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“You’re not going.”
Rey resists the urge to roll her eyes at Poe in plain view of his commanding officers, but remains stone-faced, arms crossed. She was already risking her freedom by being openly insubordinate; the last thing she needs is for Poe to decide she needs a security detail on her next mission.
“If you want to wait until we have reports of massassi in the Core Worlds, be my guest,” she sounds vindictive, and she can’t bring herself to care, “but I intend to nip this in the bud.”
Poe narrows his eyes at her, and she can feel Finn’s disappointed gaze on her from across the room. He is still getting used to being able to attune himself to her through the Force, which makes him easy to block out. His probe into her mind is feeble and superficial, and she swats it away thoughtlessly. She doesn’t look over, certain that she’ll see hurt in his face.
It seems that Leia’s guidance finally fell on willing ears, because he doesn’t take the bait. He whispers something she can’t quite hear to Finn, who nods and leads the next portion of the meeting. She tunes most of it out, finding that she doesn’t particularly share her friend’s interest in politics and the fine print of rebuilding the Republic.
It’s too messy, too dependent on people that she knows for a fact can’t be depended on. In the last year, she had accompanied Poe and Finn on several diplomatic missions to meet with and organize leaders across the galaxy in an effort to erect the skeleton of a democracy. She had seen first hand the type of incentives that Poe had to offer in order to get these politicians to act in the best interest of the galaxy. Altruistic politicians were few and far between, and it hadn’t taken very long for them to fall back into self-serving practices.
The rest of the meeting went by quickly enough, with Rey staying out of respect for Finn rather than a genuine interest in the topics being discussed. She had found that in the last year, she had lost her willingness to pretend she was in the same boat as the rest of them.
She hadn’t confided in any of them about Exogol, least of all, Finn. They knew the basic story, that Ben had helped her defeat Palpatine and lost his life in the process.
Her heritage, however, she had decided to let die with Palpatine. Leia had been the only other person who knew, and Rey would be damned if she gave the New Republic yet another reason to want to keep tabs on her.
Ben had known.
She could still see his face, bloodied and hopeful, nodding at her from across the bond. Her lifeline in the face of death. He hadn’t cared when he found out. He hadn’t treated her differently; if anything, he’d fought for her harder after that.
She dreams of him some nights. Dreams of the way he pleaded with her in the ruins of the Death Star, the brush of his fingers on her chest as he ripped off her necklace in Pasanna, the set of his jaw as he extended his hand to her, one last time, in front of a platoon of stormtroopers. She dreams too much of him, of the way she can still feel his touch through the bond, as if he were reaching out for her even in death. She had long ago attempted to sever the bond, with no success. From what she had read of Force dyads, which admittedly wasn’t much, bonds were severed with the death of one member. She had briefly looked forward to that reprieve, the promise of a time when she would no longer feel Ben’s absence like a gaping wound in her side.
Her and Ben’s bond hadn’t gotten that message. While the pain of it was certainly dulled enough to where she could go about her day mostly unencumbered by the reminder of him, a sharp ache awaited her every night.
That’s the worst of it, she thinks.
It was almost cruel, the way a future with him had been dangled in front of them and taken away so quickly.
She can feel the tears stinging the corner of her eyes again, so she turns on her heel and exits the conference room. She can deal with Finn’s disappointment later. Come to think of it, she’s gotten pretty good at that lately.
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It is as she’s packing her bags later on that she feels it stir. It takes a moment to place the feeling- she hasn’t felt it in so long…
It wasn’t unheard of for her to feel the bond stir from time to time. She supposed it wasn’t entirely dissimilar to a phantom limb; her brain was reaching out for something it remembered, regardless of the fact that it no longer existed.
She immediately closes off her mind to it. There’s no point, she has no time to wallow in it now. She has allowed herself plenty of crying and morning a year ago, until the morning she woke up and found she had no tears left. No matter how much she dwelled on the bond, on Exogol, on Ben, no tears came anymore. So why bother acknowledging the bond? That part of her life was clearly over.
With a shake of her head, she swings the packs over her shoulder and makes her way out of her quarters and into the hangar.
-—————————————
“Rey.”
