Chapter 1: Prologue
Chapter Text
Symmetry and Black Tar
prologue
“Do you know who I am?”
Vanver Irving does indeed know, but honesty has never come easily to him. Not even when there’s a blaster pointed at his head. “No idea.”
The man in black’s mouth turns into the tiniest smile. It’s a smile that says Beware of Rancor. “I see.” He lowers the blaster, and Vanver allows himself a moment of relief--
--until the man in black shoots him in the kneecap.
It hurts.
“Fuck!”
“C’mon, man,” Toursant pleads from the other side of the shed, twisting his tied wrists behind his back. “My brother’s an idiot. He doesn’t know anything.”
The man in black kneels next to Vanver. “I don’t think that’s true,” he says gently. “You know who I am. Say it.”
Vanver’s leg has a smoking hole in it, and honesty’s starting to look a lot better right now. “You’re Kylo Ren,” he manages through gritted teeth.
“That’s right. What am I looking for?”
“The Millennium Falcon.”
“Good. Where is it?”
“We don’t have it.”
The muzzle of the blaster is cold against Vanver’s temple. “I know you don’t have it. That’s not what I asked.”
Toursant is the one who answers. (That’s good, because Vanver’s pretty sure he’s going to faint soon.) “It got stolen. Ages ago. Dunno by who--”
The blaster makes a whirring sound as it heats up.
“--but we heard it was one of Unkar Plutt’s people.”
Vanver’s glad Toursant doesn’t mention that they kind of let the freighter get stolen. Taking it had seemed like a good idea at the time -- Gannis Ducain was an asshole and had way too many ships anyway, he’d never miss one! -- until they figured out it was the Millennium Falcon they now had on their hands. That ship was cursed. If you’d ever had it, if you’d ever even been in it, sooner or later you’d get a visit from a mysterious, vengeful phantom. A visit that very few survived.
So the Irving boys left the Falcon’s doors unlocked in the bad part of Coronet City and hoped for the best. Sure enough, the ship had been gone by morning. It’d been in their possession for less than a week.
Apparently, that was still too long.
Ren seems to be thinking. At least, Vanver is pretty sure; hard to concentrate with half your leg shattered. Fuck. “Plutt -- the one from Niima Outpost?”
“Yeah,” says Toursant. “That’s the one. Ship’s probably there with the rest of the junk--”
Toursant doesn’t get to finish his sentence.
Vanver lets out a whimper.
“The Millennium Falcon,” says Kylo Ren, voice even, as though blowing away a man bound in the corner of a filthy shed is something he does every day, “is not junk. That ship? Is mine.” He stands. “I recommend you tell that to everyone you know.”
Vanver nods, then finally -- mercifully -- passes out.
***
Millions of light-years away from the Inner Rim world of Corellia, the dull, meaningless planet of Jakku floated quietly through space.
On that planet, there spread an endless dune sea.
And in that endless dune sea, a scavenger ate dinner beneath the shadow of an AT-AT Walker.
Chapter 2: "This is not how I thought this day was gonna go."
Summary:
The man in black sighed dramatically. “I’ve had a long several days,” he said. “I’m tired and I missed dinner. So if you don’t tell me what I want to know, I’m going to shoot you on principle.” Rey saw him thumb the blaster’s setting from ‘stun’ to ‘kill’. “The Millennium Falcon. Where. Is. It.”
Chapter Text
chapter one
“This is not how I thought this day was gonna go.”
Jakku is a world that destroys the weak.
***
Rey was having a bad day.
Granted, most days were bad in the dunes. She didn’t know a time she hadn’t lived on Jakku -- maybe she’d never lived anywhere else at all -- and every rotation of the desert planet shaded between ‘didn’t go to bed hungry’ and ‘might not live ‘til morning’. The best day of her life so far (at least, that she could remember) had been when she found a working neutron pulse filament tucked inside the cockpit of a rusted-out X-Wing; she’d eaten herself sick on extra portions and even traded for upgraded speeder parts.
(The worst day had been when her family disappeared. Most of it was only flashes, now; she couldn’t remember why they left her, or even picture their faces, but that was okay. They had a good reason. They would explain it all when they returned.)
But on the whole, any day that ended with a meal was all right.
Today hadn’t.
Which was not at all Rey’s fault. Rey was very, very meticulous about how she managed her time; up before sunrise, into the Graveyard of Giants by mid-morning, loaded up by mid-afternoon, bartering in Niima by early evening. Home and eating by sunset.
(Repeat. Forever.)
Except today had not gone according to plan. A funny feeling on the back of her neck had told Rey to haul her scrap out of the Ravager a few minutes early, which was why she caught him: a Teedo, elbow-deep in her speeder’s turbojet. A few well-placed whacks to the thief’s skull drove him off before anything was stolen, but the resonance flux chamber had been destabilized by his meddling. Two precious hours spent on repair.
Which meant that by the time Rey finally made it to the outpost, Unkar Plutt had closed up for the night. No trade. No portions.
No supper.
So Rey was hungry, tired, sore, and in a bad mood as she etched her daily mark into the AT-AT’s side. “Stupid Teedos,” she grumbled. “Stupid Unkar.” She glared at the wall of scratches -- years of them. Years of her life, alone and starving. “Stupid family.”
No.
She couldn’t say things like that.
Not even on days like today.
“I’m sorry,” Rey said quickly, horror at her own treasonous thoughts burning along with her empty stomach. She pressed her palm against the wall. Then her forehead. “I didn’t mean it.”
They’ll make it up to me when they get back.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated. Maybe they could hear her, wherever they were. You never knew. “I’m right here. I’m here. I promise.”
Her family would come for her. Her parents. Maybe even a sibling -- she could be someone’s sister. Someone’s niece. Someone’s granddaughter. Someone who missed her as much as she missed them, someone who was even now -- right now! -- searching for a way to return to Jakku and find their lost girl.
They’d be surprised to find her all grown up. They’d be so proud of how she’d taken care of herself. They’d be so relieved that she’d stayed right where they left her.
All she had to do was wait.
Rey knew all about waiting.
It’s because I’m hungry. I wouldn’t think such awful things if I’d eaten. Skipping a meal always made her cranky. Unfortunately, she didn’t have any spare portions right now; she tried to set aside a little whenever she could, but Rey hadn’t had a big score for awhile. Everything was day-to-day.
(Life was day-to-day.)
Well. Night time or not, Rey needed dinner. She had plenty of scrap; enough to get her some calories and stop her from being infected by ridiculous, poisonous doubt.
She slid out of the AT-AT into the rapidly-cooling night air. The Outpost would be closed down, but every now and then she could catch Unkar at the right moment. A little cajoling, a little reminding of their history… maybe he’d soften up and do an after-hours trade. And if being nice didn’t work, Rey could always bang her staff against his door until he finally got sick of the racket. Unkar liked his sleep.
It’ll be fine, she told herself as she started up her speeder and pointed the nose towards Niima. I just need something to eat. Then I'll come right back.
It would be fine.
***
“Quiet, girl,” he says to her the first day. She is four and can’t stop crying. “You sleep over there, in the corner. Those little hands are good for polishing parts. In the morning you have work to do.”
“Quiet, girl,” he says to her the two thousandth day. She is nine and shaking like a leaf. “That’s the last time I’m saving you from some drunk off-worlder. And if you break your fingers fighting again I won’t have them fixed. Then you’ll be of no use to me or anyone else.”
“Quiet, girl,” he says to her the three thousandth day. She is twelve and scowling mutinously. “You think you’re so smart? Get out and try making it on your own. Bring me scrap or you don’t eat. You’re too expensive to keep now anyway.”
“Quiet, girl,” he says to her on the five thousandth day. She is seventeen and knows he’s cheating her. “You want real money, you’ll go off-world and find me some ships. I gave you those simulators. I know you can fly. But if you’re too good to steal, keep taking half-portions.”
After that, she is quiet.
***
The Spilling Stars of the Western Reaches were smeared across the sky by the time Rey pulled in at the Outpost. The off-worlders always complained about how dark Jakku was, but residents could see as well by night as by day. Not everyone needed a bunch of fancy lights to make their way around.
The lack of guiding bulbs, though, did make landing ships after sundown risky. Even locals rarely tried that.
Which is why Rey was surprised to see a Hawk Series freighter parked right next to the main trading tent. Right next to it. A stiff breeze would have put the loading ramp on top of Unkar Plutt’s sleeping quarters.
That didn’t bode well for Unkar being in a trading sort of mood.
Still. She’d come all this way.
Leaving her scrap behind -- risky, but something told her this wasn’t the time to pull around a net full of clanking metal -- Rey slunk along the edges of the freighter, keeping to the darker shadows and holding her staff at the ready. I am quiet, she told herself. I am silent and invisible. No one can see me. Childish, maybe, but she’d been doing that for years -- imagining herself a stealthy hunter, or a mythical sand wraith -- and it always helped keep her cool and concentrated.
Plus, a little superstition seemed to work. She never got caught.
“Look, I sell a lot of ships.” Unkar had never been a quiet person -- especially not when stressed. Rey could hear him before she’d even gotten close. “You can’t expect me to remember all of them.”
“It was a YT freighter.”
“Like I said -- I sell a lot of ships. D’you have any idea how many YTs there are out there?”
“Yes. I do.”
I am quiet. I am silent and invisible. No one can see me. Rey’s good luck held as she crept out from under the Hawk’s ramp. Eight feet away, and no one had noticed her.
Which was good, because walking into a standoff where one person is pointing a blaster at another person’s head was rarely a good thing.
Hell.
Unkar stood in the doorway of his quarters, his usual blubbery self. She didn’t recognize the man holding the blaster. Definitely an off-worlder; she’d remember someone that tall. And no one around here was stupid enough to wear such dark clothing.
The man in black sighed dramatically. “I’ve had a long several days,” he said. “I’m tired and I missed dinner. So if you don’t tell me what I want to know, I’m going to shoot you on principle.” Rey saw him thumb the blaster’s setting from ‘stun’ to ‘kill’. “The Millennium Falcon. Where. Is. It.”
“I told you! I don’t remember!”
Rey couldn’t remember a time she hadn’t despised Unkar Plutt. He’d worked her like a slave. He’d cheated her, used her, belittled her. She owed him nothing. Absolutely nothing.
But that didn’t mean she wanted him dead.
I am quiet. I am silent and invisible. No one can see me.
It almost didn’t work. The man in black paused, tilted his head to the side -- like he’d heard something from far away -- and then Rey found herself face to face with dark eyes, dark hair, and a very confused scowl. “What the hell--”
--he swung the blaster to point at her--
--and Rey cracked him across the head with her staff.
And as the man in black dropped, Unkar Plutt, the creature that had more or less raised her, the creature whose life she had just saved, slammed his door shut.
That figured.
Rey was still hungry, tired, sore, and in a bad mood. And now she had an unconscious two-hundred-and-fifty pound lump of murderous dark hair and muscle at her feet. In short, it remained a bad day.
Wait.
Frowning, Rey toed the body in the sand. “What was that,” she said, “about the Millennium Falcon?”
***
Light-years away -- though not as many light-years as some would prefer -- a stormtrooper delivered a message to his superior. “Captain--” he saluted smartly “--the information has been confirmed. He is heading for the planet Jakku. He may have already arrived.”
Finally. “Set the course,” said Phasma. “Ready the troops. And alert General Hux.”
“Yes, Captain.”
***
Light-years away -- though not as many light-years as some would prefer -- a pilot delivered a message to his superior. “General--” he saluted, though perhaps less smartly than his counterpart “--looks like our source was correct. He’s on his way to Jakku. Might even be there now. Permission to retrieve his ungrateful ass?”
Finally. “Thank you, Poe. Permission granted.” Leia Organa smiled. “Please, bring my son home.”
Chapter 3: "Boring conversation anyway."
Summary:
Rey’s mouth dropped open. “The Millennium Falcon? You’re telling me that bucket of bolts was the Millennium Falcon?” The man’s face twisted into something ugly, but Rey couldn’t be bothered to care. Not on this, the most shocking moment of her life to date. “I repaired the gravimetric pulse on the Millennium Falcon?”
Chapter Text
chapter two
“Boring conversation anyway.”
“What do you want?”
Unlike his mother, the consummate politician, his father’s expression gives away everything. Ben’s sullen greeting hurt him. Good. “I can’t check in on my own son?” he says defensively.
Ben looks away from the holo. “I guess.”
“You’re still mad, huh.”
Mad? Why would he be mad? Uncle -- Master -- Luke had wanted Ben to be the first in a new generation of Jedi. His mother had agreed the temple would be the best place for him. No one had asked what Ben thought.
Even his father -- who Ben expected be on his side -- had caved after only two or three arguments with the Skywalker twins. ‘You’ve gotta get this Force-thing worked out,’ he’d said.
(Dark side, Ben had heard in their minds. He couldn’t help it. Strong thoughts just shouted themselves at him. And Solos and Organas and Skywalkers were always full of strong thoughts.)
Ben didn’t want to be a Jedi. His dad was supposed to have his back. And Han Solo had just… given in.
But Ben is fifteen and not going to say any of this stuff out loud. “I’m not mad,” he says.
“Sure, kid.” A beat. Through the holo -- Luke’s personal holo, the one he kept locked in the temple because everyone was supposed to focus on the ‘here and now’ -- Ben can see the familiar shapes of the Falcon’s cockpit. He could draw every one of those lights and wires with his eyes closed. (He could draw his father’s face with his eyes closed.) “Your hair’s getting long.”
“Uh-huh.”
“How’s the… uh… you know, training going. And stuff.”
“It’s fine.”
“Wow. That bad, huh.”
Without permission, Ben’s lips twitch into a smile. “Yeah. That bad.”
“Is stuff still blowing up when you get angry?”
He refuses to answer. (Yes, it’s still exploding, and worse sometimes. The other students stare at him like he’s a Rathtar about to stampede. When he loses his temper, Luke tells him to reach out with his feelings, to feel the Force flowing through him… but that only makes things worse.)
His father sighs. He’s starting to go gray. “Listen, Ben, this mumbo-jumbo is Luke and Leia’s thing, not mine. But you’ve only been at it for, what, a year?”
“A year and a half.” They’ve visited just once. Jedi aren’t supposed to have ‘distractions’.
“Right. Well… this stuff, it takes time. I guess.” His father scratches the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable. (They used to be able to talk about anything -- anything, except this. The family Ben couldn’t deny. The family Han didn’t share.) “You probably know more than I do, now. So just, uh, stick with it, and it’ll all be--”
“I’m hearing voices,” Ben blurts out.
The pause is so long that Ben wonders if the holo connection has shorted out.
Finally: “Come again?”
He gulps. “When I meditate.” He hasn’t told Luke. He hasn’t told anyone. “I hear… someone talking to me. He tells me… things. About what I could do, if I just…”
(They don’t understand you, the voice says. It’s compelling. Reassuring. Wise. They’re all jealous of you. Even Skywalker. They fear your power. Poor boy; one day they’ll try to strike you down. But I? I can help you become more powerful than you can possibly imagine.)
“I’m scared,” he admits.
(He knows the promises aren’t true -- they can’t be true -- but they feel true, and when he comes out of his meditations, Ben always, always, always wishes he’d heard more.)
The look on his father’s face is familiar. It’s the same as the time Ben got frustrated with a broken generator and threw it straight through the wall with his mind.
He shouldn’t have said anything. What a stupid thing to do. Fifteen years old, and he’s whimpering about phantoms like a toddler hiding under a bunk. He can handle this himself--
“All right. That’s it. I’m coming to get you.”
Ben blinks. “What?”
He can see his father already throwing switches on the Falcon’s dashboard. “This training was supposed to help,” he growls. “They told me this training would help, and now crazy weirdos are talking to my kid in his sleep. Fuck this Jedi banthashit.”
Hope starts to blossom in Ben’s chest for the first time in months. “Really?”
“Gotta drop off some cargo first. Your room’s full of… uh, you don’t want to know. But Chewie and I will be there in a couple days.”
“Mom won’t like it,” he warns.
“You let me deal with her Worshipfulness. Pack your bags.”
The holo shuts off.
Ben grins.
(He never hears his father’s voice again.)
***
Rey was trying to find cord to bind the man in black’s hands when he started to come to. She felt him reassembling his thoughts: the little flinches in his face, the changes in his breathing. People were different as they woke up.
It gave her plenty of time to level his blaster at his torso. “Don’t move,” she warned.
The man blinked a few times, but his expression remained remarkably calm as he took his surroundings, given the situation. “How did I get in here?”
“I dragged you.”
“You dragged me. You.”
“I’m stronger than I look.” It hadn’t been the easiest thing, hauling that much dead weight up the loading ramp and into the freighter’s common room, but she’d managed much worse. A body had nothing on a thorium reaction shifter. “Who are you?”
He ignored the question. “You snuck up on me. How?”
“Maybe you weren’t paying attention.”
“No.”
“No?”
“No.”
What a pile of happabore dung. Rey hated him already. “Look, I don’t want to hurt you, I just want answers. You were going to shoot Unkar Plutt. Why?” She paused, then amended: “Why tonight, anyway?” Lots of people wanted to shoot Unkar. But if this had something to do with the Millennium Falcon… Rey wanted to hear all about it.
(Something new to think about at night as she stared at the scratches on her wall, waiting, desperate to sleep. The Falcon. The ship that had made the Kessel Run in fourteen parsecs. Here.)
The man just pulled himself into a sitting position against the wall. Only the emergency lights were on -- Rey hadn’t had time to find the switches, she’d barely had time to close the ramp -- and his black pants, black vest, and black shirt seemed to melt into the shadows. Clearly he had a theme. Only the pale face and forearms of a person who spent too much of his time in space glowed white in the dim light. “You don’t know how to use one of those,” he said, nodding at the blaster.
