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Kylo didn’t blame Rey or Finn, exactly. Objectively, he knew it wasn’t their fault. It didn’t seem like a coincidence, though, that the first time he saw the ghost was also the first time they’d been apart in three years.
By order of the General, Rey and Finn had flown out from Belsavis earlier that week. They were due to arrive at Bespin within the next few days, where Cloud City and Lando Calrissian were waiting for them. The man was a stable ally, and while he had to break contact occasionally-- the Order always had eyes on the city-- he was able to stockpile food and fuel for them periodically. His gifts had seen the Resistance through a dozen nasty blizzards, and were on track to get them through at least one more. He’d commed the previous week-- just in time, as the days were darkening-- to arrange the first pick-up in eight months.
It was to be a standard supply run; in-and-out, perfectly safe. Calrissian was careful, and more than that: a good host. He fed and bathed the supply runners, offering a few nights in an on-world bed, since the flight between Bespin and Belsavis could be grueling. Days in open space were exhausting in the best of circumstances, which Resistance pilots were rarely in. The need to keep an eye out for First Order blockades and Outer Rim pirates made for a sleepless, miserable run. Thankfully, Lando was friendly and willing to put up Leia’s flyboys. Despite stressful conditions, pilots usually fought for the opportunity. The promise of real food and a few nights in the city were enough incentive.
Kylo still refused when the General asked.
To Leia’s credit, she’d tried to be clever and ask him, Rey, and Finn as a group. No doubt she’d hoped that their agreeing would sway him. It hadn’t worked, though. He’d still snapped a forceful no. He didn’t want to see the city. It was a gritty, gridlocked nightmare, full of dark corners he used to hate watching his father melt into. He also didn’t want to see Lando. He wasn’t entirely sure he’d survive the affair. With Han and Luke’s deaths still relatively fresh, it was safer on Belsavis.
So he’d stayed behind, busying himself with chores and drills. Unless invited to the General's table, he ate alone and bedded early. Not before comming Finn and Rey, of course, but those conversations barely lasted five minutes. It was one of the many hazards of mid-mission communication. They couldn't afford distractions in open space.
That night hadn't been any different. After dinner, Ren had returned to his room. He washed off the day's grime then settled into bed and sent a comm out to his partners. It pinged back several times, feeding through dead air. After the fourth, Finn finally answered. His friendly timbre broke the static and Rey chirped, cutting over it as the two took turns answering questions. They read off their coordinates, named the constellations floating by, estimated how many Order operatives they’d had to sneak passed; what Calrissian had said the last time he’d commed, and how many hours out from Bespin they were. It was standard flight talk, but Kylo drank it in. It'd only been a few days, but he missed them both. Training was dreary without them, and his bed colder than usual. He missed their twin heat and thump of their pulses. Even on nights when they were ragged, too tired even to kiss, it was nice just to hear them breathe.
He couldn’t hear that over the line. The feed was too grainy. Most nights, he could barely hear them speak. Though their equipment had gotten an upgrade, the Resistance still ran on junk. Their communications arrays would likely never be current. But he still called when he could; multiple times on slow days. This one, however, had been packed tight. He’d called them later than usual, and it showed in how quickly they had to sign off.
We need a few hours of sleep before we hit the Wreckage Belt.
Kylo winced at the name. It was an Outer Rim anomaly. Ships tended to fatally malfunction there. They lost contact with their comrades, sprung fuel leaks, fried their piloting systems. Anything that could go wrong tended to do so all at once, often resulting in bridge implosions or a crash with another downed vessel. There was no real data on it, due to the fact that scientists sent to study met the same fate as everyone else. Even the most skilled pilots could die in that stretch of broken capital ships, freighters, and old world explorer models. It was the last real obstacle Rey and Finn would face before entering the Anoat system, and while Kylo would’ve liked to keep them longer, he knew it’d be selfish. They needed rest if they were going to safely navigate, so he signed off quickly and slid fully into bed.