It’s a sense of respect that lets her stop for Leia, but not for Poe. The General seems to loom over her despite her stature, and Rey dreads the conversation that’s about to happen. She had been deliberately avoiding Leia since Exogol, but she knew it would happen eventually.
“Yes, General?” she starts tentatively, shifting the weight of the pack on her shoulders.
She was almost worried that the General would have cornered her for a conversation about her son, or maybe the Force or even Palpatine, all of which were topics Rey would have rather cut off her own hand than to breach.
But instead, she throws her yet another curve ball.
“You should know,” Leia begins loftily, “we have intel of one of the nastier pirate gangs hanging around the hyperlanes you’ll be using.”
“Pirate gangs.” Rey repeats slowly.
“To be more specific, the Guavian Death Gang seems to have replaced their leader and they’re hitting up luxury yachts and other cargo ships passing through. I figured it was worth mentioning.”
“It is,” she says quickly, “I appreciate it, General. I do believe I can handle a few rogue pirates, though.”
Leia smiles, “I know you can, Rey. I don’t doubt it. Just thought you’d need a bit of background information.”
She extends a thin file, which Rey puts away unseen in a motion she knows is more petty and unwarranted than Leia deserves, but she can’t bring herself to stop. She can always read the file on the way, and it gives her some sense of satisfaction to leave Leia without the pleasure of seeing Rey’s reaction to this new obstacle.
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As Rey finalizes the data input that would set the Falcon en route to the Nache Bhelfia hyperspace lanes, she wonders idly if she is going mad. It’s what people do when they’re losing it, isn’t it?
She has had to bypass at least three different security protocols in order to get the ship’s main computer to accept the coordinates of her trip. Three small checkpoints, three opportunities for her to come to her senses and turn back to safety. Despite what she said to Poe back on base, she knows next to nothing about what awaits her in Korriban.
There have been whispers, sure, rumors that Sith Spawn were emerging in the old Sith Worlds. But to imply that they were crawling their way to Core Worlds was a stretch, and one that she had been happy to make if it got her off-world and away from all of those condescending “concerned” looks she can’t seem to stop getting from her colleagues.
She knows on some basic level that it’s reckless to set course for Korriban alone. Even if she doesn’t end up encountering any Sith spawn, someone with her track record should never step foot on the planet.
She can still remember the thrill of harnessing the dark side of the Force quite literally at her fingertips. She still feels very keenly the power of her senses wrapping around the First Order prisoner transport. She remembers, though she would never admit it to anyone, letting any thought of Chewie slip out of her mind when Ben entered the picture. The sheer excitement of the familiar game of tug-of-war between them escalated to such a gargantuan display of power had been exhilarating. Later she told herself that she only pulled so hard to make sure Chewie would arrive safely, that she never would have kept pulling if she’d known her powers would become so volatile.
He’d known.
Ben had known better than anyone else why she’d pushed herself to the point of manifesting Force lightning.
To beat him.
The fact was so simple that it made her want to scream in rage. How could she admit to her friends that she had been willing to risk Chewbacca’s safety just to come out on top again in front of Kylo Ren? How could she possibly explain the feeling of the world around her fading into muted background until it was just them and their connection- their fight?
So maybe Korriban is penance.
She shakes her head in an effort to clear it, and decides now is as good a time to read through that file Leia had given her. It really is quite thin, with barely four pages of information on the Guavian Death Gang. Their leading spacer was apparently a rotating position, known only by the most outrageous feats they managed to accomplish before they’re either killed or captured by whatever iteration of the Republic happens to be around at the time.
Their intel showed that there was evidence of a new leader in place, one with a reputation for gore and violence. There has been an uptick in violent killings since their last leader had been killed in a scuffle with a Mandalorian, and now the gang could only be traced by the murders they were leaving behind.
She wrinkles her nose at the details, and wonders what kind of a person would be capable of wreaking such havoc on human life.
You’d known someone like that once.
Ben had been the same, hadn’t he? She had first met him amidst murder and chaos, and had gotten her first taste of power by leaving him a bloody mess on the snowy ground of Starkiller base. Since then their encounters had always been surrounded by the same. Death, destruction, and chaos.