True, but Rey wasn’t about to admit it. “You pull the trigger.”
“Little bit more to it than that.”
“I think I can handle myself.”
It was amazing that someone so large could move so fast. The blaster went flying, and in three moves Rey was pinned to the floor beneath the man in black’s considerable bulk. “Don’t threaten someone,” the man said, his face inches from hers, “if you ‘don’t want to hurt them’.”
The flat, slightly smug tone did more to infuriate her than anything else had so far.
She bit his nose. Hard.
And as blood exploded into her mouth, she kneed him in the crotch.
Rey hadn’t survived this long by playing fair.
He swore, and stars burst in her eyes as his full backhand made contact with her cheek. In less than a moment they were scrabbling across the floor, the man swinging hard and not pulling his punches, Rey scratching and kicking and biting every inch of him she could reach. Her staff was tucked in the corner, but it wouldn’t do any good in so small a space; all she had were her fists, knees, and teeth.
Plus one more thing…
Rey spared just the briefest moment to draw a breath. Slow down, she told the world. Slow.
It was a technique she’d learned as a child, same as her superstitious trick of silent creeping. When she thought that -- thought it hard, breathing deep -- it would feel like the fight would be a half-second delayed. She didn’t know why. Stopping and focusing just helped her to concentrate.
The man in black’s right hand was coming for her arm. He was going to grip her bicep and flip her over onto her stomach. After that, he was going to smash her face into the floor.
She wriggled a inch to the side, punched him in the throat, and twisted his ear so hard she nearly felt the cartilage separate. He howled -- ear twists hurt, she knew from experience -- and she pulled back to drive her elbow into his eye--
--only to find herself hurled against the opposite wall, unable to move.
The man in black got to his feet, wincing, as Rey struggled against… whatever was holding her in place. She couldn’t even twitch her fingers. “Let me go,” she said. She didn’t know how she knew he was the one doing this, but she did. She knew. It was him. Somehow. “Put me down.”
“Now look what’s happened,” he grumbled. As he wiped the blood off his face -- really just smearing it worse -- he glared at her, much too petulantly for someone of his stature and intimidation factor, like somehow it was her fault she was stuck to other side of the room. “I hate using the Force. Tell me who trained you.”
“You’re insane. I’m not telling you anything.”
“I don’t have time for this, you feral little brat.” He reached out. Even though his hand was three feet away, Rey felt like his bruised palm was pressed against her head, like his bitten fingers were carding her hair.
No. Deeper than that. Deeper than her hair, her scalp, her skull. Deeper.
“Who. Trained. You.”
Images flipped through her mind like screen shots on a malfunctioning data pad. She could feel him, clumsily rooting around, looking for, looking for...
***
She’s in the belly of the Interrogator and her suspension cable snaps. She drops twenty feet onto the jagged remains of a control deck but somehow, miraculously, her landing is soft and painless. There had to have been an updraft.
She needs Old Meru to give her a good deal on this speeder part. Begging aloud never helps, but in her mind she pleads, threatens, pushes her will. Meru gives her the part for half-price. She’s caught her on a good day.
She’s working on Unkar’s garbage YT-1300 and can’t reach her wrench. The further she strains, the further it seems to get -- until she closes her eyes and breathes. When she focuses again, the wrench is in her hand. It must have been closer than she realized.
She’s spending her first night in the AT-AT and the open desert is so much colder than she realized. She’s hungry and lonely and afraid and wishing for something, anything to--
***
Rey felt tears slip down her cheeks. “I don’t know what you want,” she rasped. “Get out of my head. Please.”
He blinked once. Twice.
Rey dropped to the floor like a sack of scrap. As she gasped for breath, the man stared down at her, bloody and bewildered. “No,” he said slowly. “You don’t know. You have no idea. What’s your name?”
“I’m Rey,” she muttered.
“Rey what?”
“Just Rey.”
“Just Rey, then.” She turned her face away as he knelt beside her. Every inch of her hurt. “The ship. The one you were repairing. Tell me about it.”
“I-- I don’t know--”
“The YT. I saw a YT… I think.” If she didn’t know better, she’d think he sounded apologetic. Awkward, at least. “It’s not very… I try not to… You were in a YT freighter. You were younger.”
“I’ve been in a lot of YT freighters.”
“This one was a 1300. The hyperdrive motivator would have been held together with pipe sealant and baling wire. No paneling on the--”
“--injector pathway,” Rey finished, remembering. “I tried to find something to fit over that so it would be protected, but nothing worked without cutting off the--”
“--primary phaser line.” The man in black leaned back on his heels, staring at Rey like she’d just recited some holy text from memory. “You worked on it. The Millennium Falcon.”
What?
Rey’s mouth dropped open. “The Millennium Falcon? You’re telling me that bucket of bolts was the Millennium Falcon?” The man’s face twisted into something ugly, but Rey couldn’t be bothered to care. Not on this, the most shocking moment of her life to date. “I repaired the gravimetric pulse on the Millennium Falcon?”
“Be careful what you say about-- wait, what happened to the gravimetric pulse?”
“Kylo Ren! Hey! Kylo Ren!”
Both Rey and the man turned to the ship’s console, where the communication apparatus had suddenly sprung to life. “Kyloooooooo! Kylo Reeee-eeeeen! That’s what you’re calling yourself these days, right? What, was Grumpy McPoutyFace already taken?”
The man -- Kylo? -- swore. Multiple times. In languages Rey had never heard before, and she’d lived next to the Niima Outpost for sixteen years. “I should never have left Irving alive,” he said, limping into the cockpit.
“C’mon, pal, I know you can hear me!”
The Hawk Series was one of the smaller freighter lines out there, but Rey didn’t have any trouble peering over Kylo’s shoulder as he started up the ship’s engines. “What are you doing?” she demanded.
“Taking off,” was the terse reply.
“What? No!”
Beyond the windows a T-70 X-Wing pulled into view, flying much closer to the ground than Rey had ever seen a fighter attempt. Its lower wings nearly skimmed the sand. “You can’t outrun the best pilot in the Resistance,” the comm said, “and I promised to bring you back in one piece. Let’s not do this the hard way, all right?”
Kylo muttered something obscene under his breath. The Hawk continued to lift. “Stop it!” Rey said, getting increasingly alarmed. “Let me off!”
“Kylooooooo! Seriously, buddy, what do you think you’re--”
The transmission cut off as the Hawk shot the X-Wing’s thrusters to pieces.
The fighter dropped eight feet into the sand with a crunch.
What the hell-- Rey gaped at Kylo, almost beyond words. Almost. “You shot down a Resistance fighter?!”
“Yes,” Kylo said. “I did.”
“He hadn’t even done anything!”
“And now he won’t have a chance.” The Hawk lifted out of the junkyard and steered out towards the dunes. “Always shoot first, sweetheart.”
“Don’t call me that!”
“Look, he’ll be fine. He’ll spend a very annoyed night at the Outpost, then send a distress signal in the morning and someone will come pick him up.” Kylo’s lips twisted. “Nothing the ‘best pilot in the Resistance’ can’t handle. And by then we’ll be long gone.”
“Gone? No! I have to stay on Jakku!”
“You have memories of the Falcon. I've seen them. And I know there’s more in there.”
“But I--”
“You’ll give me everything you have, and I’ll bring you back in a few days.” A beat. “Probably.”
Rey lunged for the control panel, but it was too late -- the streaks of hyperspace flashed through the windows, and they were off.
***
It took twenty minutes for Poe to extract BB-8 from the damaged X-Wing. “That self-centered son-of-a-nerf-herder,” he grumbled. “Are you all right, little buddy? If he hurt you I’m gonna shoot him where the suns don’t--”
Any further threats were cut off by BB-8’s frantic beeping…
...alerting Poe to the First Order stormtrooper transport on the horizon.
Chapter 4: "Still, she's got spirit."
Summary:
He looked up -- and trailed off.
Rey frowned. “What?”
“I thought I gave you a towel.”
“The sonic had a drying mechanism.” Rey set aside her clothes and poked at the apparel he’d picked out. “I’m not sure these pants will fit. Is there a belt?”
Notes:
If I were doing this right, I'd probably have longer chapters with multiple scenes, making sure that each installment moves the story along in complex and meaningful ways. Instead, I'm tapping out a couple thousand words of what these garbage people are up to and then pressing "post". We're all just gonna have to live with that.
Chapter Text
chapter three
“Still, she’s got a lot of spirit.”
The Western Reaches comprised as much as a sixth of the galaxy, depending on how much of the Outer Rim and Unknown Regions the cartographer chose to include (a hotly debated topic during the time of the Expansion, and remained so to this day). The Reaches had been a hotbed of Separatist action during the early days of the Empire, and thus archives on the region contained more mapped data than any area outside of the Core Worlds.
In short, it could not be considered the ideal place to hide.
***
“This is kidnapping,” said Rey.
Kylo didn’t look up from rooting through the master cabin’s cabinet insets. (The master cabin being the only cabin. This particular Hawk Series hadn’t been designed for comfort, only for speed.) “I’ve done worse things,” he said. “There has to be a towel somewhere-- ah.” He pulled out a threadbare rectangle of fabric and tossed it to Rey, who caught it on instinct. “The ‘fresher is through that door. The sonic only lasts three minutes, but it should get you clean… or at least less disgusting.”
Rey gaped at him. “Excuse me?”
“You’re covered in blood.” He shot her a dirty look. “My blood. Your clothes would be scrapped by Jawas and you smell like a rabid womp rat. We can’t dock anywhere with you looking like this, not if we don’t want to stand out.”
“We’re not docking anywhere except Jakku!” she retorted furiously. (If she were being honest, the fury wasn’t entirely about the kidnapping. Rey wasn’t vain -- no scavenger could afford to be -- and she could care less about Kylo Ren’s opinion, but that didn’t mean he had to say things like that.) “Besides,” she added, “you don’t look like some Core World prince yourself.”
Kylo scowled. The teeth marks on his large nose were starting to clot, and he sported an impressive black eye. Lines of deep scratches marred his cheeks. “I didn’t wake up expecting to fight a loth-wolf today,” he grumbled, grabbing her by the shoulder and shoving her into the ‘fresher. “I’ll wash after you. Three minutes.”
Pole-snake. Rey slammed the door behind her.
The refresher was exactly large enough for a toilet and a sonic stall. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror and winced. Kylo had a point; blood streaked across her mouth and down her chin, making her look like the loth-wolf he’d accused her of being. Beneath her wraps, her body was mottled black and blue.
It was a perverse compliment, in a way. He hadn’t been confident enough in his victory to pull his punches.
Rey had been inside the ‘freshers on scrapped ships, several that were larger and more complex than this one, but none that actually worked. A few times a year, during what passed for wet seasons on Jakku, Unkar would open communal baths in giant inflatable tubs outside the trading tents; everyone who could afford it would wash together there, nude as the day they were born or hatched. The water was cloudy and the admission fees were unfair, but it would be worth it to scrub herself for once instead of parts for trade. But most of the time personal hygiene meant wiping down with a damp rag and trading for antiseptic to treat infected cuts.
In short, Rey had never showered before.
I can do this, she thought to herself, naked and staring at a panel of buttons. I can do this.
The first switch enveloped her in a cloud of steam that dampened her from head to toe. Dirt, both new and deep-driven, dripped off her skin and through a drain grate in the floor. The second switch released a spatter of gritty foam that seemed to slough all the loose cells from her skin. The third blasted her with a four-second spray of blue sterilization fluid, followed by ten seconds of hot air that swirled her hair into snarls and left her dry and more than a little disconcerted.
All things considered, she thought she preferred the communal baths.
Rey decided not to get dressed just yet, wanting to enjoy this experience of full cleanliness for just a few moments longer. (On Jakku, clothes were to keep off the sun and keep out the sand, and a body was a body, nothing more. Fashion and modesty belonged in government halls and luxury yachts.) She gathered up her dirty wraps and opened the ‘fresher door.
Kylo had pulled what looked like several tunics and a few pairs of pants onto the low bunk. “I found these in the bottom drawer,” he said.
“They’re all black.”
“No one notices black.”
“And you need to not be noticed because you just shot down an X-Wing.” Rey still couldn’t believe that had happened. “Why is the Resistance after you?”
“People are usually after me. So make sure you’re not…”
He looked up -- and trailed off.
Rey frowned. “What?”
“I thought I gave you a towel.”
“The sonic had a drying mechanism.” Rey set aside her clothes and poked at the apparel he’d picked out. “I’m not sure these pants will fit. Is there a belt?”
There was a moment of silence, then Kylo stepped closer -- not that there was much room to step in this cabin -- and glared down at her, looking perfectly furious for no good reason. Rey wasn’t short for a human woman, but he towered over her by more than a head. “I’m not the sort of man who gets distracted,” he said coldly. “Not ever. We’re going to get out of the Western Reaches, find a new ship, and you’re not going back to Jakku until after I have what I need.”
Rey put her hands on her hips. “I am not leaving the Western Reaches!” she cried.
“You will if I say so.” He gave her body a deliberate once over, expression stony. “And if you think you can change my mind, you should know much more appealing women than you have tried to…”
But his face changed as his gaze paused on her sharp collarbone. Rey watched as he glanced at how her ribcage cut lines in her skin, at the mottled bruises covering her side. He lingered for a moment on the purple handprints -- his handprints -- on her upper arms.
“I shouldn’t have hit you so hard,” he said quietly. If Rey didn’t know better, she’d think he sounded… ashamed. A little. “I didn’t realize.”
Rey knew what he was thinking. Yes, she’d gone hungry. Yes, she’d lived a hard life. She didn’t need his pity. She crossed her arms in defiance. “If you hadn’t,” she snapped, “I would have knocked you unconscious. Again.”
His lips twitched. “Maybe,” he conceded.
“Except for that… trick you did.” Rey yanked one of the black tunics over her head, and Kylo very visibly exhaled. “What was that, anyway?”
“Nothing that matters.” And there he was again -- whatever moment he’d had had passed, and now his dismissive, slightly smug tone was back. “There’s healing patches in the closet across the hall. Use as many as you want. I already set aside some for myself.”
“Fine,” she said, pulling on a pair of pants. The material was entirely too thick for her liking. “What are you going to do?”
“Wash. Coat myself in bacta. And check the medkit for rabies shots. Who knows what you’re carrying in those disgusting fangs of yours.”
Snob. Rey sniffed as she slid by to cross the hall into the closet. “You tasted like thissermount shit,” she informed him. “Where are the patches--”
The closet entry slid shut behind her. A series of mechanical beeps told her Kylo had activated the lock.
“Hey! Let me out!”
“The patches are on the top shelf,” he said through the door. “You didn’t think I’d give you free rein of the ship while I showered, did you? Let you near the navigational computer?”
That had been precisely what Rey had thought, actually. “You are a dirty son-of-a--”
“None of that, now. There’s a few systems nearby that will suit my purposes. Take a nap and calm down. I even put in a blanket for you. You’re welcome.”
Rey kicked the door. Hard. “Treacherous snake!”
She waited for some sarcastic, mocking remark, but all Kylo said was: “The first thing we’ll do when we land is get some solid food.”
Rey swore at him, then spitefully began ripping open the bacta patches and sticking them everywhere that ached.
***
“So. You’re the ‘best pilot’ in Organa’s pitiful excuse for a rebellion, are you?”
Poe was hurting. First Order interrogation techniques might not have been very creative, but electroshock conduits had a certain effectiveness that transcended the passage of time. Like Old Republic plasma rifles. “Been called that a couple times,” he said, wiggling a loose tooth at the back of his mouth with his tongue. “Want to go out for a spin? We could take a shot at the Kessel Run, just you and me. I’ll give you a head start and everything.”
The pale ginger weasel in front of him didn’t seem to find Poe's brilliant sense of humor amusing. His loss. “You may be part of the ‘Resistance’,” he said pompously, “but you won’t be able to ‘resist’ us for long.”
“That’s an awful joke. I feel like no one hugged you enough as a child, is that why they call you General Hugs?”
“Silence.”
“Wait, I thought you wanted me to talk.”
That earned Poe a backhand. “I’m not interested in any of your cheek, Dameron.”
Damn. Normally a hit like that wouldn’t hurt too much -- he’d had much worse, of course -- but after two hours restrained and unable to dodge the frustrated punches of First Order interrogators, Hux’s blow made him wince. “You learned my name. I feel special.”
“You’re not special. You mean nothing to the First Order. Less than nothing. Your rebellion will soon be crushed, along with your precious Princess--”
“--the Resistance will not be intimidated by you--”
“--though you won’t be there to see.” Hux bent close, his narrow, pointed face an inch from Poe’s. “We are going to kill you,” he said. “Then we are going to flush your lifeless body into space. You’ll have no grave. Few will mourn. And in a very, very short period of time, you will be forgotten. Just one more useless casualty of a useless war.”
Poe kept his expression neutral. (He wouldn’t give Hux the satisfaction of knowing he’d spoken Commander Poe Dameron’s greatest fear aloud.) “Just so you know,” he remarked, “telling someone their death is inevitable? Doesn’t really convince them to share information.”
“No. But pain does.” Hux nodded to the stormtroopers standing at attention next to the interrogation chair. “Double the intensity. If he passes out, wake him up however you see fit. Keep going until he tells us how he found Kylo Ren and where Ren is going next. Those are your orders from the Supreme Leader himself.”
“Now I definitely feel special,” ground out Poe, just before the agony washed over him again.
***
The villagers of Niima stand shivering in the open desert air. The questioning is complete. No one has any information the First Order didn’t already know.
“Kill them all,” orders Captain Phasma. “Burn the settlement to the ground.”
