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CYCLE ONE
“Join me.”
Kylo lifts his hand, holding it out towards Rey. Palm up, ready for her to take it, just as she had hours ago across the Force. Her gaze follows the motion. In the throne room's dim light, the tear tracks down her cheek glisten silver. But she hesitates, her own hand remaining at her side.
“ Please. ” He barely recognizes himself when he whispers the word. How many years has it been since he’s used it? He means it, though. He’s not sure he’s needed anything as much as he needs her to take his offer. He’s not even sure what it is he’s offering except—except himself. No more loneliness. For either of them.
Something changes in her lovely face. A glimmer of resolve, and he holds his breath as her fingers twitch. She lifts her hand, and he’s almost dizzy with relief.
Her resolve tightens, and that’s when he realizes he’s got it all wrong. He feels a tug at his side—the lightsaber stashed on his hip shoots out, and only his reflexes stop it landing in her outstretched hand.
He keeps hold, a tug of war with the Force, only for the first time in his life he’s up against someone who is truly his equal. Rey bares her teeth as she doubles down. He can’t let her win. He grits his own teeth, his feet sliding across the floor as the effort pushes them further apart.
Almost—almost—
The saber splits in two, the recoil from the Force shoving him back. There’s a bright light. Silence. Then nothing at all.
CYCLE TWO
Kylo stirs in his cot, the familiar, quiet hum of the Supremacy’s systems the first thing he registers properly.
The second thing is that he’s in his cot at all.
He bolts upright, eyes blinking open and trying to adjust to the low light. Why is he in his quarters? He was in the throne room. The girl—Rey—she…
He summons a data pad from the table across the room, allowing it to glide into his hand before he glances at the date at the top.
It was a dream. That’s all. He dreamed an entire day, ending with her rejecting him.
Kylo lets out the closest thing to a laugh he’s capable of these days—a choked sound, half a breath. He’s had similar dreams before, though none so elaborate or vivid. He thought he’d got better at blocking them, but it seems Rey’s torn down his defenses against that aspect of the Force. And it wouldn’t take a scholar to interpret the dream.
Nevermind. She’s still on her way here, having left Luke’s secret location many standard hours before. After they’d touched hands—after Luke appeared to ruin the moment and break the connection—she’d set off to meet him.
Kylo had paced until he was exhausted enough to sleep for a few hours, and now there’s little to do except wait. He doesn’t know how long it will take her to arrive, and he should concentrate on the chase with the Resistance but—
His mother’s gone. He’d felt her presence on the bridge before it was destroyed, even if he’d hesitated to be the one to fire. He’s been hollow ever since. Only the unexpected connection to Rey, her confiding in him, and that fleeting second of connection, had done anything to distract him.
He doesn’t care about the Resistance anymore. What’s left of it. There’s no glory to be found in crushing its remnants—leave that to Hux. Kylo needs to focus on what comes next; on what he’ll say to Snoke when Rey arrives, what he’ll say to her.
So he trains. He showers. He tries to meditate, putting off his required reporting to Snoke. The Supreme Leader would only snatch her impending presence from his thoughts, and Kylo will lose the upper hand. He must be focussed.
Static comes through his earpiece. “We’ve detected a presence, sir. As you told us to expect. A Zeta 15-81 class shuttle, one life aboard.”
“I’ll be there right away.”
He pauses in front of the mirror, smoothing his hair, tugging at his uniform to make sure it’s straight. He’s still getting used to moving around without the helmet, and people don’t avoid him as much as they once had. Before, they’d scuttle out of his path, or turn around hurrying in another direction if they saw him coming, but now they don’t know it’s him—Kylo Ren—until he speaks. It’s a vulnerability he doesn’t like. There was power in his previous anonymity, and in his reputation preceding him.
He makes his way down to the secondary landing deck, where he’s ordered Rey’s shuttle to be brought in when it’s been intercepted. The ride down to that level is mundane and yet—there’s something he can’t put his finger on. He’s ridden in elevators like this every day for years, but this particular one reminds him of something.
Only when he’s standing on the deck, watching the small shuttle being pulled into place does the feeling settle into something even more insistent. His dream. He dreamed this last night.
