Chapter Text
"Show me...
We'll see each other again...
...Grandfather...
...I believe that...
...And I will finish...
I won't lose you, Padmé!
...What you started."
- Star Wars: Rebels; A World Between Worlds
The first day is spent mindlessly cleaning the circular courtyard of the homestead, decades of sandstorms having half buried the entrances to various rooms. She makes do with chunks of metal plates scattered about to shovel sand from out of the crater, hoping to reach one of the entrances by the end of the day.
Artoo had told her that the Lars homestead had been a moisture farm, so it is imperative to reach the tech room and fix what can be fixed. BB-8 helps her as much as he can, and she is grateful for that. He beeps and chirps as he rolls around and examines the vaporators she managed to unearth, most of them needing some kind of mechanical attention.
She works so tirelessly that by the time the setting of the binary stars paints the world in brilliant oranges and reds, all of the vaporators have been freed from their sandy prison, and BB-8 has crawled through the only accessible entrance in search of the tech room.
He returns moments later and happily beeps that the room is mostly intact, as well as the rest of the dwelling. It is only a little strange, because she does sense some terrifying tragedy had occurred here, a long time ago. Perhaps the scavengers had felt it too. Cowards, she thinks. Not even the pain and terror she feels still etched in the pourstone walls would stop Young Scavenger Rey from taking over the complex.
As it is, Rey the Last Jedi isn’t all that different.
She decides then that she’s done enough work for one day and goes back to the ship, which will be her temporary home until she’s managed to bring the homestead into a liveable state. Right now, it is still mostly inaccessible, and with its relatively big size, it will take at least a week until she can settle in, and then some to call it home.
Home, she turns the word over and over in her mind as she lies in the narrow cot. She used to think of the dilapidated AT-AT half buried in the Goazon Badlands of Jakku as her home, even if she had never known warmth lying in her little makeshift bed.
Then, as if carried on the wings of the mighty X'us'R'iia, a dark-skinned and wide-eyed boy had crashed into her life and taken her away from the suffocating dirtball, and all at once she had been surrounded by people and a cause and she had thought, perhaps this is what a home really is.
And then time had passed, and she’d been living with these people, sharing shelter and food and hopes and laughs even in the midst of all those horrors of war, and she had thought, this must be what a home is.
And then, during a particularly peaceful period some few months after Crait, Maz had told her that home is not a place, but a feeling. And she’d immediately seen a pair of dark eyes pleading with her and an outstretched hand, and she’d thought, could that have been my home, after all?
And then she had drawn breath into her stilled lungs, her body gently cradled in strong arms, those same eyes looking at her as if she were the Maker itself, come bearing the most hidden secrets of the universe. She could barely register what was happening, her heart beating once again in her chest, threatening to break free of its cage and fly out to meet its other half. His lips had been soft and warm, and his smile like a beacon of light in the dark chambers of the temple. And in that moment she had thought, I am home.
Her brain cuts the line of her thoughts, knowing that thinking of what comes next would render her already shattered heart into a billion little particles, which would then mingle with the Tatooine sand and she would never be able to pick them up again. As it is, the fact that she lives is a reminder of that day.
So she screws her eyes shut, conjures images of vaporator blueprints, and fills her mind with numbers and lines and stats until it tires and drags her down into the dark.
Days shuffle by and the homestead has finally been cleared from sand, and Rey slowly moves in. She can barely believe how neat everything looks; on Jakku, every surface had always been covered in a fine layer of sand, and no matter how much she’d tried to keep it dust-free, it would always return, as if the desert was trying to reclaim what belonged to it.
But the homestead had been built to withstand the trials of the arid climate, with most of it located underground and built with insulated walls. She’s no longer suffocating in the heat during the day, nor is she shivering in bed during the night. And what a bed it is; compared to her AT-AT hammock, or even the Resistance-issued bunks, it is like lying among clouds.
In the following days she occupies herself with puttering about the complex, doing little repairs and clean-ups, and generally exploring its various rooms. The complex is of a considerable size, with much more room than Rey will need, but she is content to be able to freely wander about.
She has chosen one of the smaller rooms to settle in, mostly because she is not used to have so much space at her disposition. Aside from the comfortable bed, it has a nightstand, a chest for storage, and a big desk under the window which looks out on the courtyard and lets the light in.
BB-8 keeps her company, and she is so grateful for that, but she knows that, as works on the homestead draw slowly to a close, she will have to comm Poe to come and fetch him. He is a great friend, but he is not hers. Rey feels that the little white and orange ball misses his master. She knows it would be cruel to keep them separated; the little droid will have to go home.
She will be sad to see him go, but it’s for the best.
When dusk arrives, Rey goes to the small kitchen to prepare a sand rat she’d caught and skinned earlier. Being a much bigger planet than Jakku, Tatooine hosts many more living forms, and she’s glad she won’t always have to eat rations and veg-meat. Already there are mushrooms growing at the base of the functional vaporators, and she fries them along with the meat.
After dinner, she ventures to the ‘fresher to clean up. She luxuriates in the warm water spray; the vaporators have been working for over two weeks now, and they only have her to sustain, so there’s no need to be rigorously economic. She likes the way warm water relaxes her sore muscles.