Screams rend the night air as two dozen stormtroopers begin firing.
Two dozen stormtroopers, minus one.
Chapter 5: "What a wonderful smell you've discovered."
Summary:
“Don’t stare,” he warned.
“Okay. Is it rude?”
“It makes you stand out. Try to look less like a tourist.”
“A what?” Rey knew what a tourist was, of course, but it was worth it to see the look of aggravation on Kylo’s face.
Chapter Text
chapter four
“What a wonderful smell you’ve discovered.”
“FN-2187, submit your blaster for inspection.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“And who gave you permission to remove that helmet?”
“I’m sorry, Captain.”
“Report to my division at once.”
***
Worse than battle injury. Worse than demotion. Worse, even, than court marshal and execution. All of those were things that were expected, on some level or another, to happen to stormtroopers from time to time.
Something much more terrible had occurred.
FN-2187 had just discovered he couldn’t kill.
He stepped behind the rest of the troopers into the decontamination line. A conveyor belt carried them all through a quick wash cycle, removing dirt, dust, and carbon scoring from their armor, depositing them out the other side with their uniforms returned to pristine white. As though they’d never seen battle.
He had tried. He had raised his blaster. He had known his duty to his commander, to his general, to the First Order. To himself.
But he’d seen the cowering civilians of the Niima Outpost. All unarmed.
And he hadn't fired.
Submit your blaster for inspection.
Standard issue weaponry recorded every trigger-pull.
He hadn't fired... and soon his commanders know.
FN-2187 walked the halls of the Finalizer, in theory headed for Captain Phasma’s division barracks, though his feet refused to take him there. Before long he was wandering the endless maze of hallways. Time seemed to stand still.
Soldiers killed. That was the purpose of a soldier.
He was nothing, if not a soldier.
Another trooper passed FN-2187, boots echoing with each step. He didn’t know this one -- at least, he didn’t think so. (Helmets were removed only for meals, a fifteen minute affair of nutrient pellets, where speaking was forbidden and eye contact discouraged. Sleeping quarters were kept pitch dark. FN-2187 would not be able to recognize most of his squadron with a blaster to his head.)
He tried nodding to the trooper.
They didn’t respond.
No one ever responded when he nodded.
He couldn’t kill.
FN-2187 was a stormtrooper. A stormtrooper was all he had ever been. And if he’d harbored doubts about that in the dead of night -- if he’d dared consider what it would have been like to be raised on some backwater world with a real family, one day having a family of his own, and friends whose faces he would recognize, wondered what it would have been like to have conversations with neighbors, to just smile and be smiled at and live a life like he’d seen the commanders have, people who still got to be people, who did nod to each other when they passed each other in the hallways and sometimes even smiled and joked -- those were feelings he buried and didn’t allow to consume him while mopping the floors of Starkiller Base. They were stored deep and far away.
(He kept them in the same place he stored his thoughts about the Base itself. About what the planet was meant to one day do.)
None of these were the musings of a good soldier. He’d been trained since birth for this role.
But he couldn’t kill. At least not innocent people. At least not for them. He couldn’t just be… this, forever. For his entire, what was likely to be very short life.
I have to get out of here.
The thought came to FN-2187 suddenly -- new and astonishing, but also familiar and warm, like it had been inside him for years, just waiting to be formed into words.
I have to get out of here.
He had to run, as far away as possible, as quickly as possible. No stormtrooper had ever tried that before -- but then, FN-2187 would never have known if they had, would he? The First Order would have covered it up immediately. Maybe people did it all the time. Maybe there were lots of stormtroopers like him, ones who just… left, and he’d never had any idea.
He could do it. He could be somewhere else. Something else. Someone else.
Treason, whispered a reasonable yet commanding voice in the back of his mind. It sounded like Captain Phasma. You are a cog in a machine. Vital, like all cogs, but generic. This is your purpose. Be satisfied.
Those words were familiar, too. Like the tap of boots down a hall. Like the smell of a sanitation bucket.
Be satisfied.
No.
It had all been there, the entire time. Inside him. A singular truth, waiting to awaken in this moment.
He couldn’t kill for them. More importantly, he wouldn’t kill for them.
And he wouldn’t live for them, either.
I have to get out of here. And if he wanted to do that… he would need a pilot. But luckily, FN-2187 knew exactly where to find one.
He took a sharp left turn towards the detention block.
***
When the ramp to the Hawk lowered, Rey almost -- almost -- forgot to be angry at Kylo for locking her in a closet for six hours. “Where are we?” she breathed.
“The Ring of Kafrene.” Kylo pulled his cowl down. The bacta patches had done their work: there was no sign of the damage Rey had left on his face. (A pity, from her perspective, though she couldn’t not acknowledge it was a… not unappealing face. In a certain light.) “The Resistance somehow knew about this ship, and if they knew, it’s a good bet others do as well.”
Others sounded ominous. “Tell the truth: how many people are after you?”
“Do you want a flow chart?”
“Not really.”
“Then don’t ask.” Kylo swiped a card into the docking bay terminal, then tossed the card aside. (A boy no older than five popped out of an alley, picked it up, and ran off in less time than it took Rey to hitch her staff over her back.) “We’ll get something untracked and get off-world, which means breathing room for you to give me all your information on the Falcon, and then I won’t have any more use for you and you’ll be out of my hair.”
“And you’ll be out of mine.” After the sonic it had taken Rey a ridiculous amount of time to force her hair back into buns. And they were still tangled, which would pick up sand.
Though it was hard to think of sand, or Jakku at all, in a place like this.
Rey tried to stick close behind Kylo as he weaved his way confidently through the narrow streets and thick crowds. People of every sort kept bumping into her. (More than once she felt someone try to pick her pocket, but that was too bad for them -- she had nothing.) The buildings towered high overhead, lit with bright lights and glowing signs. Steam rose from grates in the streets. And the smells. Engine exhaust and body odor and motor oil and, and, and--
It was amazing.
“How does anyone live like this?” she asked in wonder.
“I have no idea,” replied Kylo. He glanced back at her, then slowed, enough that she bumped into his back. “Oh,” he said. “You were really asking.”
Rey barely noticed the change in his tone. There was so much to look at. She’d always known there were places like this, but to be there…
A Twi’lek behind them said something Rey couldn’t hear, shoving past where they’d impeded the flow of traffic. Kylo touched her shoulder and steered her to the side of the walkway. “Don’t stare,” he warned.
“Okay. Is it rude?”
“It makes you stand out. Try to look less like a tourist.”
“A what?” Rey knew what a tourist was, of course, but it was worth it to see the look of aggravation on Kylo’s face.
He closed his eyes for a moment (though she respected that his hand didn’t leave her shoulder; it would be easy to disappear into this crowd, and if it weren’t for the fact that she had no money and would be hopelessly lost in an instant, Rey would have tried it). “None of this has to be as difficult as you’re making it,” he said.
“You kidnapped me.” She said that part loudly, but no one passing by reacted. (Kidnappings were a dime a dozen on the Ring of Kafrene.)
“After you knocked me out and threatened me with my own blaster. Stop arguing.” He looked up and down the street. “You still want food, right?”
“Yes.” Rey always wanted food. But more importantly, she’d reached the stage where she wasn’t all that hungry, which anyone knew was a risky state. When that happened you could forget to eat until you collapsed in the dunes.
“Over here, then.” Kylo pushed Rey none-to-gently towards a stall where a humanoid vendor fried skewers of meat in a large pan. ‘All-You-Can-Carry: One Credit’, read the sign overhead.
All-You-Can-Carry.
Rey could barely wrap her mind around the concept.
The vendor eyed them up and down as Kylo reached into his pocket. “Two credits each,” he said.
“Fine.”
It wasn't fine. “The sign says one,” Rey interjected. “You can’t cheat us.”
The vendor made a buzzing noise that Rey took for a laugh. It reminded her of Unkar’s dismissals on her lowest days. “He’s the size of a Wookie and you’re skinnier than a womp rat. You’ll carry off everything I have. Two apiece or get lost.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Life isn’t fair, girly.” The vendor leered at her. “I know a scavenger when I see one. Forget the whole thing. There’s real customers waiting.”
Kylo’s hand moved towards his blaster.
Rey took a breath. “One credit apiece,” she said.
The vendor frowned. “What?”
“One. One credit. For both. Like the sign says.”
A muscle moved in Kylo’s jaw. “Don’t,” he murmured. “I have the money.”
Rey didn’t care. “You’ll take two credits from us,” she said firmly, “and you’ll be happy about it.”
A beat.
Then the vendor said: “I’ll take two credits from you and I'll be happy about it.”
Kylo gave Rey a dark look as he passed over the coins, but Rey ignored him as she reached into the frying pan and started picking up skewers. Calluses protected her hands from the burns, and she had at least eight in her grip before Kylo pulled out a few of his own and tugged her away.
“Why did you do that?” he demanded as they ducked into a side alley. “What part of ‘keep a low profile’ is difficult for you to understand?”
“I’m a good haggler,” Rey said through a full mouth. She didn’t have any idea what she was eating, and she didn’t care. It took so much effort to chew each bite instead of gulping it down whole. “He was trying to cheat us.”
“You didn’t haggle. You pushed.”
“I did not. Why would I knock him over in the middle of his stand?”
Kylo just stared. “You need a teacher,” he muttered. He watched her eat for a moment, his expression somewhere between thoughtful and disgusted, before taking a bite from one of his own skewers. Disgust won out. “I think this is mynock,” he said, lips twisting.
“It’s delicious.”
“It’s…” Kylo glanced at her, cowl and dark hair hiding the expression. As Rey threw away her third empty skewer and started on her fourth, he seemed to rethink whatever he was about to say. Instead he warned: “Don’t make yourself sick.”
Rey wiped her mouth with her sleeve and started on her fourth stick.
Kylo winced, but resumed eating his mynock -- without complaint, this time. After a few minutes he said, “For breakfast we’ll get something a little less… questionable.”
“There is no breakfast.” She was on the fifth skewer now and able to chew a little slower, a little more thoughtfully. Whatever this was, mynock or not, she’d happily eat it every day. “As soon as we’re done here, I’m going back to Jakku.”
Kylo shook his head and tossed aside a stick. “You know, I could take you someplace else. Someplace less sandy. With more food and water. You seem--” he appeared to struggle for the right word “--resourceful. You could make your way in a better place than that junkyard. If you wanted.”
“No, I have to go back.”
To half-portions, to burning sand and blistering sun, to white marks carved in metal walls…
“I’ve been gone too long already,” she made herself say.
“Why? What’s so special about Jakku?”
Suddenly the mynock didn’t taste as good. “It’s a family thing,” she muttered. “None of your business.”
He tossed aside the last of his skewers and wiped his hands on his pants. “That’s fair,” he said reluctantly.
“Why do you want the Millennium Falcon so badly?”
“It’s a family thing. None of your business.”
“Don’t mock me.”
“I’m not.”
***
He sits on his bunk in the Millennium Falcon, arms wrapped around his knees, miserable and angry in equal measure. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t do it on purpose.
He’s only alone for ten minutes before there’s a hesitant knock on the door. “Hey, Ben. Open up.”
“No.” Ben’s embarrassed to realize he sounds like he’s been crying. Which he has been. But no one needed to know that. Solos don’t cry. Organas don’t cry. Skywalkers don’t cry.
(It doesn’t occur to him to think that when they were seven like him, maybe some of them did. In fact, all of them did.)
“Kid, this is my ship. I can fry these locks in my sleep.” A pause, and an awkward cough. “But, uh, your mom says privacy is important. So… I’d prefer if you just let me in.”
Ben reaches over and smacks his palm against the locking system. The door slides open.
His father squeezes into the cabin and sets down next to Ben without looking at him. His thoughts scream Don’t fuck this up. Don’t fuck this up. And under that is something else, something wordless: a blinding, overpowering love, mixed with a nearly equally blinding fear.
Ben has terrified his father. That is worse than angering him.
(He didn’t do it on purpose.)
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” he says aloud.
A long, weary sigh. “I know you didn’t. But you have to learn to… learn to not. This isn’t like making things float, kid. It’s a lot worse.”
(Ben knew why he and his dad were here, why they’d left Hosnian Prime to go on a trip through the Outer Rim. His father said he’d brought Ben so he could get some practice at the Falcon’s controls without ships everywhere he could crash into, but the shouting match over the comm system with his mother was about other things: taking Ben from his tutors without warning, her son being too young to drive that ancient bucket of bolts without even Chewbacca to help, how Han always did these things without asking her first and if he was only going to be around six months out of the year then he had no right -- until his father had hung up the comm without even saying goodbye. Her Royal Highness doesn’t know everything, his father had seethed with that particular sense of aggravation that he only ever emitted when thinking about Ben’s mother. He’s my son, and if I say he’s old enough to drive this ship, then I’ll take him through a fucking asteroid field if I want --
“I don’t want to go through an asteroid field,” Ben had said nervously from the cockpit entry. “Chewie told me about the Exogorths.”
His father had turned slowly in his seat. The aggravation had shot through with stark horror and the rage of violation. And then the yelling started.)
Sitting next to him, his father’s thoughts are as loud now as they’d been after talking to his mother. I’m no good at this parent thing. Leia should be here. Don’t fuck this up.
Ben knows better than to answer. He’d clap his hands over his ears if it would help. It won't. His ears aren't the problem.
“People’s thoughts are private,” his father is saying with his mouth. (The phrase Dark Side? is running through his mind.)
“I know,” says Ben. “But some people are so noisy.”
His father chuckles. “I guess. But… I need you to try.” He pauses. “I haven’t told your mom about this yet. Or your Uncle Luke. Maybe I should.”
“What would they do?”
“I dunno. They’d know more than me, probably. It’s, you know, Force-stuff.”
Ben doesn't need to hear his father’s mind to know he doesn't like ‘Force-stuff’. His father wishes he didn’t have powers. His father doesn't know what to do with them. ‘Families are great, but a father teaches his son the important stuff,’ he’d always said, and Ben knows it bothers him that the ‘Force-stuff’ isn't something he can ever understand. It is something they will never share.
So Ben hates it. “I’ll try,” he says. “But Uncle Luke says ‘Do or do not, there is no try.’”
“Your Uncle Luke doesn’t know everything. Trying’s good enough for me.”
“I didn’t do it to be bad.”
There it is again: that almost obliterating wave of love. And fear. And guilt. That’s not what I meant perfect the way he is don’t understand my own son don’t know how to be a father completely fucking this up should never have been a father --
Ben squeezes his eyes shut and concentrates as hard as he can.
His father’s thoughts fade into the background with the humming of the Falcon’s engines. But it’s so tiring.
He’ll learn how to shut it off. He will. Ben’s crying again, but he can’t help it, he’d tear it all out of him if he could, then his father wouldn’t--
“You know why you’re named Ben?”
Ben nods, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “It’s for General Kenobi. He’s why you and mom and Uncle Luke met.”
“Yeah, but I mean, but why you’re named Ben.” Ben shakes his head, and his father continues: “It wasn’t Kenobi’s real name. He just went by that on Tattooine. His real name was Obi-Wan, and that’s what Leia and Luke wanted to name you. Obi-Wan Solo.”
Ben has never been so horrified in his life. “I could have been Obi-Wan?”
His father nodded, looking just as revolted as Ben felt. “I put a stop to that. No son of mine… anyway. Look, kid, I can’t help you with… these things, but I do know that sometimes we’re gonna get real pissed off at each other. And we might say… or, uh, think… things we don’t mean. But whenever you imagine killing your old man, just remember: without me, you’d be named Obi-Wan.”
Ben is seven and doesn’t know yet how to form what he feels into words. I would never want to kill you. I love you. I don’t know why I scare you. “Thanks,” he says instead.
His father smiles, then ruffles his hair. “C’mon,” he says. “No more mushy stuff. Let’s get you in the pilot’s seat.”
“Really? I thought I was just going to co-pilot!”
Han Solo winks. “Don’t tell your mom.”
***
“I’m not mocking you,” said Kylo Ren. “Are you almost finished? I have a contact here and it’s time to get moving.”
Rey shoved the last skewer of meat into her mouth and sucked the stick clean. “Done,” she said, mouth full.
“That’s disgusting.”
“Loth-wolf,” she reminded him.
“You continue to prove my point. Let’s go.”
Chapter 6: "I prefer a straight fight to all this sneaking around."
Summary:
“That’s fine,” Kylo said. “Like I said, this is temporary. She’s not staying.”
Rey managed not to scowl, but it was a near thing. It was true -- she wasn’t staying -- but he didn’t have to sound like a jerk about it.
Gaines appeared to agree. “This is why you’re always alone, Kylo. I worry.”
Notes:
I fought this update and this update fought me. The update won. Welcome to an entire chapter of dialogue.
Chapter Text
chapter five
“I prefer a straight fight to all this sneaking around.”
“You don’t usually bring guests, Kylo,” said the Toydarian, pointing his snout towards Rey and meeting her frown with a toothy smile. “Will you introduce me to your lovely lady?”
“She’s not lovely,” Kylo said, “and she’s not a lady.” He took a seat at the table, face expressionless. “She’s a bodyguard.”
“A bodyguard? You? Has it come to that?”
“It’s a temporary thing.”
Rey did not like this. She had said as much when they arrived at this warehouse, where a droid had asked for a password and Kylo had just stared at it stonefaced until the door opened. She didn’t have a good feeling about the people they’d passed in the warehouse, and she was used to the Niima Outpost, which by definition dealt exclusively in the unsavory and the desperate. She didn’t have a good feeling when Kylo handed over his blaster to the guards without complaint. And by the time they found his contact, Rey’s staff had already been unstrapped and in her hand. Just in case.
