that will be great,” he concedes.

Greg, according to his name tag on the coveralls he wears, nods his head and gets to work, drilling pilot holes first and then putting in the shiny silver screws. Ben and Rey both watch him work. When he’s finished, he leans in close and then blows roughly at the wall, a few pieces of drywall flutter down to the industrial-grade green and brown flecked carpet. “All done here. I’ll vacuum that up later. I’ve gotta go reattach a bathroom stall door now, those sophomore boys are animals, I tell ya.”

He sets the drill in his rolling tool cart, and they thank him as he heads off down the hallway to the underclassman wing.

“Are you satisfied?” Rey asks.

“Are you? It’s your theater department.”

“It’s ours,” she corrects, as she takes his hand. “And now that you’ve got yourself a vested interest, that means you’re gonna come with me and check out the progress on the costumes for Beauty and the Beast.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” he deadpans, but there’s a smile on his face when he sees the new plaque on the side of the main auditorium doors.

Corporate Sponsors

Solo Financial Planners

F&P Design Group

Skywalker Provisions

The Bail & Breha Organa Foundation

June 2020

One and a Half Years Later

Logan Square Neighborhood

He watches Rey come towards him with another cardboard box that’s packed to the gills, the flaps on top straining, hanging on for dear life. He’s immediately transported back to the vision that Luke showed him, Rey and Finn putting box after box of her things into their cars outside of her high school. Ben’s never told her about the visions, about what happened that night. He probably never will.

A second later, Finn comes down the steps with a plastic Rubbermaid tote, and shit, he did not think that this would be so similar.

It’s not one-hundred percent the same.

For starters, it’s a warm, sunny day in June, the weekend after school let out, and it’s perfect weather for moving. Not a rain cloud in sight. They also aren’t in the parking lot of a south side high school.

Instead, they’re at the duplex Rey rents in Logan Square, bringing boxes of her things to her and Ben’s car. Last weekend, he’d helped her go through her things and decide on what she wanted to take to Goodwill, and then they spent hours together, Rey’s 90s throwback playlist blasting in the background, while they scrubbed down every inch of space in hopes of getting her security deposit back.

As of tomorrow, it’ll no longer be her duplex, and all these boxes will be strewn about his condo.

Back at home, in his condo that they’ll share, there’s a ring box burning a hole in the back of his locked desk drawer. It’s different than the previous ring, which he sold down in the Diamond District on Wabash almost a year ago, the day after Rey said she was okay with saying they were “official” now. He can’t wait for her to see it - he skipped going to one of the fancy stores off Michigan and worked with an independent artist until it was exactly what he knew she’d want.

He’ll ask her, maybe sooner than later, but he doesn’t want to rush. Poe brings it up almost each time they hang out, when it’s just the two of them, and he swears up and down that Rey’s waiting, that she’ll say yes.

But he’s worried. It’s not cold feet - he’d buy her a bouquet from a bodega and take her down to city hall today if he knew she wouldn’t kill him for suggesting they get married without their friends and family around. It’s just that they’ve got history, a lot of it, and it’s not all good.

Soon though, he’ll do it.

Almost Four Years Later

October 2022

Richard Rogers Theater alleyway door, Manhattan, NYC

It seemed like fate, when Rey got that email in her inbox. She tried her to best to keep up with her former students and what they were doing now, and she was always so pleased when she found out some had continued in theater. Social media certainly helped, and as long as they had graduated she accepted them all as friends. A few stuck around the Chicago area and she made a point of seeing them perform when she could. Every so often, a playbill would arrive at her school, addressed to her attention, and she’d find a former student’s name highlighted in the cast list.

This time, it wasn’t a direct message, or a playbill. It was an email from Terry, a star student of hers with a strong voice, brilliant on-stage presence, and charisma that could out-charm even Poe.

So that’s why she’s standing outside the Richard Rogers theater at 11pm, huddled by the alleyway door, waiting for some of the cast to come out.

