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“Ben! BEN!”
It had come to this, once more, but this time in ashes not snow. Blazing lightsabers crossed, brow cold with sweat glowing inches from his. And then the explosion - the shells they’d both forgotten - rocked the ground beneath their feet, sent her flying.
When she woke, ears ringing and coughing thick smoke in her lungs, Rey was disorientated. Then memories, anger, blazed hotly – Kylo Ren’s arrival with the First Order, the fight, that night they’d finally spoken after Leia’s funeral. She had not expected to see him, not yet, she wasn’t ready for this. Not with both sides amassed, facing each other across the relic of a battlefield not trodden since the days of the Clone Wars. The Resistance had come here in desperation, scavenging for what weaponry they could find. Rose and Rey teaching the others to work miracles out of twisted scraps of metal, shaping armor and humming engines out of broken parts.
Why the First Order, with all the galaxy’s wealth, were in Akiva, Rey didn’t know. But not to face off the Resistance. The stormtrooper scouts had been poorly armed, taken completely unaware by Finn’s squad. And when she, Finn and the others had closed in on their ship - when Rey had come face to face with him - she’d felt his shock. Seeing her, in the flesh, for the first time since Snoke’s ruined throne room. His big shoulders tensed, but he steeled himself, even as a hurricane of rage tore through her.
How could he choose this way, still? After what they’d shared, after she’d told him his mother’s dying words?
So they had fought. With both sides watching what else could they have done?
“BEN!”
The name came from her lips unbidden as Rey continued her search. They’d moved far from the others in the battle, she no longer recognised her surroundings in the fading light. She coughed, her lungs still tight from the smoke, ears ringing from the explosion. Rey paused, steadied herself, and breathed carefully. Then spun round, lightsaber ignited, as her mind found him.
He had fallen by the rocks, eyes closed, blood on his forehead and steaks of ash across his dark hair. A cold pain stabbed at Rey as memories from another time washed over her - his still, fallen body, a broken spacecraft washed in red.
But her anger remained. She stood over him, lightsaber ready.
“Get up,” she coughed.
He was still.
“Get. UP!”
She dropped down beside him, reached one hand tentatively to his cold face.
“Ben!”
She pushed hard against his shoulders, fingers grazing torn fabric, warm skin. Nothing.
Panting, she reached up to grasp a handful of blood-matted hair and pulled hard.
A moan. His lips parted. Still breathing heavily, not thinking about what she was doing, Rey leaned down and covered them with her mouth.
His eyes flew open, big body tensing beneath her. Trembling, she pulled back. For a second there was no sound, no movement, as if the very Force between all living things was holding its breath. Light and Dark stared at each other, waiting.
Then their mouths met again. Her hands twisted into his dark hair, wincing as she felt his pain there as if within her own skull. His hands slid up her back, slow at fast and then stronger, harder, pulling her closer, as through the force she flowed her strength and energy into his battered body.
“Rey,” she heard him whisper against her lips, his gloved fingers brushing her cheek. And then he was no longer gentle, his lips hard, pulling her body to straddle his chest. She shivered at the rage of passion in him, a rising darkness as though through their kiss he could drink in her very soul, mold her to him and to the dark side.
The sound of distant voices broke the connection. A scouting party, the First Order or Resistance searching for their lost leader.
Rey stumbled to her feet, eyes locked to his burning gaze. His lips, darkened from her kiss, soundlessly mouthed her name.
“Don’t go. Please.”
It took all her strength, her will, to turn towards the last light of day and summon her lightsaber to hand. Fight, she told herself. Turn and fight him. Forget this, whatever it is. He made his choice. Finish it. He was the one who said let the past die.
But even as the words came she was strapping the lightsaber to its holster, hands shaking, rapid footsteps taking her to the cover of night and distant voices.
Kylo Ren slowly stood as he watched her go. He was still standing there, gloved fingers to his lips, when his commanders found him.
“Ready my ship,” he said, ignoring questions about his wellbeing. He swung around, cloak flaring in the wind. “We’re leaving.”
Unseen to his troopers the ghost of a smile crossed his face.
Well met Rey. Next time it will be you who finds me.