Did the Force send him a premonition?
If it did, he’s not sure why. He passes through the next moments with only half a mind on the present. Rey is…lovely. Defiant, even in her vulnerability, and he steels himself as he leads her, restrained, to an elevator.
He definitely remembers this. Remembers how she gets so close, her voice dropping low enough to be enticing. He’s not sure she even aware of what she’s doing, imploring him from under such long lashes. He can barely hear her with his heart beating so loudly, like thunder in his ears.
By the time they reach the throne room, and Snoke’s wretched, imperious form looms over them, Kylo can no longer deny this is not the first time he’s been here. In this moment. But he has to shove that from his mind—he’ll have questions later, and the time to dwell on the answers, but only if Snoke doesn’t detect Kylo’s true purpose.
He doesn’t. Kylo carves Snoke in two again, defeating his master with his own arrogance, and then Rey fights at Kylo’s side, wiping out the Praetorian Guard in a matter of minutes.
Kylo’s never known elation like this. At least, not since the last time he lived this moment.
He stares at the ruins of his former master, knowing that everything is coming together. Better than last time. Rey has come to him and delivered the ultimate power right into his lap. The way they fought together—it was perfect. They fit each other, moving as one unit when they need to. She understands him, finally.
But she rejected him last time. He thinks he knows why.
“The fleet,” she says,” rushing across to the viewing scope which is depicting their destruction. “Order them to stop firing–there’s still time to save the fleet!”
He doesn’t. Instead, he only moves closer to the dais. His, now.
“Ben?” she asks, hesitantly.
“It’s time to let old things die.” The words were right. He knows that, in his bones. This is what she needs to hear, even if she rejected it the first time. “Snoke, Skywalker, the Sith, the Jedi, the Rebels.” The only difference is that as he inches closer, he peels off one glove. “Let it all die. Rey.” He holds out the ungloved hand towards her, just as he’d done before across the bond. “I want you to join me.”
She stares at his bare fingers, and his elation only grows, swelling up through his abdomen and into his chest. She couldn’t trust him with his gloves on, but like this? They both know that if she takes his hand, she’ll see his true intentions. She’ll see the heart of him. It’s what she wants as much as he does.
But there’s doubt in her face. Doubt he needs to overcome.
“We can join together and bring a new order to the galaxy,” he urges her. He doesn’t have all the power here, and it terrifies him, yet he must prove to her that he’s willing to share it. That’s the point—this is about both of them. Together.
The doubt dims into regret. “Don’t do this, Ben. Please don’t go this way.”
“No, no. You’re still holding on. Let go! Do you want to know the truth about your parents? Or have you always known?”
She’s tearful now, but she needs to hear this. She needs to let go, like he once had. It will be easier when she’s admitted it to herself and torn all artifice away.
“And you’ve just hidden it away.” He steps closer. “You know the truth. Say it. Say it .”
Another tear rolls down her cheek. “They were nobody,” she admits.
“They were filthy junk traders who sold you off for drinking money.”
Rey lets out a quiet sob, but it’s what she needs. She’ll realize that and thank him for it, later.
“They’re dead in a pauper’s grave in the Jakku desert,” he says. “You have no place in this story. You come from nothing. You’re nothing.” He pauses, so she’ll appreciate his next point. “But not to me. Join me.” He reaches out even further; it won’t take much for her to close the distance.
She looks at his hand, and he can’t fathom what she’s thinking. This is the last push. His final chance to change her mind.
“ Please ,” he whispers. It’s not a vulnerability he likes, but it’s one he must show.
Something changes in her face. A glimmer of resolve, and he holds his breath as her fingers twitch. She lifts her hand, but this time he’s not relieved. He knows what’s coming–he almost manages to react before she has the saber.
He keeps hold, a tug of war with the Force, only for the first time in his life he’s up against someone who is truly his equal. Rey bares her teeth as she doubles down. He can’t let her win. He grits his own teeth, his feet sliding across the floor as the effort pushes them further apart.
Almost—almost—
The saber splits in two, the recoil from the Force shoving him back. There’s a bright light. Silence. Then nothing at all.
