#reyloweeklychallenge

[queenofcarrots]

This is my contribution to @two-halves-of-reylo Week 21: Reunion. I love that Rey and Finn are back together at the end of TLJ, and here I imagine what they might have to say to each other about their experiences with Kylo Ren.

Summary: Rey and Finn are reunited on the Millennium Falcon and they talk about Kylo Ren.

Also on AO3

Once General Leia takes her leave, Rey sits alone. It’s amazing, she thinks, how it’s possible to feel so alone on a ship that’s so full of people.

She isn’t alone for long before Finn comes and sits down next to her. Finn, her oldest friend, even though she’s only known him for a few weeks and hasn’t seen him for most of those. He puts his arm around her and she leans into his touch.

“So, Rey,” he says, his hand rubbing soothing circles across her upper back. “How are you?” She looks into his face and finds his eyes full of concern. It’s hard to look at them, so she moves her gaze back to the two halves of the lightsaber she holds in her hands. She doesn’t answer his question.

Finn’s quiet for a few moments, his hand continuing to massage her back, but he can’t seem to stay quiet for long. “How did that happen?” He gestures at the saber. “And don’t tell me I wouldn’t believe it.”

His reference to her words to him on Starkiller make her smile, and she ventures another look at him.

“I tried to take it from him, Finn. He had it in his hand, and I tried to take it.”

Finn looks immediately concerned. “From Kylo Ren? You tried to grab it from Kylo Ren and he broke it?”

She sighs. "No, Finn. With the Force, I used the Force, and he used the Force, and it wouldn’t come to either of us whole. We split it in half together.”

He looks ... impressed? His eyes are large and his eyebrows are approaching his hairline.

“And his name is Ben.”

Finn’s hand stills, for just a moment, before continuing again. “Yeah, okay. Ben. Okay.”

She wants to tell him everything. About Luke, about Ben and their connection, about how Ben killed Snoke to save her and how they fought the guards together, but it’s just too much and she doesn’t think this is the right time. She promises herself she’ll tell him, soon.

“Did he let you go?”

Finn’s question pulls her out of another daze, and she’s not sure she heard him right. “Excuse me?”

He huffs and glances over where his new friend - Rose - rests under one of the scratchy blankets. “Kylo... Ben. Did he let you go, on the Finalizer, after you broke the lightsaber?”

Rey shakes her head and returns her gaze to the saber. “No. He’d passed out from the blast. I took the pieces and ran.” She feels like crying, and Finn seems to sense she’s upset because he squeezes her around her shoulder. The two halves of the lightsaber are heavy in her hands. “I think... I think he would have, though. I do.”

“He let me go, once.” Finn’s voice is a whisper in her ear. She looks up in surprise. He continues, “I told you about my first battle. It was on Jakku, just a day before I met you.”

Rey gasps. She remembers their conversation, when Finn admitted he was a Stormtrooper and not a Resistance fighter, but she hadn’t realized the battle he’d referred to was so close to home, the battle where Poe was taken prisoner.

Finn’s eyes are on Rose again and his voice is just a little strained. “He saw me, after. He knew that I hadn’t fought, that I wouldn’t, he knew, I don’t know how, but he didn’t say anything to me. He looked at me across the battlefield, and I was so scared, Rey, I was terrified, but then he just turned and walked back onto his ship.”

This news, oddly, gives Rey a bit of hope. “That was Ben, Finn.” He looks back at her, confused. “I mean,” she hurries on, “he has light in him. When the light comes through, that’s Ben. I’ve seen it, Finn. Please don’t ask, I will tell you though, I promise.”

Finn studies her, his eyes drifting across her face and then back to the saber in her hands, and he finally nods. They spend the next few minutes in companionable silence, still alone, until Rey speaks again.

“Finn, when the time comes, will you help me? Bring him back?”

She knows that he has no idea what she means, and he knows this too, but still he nods. “Yes, of course.” Rey nods, satisfied, and leans her head on her friend’s shoulder. She wants to bring Ben back, more than anything, and she’s so happy to have Finn’s support in that endeavor.

[audbooh-art]

Quiet Whispers In The Dark

I decided to try and do @two-halves-of-reylo ‘s reylo weekly challenge, so I accidentally wrote 2000 words! Please, enjoy this week’s prompt: betrayal. 

btw: this fic is rated T

also, this prompt comes with art! I drew this a couple of days ago, and it seems to fit. it’s on the bottom!

----------------

Kylo feels Rey's arms wrapped around him. The light of the city shines through the window. This backwater planet's city never sleeps, and so light illuminates the hotel room they're in.