By the time she enters her room, night has fallen, but she doesn’t need any lamps; the three moons are high in the black sky tonight, and they bathe the room in a soft blue light.
Rey’s brow furrows as she looks about, the soft blue light growing in intensity as the moons change positions, until it seems that everything in the room is blue. At first Rey doesn’t realise why her heart is throbbing painfully in her chest. As she peels back the thin bed cover and settles in, the blue light becomes increasingly menacing.
All at once, there are flashes of brilliant white-blue lightning outside the window. Rey is out of the bed in an instant and her new lightsaber flies into her hand and ignites without much thinking, its yellow glow clashing with the blue backdrop. She is having difficulty breathing, but almost as soon as it appeared, the lightning vanishes, and the room instantly darkens.
Like a frightened little child, Rey jumps back into the bed and pulls the cover over her eyes. She knows that what she has just seen was not real; lightning like that is not natural, but a product of immeasurable darkness, darkness that had perished in a vast underground temple at her very hands.
And at a great cost.
She struggles uselessly against the onslaught of memories; a pair of yellow-red eyes and cackling that echoes throughout the cavernous space, thousands upon thousands of hooded figures chanting ominously in a language as old as time, the sounds of cannon fire raining high above her head.
A tall figure dressed in loose black clothes appearing in front of her like a beacon of hope, the blue lightsaber heavy with history gripped tight in his hand.
She shakes her head vigorously, as if that will make the memory fall out of her head. Foolish, she knows; this is something that will haunt her for the rest of her life, just another in the long list of ghosts she has had to leave behind.
She refuses to think further about it; the wound in her heart only throbs occasionally, but the one in her mind is a constant pain, like a phantom limb that’s long been cut off still aches. Immediately she starts to plan out what needs to be done tomorrow. She counts the various repairs awaiting, calling to the front the image of the vaporator right next to the main entrance, even as tears stream silently down her cheeks.
Soon, Rey will have to venture out to Anchorhead.
She figures she can do without a few of the sixty-three vaporators installed throughout the complex. They should be good barter for a landspeeder. It wouldn’t have to be a perfectly functionable one; as long as it moves it would be great, and as for any other problems it might have, she would find a way to fix them.
She has always been good at fixing things.
She decides that she will comm Poe as soon as she comes back from the settlement. She is not particularly looking forward to that conversation; when she’d come up to him and Finn, only days after Exegol, she’d said that time had come for her to leave. They had immediately started protesting, what are you talking about? Where will you go? The galaxy needs you, Rey! She had been expecting that, so she’d simply told them that she needed time away from everyone and everything, just so that her mind wouldn’t implode on itself.
The truth is, Rey has never fully informed them on what had happened underneath the surface as the battle raged above. She’d kept it plain and simple: Palpatine had been taunting her because of her power, but she’d managed to kill him. They don’t know much more.
It wasn’t like she’d wanted to lie to them, she just hadn’t been ready to face the truth herself yet.
And now they will come here, demanding answers and presenting plans for the future, and Rey will have to come clean. They won’t like it, especially Finn, but they will have to accept it.
Rey is staying on Tatooine, and there is nothing that could change her mind.
After a quick breakfast, she begins to levitate thirteen vaporators on board her ship. They have all been repaired, so they should be more than enough to trade for a landspeeder. Visits to any populated place will be necessary from time to time, and a space ship is far too inconvenient for such travel.
Anchorhead is very small, a cluster of low-rise, domed buildings. To other newcomers it might look interesting, but all Rey sees is sand.
She walks straight into Junix’s Joint, her lighstaber tucked safely in her pack so as not to draw any attention. She asks around among the patrons if anyone is selling a landspeeder, and scores a deal rather quickly; functional vaporators are wanted goods on a dirtball like this.
In the end, she only needs to give up five of the machines, in exchange for a rusty old X-34 landspeeder. It’s clunky, but Rey is satisfied. Task done, she heads back to the outskirts.
After parking the new landspeeder safely in the underground garage, Rey washes up and heads for her bed. The moons are not visible through the bedroom window tonight, so she lights an old oil lamp and places it on the desk.
Lying burrowed under the covers, she swears she can feel phantom limbs around her back and on her neck. She tries to shake the feeling, but even as sleep eludes her, there is a rough hand on her right cheek, soft hair tickling her forehead.
The pain in her heart and her head is so sharp that a gasp escapes her, echoing in the lonely room.
That night dry heaves shake her body, until the universe grants her mercy and she sinks into unconsciousness.
She is lounging on a softly-upholstered chair on the porch, the trees of the garden surrounding the house providing shade from the rising sun as she reads.
A flutter of movement coming from the edge of the forest right behind the house turns her attention to the sky; a flock of convorees breaks free of the tree line and, chirping cheerily, loops high in the sky before diving to glide low over the glittering lake.
The flight of the birds draws her attention to the structure standing in the distance, on the other side of the lake. The great castle still has a long way to go before being restored to its former glory, but it is in function, and there are already travellers and smugglers coming in to seek refuge, rest and entertainment.