CYCLE THREE
Kylo stirs in his cot, the familiar, quiet hum of the Supremacy’s systems the first thing he registers properly.
The second thing is that he’s in his cot at all.
He bolts upright, eyes blinking open and trying to adjust to the low light. Why is he in his quarters? He was in the throne room. The girl—Rey—she…
He summons a data pad from the table across the room, allowing it to glide into his hand before he glances at the date at the top.
It’s happened again.
He yells, a guttural thing he summons from the very fiber of his being, a noise that usually sends underlings scattering. But there’s nobody around, and the only thing he can do is fling the data pad across the room.
It hits the wall with an ominous crack, shooting sparks as it splits in two. Then it falls, screen dark, to the floor.
This is the Force. It has to be.
“What do you want from me?” he asks, but there’s nothing. No answer, no sign. Just quiet humming.
He trains, destroying three droids in the process, and before he gets in the shower he orders a new datapad be delivered to his quarters. He does not meditate.
He ignores a summons from Snoke, instead diving into the Holonet for information about the Force’s effects on time.
There’s not much. With the destruction of the Jedis, so too went much of their knowledge about the Force’s stranger elements. What remains of it is on codexes he doesn’t have access to.
There are hints though. Mere mentions of myths, of Jedi getting caught in loops until they found the right path to escape.
“What is the right path?” he asks the empty room, getting no more reply than he did before.
She arrives. Vulnerable, staring up at him from the Falcon’s casket-like shuttle. There’s fear underneath her bravado, and he loves her even more for hiding it.
Wait.
He—
What?
This time, in the elevator, he’s not focussing on what’s about to happen with Snoke. This time his distance with Rey, his feigned disinterest in her standing so close to him, is all about his own panicked understanding of his feelings.
Is that what the Force wants?
Snoke dies, almost like clockwork. It’s easier now that Kylo knows what’s coming.
And then—
The last guard dies. Kylo disignites the saber, but instead of looking to Snoke’s remains on the dais, he turns immediately to Rey.
“The fleet!” She says, dashing across to the viewing scope. “Order them to stop firing–there’s still time to save the fleet.”
He crosses the space to her side, tapping a command into the screen.
“There,” he tells her. “They’ll stop firing—but it won’t make any difference in the long run.”
She stares up at him, still a little breathless from the fight. “What do you mean?” she asks.
He’s breathless too, and aware of how mussed he is. Rivulets of sweat run down his face, under his armor. He’s too close to her—is he looming?
“They’ve already lost,” he replies, forcing himself to concentrate. “Even with Snoke gone, it’s too late.” His mother’s gone, too. Who leads them now?
“It’s not.” She shakes her head. “There’s still hope. There are things we can do.”
“You’re right.” She’s given him the opening he needs. “If we do it together. Let go of the old ideas. Join me.”
He’s doing this all too fast, but he raises his hand anyway.
“As what?” Except there’s doubt in her face again, as there was before. He’s still got a glove on, and he rushes to tug it off, tossing it to one side.
“Whatever you want,” he promises, offering a bare hand this time. “We can take the throne and be the change this galaxy needs. No more slavery on Jakku. No more desert orphans.”
He thinks he has her with that. There’s a glimmer of hope in her eyes, a twitch of her fingers.
“No more Skywalker,” he continues. “No more Sith or Jedi. Just whatever we want to be.”
“And what do you want to be?” she asks him.
He hesitates. The dais looms large beside them, and he glances in its direction, considering.
It’s the wrong move. She’s raised her hand, but only to grab for the saber. Instincts kick in and he pushes back, grappling for it with the Force.
Balance, perfect equals. A fissure. Bright light. Silence.
CYCLE FOUR
Kylo stirs in his cot, the familiar, quiet hum of the Supremacy’s systems the first thing he registers properly.
He grabs the data pad and launches it at the wall with a roar.
The last guard dies. Kylo disignites the saber, but instead of looking to Snoke’s remains on the dais, he turns immediately to Rey.
“The fleet!” She says, dashing across to the viewing scope. “Order them to stop firing–there’s still time to save the fleet.”
He crosses the space to her side, tapping a command into the screen.