So now she stood by the door (the door they’d come through, that is; no windows in this room, but plenty of exits), fidgeting because there were only two chairs at the battered table, pretending to ignore how Gaines the Toydarian was sizing her up.
Really, Kylo could have come up with a better cover story. No one would believe she was his bodyguard.
(Though she had knocked him unconscious and drawn blood in their fight. Others would be wrong to underestimate her.)
Gaines hovered into his seat. “You look tired,” he said paternally. “Business can wait, if you and your… bodyguard… would like to rest for awhile.”
“No.”
“You’re always going too hard. There are empty rooms across the street, why don’t you just--”
“I need a transport. Tonight.”
“Always rushing. I take it you’ve not found the Millennium Falcon yet?”
“If I had, I wouldn’t be here.”
“Oh, Kylo. Between you and me, I don’t think it even exists anymore. It’s not that big a galaxy; someone would have found it by now. You’re chasing a ghost, my boy.”
“We’ll see. And I’m not your boy.”
Rey watched Gaines give an exaggerated, put-upon sigh. His wings even fluttered dramatically. “All right, all right. What sort of transport?”
“Freighter. Room for two.” Kylo leaned forward and said, voice cold: “Nondescript.”
“The usual, then. Though when you say ‘room for two’...” Gaines trailed off, looking at Rey again. She didn’t like his smile. “Your options increase if you’ll take a solo cabin.”
“That’s fine,” Kylo said. “Like I said, this is temporary. She’s not staying.”
Rey managed not to scowl, but it was a near thing. It was true -- she wasn’t staying -- but he didn’t have to sound like a jerk about it.
Gaines appeared to agree. “This is why you’re always alone, Kylo. I worry.”
“No. You don’t. Do you have anything or not?”
“Not on such short notice. But I may have an acquaintance who has an acquaintance who could fix you up tomorrow. It all depends on what you can pay, my friend.”
As Kylo and Gaines began to haggle, Rey allowed herself a moment to daydream.
It’s not that big a galaxy; someone would have found it by now.
Crime bosses never came to Jakku; only the lowest messenger creatures came to buy from Unkar. Gaines didn’t seem to be anyone very important, exactly, but he had connections. Connections with people who knew how to find things.
Connections with people who knew how to find people.
What if Rey had made a mistake, waiting on Jakku all this time?
Her family must be doing everything possible to come back. (Of course they were. Of course they were.) But it had been so many years -- what if something had happened to them? This thought had occurred to her often as a child, but Rey had always reassured herself that her parents had to be smart, strong people. Not the kind who needed help. They must be fighting as hard to get to her as she was fighting to survive waiting for them.
But Rey wasn’t a child anymore, and she knew that even smart, strong people had to be rescued sometimes.
“I’m not saying tonight is impossible,” wheedled Gaines. “Just that your choices would be limited. And considerably more expensive. What can you give me?”
“There’s a Hawk Series G-23 at the public docking bay. Dull, but functional.”
“Uh-huh. What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing you can’t fix.”
“Is that so.”
“It is. You’ll want to scan it for a tracker, though.”
Rey could save them. If they were being held captive, or slaving in a spice mine, or crashed on some distant moon without communications… if she could find them, she could help them.
She could.
She could leave a note on Jakku in case someone came back, then do what Kylo had suggested: find some other planet where she could make her way. She could find a job that paid money instead of portions, sleep in shipyards, eat what she could find, set aside every credit until she had enough to hire someone to help her. Someone who knew their way around the galaxy. Someone like Gaines.
Someone, even, like Kylo Ren.
Gaines’s snout twitched. “Kylo,” he chided. “This Hawk. Is it yours?”
“I have the access codes.”
“That sounds like a no.”
“In the core worlds possession is considered nine-tenths of the law.”
“We’re not in the core worlds.” The Toydarian made a clicking noise. “That drives the worth down considerably,” he said. “You understand.”
“Of course,” said Kylo.
It could work. It could. She would need to set up some sort of permanent communication source, just in case, so that if they--
--Rey felt a stirring in the back of her mind. The sort of stirring she felt when another scavenger tried to make off with her scrap, or a steelpecker started to break open her water barrels.
Something was happening outside the room. Something, someone, someones --
She changed the grip on her staff.
“I have credits.”
“How many?”
Kylo pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket (who traveled with real paper?), scratched out a number, and slid it across the table for Gaines to read.
Gaines frowned. “This, and the ship? Is that all?”
“That’s it.” Kylo said, tapping his index finger on the table, picking at a spot on the surface.
The feeling at the back of Rey’s mind grew itchier, most insistent. “Kylo--”
“Yeah, I feel it too.” He didn’t even look over his shoulder. To Gaines he said: “You know I travel light. The Hawk and the credits are what I have today.”
“Would you have more tomorrow?”
“No. Rey, be quiet.”
Anger flashed hot in her veins at his tone (and Gaines gave him a pitying, disapproving look). How dare he order her to…
No.
Wait.
I am quiet, Rey told herself. She took a deep breath. I am quiet.
Gaines shrugged. “If that’s it… then I’m sorry, Kylo. I truly am.”
I am silent and invisible.
The doors swung open, and in less time than it took to blink, the room was full of men with scuffed armor and sharp weapons. Six of the wickedest blasters Rey had ever seen in her life were all pointed at Kylo Ren’s head.
No one can see me.
But none of the blasters pointed at her.
Kylo, for his part, didn’t even flinch. “Six guards, Gaines? That’s all?”
“They’re my best.”
“For all the good it will do them. Just out of curiosity, who do you plan to sell me to?”
“Haven’t decided yet,” said the Toydarian. “It’ll probably be a few days until all the bids come in. There are so many contracts out, Kylo.”
“The Resistance?”
“They’re too good to use bounty hunters. The First Order, though--”
“Really.” Kylo’s eyebrows went up. “Since when?”
“It's a new thing.” Gaines had a blaster in hand now, too; the guards were edging in. “But I don’t do business with those fanatics. If you’re not human they’re as like to shoot you as look at you.”
“True. Iveati the Hutt?”
“She has the highest standing bounty.”
“Does she want me alive?”
Rey moved closer to the guard on her right. He didn’t so much as glance her way. I am quiet. I am silent and invisible.
“Yes,” said Gaines, “but I’d hate to see you in her clutches. So, I’ll tell you what: you give me the Hawk and transfer your credits, and I’ll make a deal with someone who only wants you dead.”
“Generous.”
“Don’t turn me down just yet. What’s left of Kanjiklub will pay almost as well as the Hutts, and I know for a fact they’re not picky about your condition. We’ll do it right here -- shot to the head, no mess, no fuss. All over in a flash. How does that sound?”
“The sad thing is,” said Kylo, “you’re actually being thoughtful.” He pushed his chair back and stood with a languorous movement. The guards tightened their grips on their blasters. “You do understand that I’m going to kill you.”
“Please, Kylo. We go back a long way, you and I. Don’t make this more unpleasant than it has to be.”
Kylo Ren just smiled.
Gaines sighed heavily. “Stun him,” he ordered the guards, “and the girl. If she’s with Ren then someone will want her.”
The guard closest to Rey frowned. “What girl?” he said.
Now.
Rey smashed her elbow into the guard’s jaw, swept his legs out from under him, and with a swing of her staff crushed his blaster hand into the floor. As the guard howled, his blaster went spinning.
Kylo caught it easily.
The fight didn’t last long. Not even as long as they had fought each other on the Hawk. Rey laid out two more guards almost before they realized she was there, breaking bones and skulls with every blow, same as she would with any creature who saw fit to hassle her on Jakku; out of the corner of her eye she saw Kylo manage to dodge every bolt and still shoot with artistic precision.
Rey had never fought with someone before.
She liked it.
And from the look on Kylo’s face when he looks at her as he dropped the last guard, it seemed he liked it, too. That smug, unflappable expression was gone. In its place was… something else.
This can work.
Rey stared at him, wild-eyed and breathing hard, her blood thrumming in her ears. Yes. Her thoughts felt hot and bright and fierce, like the rainless thunderstorms of the dunes. This can work.
She could hire him, or he could hire her, she could convince him to take her on as his real bodyguard, no one would suspect that, he was good at this, she’d forgive him for the kidnapping thing because she had hit him first as long as he could help her find her family --
--everything shifted, a warning flashed beyond the reach of her thoughts--
--and then Rey stood shock-still, staring in horror at the bright bolt of green hovering less than a foot from her nose.
How did…
“Rey--” Kylo’s arm was flung out, his palm reaching for where the blaster bolt quivered in mid-air “--duck.”
Rey hit the floor.
The bolt took out a fist-sized chunk of the stone wall behind where her head had been.
Gaines seemed too stunned to even object when Kylo kicked the blaster from his hand. “You,” he gasped, lying in the floor, his wings shredded from stray blaster shots. He stared up at Kylo as though he was seeing him for the first time, naked terror in his face. “You’re a Jedi.”
In spite of what she’d just seen, what had almost happened, Rey wanted to laugh. She opened her mouth to say There’s no such thing, that’s just a children’s story--
--but Kylo Ren put his blaster to Gaines’s eye and pulled the trigger. Twice.
By the time Rey got to her feet, Kylo had already taken his pick of the blasters lying among the dead in the room and tucked it into his belt. He handed her another, slightly smaller but looking no less deadly for that. “Keep this,” he said. “Learn to use it, when you get a chance.”
She didn’t speak as she followed him through one of the other doors, down a long flight of stairs, and into a narrow underground walkway. Kylo filled the silence instead. “It’s this way to Gaines’s private dock,” he said. “We’ll take whatever looks best. He never adds trackers to his own ships, they can be hacked too easily.” He spoke quickly, faster than she’d heard him before. Coming down off his own adrenaline high. “None of his people are loyal enough to come after me. They know what would happen. The Hutts might guess, but they’ll probably be willing to bide their time. If the First Order has put out a bounty, though, that makes things a lot more interesting. I told you you’d need a flow chart-- also, please stop that before you shoot me in the back.”
Rey stopped fiddling with the blaster. “What happened back there?” she asked finally.
“Gaines thought the money was better in backstabbing. He was mistaken.”
“No. Not that.”
“I know.”
As they entered the hangar -- there wasn’t all that many ships to choose from, only eight, but one or two looked as though they’d serve their purposes -- Rey reached forward and grabbed Kylo’s sleeve, pulling him to a halt. “Tell me how you stopped that bolt. And… and how you threw me against the wall when we fought, and did the thing with my mind…”
Kylo turned to face her, eyes darting over her expression. Rey half-expected another dodge, but-- “The same way you stopped the guards from seeing you. The same way you snuck up on me on Jakku.”
“But that’s not--”
“It is. It’s exactly the same.”
Rey shook her head. “I can’t do the things you can.”
“You could if someone taught you.” He took her hand and removed it gently from his sleeve. His sweaty black hair was still stuck to his forehead. “You know that,” he murmured. “You do. No one told you, but you’ve always known.”
That tingling in the back of her mind, the thing that had protected her, that had kept her safe, it had always been there but nameless and formless and still-- “Known what?”
Kylo Ren smiled at her, just a little.
“That you’re cursed,” he said. “Same as me.”
Chapter 7: "Full reverse."
Summary:
She imagined that week years ago, the sun, the sand, the exhaustion. Unkar smiling and dangling a packet of portions as she hefted her tools.
The jolt of indignation wasn’t her own.
Kylo was there. In her head. She could feel him in the memory as though he were walking beside her.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
chapter six
“Full reverse.”
“What do you mean,” General Armitage Hux said, attempting to remain calm, “the prisoner has escaped?”
The comm in his ear crackled, like the person on the other end was swallowing. “The Resistance pilot is gone, sir. The cell is empty. We’re checking surveillance footage now, but it… sir, it had to be one of our own.”
“You mean one of Phasma’s.”
This time the gulp was unmistakable. “I wouldn’t know about that, sir,” the voice said.
Great. “Send Phasma to me, and begin checking the registers at once to determine who could have--”
“Sir, I believe Phasma is already examining the rosters.”
Did no one tell him anything around here? “Fine. Then tell her I want to see her the moment she’s found anything. It isn’t as though they aren’t still somewhere on the ship.”
“Well, about that, sir… I’ve just been informed we have an unsanctioned departure from Bay Two.”
Hux paused, then strode briskly down the hallway, to the right, to the right again, to the bridge, looked out the window--
A TIE fighter struggled on the end of a tether, returning fire against a squadron of stormtroopers -- and winning.
“Why am I only finding out about this now?” shouted General Hux.
The comm crackled again. Blaster fire could be heard in the background. “Sir, protocol dictated--”
“Hang protocol.” (Hux didn’t really mean that -- he was, in fact, deeply devoted to protocol -- but in his defense, it was a stressful moment.) “Destroy that fighter before it esca--”
The TIE Fighter detached with a wrenching screech of metal, and flew out the hanger window.
“Wonderful,” grumbled Hux.
***
“I can’t see around this thing!” the stormtrooper cried. “How am I supposed to shoot?”
BB-8 squealed in agreement. [Space insufficient. Directive?]
“Just make it work, guys.” Poe concentrated on dodging ion cannons; the First Order was clearly not happy about this whole escape-and-ship-theft business. Too bad for them. “Hey, what’s your name?”
[Designation BB-8. Cognitive trauma re: Poe Dameron?]
“Not you, the stormtrooper.”
“FN-2187,” his rescuer replied.
“Eff-- what?”
“That’s the only name they ever gave me.”
Poe mentally added ‘tags humans like factory droids’ to the list of First Order sins. It was a long, long list. “Well, I ain’t using it. Eff-en, huh? Finn, I’m gonna call you Finn.” Poe had never named anyone before, so he added quickly: “Is that all right?”
“Finn,” the stormtrooper repeated. “Yeah, Finn, I like that.”
A job well done! And while flying an unfamiliar ship through enemy fire, no less! “I’m Poe. Poe Dameron.”
“Good to meet you, Poe. But I still can’t see! This droid is heavy -- what do you want me to do back here?”
[Directive!] BB-8 demanded.
Admittedly, it had looked a little cramped when Poe shoved his droid onto the stormtrooper -- er, Finn’s -- lap before shutting the TIE Fighter’s hatch. But it wasn’t like he was going to leave BB-8 behind -- especially after what BB-8 had done to the First Order decryption specialist who’d been trying to hack him. The squeals of joy BB-8 had emitted when Poe and Finn broke into the room seemed a little unnecessary, given condition of the specialist. Sometimes Poe wondered about that droid.)
“Just mash buttons,” Poe told Finn. “I’ll handle the rest.”
“It’ll drain the power cells!”
“We’ll be gone before that’s a problem.”
“To where? The Finalizer jumped after we left Jakku; I don’t even know what system we’re in, and this class of TIE doesn’t have hyperdrive!”
Poe dodged another volley of cannon fire. “Well, anywhere’s better than where we were, right?”
[Insufficient directive!]
“BB-8, start scanning to figure out where we are. Don’t worry, Finn, I’ve got your back. Just fire!”
“WHERE?”
“Anywhere!”
A carpet of blasts shot from the back of the TIE Fighter as Poe started trying to put some distance between them and the Finalizer. “There’s gotta be some place nearby,” he muttered. “Then we’ll get a message to the Resistance. Everything’ll be fine, Finn, don’t you worry.”
[Foss Altus System. Four parsecs.]
“Uh, buddy, I’m not sure that’s far enough.”
[Cruiser Finalizer disabled in ten seconds.]
“Wait, what?”
***
“Sir, the engines are going offline!”
Hux grabbed the data pad from the lieutenant; sure enough, there it was. Footage of a BB-8 unit, not fifteen minutes ago, sending simple yet devastating viral overrides into the navigation system. “How,” he demanded, “did one droid manage this?”
“We don’t know, sir. Our engineers will have us up and running again in the next reset cycle--”
“--but we’re going to lose the TIE,” Hux finished.
The lieutenant gulped. “Yes, sir.”
Hux had a splitting headache. “Recall our fighters,” he growled. “Start scanning for local systems where the escapees might hide. They won’t get far.”
“Yes, sir.”
***
Rey didn’t know exactly where they were. She had the strong suspicion that Kylo didn’t know, either, but once they’d arrived a few parsecs from the middle of nowhere, he’d shut the engines, let the GR-43 transport drift aimlessly in open space, and started peppering her with questions she couldn’t answer.
And after three hours of interrogation Rey was feeling cramped. She’d lived in an AT-AT, so room to stretch wasn’t something that generally figured into her calculations, but the GR was even smaller than the Hawk: little more than a kitchen, a cabin, and a cockpit. She needed space, if not physically then at least mentally.
“I don’t remember,” she said for at least the tenth time.
Kylo Ren looked like he wanted to put his fist through a wall. “All right,” he managed through gritted teeth. “Try it again. When the Falcon first arrived--”
“I don’t remember, Kylo.” This was so frustrating. “It was at least four years ago, and I only worked on it for a week at most. Unkar gave me six full portions for what I could repair. He made some modifications of his own, too.” Kylo grimaced at this, but Rey continued on in monotone: “Most of what I did was surface wiring. There was nothing that stood out. It was just another YT freighter. One day I came back, and it was gone. Unkar must have sold it. I didn’t ask. I swear to you, that’s all I remember.”
Kylo just shook his head. “No. There’s more. I know there’s more.”
“There’s not.” Rey leaned back against the only table chair, bolted to the floor, and glared up at Kylo, who hadn’t sat since they left the Ring of Kafrene. “Why would I hide anything?”
“I don’t think you’re hiding.” There was something unnerving about the greedy, wary way Kylo looked at her. Like gnaw-jaws who couldn’t decide if their prey were full of parasites. “But just because you can’t recall doesn’t mean it isn’t there in your mind.”