And then, the door opens and the crowd clamors, hoping to get a glimpse of Hamilton, Angelica, or Lafayette - but not her. He walks out and only she recognizes him, he has the same face as he did in high school, except now he’s wearing the billowy white shirt, pants, and boots that the rest of the background company wear, instead of the plain white t-shirts and basketball shorts she remembers from class.

He rushes towards her, hugging her fiercely, and she barely has enough time to pass the bouquet of flowers over to Ben so they aren’t crushed. He’s out of breath and sweaty, still riding the high of yet another stellar show, and she can’t blame him. He’s the one, he’s going to make it, she’s certain.

When he pulls back, he notices Ben, and Rey remembers they’ve never met.

“Sorry, Terry,” she apologizes. She passes the bouquet to him and links arms with Ben. “This is Ben, my husband.”

Eight Years Later

December 23rd, 2026

Solo Financial Planners offices

In May of 2019, all of that year’s batch of interns left, save for one who decided that the city was for them, and they wanted to stay on full-time. As the years passed, Miranda’s group of junior associates dwindled, which she expected. People move jobs, move cities, even have grand changes in their life, most deciding that crunching numbers and planning other people’s finances were not actually for them after all.

But she stayed.

The city had been hers, from the moment she walked onto Loyola’s campus.

And she stayed at her job, too. It was also for her, and she was goddamn magnificent at it. Truthfully, she’s got no clue what exactly happened during that Christmas and New Year’s break eight years ago, what made their hard, seemingly unfeeling boss Mr. Solo flip his personality 180 degrees. If she had to take a guess, she’d say it had something to do with the group of friends and the woman who came to the New Year’s Eve party at Shedd.

Rey.

The one he shepherded around protectively, yet clumsily faltered when introducing her, unsure what relationship she was to him.

That uncertainty was resolved after not too long, Miranda thought. And while Ben - he was fine with the senior-level associates calling him by his first name now - was still a stickler for hard work and discipline, you kind of had to be in their field, he’d gotten softer and more congenial as his relationship with Rey, and the rest of his friends, developed. He was still hard around the edges, and she remembers how one time she explained to a new group of interns that their boss was like a perfectly baked chocolate chip cookie, crispy around the edges, but soft on the inside.

There’s a knock on her office door then. “Come in,” she calls out, loud enough for whoever it is to here. The door opens, and speak of the devil, in walks Ben.

“Hey, Randy.”

“Oh, it’s you. I was curious who it might’ve been.” He takes a seat in one of the two club chairs in front of her desk. “You know it's lunch time right? Do I need to have Karen remind you that food is important?”

“I’ve got pad thai from Siam Spicy getting delivered,” he reassures her. “But I didn’t come here to talk about lunch. I actually have a present for you.”

She’s used to him giving her Christmas presents by now. Usually a desk set, maybe new inserts for her Franklin Covey planner. One time it was a fancy fountain pen with her name engraved on the side.

“I’m afraid I was planning on giving you yours at tomorrow’s party,” she shrugs. “What’d you get me this year? Ya know, I’ve been needing a new desk lamp…”

“Sorry.” He runs a hand through his hair as he apologizes, a nervous tic of his that she can spot a mile away by now… which only serves to make her nervous too. “I got you something a bit more practical this year.” He reaches into his bag and pulls out a white rectangular box. “Brand new business cards, hot off the presses.”

Okay, so that is not what she’s expecting.

Am I low on cards? Would he notice that?

Miranda wonders. Alright, be polite. You’ll just have to buy that lamp yourself. “Oh, that’s great.” She takes the box from him, but doesn’t open or look at it. “I think mine still have my old cell number on them.”

There’s a smile on his face. “Why don’t you take a look at them? Let me know what you think.”

“Is this some sort of American Psycho thing, Ben? Am I supposed to fawn over it? Tell you about the subtle off-white coloring? Ooh, is there a watermark?”

“Will you just look at the damn cards, Miranda?”