“There,” he tells her. “They’ll stop firing now.”
She turns from the screen to stare up at him. In this light, there are tiny flecks of gold in her eyes, and he’s close enough to count her eyelashes.
“We should leave,” he says, around a tongue that is suddenly too large for his mouth.
“What?”
“We need to get out of here. Snoke’s dead. Hux will be here soon—we should go before they realize.”
“But go where?” she asks, a little exasperated. “To the Resistance?”
“I—don’t think—where do you want to go?”
That has to do it, right? Let her take the lead and decide their future path. If he can just get them past this moment, make it out of this infernal room together, he can talk her into defecting when they’re in the shuttle.
But a familiar resolve settles into her features. Her mouth tightens, so slight that he wouldn’t recognize it if he hadn’t already seen her wear this expression.
He spins away, stalking towards the dais.
“What do you want from me?” he yells, so hard the dais seems to shake as the room reverberates. The Force doesn’t respond, but Rey does, yanking the saber towards herself.
He fights for it anyway. It’s his, and if she doesn’t want him, then he won’t let her have anything that belongs to him either.
Equilibrium. The balance breaking. Light. Darkness.
CYCLE FIVE
Kylo stirs in his cot, the familiar, quiet hum of the Supremacy’s systems the first thing he registers properly.
He turns over with a grunt, pulling the scratchy blanket over his head to block out the galaxy.
The last guard dies. Kylo disignites the saber, but instead of looking to Snoke’s remains on the dais, he turns immediately to Rey.
“The fleet!” She says, dashing across to the viewing scope. “Order them to stop firing–there’s still time to save the fleet.”
He doesn’t move.
“Are you doing this?” he asks her.
She stops, staring at him with astonishment. “Doing what?”
“This.” He gestures at the carnage around them, the crimson, smouldering remains of guards, the curtain of fire at one edge of the room. “Again and again.”
“Kylo, what are you talking about?”
She turns her attention back to the fleet, but he’s not done.
“I thought you weren’t powerful enough.” He’d said as much, the first time the Force brought them together.. “But now–I can’t keep going through this, Rey. If this is some sick way of torturing me because I won’t turn to the Light, you can give up. I’ve already lost. You won’t have me even though I killed my master for you. My father is dead. My mother is dead—“
His voice cracks on that last, and Rey’s eyes widen.
“Your mother is—?”
She didn’t know.
“Gone. And for what? I ask you to join me, you turn against me, and you keep replaying this moment until I break, is that it?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about!”
There it is. The resolve. He’s done it again: resolve. Balance and unbalance. Light, and inevitable darkness.
CYCLE EIGHT
Kylo stirs in his cot, the familiar, quiet hum of the Supremacy’s systems the first thing he registers properly.
He gets up and stumbles through his routine—training, showering, waiting for Rey to arrive. What else can he do? He sleepwalks through the day like an actor in a holonet drama, and his performance is about as convincing. He knows every beat and every line, but there’s no conviction to what he does.
Rey doesn’t notice, in the jumble from the shuttle to the elevator. He keeps himself distant—at least as distant as he can in such a small space—and tries to resist the lure into conversation.
He fails. Again.
But he’s careful during the entire audience with Snoke, keeping to the carefully choreographed steps in his mind, until his master is dead and the fight begins.
Back to back with Rey, doing battle against three of the guard with ease. It gets easier every time—he knows their moves before they do, and it makes him more efficient. Those three are down and he spins to face Rey’s direction, where she’ll be exchanging blows with—
She screams, a plasma blade searing through her abdomen.
“ REY! ”
The world slows down, all sound becoming static in his ears. She crumples, and Kylo sends a blade spinning to behead the Guard who felled her.
He can’t even get to her right away—he has to continue the fight, and time is still all wrong. Every heartbeat takes twice as long as it should, every footstep takes an eternity to cross the room towards her.
By the time he reaches her, the bodies of the remaining guard littering the path, she is white and glassy eyed.
“No, no, no, no…” He gets to his knees, pulling her into his arms, but it’s too late. She lets out one last shuddering breath.