Before drifting off, he muttered a prayer Han had taught him, and hoped that wherever the old man was, he could hear it.
That was the first night he saw the ghost. When it came, it took the shape of a child. Not at first, though. For several minutes, it was only a light, shapeless in the dark of the room.
The pulse of it was what woke him. Kylo felt the beat like a storm surge, though it took several seconds for him to realize where it was coming from. At first, he assumed it was the ‘fresher-- but no. The angle was wrong. His shower was on the west wall, not the south.
He’d guessed next that the door to his room had been opened. By the General, maybe, or Commander Dameron, or one of the guards. Why they would’ve done so without knocking, Ren couldn’t guess. If he squinted, however, he could see it was still clamped shut. Light from the edge of… whatever this was stretched out like fingers towards the door. It splashed along the seam, proving that it was still sealed. If it wasn’t coming from the hallway, either, it had to be internal.
Kylo chalked it up to how tired he was still that he didn’t bolt out of bed at the realization. That, and how quickly the mass settled once it’d been sighted. What had been a wide, burning haze drew tight as if it’d heard Kylo suck in breath. And maybe it had, he thought later, because the shape it settled into had ears.
Little ears, and a child’s friendly face.
“What are you?” he asked, finding his voice seconds later.
It came quiet, thicker with sleep than alarm. Which, he supposed, was because the ghost wasn’t frightening. It was just a child, even if it was an unwelcome one.
The ghost didn’t answer. It stood straight, pressed into the corner, the light it’d been leaking minutes before coiled tight. It burned brightest at his middle and bled out, dimly illuminating it’s extremities and face. A static halo ringed it, buzzing faintly, and Ren could feel it. The boy was vibrating, and it made Kylo break in goose flesh.
“Who are you?”
Still no answer. The child was too busy staring. Not at him, though; at the space between them. It’s brows furrowed like the void of an unknown universe separated them. Ren wondered if it could speak, or even understand him. His knowledge of ghosts was patchy, despite his childhood fascination. He’d read, and more than once tried to contact Lord Vader, but all of that was academic. He had no practical experience. Neither Skywalker or Snoke had thought it relevant.
“What’s your name?”
One more try before getting out of bed. If it didn’t answer this time, Kylo thought he might do something. Stand, at least, to see if it tracked him, or try to touch it. Thankfully, however, he didn’t have to do either. At the word name, the ghost’s attention cut up. It met Kylo’s eyes from the corner before smirking. It was a lopsided expression, closed mouthed and oddly familiar.
“You know me,” it said, and Ren wished it hadn’t.
It sounded less like a child than the groaning hull of a ship. The words clawed out of its throat, grinding like metal. The boy sounded ancient and mechanical, and the combination made Kylo’s hands ball to fists in the sheets.
“I don’t,” Ren said, hoping to sound surer than he felt. “I don’t know you. You’ve got the wrong man.” He swallowed. “Get out. Go back where you came from.”
Which it did, but only after several minutes. Disappearing was as difficult as stitching together. It stared hard as it fizzled out, bleeding light.
By the time it was gone, Ren’s knuckles ached from being clenched, and his own throat ached to think of that voice.
He didn’t sleep well for the rest of the night. Every creak of the walls jolted him awake. He'd never thought of the sounds before, or if he did, blamed the storms. Belsavis was an ice box, and ice tended to clink. But after seeing the ghost, every groan reminded him of it. While he didn't think it'd harm him, the idea of it coming back made him anxious.
How early shifts started usually annoyed him. He hated mornings, but when the knock came, he was almost relieved. Exhausted as he was, he hurried through dressing and down to breakfast. He couldn't wait to be surrounded by bodies. They might not all like him still, but they were living, which was what mattered. And anyway, it gave him a chance to fish.
"Long night?" he asked when he joined Dameron at their table.