Their last battle, however, had been painted in a different sort of light. She remembers forgetting the pain, feeling the spark of hope at finally, finally having Ben on her side. She remembers seeing a glimpse of their future together, a fraction of the vision she had had on the lift.
Anyway.
She highly doubted lightning would strike twice where murderous leaders were concerned, and realized it would mean another death count on her part if she ran into this gang on her way to Korriban.
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Rey knows that, logically, she has to sleep at some point. She grabs a threadbare blanket from what’s left of Han’s supplies, and curls up on the crescent seat in the lounge. It is incredibly uncomfortable, and not at all conducive to sleep.
Perfect.
The more soundly she sleeps, the more likely she is to dream. Best to keep herself on the edge of consciousness.
Not that it helps much, anyway. She tosses and turns constantly, feeling a presence creeping up on her, a shadow of someone that feels a lot like…
Rey-
No.
Wait-
She blinks awake for a second, doing her best to ignore the pounding in her heart as she looks over to the chrono.
Two standard hours.
With a sigh, she reaches into her pack to pull out the dose tablets Leia had pressed into her hands before leaving. She had said one would be enough, so Rey stubbornly swallows two tablets dry.
The whispers in her head quiet enough for her to doze off.
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“Rey, wake up.”
She stirs in her sleep, trying her best to shift her position even though his arm is heavy as lead in sleep, and is currently draped over her middle. She can feel his warm laugh rumbling against her back, and she rolls over to face him.
It never ceases to surprise her, just how handsome he can be when he lets his guard down around her. His eyes are lazy with sleep, and she can see the wrinkles forming around his eyes as he beams a smile at her. She has long ago stopped counting the moles that are spattered across his neck and chest, but that doesn’t stop her eyes from grazing over him every morning all the same.
“Sleep well?” he murmurs, his arm reaching up to brush a tangle of hair out of her face.
“Shut up,” she grins, “You wore me out. I’m allowed.”
“Guilty.”
The whole mattress shifts when he leans up over her, caging her between the two tree trunks he called arms. She can see the sunlight streaming in behind him, painting his hair golden brown in certain spots.
She can’t help it. She leans up to catch his lips with hers and pulls him back down with her, reveling in the way his left arm cups up under her back to arch her towards him. Her hands splay out across his broad chest, and Rey can’t hold back the noise that escapes her throat when he bites down on her lip-
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It’s the blaring sirens that pull her from sleep so violently, but her instincts have her running to the pilot’s cabin to see what is causing it. Her shields are down, for some reason, and she can clearly see the large freighter approaching her.
Fast.
“Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit.”
There’s no sense trying to outrun them now, they’re practically within boarding distance. She unclips her saber from her belt, and thinks through her options.
There are ten, maybe fifteen gang members about to forcibly board her ship. Fifteen is more likely considering that she is on the Falcon, and Han did not exactly leave on good terms with Bala-Tik the last time they ran into each other.
She can take them, that part is not such a hassle. The main concern is the blasters at the moment, and she will have little to no time to discern who is armed or where the blasts are coming from.
Ignoring the part of her brain that is screaming at her, reminding her how badly this went last time, Rey heaves up an iron grate off the floor, squeezing down into the space below. She is briefly assaulted with fond memories of huddling close and shush-ing Finn from behind an oxygen mask, back before things had gotten so complicated.
She can hear the metallic groan of a ship latching onto the Falcon, and the smooth whir of the doors opening.
Rey closes her eyes, tuning in her Force signature to the life forces boarding the ship. One…..
Just one.
That was… impossible. She scans again, this time fully concentrating on the beaming energy that seems to be coming from this single individual. One person she can definitely take.
Before she can make the decision, the grate above her slides open and she is staring straight into the grimy face of a member of the Guavian Death Gang. He is wearing a thick band of leather across his eyes, and his face is mostly obscured by the cloth hood he is wearing.
“How did I know you’d be down there?” he murmurs, and Rey bares her teeth.
In one smooth movement, she Force propels herself out of the crawl space and ignites her saber. She wastes no time, and begins her assault on this gargantuan man. He dodges her, circling her in a way that she vaguely thinks is very inefficient.