There’s no resolve this time. He’d call it peace, but he doesn’t think it’s that. It’s nothingness. Rey is gone, and nothing makes sense anymore. The moment lasts longer than it ever has.
She’s not here to end it for him. How can that be? He’s gone through this day over and over, just to end with her…gone? Like his mother.
Now he’s faced with the day continuing. Turning into tomorrow. A string of days, one after the other, with him truly alone. No balance. No light. He must have the light.
How does he bring the light back?
It always ends one way. The two of them grappling for the saber, and splitting it until the Force blots out the world. He doesn’t have her with him but–he can do that himself. Better than face what comes next.
He reaches for the saber, crushing it in his palm until the kyber splits and the room explodes into light.
CYCLE NINE
Kylo stirs in his cot, the familiar, quiet hum of the Supremacy’s systems the first thing he registers properly.
He gasps, and on the exhale it turns into a sob.
She was just in his arms, and he did that to her. He let her get killed through his own carelessness.
For the first time, the loop isn’t a curse. Because she’s alive again, and he has another chance.
He has a plan this time. He’s mused on it since waking up, examining every moment of the day as it’s happened before. There’s the possibility he could make a difference before they even reach the throne room. Perhaps that’s the mistake. He keeps waiting until the fight is over.
By now, he knows that his distant, cold demeanor on her arrival is not what she expects. She’s naive and a little foolish to come to him expecting a warm welcome, particularly around an audience but isn’t that Rey? Even after her childhood, years of hardship and living amongst the worst the galaxy has to offer, she still chooses to hope for the best from people.
Still, he has to keep up the ruse when the Stormtroopers are around. It’s only when they’re in the elevator, when they’re finally alone, that he has a window to let his guard down.
She acts first, of course. Turning to him, without a hint of guile, despite how tempting he finds her. Her hair, half-pulled back like that, perfectly framing her face. Her eyes framed by the lashes she looks up at him through. Her voice soft as she murmurs to him, offering him almost everything he wants.
And he sees it for the first time. Her gaze flickering to his mouth.
Somehow, he’s missed it every time before. He was too busy staring at her mouth, or trying to control the stampede in his chest at her stepping so close. But she does—she looks at his lips, even though he’s not speaking.
He taps his hand on the panel to stop the elevator. Then he steps even closer, cupping her chin in one gloved hand and pressing his mouth to hers.
He’s got no idea what he’s doing. Not in kissing her, or how to kiss her. Still, her lips are warm and pliant beneath his, and the tiny little gasp gives him a moment of hope. She does want him!
Then she shoves him in the chest, pushing away until they each opposite sides of the elevator.
“What are you doing?” she asks, indignant.
“I—I thought—“ He slams his jaw shut. “Never mind.”
He restarts the elevator.
CYCLE TWELVE
Kylo stirs in his cot, the familiar, quiet hum of the Supremacy’s systems the first thing he registers properly.
He doesn’t move for a while, staring at the featureless gray ceiling and replaying the day he keeps reliving through his mind. Where is he going wrong?
There must be a right path. The Force wouldn’t bother doing this unless there was a specific sequence of events leading to the correct path out of here. Surely.
He briefly wonders if he’s being punished for ever following a dark track, but dismisses that idea swiftly. If he’s learned anything in his endless research of ancient Jedi and Sith tomes, it’s that the Force is agnostic. It wants balance; it does not care about Dark and Light unless one is prevailing too strongly over the other.
He sits up, suddenly alert. Perhaps that’s it. They kill Snoke—is that where Kylo’s going wrong? Snoke is one weight on the side of darkness on the cosmic scales, and by killing him, they tip too far towards the Light. It would only be Kylo himself as a wielder of the Dark, while Rey and Luke still outnumber him.
This time, he orders for Rey’s shuttle to be directed straight into a side bay, and sends the troopers away when she arrives.
“I can handle the girl,” he tells them, and when one tries to protest— Snoke’s orders, Sir, he’s specifically said this girl is dangerous —he wipes their minds and sends them on their way forcefully.
She blinks up at him with familiar trepidation, but he wastes no time, pressing the switch to slide the lid open.