A rush of sensation passes over her mind then, like the warm wind on a sunny day, and there is a ridiculous grin plastered on her face even before strong arms wrap around her waist and a soft-haired head buries itself in the crook of her neck.
“Morning,” a deep voice rumbles into her ear, sending shivers down her spine. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?” she answers, lifts the book and wiggles it in front of his face.
He feigns annoyance and waves her hand away, but his features quickly smooth back into an easy smile that reaches his eyes. “It’s a nice day today, don’t you think?”
“Yeah?” she answers and asks at the same time, because his voice carries a hint of mischief.
“I was thinking we could go for a swim.”
It is then that she turns completely around and finally notices that he is wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs. She drops her book, face aflame, but he catches it with the Force and deposits it on the small table next to the chair, his chuckle filling the space between them.
Then all of a sudden he grabs her, one arm on her back and the other under her knees, and, ignoring her yelp of surprise, lifts her up and starts down the porch.
“What are you doing?” she exclaims, her arms around his neck a reflex movement.
"What does it look like I'm doing?" he replies, and earns himself a smack on the shoulder.
“I’m fully clothed,” she protests weakly.
"I'll take care of that." And he prompts the Force to unbutton her sleep shirt.
"Ben!" she squeals, her legs kicking uselessly in the air.
“Oh, c’mon, you’re all flushed, you look like you could use a swim to cool down.”
She smacks him again, and he laughs, the sound lifting up in the air, the gentle summer breeze carrying it away over the currents of the deep blue lake.
Her eyes fly open, her vision blurred by the tears falling freely down her face. Her heart seizing in her chest, she finally allows the flood of memory to fall upon her.
It had been a lovely dream, cruel in its clarity, almost as if it had been something she’d lived. Everything she has ever needed, longed for, dangling in front of her like an unreachable treat.
She closes her eyes against the stream of tears, the phantom feeling of soft hair under her fingerprints, a beaming, dimpled smile all she can see, and tries to relax and open up her mind to the ever-flowing currents of the Force.
“Be with me,” she whispers.
The silence of the room is deafening, but she tries again.
“Be with me.”
Nothing, still.
“Be with me… Please.”
Her eyes slowly open, but the room is as dark and empty as it always is.
She finally breaks, sobs wracking her tired body and echoing off the walls. She curls up on herself, praying to every deity she knows of that sleep claims her again, but this time, the universe is merciless, and so she cries until her eyes cannot cry anymore.
The boy who had been before had never slept all that well. There had been too much noise in his head, noise that would not quiet along with the world when the night would fall, but that would instead grow louder because he would have nothing to occupy his mind with.
It hadn’t mattered if he’d been a small child, all alone for days on end in a flashy apartment in a big city, with nothing but droids to keep him company. It hadn’t mattered if he’d been a boy, trying desperately to find his way among students of his uncle’s training temple. It hadn’t mattered if he’d been a young man, plagued by immense feelings of fear and guilt and deep, unexplainable anger. It hadn’t mattered how old he’d been, because the voices in his head had been such a constant that he’d long stopped to wonder if he’d perhaps been born with them.
The man who had been after could not sleep well at all. He had lived in constant need to prove himself to someone who he had looked up to, someone who’d only seen value in him because of the name he carried.
That man had never known peace. But then, after a string of fated events, the shadow over his mind had been removed by his own hands, and he had thought that he’d finally been set free. Yet as the days turned into months, and months into a full year, the voices had never stopped.
Along with them though, at one point in his life, something else had appeared and stood at odds with his mental plagues.
He had been perhaps nine, or ten, the newest arrival at the Jedi Temple, and he’d been sitting at his desk reading a flimsy old book on the ancient order that his uncle had given him, when he’d felt a tug at his heart, and a sensation like the galaxy itself had let out a sigh of relief had passed through the air. He had immediately gone to his uncle, but the Grand Master had sensed nothing of the sort, and had had no idea what it could have been.
Meditate on it, he had told him. But the boy had no clue where to start.
Among all these things, there had also been dreams. They were mostly of the normal sort, but as he’d grown older, the dreams had turned dark and menacing, and the look in his uncle’s eyes had turned cautious, even a little scared.
The man after had also had dreams, but they were mostly ghosts of his past haunting him relentlessly, no doubt come to sow regret that he fought so hard against during the waking hours.
But that same man had made a decision one day, a decision born out of the kind of selfless love he hadn’t known he had in him, and, with the ghost of a soft kiss on his lips and a hand on his cheek, his body carried away on the currents of the Force, he had thought that he would finally be able to rest.
In reality, he still dreams, and the dreams have never been as intense, or as heartbreaking, as they are now.
And they all come back to that one simple thing that had inspired the tug of his young heart and that sigh of universal relief twenty years ago. He has no time to think what it all means, plagued as he is by the visions of places he has never been to, events that have never come to be, and lives he has never lived.
And so Ben Solo waits for the peace and lightness of being that comes with being one with the Force, waits for what feels like eternity and no time at all, but all he gets instead are these constantly shifting dreams, with hazel eyes and a dimpled smile at the forefront of them all.