He is not gaining on her. Rather, he seems intent on keeping her at range. She had seen a blaster at his waist, but he has yet to reach for it.
Rey-
No.
NO.
With an almost feral cry, she doubles down on her attack, slashing and nearly screaming every time he evades yet another one of her attacks. He is just that side of reading her mind, moving such a second too quickly to be called a reaction.
She stops short, trying to piece together everything that is happening to her right now.
“What are you after?” She snaps, breathing slowly and frowning at how he still isn’t reaching for his blaster. Instead, he raises his hands above his head, palms facing her.
In… surrender?
Rey-
No…
“Take that off,” she whispers, taking a step forward and pointing her saber straight at his chest.
That corner of her mind feels warm, almost like feeling a fire through the warm layers of a coat. It can’t be… It really can’t….
Rey, please-
“I’m dreaming,” she mumbles to herself, even as she advances on him, the hum of her saber giving way to the smell of singed cloth. He lowers his hands to the hood, pulls it back to reveal long black hair matted together by dirt and sweat. It’s not him, but it….
“Off.” her voice is steel now, the saber in her hand rising to threaten his throat.
His mouth is- his lips are so full… She only got to kiss them once, before he…
He removes the blindfold and it really is over, isn’t it, the farce she had been able to keep up so far. Because there’s no way to explain away the softness in his eyes when he looks at her. Shame stirs in her belly, at the thought that all the Force had had to do was cover him in dirt and he had been a stranger to her. She had spent all this time swearing she could know him anywhere, knew him better than anyone, and yet a simple hood had made her blind.
“Ben?”
She hates the tears in her eyes, and she especially hates how she can hear them in the tremble of her voice. She lowers her saber, watching its slow descent from under his chin, down to his throat, down his chest, his stomach (she had stabbed him there, once), and finally resting at her side.
She switches it off, letting the whole thing clatter to the ground. He approaches slowly, almost as if he doesn’t believe the fight is up quite yet. She is weirdly reminded of the throne room on Snoke’s Star Destroyer, how cautiously he had inched towards her and offered her the only thing he had at the time: his company.
“No, Ben,” she’s whimpering, now, and his arms are around her, and it really shouldn’t be hurting as much as it is. Wasn’t this what she had wanted for so long? All she had wanted had been for him to return to her, for him never to have left her in the first place.
“I told you I’d be back, sweetheart,” he whispers into her hair, and she cries into his cloak, helpless to stop the heaving sobs that wrack her shoulders at the sound of his voice, the endearment, the violent clicking into place of a memory she had never been able to fully recall.
I’ll come back for you, sweetheart.
“I did,” his voice sounds thick, like he is holding back his own set of tears, and his arms are so very lovely and warm and heavy around her, and Rey thinks vaguely that she’s never really known what it feels like to be fully and firmly on the ground.
At least, not until she had known what it was like to be held by Ben.
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She is thankful for the Falcon’s fresher, because she honestly can’t bear the thought of letting him go for even a second, let alone a whole shower.
He raises an eyebrow when she follows him in and clicks the lock. She doesn’t offer an explanation, just reaches past him to start the water on as hot a temperature as she thinks her skin will bear.
Ben stands shockingly still in front of her, watching intensely as her fingers shake when she tries to undo the fastening that holds his cloak together at his throat. It comes undone anyway, falling with a heavy thump on the floor. She works her way through his shirt, the heavy belt at his waist, and stops to marvel at his unmarred skin.
“How-” she looks up at him, and his eyes are wet and tender.
He cups her jaw in his hand, and the other brushes her hair back just like in her wonderful dream, “On Endor,” he begins, “in the rain… When you brought me back, they faded.”
“Ben,” she hates that she’s almost crying again, hates that she hasn’t said his name once yet without a tear rolling down her cheek, “I-”
“I know,” he says, soft and quiet, and he’s leaning down to where she can feel the words leaving his lips against hers, “I thought I’d never see you again, Rey, I-”
It’s still a competition, she thinks, who can say it first, so she cuts him right off,
“I love you, Ben Solo.”