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When it rained he often thought of Rey.
Perhaps it was the varying weight—light and gentle with a mist, fierce and heavy in a downpour—or maybe just the similarity in words; Rey and rain, pure joy finding something miserable joyous. But her soft curiosity, her strong will, her impulsive anger. Now that was a whirlwind of a storm.
It only took a distant flash of light and Ben would be reminded of her eyes and the golden shine brightening in an elevator, wide and brimming with hope. And with the thunder following, it only became more apparent that she was all he could think about; a loud, reverberating clap of sound that shook the room just as she had shaken up his whole world from the moment they'd spoken of a traitor, a droid and an unfamiliar girl.
Rey. The woman who could represent both halves; the glowing sun, far too bright for the likes of him, and the countless shades of grey to a heavy cloud.
His wife.
Just like the weather, she could pop up into his mind and wreak havoc on his emotions at any given time. Even now, with senator duties calling for attention at yet another First Order mishap—though tonight, his Rey was helping instead of hindering; dulling the brewing anger from it all.
It was a typical affair.
Another village raid, innocents killed in the chaos as secret information was passed around. And the news of it all only sparked the clear distrust his fellow members of the New Republic held for him, washing the ever-looming guilt right up to the surface.
It was a reminder of what he was; what he is, still—how nothing could ever kill the past, mistakes and all, memory serving up bitter remnants of siding with their... ideals; of always following Snoke's orders and—
And of his father.
How simple he'd been to think the impossible could be achieved. Not even Rey could clear his name to the general public. Respect had to be earned and he'd already disrespected so much.
He turned to the window, a breath taking view into the busy lives of others, glancing out at Galactic City; the lights distantly blinking, blurred by the hammering rain that slapped against glass—rolling droplets racing each other to the bottom. If Rey were with him, she'd have her nose pressed against the cool surface, eyes drawn, following the victory with wide eyes as foggy hot breath escaped parted lips. Thinking about it now, perhaps it was her pure delight in the sad weather that urged her in his thoughts.
For the first time that night, a smile twisted at Ben's mouth upon picturing the image.
"Ben?"
His attention snapped left, gaze narrowing in on the woman so eternally etched into his mind, the small smile she gifted him when meeting her eyes; the two hands clutching a mug in hand, hair in a loose braid.
"Hi," he murmured, soft and breathy before clearing his throat and repeating himself—somehow, she always managed to catch him off guard. "Should you not be in bed?"
"I should be asking you the same question," she replied hastily, striding forward to meet him stretched in his chair, handing off a mug of caff with warm sunny eyes. Naturally, he followed the motion—light catching on the silver band wrapped around a slim finger on her left hand. A surge of warmth instantly blossomed within his chest - a feeling he'd become used to since taking that chance and asking for a dance.
A silent look of gratitude passed between them as he received the mug, watching as she pulled away and walked to the glass; like gravity, Ben thought, amused, quickly transfixed by the way she so intently gazed outside, marvelling at the weather
When she finally looked back, one hand still pressed against the glass, Rey cocked her head at him. "What are you thinking?"
"Nothing," he answered softly, a crooked smile stretching across his tired face. She could very well find out for herself if she wanted. "Just… you."
She hummed then, a bright dimpled grin transforming her entire demeanour, suddenly oozing radiance. "Does that mean you're ready for bed?"
A short huff of laughter bubbled from his chest as he lightly shook his head. "I'm afraid not. Looks like I won’t be making it to bed tonight."
"Is that so?"
"Yes."
"And there's no way I could convince you?" Rey pursed her lips as she slowly stalked towards him, leaning down to grip the arms to his chair while she peered up at him.
"You could try if you wish. Though I can assure you, your efforts would be wasted on me."
Her dimpled grin returned, clambering onto his lap without a hint of hesitance, barely giving Ben enough time to hold his steaming mug up high out of the danger zone. "I suppose I'll just sleep here then."
"You don't play fair."
She squirmed against his lap, shifting to her bum to lay across his legs; one hand reaching around to sift through his hair at the back of his head, as she so often did, nails scratching lightly at his scalp, oozing the tension of work from his chest in soft, calming waves; the occasional graze of cool metal serving as a reminder of their secret status.
Slowly, Ben leaned back in his chair, stretching out his legs, raised arm coming down to rest just above her knees while the other snaked around her waist to rest at her hip.
"You're tense tonight," Rey stated slowly, melting into his chest, hand splayed against his sweater. "I could feel you and… I just wish you'd—"
"Rey," he muttered lowly, fingers digging into her flesh. "Not tonight. Please."
He watched her frown. He hated that—seeing her frown; seeing her displeased, because of him. He wished he could make her happy and radiant for an eternity, never once having to see her struggle or cry. He'd seen so much of it before the treaty, before they'd come together. It was hard to see then and even more so now.
Though, even early as they were into their binding marriage, Ben had learned that his simplistic desire to make her mood as bright as can be was impossible; taking time and work and even hardships—the most reoccurring being the negative outlook on their love from the general public.
And just like that, because of societal opinions from people of no relevance to him, they kept their marriage secret, from friends and strangers alike.
Upon going out, the rings would come off and the masks would come on; a hard painful twist, the indentation of a secret claim left in its wake, souring his mood quicker than the First Order. How he wished he could announce this to the whole galaxy, making it known that she was his—Rey Solo.