“We don’t have long,” he says. “I’ll need to restrain you, but if you follow me, I’ll get us out of here before Snoke realizes anything is wrong.”
“What are you talking about?” she asks, already leaping out of the shuttle, though she has the sense to keep her voice low enough so nobody can overhear them. “I came here to help you defeat Snoke.”
“I have no intention of defeating Snoke!” Though killing him is child’s play at this point, a trivial interlude during this never-ending day. “If we want to survive and come up with a better plan, we need to go.”
“That is not what I saw when we touched hands.” She rounds the shuttle, staring up at him with imploring eyes, just like she usually does in the elevator. “Ben, we can do this. We can end his rule.”
The twisting in his gut tells him she’s not going to run away with him.
“Very well.” He snaps the restraints around her wrists, eliciting a gasp from her. “Come with me.”
CYCLE FIFTEEN
Kylo stirs in his cot, the familiar, quiet hum of the Supremacy’s systems the first thing he registers properly.
“Do we have to do this again?” he asks of the empty air.
He does do it again. Training, showering, meeting Rey’s shuttle, confronting Snoke, defeating the guard. All of it, motion-by-motion.
“The fleet! Order them to stop firing–there’s still time to save the fleet.”
Her voice rings out across the throne room. He nods, crossing towards her, wiping his face on the hem of his tunic as he goes, pushing his hair back from his flushed face. He must be a mess. He doesn’t have much in the way of vanity—lost all of that at school, when the other padawans mocked his ears and long features. But his hair, grown to carefully conceal his ears, is the one piece of vanity he’s ever allowed himself. Now, he’s conscious of it not being perfectly styled in front of Rey.
But she’s not looking at his hair. When he reaches the viewing scope, he notices she’s not even looking at his face. Instead, her gaze is lower down, on the strip of belly he’s exposed by lifting the tunic up.
Kylo remembers her reaction to his bare torso when the Force connected them days ago—angry embarrassment, turning her back. The way her gaze falters this time, skittering away to the ground and then back, her face a little guilty, he sees it more clearly this time.
He clumsily swipes in a code to halt the destruction of the fleet, then reaches for the hem of his tunic once more, watching her gaze track his hands. Her cheeks are just as flushed as his, but for different reasons.
He sweeps the tunic off. He’d like to say it’s an elegant movement, but instead it’s swift and clumsy, getting tangled up when he forgets to unclip his belt first. At least the moment when the fabric is bunched up around his eyes means he can’t see her reaction, and when it’s on the floor he daren’t meet her gaze.
Not that he could. She’s not looking at him—instead she’s staring determinedly over his shoulder at the dais.
“What—what are you doing?” she asks.
He thought he’d figured it out; she liked seeing him shirtless. He’s sure she finds him attractive, as unlikely as that seems. But now—now it’s pretty obvious that he’s made another misstep. He calculated incorrectly. She really was just embarrassed to find him semi-clothed that time.
Now he’s even more embarrassed than her.
He takes a step back. “It’s hot.” It’s unconvincing, even to his ears. “After the fight.”
She’s still refusing to look at him, so he falls back into familiar territory. Fighting over the lightsaber is easier than this.
“It’s time to let old things die,” he says, barely summoning up the enthusiasm to get the words out. “Snoke, Skywalker, the Sith, the Jedi, the Rebels, let it all die…”
CYCLE ?
Kylo stirs in his cot, the familiar, quiet hum of the Supremacy’s systems the first thing he registers properly.
He sighs, not bothering to move yet.
The Supremacy is too quiet, really. Too quiet, too smooth. He’s lied to himself for a long time that he appreciates the superior engineering which allows it. The truth is that he misses the noise and motion of the Falcon. It’s the only place he’s ever slept properly. Even his nightmares didn’t seem to touch him when he was in its belly, curled up in a tatty bunk that smelled of Wookie and engine grease, the blanket faintly perfumed by his mother’s scent.
They’re gone now, except the Wookie, who will no doubt attempt to kill Kylo again if they ever cross paths. His only remaining family is his uncle, who cast himself out into the depths of the galaxy rather than deal with Kylo. A man who’d rather slaughter his nephew in his sleep and face Leia’s wrath than actually speak to him.