The man was bruised beneath the eyes and chugging caf. He'd caught Kylo's attention in the mess line and nodded for him to join he was ready. And wasn't that funny? Having someone besides Rey to join. Years ago, he wouldn't have dared to count on it.
"Very," Dameron mumbled, lips brushing his mug. "Rose is sick still. I'm picking up her patrol shifts."
"How many?"
He tapped the table, counting the beats. "Five now."
Ren winced. "Long week, then.”
The other hummed, and the two sat in silence. They nursed their caf, occasionally picking at their plates. It wasn't good food, or fresh, but they downed it anyway. Cured meat was better than nothing, and nothing was what they'd had more than not lately.
"Your patrol," Ren said after a while, forced the tines of his fork through a piece of near petrified Bahmat. "Does it include my hall?"
“And everyone else’s. I lap base about eight times a night."
"Have you heard anything? Last night, specifically."
The man shook his head before the words fully registered. When they did, his eyes narrowed over the mug.
"Why? Have company?"
A secret lover, he supposed the other meant. Ren snorted. The suspicion was ludicrous.
"I’m not an idiot. Rey would kill me. I've just--" He paused, tapping his fork as he considered. What to say? He didn't want Dameron to think he was cracking, which the man would if he started bringing up ghosts. "I was having nightmares.”
"Oh." The other's brow smoothed out and he frowned. "Do you, ah...want to talk?'
Maker, no, even if it wasn't a lie.
"Not necessary. I just wondered if it was obvious."
"No," Poe assured. "It wasn’t."
Kylo wasn’t sure if that was good or not. He’d been half hoping Commander Dameron had noticed something: his whisper, or the intruder’s, or even the light. Something to lend credibility to what he’d seen. Without that-- well, it’d been a long few days. With Rey and Finn’s team off-world and Rose sick, they were down a dozen crew. Those left were having to pull triple their weight, and it was starting to wear everyone thin. If exhaustion and malnutrition-- Calrissian’s supplies were sorely needed-- had been the source of the vision, he wouldn’t be surprised.
What was it Skywalker used to say? If there’s an equally likely mundane explanation, it’s almost certainly a mundane event.
“Does that happen a lot?” Poe asked when Ren didn’t pick up the thread.
Dameron was friendlier these days, but not comfortable. He couldn’t stand to let a conversation lapse long. They weren’t close enough for amiable silence.
“What?”
“Nightmares.”
Ah. That. “I thought we’d agreed not to talk about it.”
The Commander's grin was forced.
“We did, didn’t we? Sorry. Bad habit.”
They spent the rest of breakfast going over the day’s plans and gnawing on dreary rations. Dameron plotted training rotations and dock duty, tasking Ren to help him dole out responsibilities. Occasionally, as if he’d forgotten they’d gone, Dameron referenced something he wanted Rey or Finn to do. When Kylo reminded him of their mission, he’d shake his head, mutter right, then drop his gaze, refusing to meet Ren’s. He missed them, Kylo knew, and not just because the chore load without them had tripled. Not just because their return would see the kitchens fully stocked again. He just missed them; Kylo could relate.
Like him, Poe was fantasizing about their ship touching down and seeing them grinning from the cockpit. About wrapping his arms around them, hugging them solidly, smelling their hair, and knowing that-- for now, at least-- they weren’t in danger.
Unlike him, Poe probably forgot the conversation about the night before. No. Not probably. Definitely. He was surprisingly accommodating. If he thought his friend was embarrassed, he’d put it out of mind immediately. Ren, unfortunately, didn’t stop thinking about it all day. The image of that child followed him around base: from training pads and war rooms to deep, snaking tunnels.
It haunted the corners of every station he bounced between, and when it got quiet, Ren imagined its voice.
It reappeared two nights later, several hours after Kylo had signed off with Rey and Finn. Their ship had reached Bespin, and to celebrate they talked for hours, lounging on beds several billion kilometers apart. It’d been nice; relaxing, even, though he’d have preferred to have them here. It settled his nerves to know they were back on solid ground.
