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Kintsugi: Golden rejoining. The ancient Japanese art of mending broken pottery with a lacquer dusted with powdered gold, silver or platinum. Finding beauty in imperfections.
********
Space is unreal. Other-worldly. Beautiful. Terrifying.
From inside the relative safety of the International Space Station, Rey had watched the Earth below from an altitude of approximately two hundred and twenty miles, travelling at an average speed of seventeen thousand and one hundred miles per hour.
Seeing her planet below from outside the ISS during a spacewalk is something entirely different. It’s unfortunate that damage to a solar panel has prompted the need to undertake critical maintenance, but Rey can’t complain about the view. This is what she dreamed about when she was growing up. Years spent watching the night sky, hoping to one day to find her place in all this, knowing there must be more to her story than living and dying in the desert.
During mission training, they were warned that doing Extra-Vehicular Activity would be one of the most hazardous parts of the job, and doing it untethered to the ISS is even more so. The positions of the required repairs mean that neither Ben nor Rey have the security of using the local or safety tethers, and while this increases the need for care and concentration, the EVA is something Rey has been most excited about, and the closest she would ever be to the stars. Her suit is comfortable, her visor not too restrictive, and although she is alone doing her task while Ben does his, being in communication with her fellow astronaut as well as the team back on the ground is reassuring. She looks over as he works on repairing the solar panel, and he returns her smile. Rey allows herself a minute to watch the Earth below them, and the wondrousness is almost overwhelming.
She turns her attention back to checking the coolant line, but In her peripheral vision, Rey registers that something about Ben’s movements are wrong.
He’s falling.
A heartbeat, loud in her ears as Rey’s breath catches in her throat. She watches as Ben fails to react, fails to steady himself. She calls his name using the microphone in the helmet of her suit, but there’s no answer.
She tries again. Nothing. No fractured words, no static. Just silence. Whatever happened must have caused his comms to fail. She tries unsuccessfully to contact Mission Control, but the only sound she can hear is the muffled mechanical sequence of pumps and fans that circulate air and water around her suit.
It happens slowly.
Slowly enough for her to run through the spectrum of experiences, of emotions that brought them here. The awkward politeness, the cold rebuttals, the misunderstandings. The reluctant acknowledgement that for each of them to survive and the for the mission to succeed, it would need both faith in each other and teamwork. How conversations over meals went, by degrees, from being stilted and torturous to something welcome and enjoyable.
Rey made a promise to herself to always watch at least one of the sixteen times the sun would rise and set each day during their mission. As she and Ben became more comfortable in their orbit around each other, he would join her in the observational module during their free time. The hours they spent talking, the way he listened to her, really listened, made Rey feel like she was being heard for the first time. They shared secrets. Softly, in the small hours, or laughing over dinner. It gave them both the distance from the rest of the galaxy that they needed to let someone else in.
She recognises splinters of herself within him. Fragments of a lost soul, mostly whole but not completely. She shows him kindness when others perhaps wouldn’t, hopeful that he will one day allow himself to feel it. A lesson she learnt for herself when there was no one there to teach it.
Rey expects for nothing in return, but he gives her trust. A connection. A foundation. It’s not easy, but she doesn’t want to lose it.
He tries, and that’s enough. They are not so different. Not really.
She watches, willing him to fight, like she knows he can. She watches and it feels like an eternity.
She moves. She has to try to get to him. She won’t give up.
Rey keeps her eyes on him, tracking his trajectory. Estimating how long she has. How long it will take. She won't let him go, even if he thinks he’s not worth saving.
I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.
When he locks eyes with her, it’s an affirmation. The wave inside her breaks, and relief floods through her veins.
Ben’s actions are skilled, as are Rey’s.
She knows what to do.
Breathe.
Reach.
Bring him back.
********
There is a moment where he doesn’t want to fight. He dreamed of this some nights. Welcomed it, almost. A way to free his family of the burden of loving him. Worrying about him. Waiting for him.
For the longest time, the desire to let go had been something unspeakable, something he buried so deeply that the shame still makes his eyes burn. Silently being torn apart, the pain so raw that he wondered how it was invisible to anyone that looked at him.
Things he had done. Things he had said. Pushing everyone as far away as he could while hatred feasted on his insecurities. Determined to make his own way, regardless of who or what he had to destroy to do it. For a time, he truly felt like the monster he was perceived to be.
He’s worked so hard to put things right. To earn his place. To go through the application process, the training program, to deserve to be here. Getting into space became his obsession. Whether to find himself or to lose himself is a question he still can’t answer.
Still, in the quiet times, when he can face his weaknesses alone, Ben doubts himself. Questioning whether he is good enough. Worthy of anyone’s time, or affection, or belief. These feelings are less frequent, less intense than they used to be, but sometimes in the small hours, he worries that he will never be completely free of them.
But this is okay. No one survives their past and remains the same person they were before.
Being kind is the most important thing.
Rey believes this, and so Ben tries to as well.
Rey.
Who shows him that the only approval he should seek is his own. That fear isn’t a mark of fragility, but one of strength.
Her scars are sealed with gold. His are shrouded in shadow.
And yet she has never been less than open and honest. Kind, when he was cold and abrupt. Especially then, sometimes. He hates himself for it. Reminders that the darkness he had fought so hard to overcome could still push through the cracks.
Not that she didn’t get angry. Despite his reputation, the knowledge of who his parents are, and the presumed favoritism that being a legacy child taints him with, she challenged him. Shouted at him. Listened when he apologised, and wasn’t too proud to apologise herself.
She laughed with him. At him, sometimes. Gave him the gift of being able to laugh at himself.
He’s getting better at letting himself be seen. Be known. It’s not easy but he doesn’t want to lose it.
Ben drags himself from his thoughts to look at Rey, holding her gaze.
She lights up the galaxy around them brighter than the Sun, but her eyes glisten with unshed tears.
He doesn’t want to be the one to make her cry. He tries to talk. To reassure her, but his comms are still dead. He wants to punch something, but he can’t. He wouldn’t anyway. It’s not who he is anymore. Instead, he shouts. It’s loud and guttural, and right now, it helps.
This isn’t how it ends. Not his story. Not her story, if he can help it. He won’t let her risk giving up her life trying to save his. His training kicks in, his instincts.
Survive. Survive. Survive.
He nods. An acknowledgement. He wants to live.
Ben follows procedure. His movements are practised and careful, his mind clear.
He knows what to do.
Breathe.
Reach.
Take her hand.