And he was undoubtedly hers in return.
"I wish you wouldn't worry," she hushed out, leaning back further to rest her head against his shoulder, eyes flicking up to take in the hard gaze and set jaw as he quickly took a bitter sip from his caff. "Whenever it happens, something like this, you—I can't help but think of…" She trailed off, fingers tightening in his hair.
'It's my choice, not yours.'
The memory was quick to flash in his mind, like the distant strike of lightning that brightened the room for a split second. His hand was quick to push forward, wrapping around her middle and tugging her tighter to his chest. Ben glanced down, meeting her eyes—he'd never forget the first time he studied these eyes; the concern and the worry. Even now, it astounded him that someone cared enough to be concerned over him.
"Stop," he said softly, fisting the fabric of her tunic. "It's just stress. Believe me, I wish I didn't have to deal with this—I wish I could take you to bed right now. The things I want to do to you right now are… far from this. But we have to come up with a plan, we have to do damage control. I'm not alone in this."
Rey chewed on her lip nervously. "But it's not just stress, is it Ben?"
A heavy sigh left his chest, Rey sitting up suddenly to take him in carefully.
"No, it's not just stress. These… situations, they come with their downfalls. I'm already distrusted among my fellow members and when the First Order strike, it doesn't exactly improve their opinions of me." Another sip of caff and a roll of shoulders, he continued quietly. "I can't run from the past or-or ignore the mistakes; my mistakes. I have to own them. You know that just as well as me, Rey. Repressing the past does more harm than good—even if it eases the guilt." He squeezed her tight, a small reassuring smile crossing his features, pushing away the long list of mistakes he'd managed to rack up in all his years living. "And right now, you're no ray of sunshine either."
"What's that supposed to mean?" She snapped, glaring up at him.
"Just that I can feel the tension in your body too, my sweet." Slowly, his fingers danced down to fiddle with the waistband of her trousers. "I wish I could help with it."
"You very well could if you just came to bed."
He laughed lowly. "So stubborn." Ben shifted lightly to press his lips against the back of her head, mouth moving with the whisper of his words. "What's on your mind?"
"There's a push to start an academy—a Jedi academy and for me to… to teach, but… how can I teach something I was never taught? There were lessons of course but I still have so long to go; so much to learn." Rey vented quickly, body melting into his with each syllable. "And even then, there are… there are issues with the Jedi code. Rules I don't follow, ethics I don't care for." Ben hummed softly, eyeing the silver glint on his left hand. She certainly was good at ignoring the moral ethics. "I'm just… I understand that having a mentor is important but for the most part, everything I've learned has been a lonely affair. I think self-discovery is important, too."
Ben lowered his head to kiss her neck softly. "No one can force something on you. I simply won't allow it." she laughed lightly at this, dissolving into a content sigh as his lips moved across the back of her neck; riddled with hard knots underneath, forged by years of hard work. "But the answer is in your own words, Rey. Teach what you know, teach what you believe and teach them that it's important to have your own set of values while taking in others. Or don't teach at all—the choice is all yours."
She met his gaze once more, eyes widening, lips parted at his quiet urge of confidence. The rain splattered against the windows, drowning their ears in a constant wave of noise, the lamp dim but just bright enough to see the sheer mix of emotions glazed in her eyes.
"I don’t think I could," she admitted quietly.
"That's okay." Rey took the mug from his hands as he said the reassuring words, a quick lean forward giving her time to place it on the floor at the foot of the chair before straightening back, grabbing his arms and wrapping them both around his middle, hands conjoined together.
His fingers danced with her own, grappling at each other, linking together like their connection with the force. They sat peacefully to the rhythm of the rain, basking in their shared warmth and calmly ignoring the responsibilities to attend to, despite Ben's initial protest. He couldn't say no to this—he enjoyed it far too much; enjoyed her far too much.
And he wouldn't have it any other way.
"I love you."
Words so rarely spoken, so intricately said, laced with insecurities and a hint of boldness. Whenever the confession was made—one so freely said between others but a tall hill for them to climb—it hit hard. Spreading from his chest, to his head, to every part of him. Alighting the nerves in his body, the delightful feeling of life and living soaring through at three simple words, buzzing in their ears as the force ignited their intense connection right then and there.
And with all the joy and awe of those words came the sudden familiarity:
Of the few moments he'd witnessed from his parents; his father home, 'bothering' his mother as she worked away at something, always earning a laugh, always inviting a smile. Of similar confessions made and a following 'I know'—a statement that should've came off as cocky and arrogant yet seemed far more affectionate.
Those memories were few and far between, a rare moment of reflection that didn't end up sad or bitter or tainted, because of him. Only bringing a nostalgic feeling along with the wish for one more conversation—to say 'I love you' to the father he rejected, 'I love you' to the mother who passed peacefully in her sleep, before he had the chance to show them he could better himself.
To say a final goodbye.
"I love you, too," he replied after a time had passed. So much, he thought over and over, twisting the ring around her finger—round and round, like the absent complimentary words that shifted in his mind from the thought of his wife.
"Come to bed," she insisted again, holding his hand tight in a soft plead.
Ben sighed heavily for the last time that night—content and happy, despite his issues; despite the galactic events.
"Alright, Mrs. Solo," he murmured. "Take me to bed."