And one step closer to flying back, Rey teased. Been cuddling our pillows?
He had, and almost missed her enough to admit it.
Have you been wearing my cloak? He fired back instead. I know one of you took it. Don’t deny it.
And neither did, though they were also careful not to admit it. A joint effort, then. He hoped they were sharing it.
He was half asleep by the time the three of them said good night. Hearing their voices slacked the pinch in his shoulders. After muting his comm, Ren tossed it onto the pillows and melted down, settling heavy into his mylar blanket. It crinkled, breathing with him, and he could almost imagine he wasn’t alone in it.
He thought of Rey and Finn’s twin heat as he eased off to sleep.
But sleep, unfortunately, didn’t last long. Barely a quarter of a cycle later, he was jarred awake by a pulse of something: silent but palpable, like a detonation underwater, or more accurately, a shudder in the Force.
Kylo felt it gathering in the corner, and the awareness had him scrambling up in bed. It was an unnatural, clammy feeling, reminiscent of Snoke's sneaking, and without thinking he called for his saber. It ignited in hand, blade crossing defensively over his chest. It was instinct, albeit a futile one. The other night he hadn't considered it. It was a waste of energy; he couldn't cut a ghost, and besides, it'd been a child. As the creature settled now, though, he gripped it like a lifeline. Because it wasn't a child this time. It was a man. A young one, and lanky, still boyish in the face. A face that there was no mistaking.
"Uncle?"
The word came tight through Kylo's teeth and his grip on the hilt redoubled. The spirit smiled, crooked and closed mouthed, and of course that’s where he’d recognized it from.
"Told you, you knew me."
The voice was nicer than before. It'd lost its deathly rattle. The spirit's throat sounded pliable and live. If it weren’t for the glow, he might’ve mistaken Luke for a living man. He almost seemed solid, and Kylo felt the room’s pressure drop. There was a leak in it somewhere, and it was making him dizzy.
"What do you want?" he demanded.
To be clear, he turned his saber out. He pointed it at Skywalker like a warning, like a threat. He didn’t like how the blade trembled, echoing the tremor in his hand. Weakness, Ren thought. Luke would scent it.
Unfazed by the gesture, Luke clucked his tongue, teasing. “C’mon, Ben. You know that never works.”
The spirit stepped out of the corner and neared the bed, closing the distance in too few steps. Ren straightened his arm to lengthen his saber’s reach, but if Skywalker noticed, it didn’t stop him. When he reached the foot of the bed, he crawled on to it. His knees met the mattress, disturbing nothing, and the blade pierced between his ribs. It passed through clean and Luke kept moving, not stopping until he was straddling his nephew’s knees. The position put the saber through him to the hilt. It burned the air behind him, its color muddied by haze.
“What do you want?” he repeated. He didn’t know what else to say.
Luke’s smirk fell. Sadness made him look younger, and the spirit seemed young already. His hair was short and tousled, ends curled to expose his ears, and his skin was smooth and lineless. He was nineteen, maybe, though the pout docked off a few years. He looked like a child, chastised for waking his parents by playing late into the night. Kylo was almost tempted to reach up: brush his bangs or cuff his shoulder. But Luke’s next words smashed the impulse.
“I wanted to see you.”
He didn’t believe that. Not for a second. Skywalker hadn’t wanted to see him since Ren was a boy. Or if he had, he had a funny way of showing it. This wasn’t the first time Luke had loomed over him in saber light.
“Liar.” He whispered it, not trusting his voice. Even that threatened to crack, and he hated it. Hated the twisting in his gut, and how Luke’s pout deepened like a knife wound, brows knitting in hurt.
“I’m not lying, Ben.”
“You are.”
It wouldn’t do any good, but he shifted his saber, turning the blade sharply up. A living man would’ve been gutted, his insides only kept in place by cauterization. Luke was unaffected, though. At least physically. He looked down at the hilt, studying the angle before sighing.