It’s all Snoke’s doing. He knows that now. Snoke subtly guiding Kylo to make missteps until he was thrown from the path he should have been on, into this one. It’s why Snoke must die.
But what good will that do if every time Kylo kills Snoke, he ends up at the beginning of this day again?
He trains, showers, meditates. Stumbles through the tedious moments of this day—down to the cargo deck where he can wait for her.
She tries to seduce him to her side in the elevator, and believes she’s failed. She has no idea that by this point, he’s completely hers. She won’t abandon all of this and run away with him, but if she were to ask him…He’d do it. No questions asked.
He can’t help remembering the way her lips had felt underneath his, that one time, before she’d shoved him away.
Snoke dies. The guards die. Kylo’s left facing the dais where the two halves of his master lie.
“The fleet!” Rey says, dashing across to the viewing scope, where the Resistance is being obliterated. “Order them to stop firing–there’s still time to save the fleet.”
He does no such thing. Instead, he peels his gloves off, tossing them to the side. Then he stumbles to the foot of the dais, slumping down.
He’s so tired.
“I give up,” he mumbles, and Rey has frozen in place, staring at him with concern.
“What are you—“
“I give up,” he repeats, louder this time, but with no more conviction. The Force can hear him at any volume. “I’m going to ruin this again, so why bother?”
She’s crept closer, but she looks no less worried. “I have no idea what you mean. Ben, there are things we can do right now that will make so much difference.”
He laughs, and it’s so bitter, sharp and dry. “No, I can’t. I keep trying and I just end up back at the beginning. I get it—I’m doomed. I can’t do anything right, so why bother?”
That’s it, of course. That’s what the Force is showing him; no matter what choice he makes, it will always be the wrong one.
“You just killed Snoke! How is that a bad thing?”
He shakes his head, burying his face in his hands. He can feel her standing there, at a loss, but he doesn’t have anything inside him to reassure her.
“You’re wrong,” she insists. “And Luke—Luke was wrong about you, too.”
He ignores her, hoping she will leave of her own accord. Maybe they just need to part ways like this.
Instead, she keeps going.
“He clings to these rigid ideas about Light and Dark, but the planet he’s been hiding on—if it proved to me anything, it’s that things aren’t so simple. You can make choices that can harm people, and use the Force to do that, but the Force itself? It doesn’t judge. It expects us all to have a little light and dark inside us.”
He lifts his head, curious about what she saw in those brief few days in Luke’s company. There’s a passion glowing from her features now—an inspiration that doesn’t seem to be Luke’s doing.
“We have to let go of it all. Clinging to those old ideas is what killed the Jedi and let the Empire grow. We can start afresh and try to find a real balance. We don’t need to embrace the Light and only the Light—but we don’t need to surrender to the darkness either.”
“You have no idea,” he says. “The darkness has always been inside me. It clouds everything. The Light wants no part of me.”
“You’re wrong.” She’s right in front of him now, hands on her hips, backlit by the fires burning around the room. It’s almost as if she’s glowing from within. “I can see inside you. There’s darkness there, but that’s not all there is. And this—“ She gestures around at the throne room. “This isn’t where you belong. You don’t want to rule the galaxy. It’ll kill you—that’s not who you are.”
He can barely breathe. The way she’s looking at him—she’s almost looking through him. She’s done that before–from that first moment face-to-face, to when she’d taken his hand across the fire and peered into his soul.
This is worse. Better. It’s terrifying to be so known, when all his life, people have made assumptions and seen things in him that weren’t there. She’s right. He doesn’t want to rule. He definitely doesn’t want to rule alone.
But mostly, he just doesn’t want to be alone. All he’s ever wanted is to not be alone.
“Who am I, then?” he asks.
She smiles. “You’re Ben.”
She doesn’t have a plan. He knows she doesn’t, which is terrifying in its own way, because he never approaches anything without a strategy. But when she reaches out to him with her hand, to help him stand, he doesn’t mind that she has no idea what they’ll do next.
He takes her hand, bare skin to bare skin.
“I’m Ben,” he agrees. What he means is, I’m yours .