Rey didn’t like the sound of that. “And?”
Kylo studied her for another moment. The hungry gleam grew more pronounced as several different emotions flickered over his expression, too fast for Rey to track. “I can look for it,” he said finally. “But I don’t like doing that.”
Rey remembered the horrible, invasive feeling of him rooting around through her mind, like someone was digging blunt fingers into a hunk of ground meat. “I didn’t like it either,” she said.
He shifted his weight guiltily. “You came out of nowhere,” he said, defensive. “You pulled a blaster on me. I felt you use the Force. I just wanted to know who had sent you.”
“You could have asked.”
“If you were an assassin, you wouldn’t have told me.”
Rey snorted.
Kylo knelt down next to her. It looked uncomfortable. “Let me try again,” he said. His eyes were earnest, and Rey could count each mole on his face. An odd face, but not a bad one. “You’re strong in the Force--”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“--and if you focused, if you helped me stay... precise… it could work.” He flexed his fingers. Those weren’t so bad, either. “Just the surface memories. The images. So I can see what you saw. Please.”
It could work.
Rey wanted something from him, too. “Just the surface?” she repeated.
“Only what you give me,” he promised. “I don’t want anything else. People’s thoughts are private.”
“Just the Falcon.”
That hunger again. “Just the Falcon.”
Rey wet her lips. (Kylo’s gaze dropped to her mouth, then up again quickly.) A deep breath, then: “And you’ll owe me a favor.”
“And I’ll owe you…” Kylo blinked, then shook his head and rocked back on his heels, glaring at her. “Don’t do that,” he snapped. “It won’t work on me.”
Right. “What did you call it?”
“Pushing. It’s a mind trick. You’re using the Force to try and get your way. It’s--” he struggled for the right word “--rude.”
Rey frowned. “I don’t mean to,” she protested. “I didn’t even know I was.”
His expression softened. Kylo looked like an entirely different person when he wasn’t angry, or cold, or smug. “Yeah, I know what that’s like,” he muttered. “Look, you can have your favor. But don’t try to trick me again.”
“If you promise never to go in my mind again,” Rey countered.
“Not without your permission. I wouldn’t this time if I had any other ideas.”
Let him in, then demand his help to find her parents. It was worth it. This could work. “All right,” she said cautiously.
“All right. Close your eyes.”
Rey did.
“Picture the Millennium Falcon.” She felt the heat of his hand next to her temple; if she leaned an inch to the side, his palm would be cupping her cheek. “Remember walking up the ramp. Nothing more. Just focus on that.”
Rey nodded. She imagined that week years ago, the sun, the sand, the exhaustion. Unkar smiling and dangling a packet of portions as she hefted her tools.
The jolt of indignation wasn’t her own.
Kylo was there. In her head. She could feel him in the memory as though he were walking beside her.
Don’t be afraid, and it was as though his voice were echoing across an empty room. Focus.
Rey nodded, trying to tamp down on the fluttery feeling of wrongness at this intrusion. A mind wasn’t meant to have more than one being in it, she knew instinctively down to her bones. Too much of something like this could drive a person mad.
In her memory, she ascended the Falcon’s ramp. The images were clearer, brighter than they'd been when she had just tried to describe them to Kylo. It was as though she were really there.
That's it. Inside her, Kylo’s words felt eager. Reverent. Yes, that’s exactly what it looked like. Keep going.
“Where?”
Anywhere.
Rey turned left. She’d spent most of her time in the circuitry bay. The way was clear, but now it felt a little foggy--
--a nudge of power, and the blurred edges snapped into sharp relief.
“Don’t do that.”
Sorry. The apology nearly drowned under the swell of longing, of excitement, of… pain?
Rey wanted to explore that. Threads of emotions winding from him into her, bridges she could walk across and find…
Focus.
“Right.”
Who knew it was so hard to stay in your own mind when someone else’s beckoned?
The circuitry bay of the Falcon, right in front of her face. It was a mess. Rey watched her own hands -- a little smaller, a little less scarred -- disconnect and replace frayed wires. In her memory, one of them zapped her; in the present, her fingers twitched with shock. So did Kylo’s. She felt his thumb brush against her temple.
“Sorry,” she muttered, though what was she apologizing for? Touching a raw wire years ago? She watched her younger hands feel their way across the boards, finding damage as much on instinct as on--
There. Stop there.
Rey brought her memory to a halt. “What am I looking for?”
Kylo didn’t answer, either aloud or in her head. But she could feel his agitation, his fraying sense of command as he all but lifted the image from her head, turning it back and forth as though examining a holo.
Then she saw what he did. Something she’d missed all those years ago: a box smaller than the tip of her pinky finger, meant to be disguised amongst the rest of the wiring--
“Is that a tracking beacon?”
Rey wasn’t prepared for what happened next: a fierce, unstoppable explosion crashing through Kylo’s mind into hers. She felt herself stagger under the weight of it: an almost nauseating combination of hope and grief and love and rage--
--father--
--feelings that came with a lost family.
The Millennium Falcon wavered, then cracked and shattered in Rey’s mind as she was towed into the tide of Kylo’s emotions.
“Quiet, girl.”
A vanishing ship, burning sun, a meaty hand around her arm--
“No! Come back!”
Why had they left her? They left her!
Rey! Rey, stop! Another consciousness struggling against her own, trying to pull free-- Focus!
“Get out,” she gasped aloud. “Get out--”
Let go and I will!
But her mind wrapped around his, clinging to him in that swirling nightmare sea of feeling, dragging him down with her even as he tried to break free of her grip--
“Mama!”
”Forty credits?”
”Thirty.”
”Mama!”
No, no no no, she didn’t want to see this, it wasn’t real, they were coming back--
Rey!
--the clink of coins changing hands--
No no nonono--
“GET OUT!”
A rush of power Rey didn’t know she possessed, that came from nowhere and went nowhere, furor and pain and denial, and she grabbed that other consciousness in her head and flung it out, giving chase, getting as far away from those clinking coins--
--following that tightrope between them, the one of the ugly mess of empathy that screamed family in bright red letters--
--right into Kylo Ren’s own memories.
She felt him shying away from her, trying to gather up his thoughts and feelings with both arms and hide them away, but it was too late. Rey didn’t know what she was doing, or how to control herself, and she was too panicked to focus--
The man seems so impossibly tall, blocking out the world. “Look, kid, I’m not a prince of anything, and I don’t have any fancy powers, but you’re still my son, and you still get something from me, okay? One of these days -- a long, long time from now -- this ship is gonna be yours. So here--” a wrench in a small hand “--you better get crankin’ on those scanners, because it’s gonna take you ‘til I die to figure out the Millennium Falcon, believe you me.”
--father--
A holovid. “After a three day search, the body of famed Rebellion General Han Solo has been recovered outside the city of--”
--screams and crashes, a bearded man preaching calm through his own tears. “Ben, please, you must listen--”
--the Millennium Falcon and envy and worship and shame and guilt and devotion--
Rey didn’t want to see this. She didn’t want to feel this. None of this was hers, but she couldn’t pull free, and now Kylo was the one thrashing against her mental grip, trying to extricate himself even as that connection between them lashed tighter and tighter, threads becoming ropes becoming bridges--
Then.
A Darkness.
Black, thick, seeping from the corners.
Hello, Ben. I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Why have you been hiding?
Stark terror shot through Rey, but it wasn’t hers. She pictured Kylo Ren running through a house -- because that was how he pictured himself -- slamming doors, shutting windows. Trying to hide from the dark.
I’ve missed you, Ben. It’s been so long since we talked, you and I. The blackness seeped forward, touched the strings, the rope, the bond. Rey felt its curiosity as it traced the connection, then its delight at finding her on the other side. Ben, you’ve found a friend. And my, aren’t you powerful. The blackness touched the edge of her own mind, and Rey tried to flinch back from wrongness of that friendly cold. What is your name, young one?
Rey. She didn’t mean to think it. She didn’t want to give this blackness anything. But it reached inside, deep inside, and just... took.
Rey. More of that tar oozing along that bridge. Clever Rey. Lonely Rey. You could do great things--
--a shout of fury -- a blast of hatred, but not cold and dark, white-hot and blinding--
Rey cracked the side of her head against the tabletop as she fell out of her chair.
Silence.
A breath. Then two.
Then, panting, heaving, sweat and tears running down her face, she gasped: “What was that?”
He didn’t answer. He licked his lips, and his bitten tongue left a smear of blood behind.
“Your name isn’t Kylo Ren, it’s Ben Solo,” Rey said, flinching as he flinched. Hurting as he hurt. “Your father was Han Solo. And now you’re alone.”
“Yes,” whispered Ben.
(He’d been inside her. She’d been inside him. Everything was jumbled together, some of it his and some of it hers--)
Rey struggled to her knees. Every muscle felt weak. “I’m alone too,” she said. And quickly added: “For now. Until I find my family.”
Ben just looked at her. With sadness. With pity. There were tear tracks on his face, too, and Rey resisted the urge to scrub them away. “I shouldn’t have gone in there.” Nothing made sense in this moment, nothing.
He rose to his feet stiffly. (She wondered how she ever thought he could be Kylo Ren. Now that she knew, everything about him said Ben Solo. As though it had been there since they met, waiting to be said.) “Thank you for your help,” he said, cold and formal, like she hadn't just felt him crying for his father. “I got what I needed. I’ll take you home now.” He paused. “Or wherever you want to go.”
“I need to go back to the Niima Outpost.” She pointedly ignored the pensive look Ben gave her. “But… Ben, that… that black thing...”
He shook his head as he went to the cockpit. “I don’t know who it is,” he said. “But whenever I open up too wide, he’s waiting.” He didn’t look at her as he set the coordinates -- for Jakku, Rey noticed. “I meant it when I said it’s a curse. There will always be someone who wants what you can do. They’ll tell you lies about the good you're capable of, or the power you can have, or how important your life will be. But none of them care about you. It’s always just the Force. You’re nothing to them. You’re nothing.”
Rey swallowed.
“Come back!”
“I know,” she said.
Ben glanced up at her. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but then closed it quickly and busied himself at the controls. “Be careful,” he said. “There are things you won’t be able to help, like seeing further ahead than others or influencing weak-willed minds. But you’re strong with the Force. Stronger than you know. You need to hide it as deep as you can, Rey; keep your head down, stay untrained, and lead a very quiet life.”
“What?” she said. “Quiet like yours?”
Ben just shook his head. “I can’t afford quiet,” he said. “I have a ship to find.”
***
Deep in the Unknown Regions, Supreme Leader Snoke leaned back upon his throne.
After so many years, Ben Solo had made himself known at last.
And... there had been an awakening.
Notes:
BB-8 is the beautiful child of WALL-E and EVE, and no one can ever take that headcanon from me.
Chapter 8: "Women always figure out the truth. Always."
Notes:
Several parts of this chapter reference the Claudia Gray's canon novel Bloodline. Our poor Skywalkers.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
chapter 7
“Women always figure out the truth. Always.”
Aresso reclines nude in bed, studying the ceiling idly, waiting for the opportunity to kill the man lying by her side.
She probably could have accomplished the hit at several other points this evening: during the few hours spent studying her prey, or during the twenty minutes sharing Coruscanti wine after deciding he’d respond best to a few smiles from a human woman ten years his senior (no trouble for a Clawdite well-studied in shifting, which Aresso was) -- or perhaps ten minutes ago, when he was atop her.
Her target may have fucked like a boy, but he has the body of a young man who could kill someone Aresso’s size with very little effort. She doesn’t expect to have any real trouble with him, but the whole reason she’s been sent is because this is supposedly the person who singlehandedly wiped out every member of the Guavian Death Gang.
(Aresso has her doubts about that story -- but no one could deny the Guavians were gone, and hey. A bounty is a bounty.)
Still, urban legend or not, she’s decided to err on the side of caution. Kylo Ren is naked at her side, also staring at the ceiling, but he doesn’t look particularly tired. Aresso would just as soon have him fuck her a second time. Establish trust, sap some more energy, and hopefully put him to sleep.
“You’re good,” she purrs, rolling onto her side. (A lie. He might have potential, but he didn’t even pretend to care about her or her pleasure. Though this is fairly standard for human males. She hopes the next mark she needs to seduce is a Cerean; those double brains make them so creative.) She slides a hand up his admittedly impressive bicep. “Want to go again?”
“No,” Ren says shortly.
Aresso raises an eyebrow. (Little touches like that make human faces look all the more realistic.) “I think I’m insulted,” she pouts. “You’re not planning on rushing off, are you? We have the room all night.”
Ren doesn’t respond. (He’d barely responded when she’d brought him to the room, either. Frankly, Aresso had been pretty sure the seduction technique wasn’t working, that she would have to just risk a fight in the alley instead, but to her surprise when she’d whispered in his ear that they should go upstairs, he’d just studied her for a moment and then nodded. Oh, well. If there was one thing you could count on with Core World humans, it’s sexual hangups. And Kylo Ren just reeks of a Core World background.)
Aresso tries trailing her manicured (again, it’s the little details) fingertips across Ren’s chest, down his abdomen, towards his groin. His breath hitches, and he grows half-hard as her hand trails lower -- then he catches her wrist before Aresso can reach her goal, pushing it firmly aside. But he doesn’t get up or reach for his clothes.
He won’t take that much convincing. Aresso pulls out her datapad from her purse and settles back on the pillows, scrolling idly through today’s news. She’ll try again in ten minutes or so, and if Ren still isn't interested, she’ll give up on his cock and go for his neck instead.
Due to prudent heedfulness, Aresso is a bit of a political junkie. Clawdites are a long-lived species, but movements rose and fell, and there is always some faction or another waiting to institute bans on shape-shifters. Keeping up with current events is how Aresso managed to survive Palpatine’s regime. Anyone who had paid attention knew which way the wind had blown with that fanatic.
The headlines on her datapad are all variations on the same subject.
UPROAR IN HOSNIAN PRIME: LEIA ORGANA’S BID FOR FIRST SENATOR DERAILED BY ALLEGATIONS OF CONCEALED PARENTAGE
DARTH VADER SAID TO BE FATHER OF ORGANA, SKYWALKER; CENTRISTS, POPULISTS DEMAND ORGANA’S RESIGNATION
NABOO’S QUEEN ISSUES ANGRY DEFENSE: “THE LEGACY OF PADME AMIDALA IS UNTARNISHED”
CARISE SINDIAN CALLS FOR CLOSING OF LUKE SKYWALKER’S JEDI ACADEMY: “THE SON OF A SITH CANNOT BE TRUSTED TO TRAIN FORCE-SENSITIVES”; NO COMMENT FROM SKYWALKER
“Wow,” Aresso says, forgetting to keep her voice breathy and seductive. “Organa sure fucked this one up.”
The datapad is plucked from her hands so quickly she barely sees Ren move. (That is an unnerving development.) For a few minutes he scrolls through article after article, even the comment threads, before clicking on the vid of Senator Casterfo speaking on the floor of the Galactic Senate.
“Princess Leia’s lies have protected her long enough. Her deception cannot be permitted to endanger the entire galaxy. If people are considering electing her as First Senator, they have the right to know exactly who they’re voting for. Senator Leia Organa is none other than the daughter of Darth Vader himself.”
“Holy shit,” says Aresso, still just enough aware of herself to keep her shape. “Do you think it’s true?”
Silence.
Then…
Kylo Ren begins to chuckle.
Aresso blinks a few times as the man in bed dissolves into laughter, his pale skin flushing with bright red fever spots on his cheekbones. “Of course it’s true,” he says. “Of course it is.”
“How can you know?”
He just laughs harder. It would almost make that strange face of his handsome, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s clearly near hysterics. “Because I’m searching my feelings,” he gasps. “I know it’s true.”
Aresso makes a lightning-quick decision. Her mark is distracted. He’s unstable. He’s not paying attention. This is as good a moment to strike as she’s likely to get.
Her hand creeps towards Ren’s throat.
***
Ten minutes later, one living person leaves the room. A body remains behind.
The body is not Kylo Ren’s.
***
“General, we’re receiving a transmission.” Lieutenant Connix didn’t even try to conceal her grin. “It’s Commander Dameron.”
A lifetime of defeats followed by victories followed by more defeats made it easy for Leia’s expression to remain neutral. “Put him through,” she said evenly, placing a pair of headphones over her ears. The faces around the rest of the command room showed various degrees of disappointment. Poe was a favorite, and Resistance fighters, like the Rebels before them, were horrible gossips.
But Poe would have things to say that Leia didn’t want them gossiping about.
“Commander Dameron?” she said.
“Reporting in, General. It’s real good to hear your voice.”
“Yours too, Poe.” Leia allowed herself a smile. Just one. “I hope you have a good reason to have not reported in for two days.”
“Not a good reason. Little bit of capture. I guess it was bound to happen sooner or later.”
“Are you all right?”
“Just fine, General. That Hux guy is really overrated.”
“I take it your mission was not a success, then.”
“No. Well, not exactly. Sort of. Tell me: do you want the good news, the great news, the bad news, or the worse news?”
In the background: “Is that really your general? That’s how you get to talk to your commanding officer?”
If Poe was speaking like this -- extra-quick, extra-chipper, extra-casual -- it meant he’d been rattled by his experience. But Leia didn’t allow herself to worry. She couldn’t afford it. “I give you permission to report in whatever order you feel appropriate to your narrative, Commander Dameron.”
“Thanks, General. Good news: I’m not a prisoner of the First Order anymore, and I got away with all my limbs.”
Definitely rattled. “That is good news.”
“The great news is that I’ve picked up a defector. Say hi, Finn!”
A nervous voice. “Uh, hi. Seriously, Poe, won’t you get court-martialed?”