“Gut buster.” He said it to himself, like a joke. “Does it feel like you wanted it to?”
Before Ren could answer, the spirit in his lap fizzled out. The outline lingered like an imprint on a screen. Only for a moment, though. After even that faded, Kylo was left alone in the bubble of light made by his saber.
“You don’t believe me,” he said after several seconds of dead air.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t deny it, either.”
Finn sighed, shocking the mic. “I’m just confused. Run it by me again. You said you dreamed about Luke?”
“No.” Kylo winced at his own sternness. “It wasn’t a dream,” he tried again, more softly.
“So, what? A vision? Some kind of Force Ghost?”
“That last, I think. It was almost textbook. The light, how he looked-- it was like a holo transmission, except--”
“Except he’s dead.”
Finn’s tone was unreadable. Kylo didn’t like that. The other man was usually expressive. He only played it close to the chest when he was in doubt.
“I know how it sounds, but…” He trailed off, scrubbing his face. He was exhausted from the night before. He couldn’t shake the feeling of Skywalker watching, and had spent most of the night clutching his saber. “Believe me, please. Why would I lie about this?”
“I don’t think you’re lying. I just want to be sure there isn’t something else going on.”
“Like what?”
“Sleep deprivation. Hunger, maybe. Those make you see all sorts of weird stuff.”
That was true, but not at all the case. Kylo knew what his mind could stand. “I know what I saw.”
A few beats of silence, then: “Alright. Tell me what happened, exactly.”
Ren spent the next hour going over the two encounters, doubling back when Rey entered the room. She’d been at a bathhouse when he called and missed most of it, but he didn’t mind stopping to fill her in. She was more immediately open to the idea, a fact that Ren credited to their joint studies. Over the last few years, they’d delved into Jedi texts: some ancient and instructional, some more recent and anecdotal. The concept wasn’t new for her, and being familiar with many encounters, she wasn’t surprised to hear he’d had one of his own.
“It makes sense, doesn’t it?” she said when he finished. “That Master Skywalker would want to visit you.”
“I suppose.” He scooted deeper in bed. “I was a former student and adversary, had a hand in his death--”
“And you’re his nephew.”
Ren snorted. “That too.”
“But why now?” Finn asked. He’d warmed to the idea after hearing how quickly Rey accepted it. “It’s been...what, three years since Crait? That’s a long time to lay low.”
“It’s not exactly easy,” Rey explained. “Only great Masters are able to do it. Everyone else has their spirit absorbed by the Force. It’s like a tidal wave. Hardly anyone makes it out, and even if they do--”
“There’s the issue of becoming visible.”
If Rey was annoyed by Ren’s interruption, it didn’t show.
“Exactly. A lot of old Masters are only heard, never seen.”
“So maybe he was working up the energy?”
That was possible. Likely, even. Skywalker never did anything by halves. But that didn’t answer the question he’d been chewing all day.
“Why, though? What does he want?”
Turning his comm to auto, Kylo rested it on the pillow and laid down. He burrowed under his blankets, dragging one of Rey’s pillows with him and hugging it to his chest. Two of Finn’s were propped up behind him, cushioning where the bed met the wall. When he fell asleep later, Ren would press his back against it.
“I don’t know,” Rey muttered. “Maybe just what he told you.”
He shook his head. It couldn’t be that simple.
“Skywalker didn’t cleave from the Force just to spy on me.”
“He didn’t say he wanted to spy. He said he wanted to see.”
“That’s a technicality. No practical difference.”
Rey sighed, the sound thinning out to a hum. It was terse, high pitched, and annoyed. “What do you think then, if you’re so sure?”
“I don’t know.”
Which was the problem.