Oh, and that gets her attention. Ben almost never calls her Miranda anymore, unless they’re in front of clients, and even then he slips up half the time.

She sighs but takes the box and opens it, wondering if it's some kind of joke. Like it’s written in Comic Sans, or he’s actually had the card company put her name down as Randy, or maybe --

“Oh my god, Ben.” She looks back down at the card, reading it again, then back up at him. “Is this really…?”

Her cell number is updated, yes, but it’s not that. It’s the new logo on the side, a classy serif font, with a S and a T, connected by an ampersand. It’s the name written across the center - Solo & Thompson Financial Planning Group.

Partner.

He’s made her partner.

“I -- I don’t quite know what to say.”

Ben nods. “The announcement is already drafted and goes out to our shareholders first thing in January,” he tells her. “Unless you’ve got a problem with it, that is.”

A smile blooms on her face. She pushes out of her chair, coming around the side of her desk and Ben stands just in time for her to hug him, quickly, but how could she not?

The chimes for the front door ring as she pulls away.

His thai food,

she remembers.

“Would you care to celebrate? I might have taken the liberty and got you an order of Pad Kee Mao. And extra spring rolls,” he adds.

“Ben. You’ve known me for nine years. You know I’ll never turn down spring rolls.”

He laughs at that, because it’s true. When the come out of her office, she’s greeted with cheers and applause from the rest of office - she’d all thought they’d gone out for lunch - and a table with enough Thai food for everyone.

Ten Years Later

December 25, 2028

Everyone still gathers at the same brownstone in Ukrainian Village.

There’s a leaning snowman on the front lawn, slightly melted, and a Pogues’ Christmas album playing on repeat in the background, but it’s hard to hear over the noise from all the kids playing. Rose’s girls and Finn and Poe’s younger daughter are close friends and see each other often, and Sean, now fifteen, is the quiet one - he’s on the couch with his present, the latest handheld Nintendo game console. Ben tries to talk with him and tell him all about how much he loved A Link to the Past, but he soon realizes that Sean’s never heard of it.

Uncultured youth.

Rey’s on the floor, playing with the girls and someone’s elaborate new bubblegum pink tea set, a plate of Keebler fudge striped cookies set out instead of scones and finger sandwiches. They adore her, and she babysits often for whoever needs it.

They’d talked about kids, extensively, late into the night sometimes, and while Rey loved kids and Ben was fond of those belonging to his friends, it just didn’t feel like the right choice for them. Eleven years of their relationship had been lost, and they each wanted the other all to themselves now that they were together again. Despite not always feeling like it, they both concede that they’re older now, and the time has passed.

Instead, Rey is the most loving aunt to her friends’ children, and, well, she still works with high schoolers so there’s plenty of days when she’s had her fair share of young people. Ben, in maybe a turn of events even more unanticipated than him coming out of woodwork and making amends ten years ago, decided three years ago to get involved with the Boy Scouts. He’s a great troop leader, especially at all the science and technology-related merit badges, but they always team up with another troop for anything outdoorsy - still not Ben’s specialty, though he’s found that he enjoys canoeing and is very good at cross country skiing.

Oh, they did adopt though. A few years back.

Not a baby, but a lazy, fuzzy mutt of a dog they named Albert, who's sleeping in front of the fireplace despite all the commotion.

Lost in thought, he hardly notices Rey when she walks up to him, empty plastic tea cup in hand, sticking her pinky finger out. From the angle, no one else can see as she eyes him suggestively and takes a sip of the nonexistent tea. “Sir, would you care to join us ladies for tea?” She puts on a breathy approximation of a British accent. It’s for shit, but she’s trying hard, so he figures he’ll play along. “I believe Sir Finn and Sir Poe will also be joining.”

“What kind of gentleman would I be to refuse such an invitation?”

He sits down cross-legged on the floor, accepting a cup of tea as Finn and Poe’s daughter climbs over and sits in his lap.

He catches Rey’s eyes from across the circle and Ben knows - it has all been worth it.