A series of peeps.
“BB-8’s right, buddy: you’re not with the First Order anymore. Welcome to the Resistance, where we do things a little differently.”
“Hang on, wait, I didn’t say I was joining--”
“Finn used to be a stormtrooper,” continued Poe, “until he rescued me, anyway. Now he’s one of us.”
“I never said that!”
“Please tell Finn that was a very brave thing he did,” said Leia, allowing herself to smile this time. She couldn’t help it. It felt so familiar.
Look, I ain’t in this for your revolution, and I’m not in it for you, princess.
Han.
He’d driven her crazy.
She would never stop missing him.
She would never stop missing...
Leia swallowed. “What’s the bad news?”
“For starters, we’re kind of trapped on Foss Altus. Which is still better than being trapped on the Finalizer, but, yeah. I don’t suppose you have anyone to spare to pick us up?”
“We can probably manage something. How much company do you have?”
“Right now? We’re in the clear. But I don’t think our luck will hold. Enemy’s not far away and they’ll figure out where we went soon enough.”
A few forlorn beeps.
“And that’s the worse news?”
“Uh… no. The worse news is... it looks like the First Order is trying to find the same guy we are.”
Leia’s stomach dropped. Her face betrayed nothing. “You’re sure?”
“Very sure. They were right behind me. And all Hux’s questions were about him.”
(If Leia could, if she were not a General and a Senator and a Princess, she would scream and cry and rend the universe apart with her untrained powers and her bare hands. Her husband was dead, her brother was dead, her planet was dead, and if she could, the daughter of Darth Vader would burn everything to ash to bring her son safely back to her side. But Leia Organa was not just a mother, a wife, a sister. She was a symbol. She had no time for her sorrows. There would never be time.)
“And did you make contact?” Leia asked.
“We didn’t exactly chat. But yeah, I found him for about two minutes, and, with permission to speak freely--”
“As though you’ve ever asked permission.”
“--he’s still a self-centered jerk, and when we’re next in the same room I’m going to break that huge dumb nose of his.”
Han’s nose.
“I’ll allow you two to work it out when the time comes,” said Leia. “You always have.”
“Anyway, I hope he has a plan, because the First Order’s definitely on his tail.”
“Maybe he’ll have the sense to come--” home “--back.”
“General, ‘sense’ has never been something that kid had in spades.”
(She remembered breaking up so many fights between them as children. Poe, twenty standard months older, had rubbed his age in Ben’s face as often as he could. Ben had answered with his fists. When Ben shot up past Poe’s height, it didn’t stop. Han had laughed. Luke had worried. Leia hadn’t paid enough attention to how fast the years were flying.)
The General of the Resistance shook off the past. (She had to.) “We’ll put together a rescue party,” she promised Poe, “and be there to retrieve you as soon as possible.” They could spare a few X-Wings and a StarFortress bomber or two. The Cobalt Squadron, perhaps. Ackbar would probably want to lead the mission himself; the Admiral didn’t like sitting around for long. “The Resistance doesn’t leave people behind. Be ready.”
“Always am, General.”
***
The Niima Outpost was gone.
Just… gone.
The moment the ramp lowered, Rey sprinted out towards the skeletal remains of Unkar Plutt’s trading stalls, the first place she remembered living, though she would never have called it home.
(She’d learned to scavenge here; she’d learned to fly here; she’d learned to survive here.)
Her feet slipped and stumbled across unexpected obstacles in the hard-packed ground: hunks of cloudy glass, misshapen and rough, formed from sand by blaster fire. The tents were nothing but sharp stakes that cut dark against the twilight sky, ash hanging in the air, scattered bits of metal tables--
--the smell of cooked meat.
Dozens of crumpled forms.
And the peck-peck-peck of buzzards.
Rey didn’t remember much about the next several minutes -- only that she was heaving for breath, her staff bled blisters into her hands, her shoulders ached, and she was surrounded by dead birds.
Wiping tears, sweat, and snot on her sleeve, she trudged away from the bodies of everyone she’d ever known, towards where Ben examined the remains of the X-Wing he’d shot down when they left the planet. She could sense his emotions as he dug through the cockpit’s wreckage, but she couldn’t name them with a blaster to her head.
“Unkar Plutt is dead,” she announced. (His bloated form had exploded in the sun. He’d paid her starvation rations. He’d given her blankets for her AT-AT for free.) “So is everyone else.”
Ben pulled away from the X-Wing and studied her.
Carefully.
After a moment he offered: “There’s nothing you could have done had you been here.”
“You don’t know that.”
“This is the First Order’s work. You’d have been killed, too.” Ben’s voice was even -- not comforting or consoling, but not condescending, either. Just stating the facts. “They don’t leave survivors.”
The First Order.
Governments didn’t affect Rey’s life. The First Order, the New Republic, it was all the same when you were paid in half-portions. Her sympathies had laid in a vague way with the Resistance -- because she’d always liked to imagine she would resist, if given the choice -- but it hadn’t mattered.
Until now.
Rey felt too numb to process it all. Such a short time ago she’d been standing outside the Ravager, beating off a Teedo for stealing her scrap. “Is your friend in there?” she asked, nodding to the remnants of X-Wing.
“Poe Dameron isn’t my friend.” (Could have fooled Rey, given the way Ben had taken off running towards the wreckage.) “And no. Probably the First Order took him. Which is almost as bad for me as it is for him, so we need to get going.”
“We?”
“Of course we.” Ben looked at her like she was crazy. “You’re not staying on Jakku. There’s nothing for you here now.”
“I know.” Maybe there never was. “I just… my AT-AT is over the ridge to the west.”
“Wait, you have an AT-AT?”
“I need to leave a message, for when someone comes looking. So they’ll know where I’ve gone.”
(Ben’s full mouth set in a thin line at her words.)
“And then I…” Rey took a deep breath, then stared Ben Solo in the eye. “I'll go with you. I’ll help you find the Millennium Falcon. And in return, you’ll help me find my family.”
Ben’s expression clouded. “I can find the Falcon on my own.”
“You haven’t yet,” she pointed out. “And I know my family won’t be easy to find. But it can’t be any harder than tracking down a ship, right? I mean, they have to be somewhere.” Rey knew she was babbling, but this could work. She knew it could. “There are bounty hunters, there are ways--”
“Rey.” (She wouldn’t listen to the gentle compassion in his tone. She wouldn’t.) “Stop. Let me take you to Corellia.”
“And then what?” she demanded. “Just keep waiting? I’ve spent my whole life waiting.”
“You could build something for yourself. You could still scavenge, if you wanted, or get work as a mechanic -- half the planet is covered in junkyards. It wouldn’t be an easy life, but you wouldn’t be so…”
Hungry. Thirsty. Hopeless.
Ben didn’t need to say those words out loud for Rey to hear them half-formed in her mind. Just impressions, but… still. That’s what he was thinking.
He didn’t want to take her with him, but he was worried about what would happen to her, if he left her behind. She could feel it.
Rey could use that.
“You promised me a favor,” she said.
A pause.
“And what if that… that thing, that black thing finds me again?”
A longer pause.
“Please.” There was more to it than even her family, at this point. “If it’s true, if I have this… this power inside me… I don’t know what it is, or what to do with it.” Rey stared up beseechingly at Ben, whose face flitted through more emotions than she could count. “I want to come with you. I want you to teach me. So that at least I’ll know what I’m doing. Please.” Rey swallowed. “Help me.”
Ben’s hands twitched at his sides. She felt -- she felt -- his indecision, his fascination, his hesitancy. More importantly, she could feel him feeling her, an endless feedback loop of fear and hope and devastating loneliness.
How could that be? What had happened to them?
Before she could overthink it, she reached forward and grabbed his hand. He stilled instantly. She closed her fingers around his -- they dwarfed her own -- the pressure of his skin against hers was…
Well, Rey didn’t dislike it.
Finally Ben said, a little helplessly: “I’m going to regret this. And so will you.” He took a deep breath. “But if you’re sure--”
“I am.”
Ben shook his head, then gestured Rey back towards their ship.
It took him longer to let go of her hand than she expected.
***
History does not repeat itself.
I want to come with you to Alderaan. There’s nothing for me here now. I want to learn the ways of the Force and become a Jedi, like my father.
History rhymes.
Notes:
Edited to add: "History doesn't repeat itself, but it often rhymes" is a line attributed to Mark Twain (though he probably didn't write it) and gets used in political commentary a lot. It applies as well to Star Wars as anything else ;)
Chapter 9: "We need? How about you need?"
Summary:
Rey was pretty sure Ben hadn’t laid down since she’d knocked him unconscious on Jakku. She, at least, had dozed briefly while locked in that stupid closet. (She was still mad about that, even if he’d been right not to trust her then.) “You should get some rest,” she told him.
“And who’s going to drive? You?”
“I’m the only other one here.”
Notes:
So I had the next, like, four chapters planned out. On paper scraps. Which were in the pocket of my jeans. Then the jeans went through the washing machine. So here I am, winging it, hoping everything comes back to me as I go. Be gentle, dear readers.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
chapter 8
“We need? How about you need?”
The desert is so cold at night.
Rey is twelve and hadn’t known that.
Well, she had. Sort of. But she’d never been allowed beyond the Outpost after sunset, because Unkar was afraid she’d run off. (She wouldn’t have; she had to wait.) Fires and shelters hid the fact that the open dunes dropped tens of degrees once the sun went down.
She curls inside the belly of the AT-AT, shivering.
This is better than being with Unkar. She’s free, now. Tomorrow she’ll start scavenging for herself. Tomorrow she’ll earn her own portions. Tomorrow--
But this is tonight.
She focuses on the tiny scratch she’s left in the wall -- the first day here, the first day she waits by herself -- and tries to bring sleep. She pictures her family. She pictures a home.
She pictures an island.
It’s so cold.
Rey is twelve and alone.
***
“Can you draw?”
Rey looked up from the wall storage units, where she was searching for food. (She wasn’t hungry right now, but it was important to know where the portion stores were, if there were any at all. So far, Rey hadn’t found very much to work with; Gaines, apparently, had felt confident in his ability to eat whenever he wanted.) “Not really,” she said. “Why?”
Ben made a disgruntled noise from where he sat at the common table. “Look at this,” he told her, sliding something across the countertop, “and tell me if that’s how you remember it.”
Rey frowned as she examined the… something. She picked it up, rubbed it between her fingers. “Is this… what is this?”
“Paper.” Ben’s eye twitched, like he wanted to snatch it back from her grip. “Unlike a datapad, it can’t be traced or hacked.”
“I’ve never seen it before.” Rey turned the paper over to look at the image on the front. “How did you make the picture?”
“With ink.” Ben held up a stylus with a point on the end, black liquid dripped from it. “It’s not that common. What matters is the picture itself. Does it look right to you?”
Rey squinted. On the paper was a detailed rendition of the Millennium Falcon tracking beacon that Ben had plucked from her memories. He’d drawn it from several different angles. All the minutia were there, down to each individual wire.
“You made this without a datapad?” she said, impressed. If she’d known he was this talented, she’d have asked him to write a note for her family in the AT-AT, instead of scratching it into the wall herself. “That’s amazing.”
Kylo Ren had been more difficult for her to read; knowing his real name, though, somehow made it easier for Rey to understand his face. The little twitches and glances just… gave him away, now. And Ben Solo was all out-of-proportioned pleased by her compliment. “Thank you,” he said graciously. “It was one of the few things I enjoyed about-- uh, school.”
(He said that word so casually, like school was something just anyone could go to. Rey would take half the things he had the freedom to dislike.)
“I’m missing something,” Ben continued. “I know I am. What is it?”
Rey closed her eyes and pulled up the memory he’d made so sharp in her mind. “Here,” she said after a moment, pointing. “There’s a little power coupling here. And soldiering over there. There shouldn’t be, but--”
“--there is.” Ben took the paper back and added the detail with his tiny brush. “It would increase the--”
“--frequency shift.” Rey frowned. “You’re right, it would. But why wouldn’t they add a pulse chamber instead? That does the same thing.”
“Because pulse chamber tech was proprietary until the fall of the Empire,” said Ben. He folded the strange stylus in half, then in half again, and tucked it into one of the pockets on his vest. “Soldiering would be a work-around.”
“So?”
“So, it’s obsolete. Too obsolete to be read by modern trackers. Just look at it all: it’s covered with non-standard modifications.”
Rey understood suddenly what Ben was getting at. Clever. “So a beacon like this couldn’t have come from just anywhere,” she guessed. “Someone might recognize the methods.”
Rey got the feeling that if Ben Solo was the sort of person who smiled, he would have smiled now. “I can think of someone who might,” he said. “But I’ll need you to help.”
“I said I would, didn’t I?”
***
Foss Altus wasn’t too bad, as planets go. Finn had been worse places: hot, cold, steamy, sandy. Flat, simple prairie under a blue sky was about as pleasant as it got.
Unless you were trying to hide.
“We stick out like sore thumbs,” Finn said to Poe. Their stolen fighter seemed to stretch miles above the grasses. “Where are we supposed to go?”
The forlorn beeps of Poe’s little orange murder-bot echoed Finn’s concern.
“Not sure yet.” Poe, tracking beacon in hand, seemed alarmingly confident given their situation. “Just keep walking, because the first thing the Order will do when they arrive is blow up that ship.”
“I know that. I spent my whole life getting trained on battle procedure.”
“Yeah, but you’re not a stormtrooper anymore, pal.”
As though Finn didn’t know that. (What was he, now? Not a Rebel. He just wanted to get away.) “Why are you calling me ‘pal’? I thought my name was Finn?”
That made both Poe and BB-8 stop in their tracks. The droid slowly swiveled its head to stare at him; Poe just looked horrified, and sad. “It’s an expression, not a name,” he said. “It means we’re friends.”
“Oh. I knew that.”
(He hadn’t known that.)
“Your name is Finn, now. Don’t worry about it. You can choose a last name, too.”
“Do I have to have one?”
“Well… no. But it’s helpful. Especially for humans, because it makes it easier to keep track of us.” Poe scratched the back of his neck; Foss Altus might have a good climate, but it was also covered in bugs. “It also reminds you of where you came from. Tells you who you belonged to, you know?”
Finn knew where he’d come from, and who he’d belonged to. He didn’t need to be reminded of it. “I think one name is enough for now.”
“I get that.” Poe turned around and started leading again; this was definitely a person used to leading. “And not all humans have a last name, anyhow. You’ll meet some who don’t.”
That was a relief. “Who are we supposed--” But Finn stopped speaking. A faint noise of engines cut through the air, starship engines, growing louder with every--
“We’ve got company!”
And Poe, Finn, and BB-8 took off running as the stolen fighter exploded behind them.
***
As Rey entered the communications code, she asked, for the fourth time, “Are you sure about this?”
“Yes,” said Ben testily. (No, she felt from somewhere deeper.) “Just say what I told you.”
“I still you should--”
“She won’t talk to me.” The holo began to coalesce in a sphere a few inches above the dashboard, and he ducked out of the cockpit. “It’ll be fine.”
Rey settled back into the pilot’s chair. What he’d just said felt like a half-truth at best, but what could she do? “All right,” she said doubtfully.
The holo crackled with static -- they were communicating with someone far away, obviously -- but after a few moments, the image sharpened into a round, wrinkled face, with eyes made large and bulbous by a set of thick goggles.
“Maz Kanata?” said Rey.
The face didn’t respond for a moment, then: “How did you get my emergency code?”
“It was given to me.”
“Huh. Whoever did the ‘giving’ had better be dead or dying, because my contact is only for people I know. I don’t know you.”
“No one is dead.” Rey glanced behind her nervously. Ben had told her what to say, but still-- “The person who needs your help can’t be seen on an open line.”
“This isn’t an open line,” scoffed Maz. “Who’s paranoid enough to doubt my…”
She trailed off.
Rey waited, trying not to let Ben’s anxiety in the next room bank her own uncertainty.
After a minute that felt like ten, Maz Kanata sighed heavily. “Oh, all right. I suppose you need something desperately, girl.”
Thank goodness. “I have the details of a very uniquely made tracking beacon. I need to know where it came from.”
“Do you have the beacon itself?”
“No, but I have this.” Rey held up Ben’s drawing close to the camera. “Does the design look familiar?”
Maz leaned closer. She touched her goggles; her eyes grew larger, then larger again, until even through the light years of distance Rey felt like she might fall into the other creature’s pupils.
“Paper, huh?”
Rey didn’t, didn’t, did not ever want to be on the receiving end of one of those looks.
Maz hummed, then humphed, then shook her head. “The connection isn’t clear enough,” she said. “Send a picture to my private account.”
Ben had already prepared Rey for that. “It’s too sensitive to put on a datapad.”
“Then bring the drawing to me directly.”
“I can’t do that either.”
The next words were slower, and much less businesslike. “If you came to Takodana,” said Maz gently, “I could help. There are people worth trusting in this galaxy, whatever you may think.”
(Rey knew the ‘you’ didn’t refer to her at all.)
Even without this newfound sensitivity to his moods, Rey was sure she would feel Ben’s revolt from the eavesdropper in the next room. The radiation of No, no, no bled straight through the durasteel walls. “I can’t,” she repeated.
Maz scowled. “Stubborn child," she complained. "But lucky for you, there’s someone else I trust who might be able to help. Someone who wouldn’t recognize anyone involved, or care.”
That sounded better. It seemed to feel better to Ben, too. Rey could sense his cautious approval. “Who is this person?”
“He’s a master codebreaker. An ace pilot. A poet with a blaster.”
“And the beacon?”
“Not his specialty, but the man never forgets a thing. Perfect memory, mind like a steel trap. If it can be recognized, he’s the one to do it.”