He had no idea why Skywalker would waste the energy it took to materialize to visit him. Didn’t he know his sister slept just six halls over? Didn’t he know that Lando still lived in Cloud City, and that Rey would be thrilled by a visit? Not out of love, exactly, but respect for the technical mastery. She was enchanted by rare Force abilities. Didn’t he know that Han had been given a grave, and that without a physical body, he could dart to it? He could go there, or his homeworld, or any other point on the map of black, open space. He touch stars, suns, and space dust. He was untethered. He could do anything. And what he’d chosen to do instead was haunt Kylo’s room. It didn’t make sense. There had to be a reason.
“Ben,” Finn said, tearing Kylo from the thought. “I really think you might be overthinking it.” He waited for his lover to hum in question before continuing. “What would be the point in Luke lying?”
“As much of a point as there is to him seeing me. Which is none, if you were wondering.”
“The way you see it, maybe. But you’re not him.”
He wasn’t Luke; that much was true, though as a child he’d wanted to be. He saw his uncle’s powers and his belly ached for them. He wanted to be special. He wanted to have power. As he grew, though, and settled into his personality, he realized he’d never be like Luke. Even if they had the same abilities and leanings, there was something in Skywalker he couldn’t emulate. Just like there was something in General Organa he couldn’t match. The siblings were both remarkably and totally their fathers’ children. Kylo hadn’t realized then, but looking back it was clear. What he wanted most from them was a spark he couldn’t steal. He’d tried cultivating his own, but his father’s influence was strong. He saw Han Solo in himself more than anyone, and it grated on him. Or it used to. Things were different these days.
“When are you coming back?” Kylo asked.
The veer in subject threw the others, but Finn recovered first.
“Lando’s securing a few last minute supplies, but that shouldn’t take more than a day. We’re on track to be back next week. Why? Miss us, Solo?”
Ren could hear Finn’s playful smile. He closed his eyes, conjuring up an image: him in bed, propped by pillows, Rey mouthing at his shoulder. His shirt open like his mouth, exposing skin.
“I do,” he admitted, then hurried passed it. “But also, this didn’t start until you left. I’m wondering if you returning will stop it.”
Rey chuckled, the sound muffled by comm interference. That, or by Finn’s skin. Was she kissing his neck? Maker, Ren hoped so.
“Don’t play tough,” she purred. “It’s alright to miss us.”
They didn’t talk much longer after that. It was well into the night cycle on Belsavis, and Ren needed at least a few hours of sleep to be functional during morning drills. After a promise to talk the next night and a long goodbye, he shut off his comm and tugged his blanket up high. He covered his face, refusing to even accidentally glance at the corner, and fell asleep cradled by pillows.
Dameron wasn’t at their table the next morning. He’d gotten up early enough to beat the breakfast rush. Kylo didn’t see him at all until after morning drills, and only then because Poe whistled for him. The shrill sound tore his attention from the quarterstaff he was rewrapping, and he scanned the room for the source. Commander Dameron was jogging over, a practice staff of his own on his shoulder.
“Commander,” he greeted before turning back to his staff. The old leather grips had cracked all over. He’d put off replacing them as long as possible, but there was nothing left for it. He’d spent the last twenty minutes replacing them.
“Solo,” the other answered, dropping to crouch beside him. “How’s the surgery coming?”
Kylo snorted. “It’ll live.”
He worked loops of thread through the edges, tugging tight every handful of passes. The leather cinched tight, pursing like a pair of lips.
“Can you do mine next? I brought my own leather.”
Ren peeked up, eyeing the scrap the man produced. It was old and badly faded, but not cracked. That was more than could be said for the grip on his staff, which was hanging off in thick ribbons.
“You should’ve done it sooner.”
“Yea, but I’m bad with needles. I’ll pay you back. Whatever you want.”
“Fine. I’m almost done, anyway.”
Poe muttered his thanks before dropping the supplies and-- to Ren’s surprise-- settling down. He lowered from a crouch to lean against the wall. Kylo turned to him, quirking a brow; he’d expected him to drop it off. The free period between drills and afternoon chores wasn’t long, and as he was still covering patrol shifts, Poe would do better using it to nap.