“Huh. Sounds like he can do everything.”
“Oh, yes.” Maz’s expression turned… fond. “He can.”
(Rey didn’t need to know that. Judging by the slight revulsion she felt, Ben didn’t either.)
“You’ll find him with a red palm bloom on his lapel.” The flower appeared, jumpy and shaking, on the edge of the holo sphere. “Rolling at a high-stakes table in the casino on Canto Bight.”
Rey had never heard of Canto Bight, but surely Ben had. “All right. Thank yo--”
Maz cut her off before she had a chance to finish. “Listen, kiddo. The one you’re with -- he’s right to be cautious. There are more bounties out for him than I can count. But--” those keen eyes stared at Rey so hard she fidgeted in her seat “--you tell that boy he’s been running away from this fight for too long.”
Rey felt a rush of indignation that didn’t belong to her.
“You tell him only imagines there’s no one who cares. Nyakee nago wadda. You tell him to go home!”
The comm switch flipped off as if by magic.
Maz vanished.
A moment later, Rey heard something being thrown in the tiny common area. “Maz is… nice,” she called.
“She’s not,” Ben shouted back. “She’s an interfering old busy-body!”
“She seems to care about you.”
“She doesn’t!” More crashes. “She just wants me to fight in their war! Just like everyone else!”
What a brat. “At least you have someone to call when you need help! That’s more than I have!”
The sounds of destruction stopped as abruptly as they began.
Rey didn’t want to feel his anger. (It wasn’t hers.) She didn’t want to feel his indignation. (It wasn’t hers.) She didn’t want to feel his sudden, reluctant shame. (It wasn’t hers.)
No apology came, though. Instead, Ben appeared again in the cockpit, pushing his hair back from his face. His tantrum had left flushes of color in his cheeks. “All right,” he said, “at least we have a direction. I’ll set the coordinates to Canto Bight.”
There was a long pause as Ben looked at Rey expectantly. She kept her expression innocent as she stared right back.
Eventually he seemed to get tired of waiting for her to get the hint. “Get up,” he ordered.
Rey didn’t move. “Don’t you ever sleep?” she said instead.
“Not if I can avoid it.”
“You look awful.”
“I’m not tired.” Small children weren’t common at the Outpost, but still, Rey could remember a few toddlers insisting they didn’t need naps.
Rey was pretty sure Ben hadn’t laid down since she’d knocked him unconscious on Jakku. She, at least, had dozed briefly while locked in that stupid closet. (She was still mad about that, even if he’d been right not to trust her then.) “You should get some rest,” she told him.
“And who’s going to drive? You?”
“I’m the only other one here.”
“Have you ever flown before?”
She’d logged thousands of hours on her flight simulator. She’d gone through every program scenario Unkar gave her (all in the hopes that one day she would start stealing ships for him). A GR-43? Rey could run this thing with her eyes closed. She was sure of it.
“I’ve flown,” said Rey.
A beat.
“Ah. No.” Ben’s quiet certainty was staggeringly off-putting. “No, you haven’t.”
But either he was too tired to fight, or the look on Rey’s face made it clear it would be a losing battle. “I guess it’s only hyperspace,” he muttered, leaning over her to log the coordinates. (His hair brushed the side of her face.) “Wake me in two hours.”
“Six.”
“Four, and count yourself lucky. And if you change the destination--”
“I won’t.” Rey managed a smile, more for her benefit than his. “Where would I go?”
Ben regarded her for a moment. This time she couldn’t read his face or his feelings -- but he left her alone.
Rey settled into the pilot’s seat triumphantly, pulled the levers, and launched them into hyperspace.
***
Rey is still in her AT-AT, but older, now. She is still cold.
She is not alone. There is someone to keep her warm.
Soft lips against her forehead. Hands, calloused but not rough, stroking her arms. Her waist.
A longing. A symmetry of loneliness.
Distraction.
No. Now she is warm.
***
Rey whimpered and shifted in her sleep.
***
There’s a loneliness, and a cold, and Ben Solo can see a metal wall covered in thousands of scratches.
And there is a woman, waiting. Always waiting. Not for him.
But.
She looks at him, looks up, and she’s as lonely as he is. And so close to him he can feel her heart beating.
Ben does not allow himself these things anymore, but desire dormant is not the same as desire dead. He is still young, still a man, still alive.
You don’t have to be alone , something soul-deep tells him. It sounds a little like Maz Kanata. Why be alone if you don't have to?
The woman closes her eyes when he kisses her forehead. She hums her approval when he touches her arms, her waist, her hips.
She is cold, but warms beneath his touch so quickly.
A mind that bridges to his, power that rivals his own, someone who fights by his side with skin that smells of sweat and sand and is it so wrong, really, to want the feel of fingers lacing into--
Distraction.
He jerks awake.
***
Rey stirred as something heated and heavy draped over her. “It’s all right,” a heated and heavy voice said. “It’s easy to fall asleep watching hyperspace.”
“I can do it,” Rey mumbled, nuzzling into his blanket. “‘Mm just cold.”
“I know. It woke me up.” There wasn’t much room in the flight deck, and yet Ben managed to wedge his large body onto the floor, his back to the side of the pilot’s chair, his knees braced against the power outputs. “You come from a warm planet,” he said. “Space is cold.”
The blanket’s softness pushed Rey back to that strange place between awake and asleep. The presence of another person didn’t hurt, either. “Why do you know when I’m cold, now? And why do I know when you’re lonely?”
“I have a few guesses. But the only person I could have asked is dead.” A sigh. “And he probably would have lied anyway.”
Rey curled her feet beneath her body. The chair was just large enough for her to turn onto her side and lay her head on the armrest. Years of squeezing herself into tight spaces helped.
Her hair tangled with his. She felt the warmth of his scalp against her own. She felt the way his breath hitched. Felt the interest, the wariness, the--
“Distraction,” she murmured. The word was real and solid in his mind. She just had to say it aloud. “You think I’m a distraction.”
A beat. “Yes. Maybe.” Another beat. “Probably.”
“You said you’re not the sort of man who gets distracted.”
“I know what I said. Go back to sleep. I’ll keep watch.”
But his light snores came before hers.
Notes:
In Bloodline, Leia makes it very clear that paper is Not a Thing anymore. Foss Altus is actually the name of two towns near each other in Oklahoma; I saw them together on a road sign and went “That’s definitely the name of a planet”. Of course, I’d been on the road for several days at that point and was a little punchy. Any resemblance to actual locations is purely coincidental.
Chapter 10: “I’m in it for the money.”
Summary:
“Why can’t I stay outside?”
“Because you’re not wanted by everyone in the galaxy.”
Notes:
*sidles in* So, it’s been, uh *checks notes* three months. Um. Oops. I’ll try not to let that happen again. I’ll also try to stop letting my notes go through the washing machine. That will probably help.
You may notice I’ve dropped the rating from E to M. This is because the trashbabies are being shy about full-frontal. I’m hoping they get over it, but, well, they’re being pretty stubborn. The good news is, we’ve got awhile before that day comes. (I did mention slowburn, right?) It’ll give them time to ease in.
Anyway. It’s short, but it’s a bridge chapter, and at least it exists. Sorry again. Here we go.
Chapter Text
chapter nine
“I’m in it for the money.”
Captain Phasma had a gift.
She was not the fastest stormtrooper, or the strongest, or the smartest. She held no delusions of that kind. She hadn’t risen to her position by virtue of being the best in any conventional sense of the word. She’d earned her place in the galaxy by hard work and a touch of luck here and there, but as far as true, in-born talents went, well, she only had one.
But it was a good one.
Captain Phasma was naturally inscrutable.
Which is why she was able to stand on the bridge of the Finalizer and give away nothing in tone or body language while General Hux raved at her.
“--if your division hadn’t--”
“--rebellious scum--”
“--the Supreme Leader will not--”
“--high treason--”
Phasma let this wave of noise wash past her -- men did like to have their tantrums -- while she observed the mess taking place below on Foss Altus. The pilot Poe Dameron needed to be recovered alive, which limited the First Order’s options. Hux had decided to make a show with the fighters, destroying the rebel’s ship and pock-marking the grassy landscape, but only ground troops could get this job done. Dameron wasn’t going to surrender. He would have to be dragged back by hand, stunned, drugged, cuffed, and hopefully gagged.
Phasma knew this. And Phasma knew the General knew it, too.
So she waited.
“--now get your loyal troops down there and bring back the pilot at any cost,” Hux finished at last, pointing at the viewport.
Phasma did not say I could have had him six hours ago if you weren’t beating your chest like a back-planet Wookiee. Instead, she said: “Yes, General.” Inscrutably.
“And shoot the traitor FN-2187 on sight!”
“As you command, General.”
***
“I don’t know why they haven’t killed us yet.”
Poe hadn’t spent a lot of time in conversation with stormtroopers before (especially without blasters firing), and he’d never realized they were so jumpy. Or maybe it was just Finn? Who knew, with the First Order? “They’re not going to kill us,” he said.
“They really are. We’re in a hole in the ground, with no shields and no weapons and-- oh, what is that? Is that even a bug? How many legs does that thing have?”
[Appendage total: 1,202] BB-8 supplied.
“He wasn’t really asking.” Poe waited for Finn to finish smashing the bug with a gloved fist, then continued: “They’re not going to kill us because they need me to give them Kylo Ren. If we get captured, it’s just back to the torture chair.”
(That sounded like it didn’t matter. Eh, the torture chair, that’s nothing for the most daring pilot in the Resistance. But Poe’s nerve endings were still in spasm hours later.)
“Back to the torture chair for you, you mean. Me, they’re gonna--”
Finn stopped.
Stared.
Mouthed wordlessly for a moment.
Then: “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me. We’re going through all this for a smuggler?”
“Yup.”
“But why?”
“It’s classified.”
“No. No, no, no. Dameron, we are stuck in a hole full of zillion-legged bugs with half the First Order in the sky waiting for us to pop our heads out to get vaporized, we do not get to have secrets from each other right now. I mean, I’ve heard of Ren, there’s about a million bounties out on him--”
[Registered bounty total: 398.]
“Still not asking, BB-8.”
“--but so what? I get why the death gangs and spice dealers would care, but the Resistance, the First Order -- why does some random criminal matter to them?”
Poe just smiled. “How about this, buddy: when we get out of this, I’ll introduce you to the woman who can explain everything.”
This generous promise did not wipe the scowl from Finn’s face. “If we get out of this, you mean.”
BB-8 chirped: [Transmission contact request: Cobalt One. Poe Dameron accept, yes/no?]
A streak of lights slammed through the sky, and all of the sudden, the First Order cruisers weren’t the only ships hanging overhead.
“Nah,” said Poe to Finn, “I meant when.”
***
If considering them both, an observer might be forgiven for thinking nothing could be less like the Niima Outpost than the Ring of Kafrene. Kafrene is tall, tight, noisy, filled with jostling and fighting and eating and shouting -- about as far away from a lonely desert junkyard as an individual can get.
But different as they are, they still have one very, very important thing in common: the people.
The people of Niima and Kafrene are both poor.
The polar opposite of the Niima Outpost is not the Ring of Kafrene.
The polar opposite of the Niima Outpost is Canto Bight.
***
“I don’t think I’m dressed right,” Rey said blankly, staring around her. She smoothed the front of her black tunic. Everyone around them seemed to be… bright, and glowing, and sparkling. “Or they’re not.”
“It’s a little of both.” Ben seemed distracted. Rey couldn’t blame him at all -- even if the glittering, golden city didn’t exist, the ocean (an ocean, was it the one from her dreams?) would captivate her -- but oddly enough, he was gently touching the side of…. something tall, and full of sticks, with flat green fabric stuck on the ends. “This is a chinar,” he said, a tone of wonder in his voice. “I can’t believe they got them to grow.”
“A what?”
“A chinar tree. It was native to Alderaan.”
“Oh.” So -- a tree. This was a tree.
Rey stepped closer, pressed her own hand against the chinar.
The shining gold of Canto Bight faded away.
Something deep, old, and primal -- like a heartbeat, but not -- pressed back.
Her eyes drifted closed, and the life under her fingertips reached for her, filled her, thick with melancholy and wisdom and a memory of snow-capped mountains...
“I like it,” she murmured.
“So do I.” Ben’s hand gently encircled her palm and pulled it away from the chinar’s coarse bark. “But don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Reach out.” Rey shook her head, and Ben sighed. “Larger plant life embodies multiple sides of the grand balance: life, death, decay, rebirth, and so on. If you’re not careful you’ll get caught up for hours communing with their signatures.”
“I have no idea what you just said.”
“Don’t touch the trees.”
“Fine. What do I do instead?”
“Move through the tables and look for someone with a red palm bloom.” They walked towards the largest building in the square, trying to keep exact pace with the couples promenading along with them. None spared them a glance that Rey could see, but Ben tugged the cowl he’d added to his ensemble closer to his face anyway. “I’ll stay outside. If you see our man, use your comm.”
“Why can’t I stay outside?”
“Because you’re not wanted by everyone in the galaxy.”
A Heptooinian and a human female strolled by, arms linked. They looked pressed, fresh, clean in a way that you can only ever be if you’ve never been dirty, not once.
Rey didn’t miss how the female glanced briefly at her with an odd expression -- like she didn’t see where Rey fit with the landscape.
And Rey couldn’t blame her. “I don’t think I can blend in,” she said. “Not with these people.”
“You did all right in Kafrene. Sort of.”
“This is different.”
“It’s not. Just be inconspicuous.”
“Inconspicuous is conspicuous.”
Ben rolled his eyes. “You're not wrong,” he admitted, steering her to a railing that overlooked the piazza below. “Wait here, I’ll be right back.”
***
And so Rey waited, watching the humanoids pass by. I am quiet. I am silent and invisible. No one can see me.
No one even looked up.
This was the Force. It had been the Force all along. Not a focusing technique, not a superstitious good luck charm; all these years she’d thought it was just her skill and wits, and Rey had actually been using a… a power to survive.
Unkar Plutt certainly hadn’t known. Rey could only imagine the things he’d have asked her to do if he’d known she could control people and… who knew what else. (Jedi made things float, right?) So her family couldn’t have told him, when they left.
Maybe her family didn’t know.
Or maybe they did, and that’s why they had to (abandon her) leave her behind. Maybe someone had been looking for her, someone bad, and so her parents had no choice...
“Rey?” Ben was there, scanning the railing. His eyes passed right over her, and a worried expression crossed his features. (She knew it was worried, she knew it meant he was worried when his eyebrows came together like that and his mouth went very still. She felt it, in her bones, in her mind where that strange little bridge seemed to--) “Rey!”
Rey shook herself out of her thoughts. (None of them went good places, anyway.) “I’m right here,” she said. “You’re about to step on me.”
Ben looked down in shock, blinking several times before scowling at her. “Stop doing that,” he growled.
“I could use it to get through the crowds,” offered Rey.
“Or we could not advertise your Force sensitivity to the entire planet.” She barely saw him move, but suddenly a cold weight dropped around her neck. Collar! she thought in a moment of panic, reaching up to grab it.
Not a collar. A necklace. A glittering, chunky necklace made of huge, clear stones.
“There,” said Ben, sounding satisfied. “Black clothes and diamonds mean money in every corner of the galaxy. You’ll be fine.”
“Where did this come from?” A beat. “You stole it, didn’t you.”
He shrugged, dismissive. “People here would throw away a necklace like that rather than have it cleaned,” he said. “Trust me, no one will miss it. Now go. High-stakes table. Red palm bloom. Find him, comm me, and I’ll tell you what to do next. Until then, just act like you belong.”
Rey bit her lip. “And do I?” she asked. “Look like I belong?”
Ben studied her for a long moment… then the corner of his mouth twitched. “No,” he said. “Not to me.”
It was the best compliment she had ever received.
***
When in Coruscant, do as the Coruscantis do. Everyone knew that saying. Even on Jakku.
So when Rey stepped through the doors of the biggest casino in the casino city of Canto Bight and saw that everyone was drinking from bubbling glasses of wine...
...she drank from one as well.
Chapter 11: “Uh, everything’s under control. Situation normal.”
Summary:
“Can we go? The chandelier is looking at me funny.”
“Rey, how many glasses did you drink?”
She thought hard. “Two? And a half?”
He groaned. “We have to get out of here. Now.”
Notes:
“What do you mean, ‘we’re shy’?”
“I’m just saying, I’ve been trying for ages to plot out how you’ll get naked, and you seem to be--”
*characters whip off clothes*
“...well, okay then.”
I guess the rating will be E after all. (Though we must still be patient. Aren’t slow burns just the worst?)
Chapter Text
chapter ten
“Uh, everything’s under control. Situation normal.”
From Canto Bight advertisements:
...and enjoy rare delicacies from around the galaxy as you roll the dice in the Guppen Casino! This ninth night cycle features Kybertica! Once solely for religious practice by the Guardians of the Whills, this delightful and delectable drink is sure to add sparkle to your evening! Contact our registration desks to reserve…
***
Noted on the bottom of the Kybertica recipe recovered by Guppen Casino:
*not recommended for Cereans, gestating Utapauns, or Jedi.
***
Red palm bloom. Red palm bloom. Red palm bloom.
Rey didn’t feel right.
There was entirely too much happening in this casino. Talking, cheering, laughter that was exactly the polite level of loud, coins passed back and forth along velvet tables -- Rey knew perfectly well that those coins could buy and sell her in a heartbeat, but they still didn’t quite mean anything, you couldn’t eat a coin...
And the people -- the people were, were sharp, and glinted brighter than their money.
She had to find… what?
Red palm bloom. Red palm bloom.
Right.
Yes.
Red palm bloom… why?
Ben?
Rey didn’t know why she reached out, or even really how she reached out. But she knew Ben Solo was there, outside the casino. She could see him, literally see him beyond the gold walls, crackling like summer lightning. Ben, I can’t find a bloom.
The words strolled right over that bridge connecting their minds. They shimmied through the air, crawled over the ceiling, and climbed into a ventilation shaft.
The bright outline of Ben startled a moment later. She saw him looking around, she saw him checking the comm on his wrist.
Ben, I don’t like it here, the floors are eating my shoes.
No words came back through the ventilation shaft, but Rey could feel Ben’s dismay in his… what? His soul?
Rey took a few steps. Her feet moved just fine, but the tile was climbing up her shins. It had horrible, dark plans. She knew it. Come to think of it, everything beneath her just stank of evil. Suffering was happening right now, below the floors, terrible suffering, and the floor was in on it--
Something chattered on her wrist like a steelpecker. Annoying. Rey pulled it off and dropped the buzzard to the ground.
Red palm bloom.
Rey made sure to carefully pick up her feet with each step. A red palm bloom. How big was it? Was it the size of a human? The size of a luggabeast? It was supposed to be playing with the games, but how could a bloom roll dice? Did it use its petals?
Some of the people shone brighter than others. Some were barely a glint. Some could light the inside of her AT-AT. And all of them were as dirty as their clothes and faces were clean; black jackets, white dresses--
Red palm bloom!
There it was! The size of her fist, right by the closest table! Hooray!
Rey reached for the bloom. She was supposed to… ask it something…
“I beg your pardon!”
The man attached to the bloom (oh, there was a man attached to it) stumbled just as he released the dice in his hand. They skittered happily along the table, coming to a halt in front of a tiny quadruped shrouded in a sickly green glimmer.
The bloom man jerked his fist in triumph. The quadruped pushed a large stack of coins in his direction. Everyone cheered.
The bloom man spun to Rey, a broad smile showing off flawless white teeth beneath a perfectly-manicured black mustache. The color contrasts made her wince. “But that was marvelous!” he exclaimed. “You’ll be my new good luck charm!”
“Huh?” Rey said, bewildered. “I’m-- I’m supposed to--”
Too late. Bloom Man had already taken her arm and pulled her towards the table. “Goodbye, lovey,” he said to the woman at his right, dismissing her with a wave. (The woman gave Rey a dirty look as she left, before growing eight feet taller and popping her head through a mirror.) “Now--” he put a hand at Rey’s waist and pulled her in “--stand here, little charm. You’re going to do splendidly.”
“Do what?”
But either Bloom Man didn’t get Rey’s confusion or he didn’t care. Rey nearly choked as he lifted his own glass to her lips, then, as she swallowed and sputtered, pressed a sweaty pair of dice to her lips. “That’s the ticket, little charm. Do you know the rules of Hazard Toss?”
“No--”
“Double stars, now.”
Double stars. Without thinking, Rey saw them in her mind as Bloom Man cast the dice onto the table.
The dice rolled -- wavered -- did anyone else see? -- and, yes, came up double stars.
Another round of technicolor cheers.
“You’re going to help me!” Rey shouted at the man. He was, right? Wasn’t that what-- “I need you to help me!”
“You are glorious!” Turning from his winnings, Bloom Man took both of Rey’s hands and brought them to his mouth, kissing the inside of each wrist. It itched. “Believe me, my gorgeous one, I will fulfill all your desires just as soon as we’re done here. This time--”
--an arm wrapped around Rey’s middle, and then she was most decidedly not held by Bloom Man.
Rey looked up to see a very displeased Ben Solo staring down at her, his body surrounded by a wide, shimmering halo of silvers and blues. They lit up his face even under his cowl. Wow. “You’re beautiful,” she said blankly.
A blink. “You’re drunk.”
“Am I?” Was she? “No, I don’t think-- I didn’t-- look, I found the red palm bloom!”
Ben took the glass from the sputtering Bloom Man’s hand, glaring at him. He swirled the liquid, narrowed his eyes, and took a drink. “It’s not even that strong,” he said to Rey, sounding disgusted. “I came in because I thought you were--”
Then he stopped. And coughed. And choked. And peered around, suddenly dazed, pupils visibly dilating.
“Oh!” said Rey, watching Ben’s halo. It crowded out everything else in the room. “You’re brighter now.”
Ben shook his head several times, then focused on Bloom Man. “What was that?” he demanded.
“Kybertica,” Bloom Man replied. He showed Ben the dice (they wriggled in his palm like little square snakes as Rey stared at them). “The best thing for a little game of chance.”
“K-- Kybertica.”
“Yes, it’s a luck serum from Jedha--”
“I know where it’s from!”
Rey tried to step forward, to free herself from where the tile was licking again at her shoes, and smacked her face right into Ben’s chest. At least his lights felt soothing. “This is a bad place,” she said, rising up on her tiptoes to speak in his ear. “Can we go? The chandelier is looking at me funny.”
“Rey, how many glasses did you drink?”
She thought hard. “Two? And a half?”
He groaned. “We have to get out of here. Now.”
“Oh, good.”
“And you--” Ben grabbed Bloom Man by his, well, bloom “--you’re coming with us.”
***
In his quest to control the galaxy, Emperor Palpatine had made many mistakes.
One of them -- arguably the largest -- was basing his rule on an over-reliance on the Force. In the waning years of the Empire, Palpatine disappeared from his own government, not crafting strategy but instead obsessing over esoteric monkish nonsense. The Emperor believed, as all Sith did, that the Dark Side would be all he needed.
And look what happened to him.
Yes, the Emperor had made many mistakes.
Supreme Leader Snoke did not intend to repeat them.
Sith had been foolish, of course. The Force did not give one purpose, and should never have been the basis for religion. The Force was a tool, one of several, suited to some situations, but not all.
But, nevertheless, certain practical sacrifices to this tool must be made. Snoke would just as soon be giving orders to his generals or overseeing invasion preparations, but to maintain his connection to the Force, time must be set aside to meditate and commune. No different than daily training with a blaster or a blade: dull and irksome, but necessary.
Once in awhile, though, something interesting would happen during meditation. Visions, sometimes. Unique insight. Lessons of the past, possibilities for the future. And--
--the occasional pleasant surprise.
Hello, Ben.
***
Rey watched as Ben slammed Bloom Man against the alley wall. “Maz Katana said you would know this design,” he snarled, holding up his drawing of the Millennium Falcon’s hidden tracker. “Who made it? Where did it come from?”
“Maz Katana has deplorable taste in friends,” Bloom Man sniped back. “You’ve interrupted my evening and ruined my coat. I don’t believe I’ll help you.”
Ben pushed his hood back, revealing his face. “Do you know who I am?”
“I do,” offered Rey. “You’re--”
“--Kylo Ren.” For a moment the Bloom Man seemed a little thrown. Even his mustache drooped. But then he recovered, smiled jauntily, and said: “Anyone who gambles knows the Hutts, and anyone who knows the Hutts knows you.”
“Then you know what I do to people who don’t give me what I want.”
“I know Iveati the Hutt has plans for you. They’re disgusting.”
“Tell me about the beacon.”
“No.”
It was quieter out here, but now the stones were trying to eat Rey’s feet. She scuffed her shoes against the street as Ben bared his teeth, raised his fingers to the man’s temple--
--it’s in there I know it’s in there and now you’ll give it to me--
--and she saw his bright, crackling, blue-white aura thread through with something black and sticky.
The Bloom Man made a terrible noise.
***
Snoke allowed himself a small smile. Ben Solo was searching through someone’s mind -- clumsily, yes, but with innate, inborn skill. Yes. Good. You know you can take whatever you want. Given the right training, this brute force could be honed to a keen weapon. What right has anyone to refuse you?
The boy dug deeper. The shields that nearly always kept Snoke at bay were oddly soft and porous; today, for some reason, the boy used the Force with reckless abandon. Delightful. Just what are you looking for, Ben? I can help you. You are strong, but I can make you so much stronger.
Just a little push of power, a gentle nudge of direction. Yes. That’s it.
Something about a beacon.
***
“Ben?”
Maybe he couldn’t hear her over the Bloom Man’s whimpering. Rey tried again: “Ben, stop this, don’t hurt him.” She didn’t like the Bloom Man or the sick feeling of corruption that covered this whole town, but this wasn’t-- “Ben, there’s something on you.” The oozing, tarry darkness was creeping up his shoulders, didn’t he feel it?
The darkness spread spider strands over the back of Ben’s neck. “No,” he gasped. “It can’t be.” His hand closed into a shaking fist next to Bloom Man’s head. “You’re wrong. It can’t have been that easy. This whole time--”
Ugh, fine, she would do it herself. Rey reached up and started brushing at the foul muck clouding up Ben’s brightness. His skin felt damp and sticky under her fingertips. “Off. Get off.”
***
Yes, that was it. Snoke could see it, the information Ben Solo sought, spooling from the mind of his victim.
A location.
Yes, Ben. That’s where you must go. Travel there and fulfill your--
Off. Get off.
Snoke’s grip on Ben Solo wavered unexpectedly. Another source of power -- as strong as the boy’s, but even more raw and unstable -- pushed against his own. Young Rey, is that you?
You’re getting him dirty. Go away.
Snoke felt himself being pried loose. He fought it, digging in deeper. Ben Solo had only opened himself up like this a handful of times in the last decade; such a precious opportunity couldn’t be wasted. Foolish child, now look here--
Get off. Go.
One more scourging swipe, and Snoke opened his eyes. Disconnected. Alone.
Well.
The girl may be a problem.
***
The Bloom Man slumped to the ground, unconscious.
“He’s going to be eaten,” Rey informed Ben.
Ben was shaking, sweating, and that lightning-flash haze shivered and trembled, but at least it wasn’t coated in muck now. “He’s not going to be eaten.”
“The floor is evil.”
“It’s not the floor.” He ran a hand over his face. “There’s racing animals and slaves in the lower levels of the city. You’re oversensitive and feeling their emotions. There’s always someone being hurt in a place like this.”
“I know what I see.”
“No, you don’t. Neither of us do. Kybertica isn’t for Force-sensitives, it’s--”
“I see you.” She frowned and brushed the back of his neck again. “I know I see you.”
Ben resolutely refused to turn towards her touch. He opened his mouth, and Rey saw half-words forming on the tip of his tongue, just hoping to come out -- then felt their despair as they were swallowed. They squirmed on their way down his esophagus. “We’re not safe here like this,” Ben said. “We have what we need, and we have to go.”
“Don’t you see me? I’m not invisible, am I?”
(Distraction, she heard in her head.)
He coughed out something like a laugh. “Rey, you’re so bright, it hurts me to look at you.”
A beat.
“Oh,” she said, comprehension dawning at last. “I’ve turned into a sun.”
And she threw up on his shoes.
***
Standing on the bridge of the Finalizer, General Hux tried not to show shock when Snoke’s holographic face appeared before him ten feet high. Even though he hated when that happened. “Supreme Leader. We’re in the midst of a decisive battle against--”
“Yes. I know.”
Of course he did. “Then you know it’s going well.”
“Indeed. I am pleased with your efforts, General Hux.”
Hux tried not to preen in front of the other officers. It was unbecoming of his rank. “Thank you, Supreme Leader.”
“Now pull back.”
“I-- I beg your pardon?”
“Pull back, I said.” A pause, and Leader Snoke’s gaze pierced his from across light years. “Ah. You question my wisdom.”
Hux swallowed. “No, Supreme Leader. I merely--”
“It’s all right. You feel my decision unwise.” Snoke’s voice took on a paternal tone. “I do not seek mindless obedience in my ranks, General Hux. What I do ask for is trust. If you trust your leader, all will be revealed.”
“But-- yes. Of course, Supreme Leader.”
“Destroy any ships that are left; give no quarter. Leave your quarry to die alone. We no longer need them.”
“Yes, Supreme Leader.”
“I will be transmitting coordinates. Send your most trusted captain and her best team--” there could be no doubt who the most trusted captain was “--to that location to await my instructions. And you, General Hux: to you, I shall grant your greatest wish. It is time. Ready the weapon.”
Yes. At last.
“As you command, Supreme Leader.”
“Do not fail me, General Hux.”
“I shan’t, Supreme Leader.”
***
Leia spends two standard hours trying to contact her brother before she gives up on reaching him by holo. “‘Trust in the Force’,” she mocks beneath her breath, moving into a cross-legged position. Her hips pop in protest. “The Force doesn’t have message storage, farmboy.”
Comm lines are dangerous right now. She’s not quite under house arrest, but the revelation that the progeny of Darth Vader nearly became First Senator has sparked a witch hunt. She resigned her position, but everything Leia Organa has ever done is suspect. Everything she built, questionable. She is literally the fruit of the poisoned tree.
Nevertheless, she would prefer to use a comm. Because the scrutiny she is receiving (she spent ten hours in hearings yesterday, relentlessly attacked by those she knew were her enemies and those she thought were her friends) is nothing compared to what Luke now faces. This is not the best time for the two of them to be conspiring via the Force.
(More and more headlines:
SENATE REQUESTS DISBANDMENT OF TRAINING TEMPLE
JEDI MASTER WITHHOLDS ACADEMY REGISTRATION FROM INVESTIGATION TEAM
LUKE SKYWALKER: WAR HERO, OR SITH TIMEBOMB?
Not to mention the comment threads.)
“Luke,” whispers Leia. She closes her eyes and stretches out with her feelings. It feels soothing, reaching for her brother, even across light years. It feels right. “Luke.”
“Leia.”
“Luke, you’re an idiot.”
“I know.”
Leia doesn’t open her eyes -- not precisely -- but her brother’s face is solid and clear. He looks tired. She probably looks the same. “This isn’t helping,” she tells him. “Stonewalling only makes you look more like a threat.”
“You know the Senators on that committee. Do they really think I’m secretly training Darksiders out here, just because I’m Darth Vader’s son?”
“They’re certainly suspicious.”
Luke’s mouth twitches into a smile beneath his beard. “How many Death Stars do we have to blow up to earn the benefit of the doubt in this galaxy?”
Leia can’t help but smile back. “More than two, apparently.”
For a moment, they are silent. For a moment, memories, made soft by time, drift back and forth between them. For a moment, the past doesn’t hurt.
But only for a moment.
“They’re coming, Luke,” says Leia. “Mothma sent word. There’s a group of First Order sympathizers on their way to take you and the students into custody.”
“I know. I felt them. We’re going to be ‘questioned’, right?”
“Or worse. The best thing to do is get on a transport and go to the Senate before they arrive. It’ll give you protection and look like you’re cooperating of your own accord.”
“No.”
“Then go into hiding.”
“No.”
Leia’s vision of her brother wavers as her anger spikes. “You know why they’re doing this. The sympathizers want the names of everyone you’ve trained so they can pass the list to the First Order. They’ll hunt you all down and no one in the Republic will lift a finger to help. Even after everything we’ve done, they--”
“Leia. Leia, it’s okay. I won’t let anyone find Ben.”
She can’t help but laugh. “Luke, I’m not worried about that. It’s been years. If you and I can’t track him down, how can anyone else?”
(Her baby. Her dark-eyed, dark-haired baby, named for her only hope, who took his first steps around a Coruscanti conference table and wouldn’t return her hug when she took him to Luke’s temple for the last time.)
“I’m worried about you,” she makes herself continue. “Come back here so we can talk face to face. Saving your temple requires strategy.” Leia smiles again. “It’s not like you can stand there with a laser sword and face down everyone who...”
This time, Luke doesn’t smile back.
A feeling -- hard, resolute, resigned, sad -- bleeds across the galaxy from one twin’s heart to the other's.
Leia’s stomach drops. “No,” she says.
“I’m sorry, Leia.”
“Luke, you can’t do this.”
“It’s the only way. I’ve destroyed all the records. The students are already gone. The longer I distract the sympathizers, the longer they’ll have to escape.”
“Your students just left you?”
“They thought I saved a ship for myself.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No. I didn’t. I’m the last record, you see.”
Leia has not cried since the day Ben was born. She does not cry now. “Luke. I’m fighting alone here. Everything I’ve worked for, everything we’ve done, it’s all being erased-- you know what’s coming next, don’t make me go through another war without--”
Through the Force, she feels his hand cover hers. “I would never leave you if I didn’t have to, Leia.” Chapped lips, brushing her forehead. “I have loved you my whole life.”
“I can’t take any more loss.”
“Sure you can. We both can. Aunt Beru told me I was the fussiest newborn she’d ever met. She said it was colic, but I think I was trying to find you. We were born into loss.”
She smells smoke. Something is burning, worlds upon worlds away.
“Luke--”
“I’m sorry, Leia. For everything. But you’ll be okay. I promise.”
“Luke!”
He vanishes.
***
When shown video of Luke Skywalker’s temple burning, Leia Organa does not cry.
When told the Jedi apprentices had turned their transports around and rushed to avenge their master, only to be obliterated in a ‘misfire’ from nearby mercenary ships, rendering her twin’s sacrifice meaningless, Leia Organa does not cry.
Instead of crying, Leia Organa gathers her remaining allies, leaves the Republic, and begins the Resistance.
***
And when Leia Organa watched the Cobalt Squadron’s call signals vanish one by one from her viewscreen--
“General? General, the squadron is taking heavy losses, Admiral Ackbar’s ship is gone, the bombers have all been destroyed. We’ve had no communication from the ground. What are your orders?”
--Leia Organa did not cry.
“Abort the rescue. Bring back whoever’s left.”
“Yes, General. But… what about Commander Dameron?”
Leia sank into a chair. Her bones ached more and more with each passing war. “There’s nothing we can do now,” she murmured. “May the Force be with him.”
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