“Do you need something else from me, Commander?”
“No.”
“What’s this, then?”
“I just thought we could talk. Like friends. We are friends, right?”
They were certainly friendlier than before. All that’d kept Dameron from shooting him when he first came to Belsavis was Rey’s threats. They’d come a long way since those first few turbulent months.
“I suppose.”
“So let’s talk.”
“About what?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” The man rocked his shoulders, scratching his back against the wall. It also moved him closer to where Ren himself leaned. He wondered if that’d been the actual purpose. “How you’re sleeping, maybe? Still having bad dreams?”
Ren’s needle slipped, and he swore when it nicked his knuckle.
“You’ve been talking to Finn.”
The man’s gape was comedic. “What? No.” He shook his head. “No, of course not.” Ren only had to glare a few seconds for him to buckle. “He might’ve commed this morning.”
Kylo snorted, returning his attention to the grip. He reset his needle and finished off the last few loops.
“Of course he did. Enjoy the gossip?”
“Easy, big guy. He didn’t give me any details.”
When Kylo knotted off the thread, Poe snatched the staff away and waved for the other’s full attention. Kylo frowned, wondering if Poe had ever really wanted his staff fixed. Probably not. What did he care if the grip was shredded? Not bothering to hide his annoyance, Ren turned to face him.
“What did he say, then, that’s got you so interested?”
“Just that you haven’t been sleeping. He wouldn’t say why, but I thought, since you mentioned it--”
“Do we really have to do this?”
Poe’s tongue caught between his teeth.
“Not if you really don’t want to, but I’d appreciate it. You’re one of our best, and if something isn’t right, I’d like to know that you trust me to help.”
He trusted Dameron with his life. The nature of their relationship made that necessary. Poe was his leader, an extension of Leia’s command. Ren took his orders, covered him, and went in first like a shield on missions, all with no assurance beyond Dameron’s word that his own back was being watched. It was a relationship they’d cultivated rather painstakingly, bolstered by their feelings for Rey and Finn. It could stand on its own now, but it was still tender. Trusting Dameron not to shoot him was different than exposing a nerve.
But if Finn was worried enough to ask Dameron to bring it up, Kylo couldn’t refuse. It would only annoy his lover, or worse: annoy both of them. Rey had probably egged him on. Not wanting to risk that, Ren resigned himself to the fact that he did, really, have to do this.
“I’ve been dreaming about Skywalker,” he said, sparing pretense. The other man’s faced slacked, and he mouthed oh. “It’s been unsettling.”
“I bet. Are they violent?”
It was the most delicate way possible to ask if he dremt of Luke’s death, and Ren appreciated it.
“Not really. He just--” Ren trailed off, biting his tongue as he thought of how to word it. “He comes to me. Sometimes it feels as though he’s really in the room. I feel his presence, see his face, can hear him when he speaks.”
“What does he say?”
Ren shrugged. “I never remember.”
That was a lie as much as that he was dreaming, but it didn’t matter. Dameron wouldn’t know. He didn’t need to. This was uncomfortable enough.
“If they’re getting too bad, the med wing has tranquilizers. Low-grade,” he assured. “Made for nightmares. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Half the crew has to take them. It’s not easy sleeping in war.”
Especially not when the uncle you killed comes to haunt you, the man didn’t say. Another bit of delicacy.
“I’ll keep it in mind.” Wanting to change the subject, Ren nodded to Dameron’s staff. “Should I? Or was that just an icebreaker?”
Poe let him fix it, and didn’t ask about the dreams again. Small favors. Maybe they really were friends.
The third time it came as Kylo knew it last. Luke was older, his hair going gray. Only at the roots and scraggly ends of his beard, but it made him look ragged and strange.
It wasn’t time for bed yet. Or it was, but he wasn’t in it. He’d taken to washing and shaving at night, and the longer shifts ran, the later the routine ran. It was officially lights out by the time he’d broken free to comm Finn and Rey, and an hour after that he dragged himself to the shower. He went slow, scrubbing his hair and fingering the knots in his shoulders; by the time he got out to shave, it was terribly late. His hair would still be wet when his wake up call came knocking. This couldn’t be skipped, though. He hated how he looked with stubble.
He caught sight of the ghost in the ‘fresher mirror after he’d lathered up. It glitched into view just over his shoulder and Kylo cussed, his grip on the razor slipping to lance his jaw.
“Will you be an old man next?” he spat, dabbing at the cut.
“I didn’t last that long, if you recall.”
“I do.” Kylo sat the razor down and reached for a towel instead. Wiping the blood away, he turned to lean against the sink. He faced the apparition in the doorway, hardening his expression. “If you came to remind me, consider the job done.”
“I already told you why I came.”
“Then you’re still finished. You’ve seen me three times now.”
Four if they counted Crait, but Kylo wouldn’t bring that up. Peaceful as the ghost had been, he didn’t want to test it.
Luke frowned, deepening the lines around his mouth. They cut his cheeks, matching the ones across his forehead. They ran like rivers, aging him harshly; the price of having always been so expressive. Skywalker could never keep his feelings off his face.
“I waited years to see you again,” the other man said. “Until Crait, I wasn’t sure I ever would.” His eyes skipped over Kylo: his broad chest and tumbling hair, the line of his nose and imposing height. “You turned out exactly like I expected. Looks wise, I mean. I’ve got to admit, the rest was a surprise.”
“I’m sure,” Kylo scoffed. “Your death, especially.”
Luke shrugged. “You were barely involved.”
That wasn’t true. Kylo didn’t argue, though. He didn’t want to have this conversation. He wanted to fall into bed and forget Luke’s face. They hadn’t spent so much time together since he was a student. The intimacy, especially with his ghost, was unsettling. He couldn’t pretend the floor between them wasn’t slick with blood. Even if he could, he wouldn’t want to. He’d given up a thousand things, but this wouldn’t be one.
“Will you leave?” He dropped the towel. “This is coming late, anyway. Ask mother; she’ll tell you I defected.”
Luke’s sour expression turned doleful, and he crossed his arms over his chest. They rested solidly against it, a contrast to how his edges bled. His outline was hazy, scattered by the light from the ‘fresher. Maybe if Ren turned on a few more, he’d phase out.
“It’d kill you to trust me, wouldn’t it? Even now. What do you think I can do like this?”
He gestured to his wispy form, and Kylo supposed the answer was nothing. Still: “Let me be. I just want to sleep.”
The man sighed, chilling the space between them, and for a moment Kylo thought he’d refuse. Steeling for the possibility, he prepared to barrel through him to the room, but--
“Alright kid,” Luke relented. “Whatever you want.”
His luminescence dulled, matching his defeated tone. Shoulders slumping, the spirit slid from the room. Kylo tracked the fading light, guessing it was returning to the corner: where it spawned from, and where it’d go out. Which was what he wanted, of course. What he wanted, exactly. Still, the way Skywalker had deflated… like a child, how he’d first appeared.
He huffed and crossed the ‘fresher in a few strides.
“Luke,” he called, then bit his lip, redirected. “Uncle, wait. I’m--”
He turned the corner, but Luke’s light was already gone. All that was left was what spilled out from the ‘fresher, and that barely reached past Kylo’s feet. It haloed his toes in yellow, but beyond that, the room was dark. He might as well have been peering into the void.
“Luke?” he tried again. “Can you hear me?”
No response came. Outside the bunker, a storm raged. It buffeted the walls, making them groan like a ship under fire. It wasn’t Luke, though. It wasn’t anything at all.
Kylo’s brow knit, and he swallowed a swell of emotion. It was unhelpful, and more than that: it had no pointless. The ghost was gone, and the room was quiet and cold.
For the first time since it’d appeared, Ren was certain he was alone.