It was a blur, how they got here. A Force bond that turned into a meetup. Flying to this planet. Rey's hands tangled in his hair as they kissed passionately. Laying next to each other, revelling in the feeling of Rey's naked body next to his. Another Force bond, another meetup. It became normal, their meetups. As she liked to call them. He never thought of them as quick sex. He was certain she did, though. After all, they never spoke to each other about Crait. About the throne room. She had said herself, this was just simple need. Just simple attraction. Never past that. Kylo knew why she said it was only attraction. It was the same reason why he would never admit to her that he loved her.

Because they were afraid.

Kylo pulls Rey's arms off of him, knowing that she liked him to be gone by the time she wakes up. He slides on his clothes, glancing back one more time to see her peaceful face. Her beautiful face.

He opens the door, locking it behind him. Dawn is just starting on the planet, yet there are people everywhere. He weaves through the foot traffic, walking towards the nondescript shuttle he took here. His TIE Silencer was on a planet nearby, with a farmer that he paid (or bribed) to keep quiet. Kylo observes the flashing lights around him, wondering whether the people shuffling around him knew of the turmoil swirling in his brain. He couldn't keep this up for long. Every time Rey's lips trailed down his skin, he had been bursting with the need to say "I love you". It would be a mistake, a betrayal of their unsaid contract. And yet, he did love her. He loved her so much. He loved her laugh and her smile and her will and her stubbornness. He loved every single part of her, and it hurt more than the lightsaber wound she had given him.

Her lips were a poison to him, making him think thoughts he never would've contemplated before her. As Kylo walks towards the shuttle, he remembers the feeling of her hands tracing his spine, her grip on his body, her lips on his. Kylo was being torn apart with a need. A need for her.

Rey had conquered the Jedi Killer, the Supreme Leader. She just didn't know it yet.

Kylo steps into the shuttle, glancing at the sleek black walls which seem to reflect the light around it. The shuttle's decoration is the opposite of the soft colours of the hotel room. Two different parts of Kylo's life, modelled by two rooms. He walks towards the cockpit, tracing his hand across the walls. He falls into the chair, wishing that he could just stay in the hotel room. Instead, he puts on his mask of indifference, burying the nights with Rey deep in his head.

----------------

Rey slams his back into the wall, and Kylo moans as she quickly begins to undo the clasps keeping his tunic together. He keeps his hands on her hips, letting his mind go blank as she quickly pulls off his tunic and undershirt. Her hands slide down his chest, and Kylo tries to reach towards her shirt. She paws his hands away, and he moves back to her hips.

Her lips kiss him, and he feels like he's being drained of all darkness. His lips tingle, and he cups the back of her head, pulling her towards him. She abandons his belt buckle and tangles her hands in his hair. They kiss passionately, without thought, and Kylo finally utters the words he's been wanting to ever since they started these illicit meetups.

"I love you," Kylo says, and Rey pauses. She pulls away from him, and he leans forward to catch her lips in his once again. She walks backwards, a mixture of horror and another emotion on her face.

"What?" she asks, and it's only then that Kylo realises he said those three words aloud. Usually, he would say it in his head as she entwined their bodies together. Kylo has made the biggest mistake of his life. But it's too late now.

"I..." Kylo starts, but the words fail to come to him. Rey stands, aghast, then she straightens her hair and clothes.

"I'm leaving," Rey says, and Kylo reaches out to her before dropping his hand.

He has betrayed Rey. And he knows it.

Kylo watches silently as Rey packs up her stuff. She furrows her brows as she gathers her things into her arms. Rey walks towards the door, looking back to see Kylo, still half-undressed.

"You broke your promise, Kylo," Rey says, and Kylo nods solemnly. Rey's expression relaxes, then she slams the door behind her.

As soon as she's gone, Kylo's mood shifts from apathetic to angry. He yells, then starts to punch the wall, not caring that his knuckles start to bleed. His stomach tightens, and he itches with the need to slice through machinery with his lightsaber. But one of the rules was that they leave their weapons in the shuttle.

He continues to punch, pain searing through his hands. He's torn off the skin by now, but he doesn't care. An unstoppable force rises in his throat, and he lets out a feral scream. Finally, he pauses, cradling his knuckles to his bare chest as he breathes heavily.

Kylo collapses to the floor, tears falling down his face. He shakes with the effort of his sobs, wishing he could travel back in time and fix his mistake. But he can't.

With effort, Kylo rises to his feet. He grabs his undershirt and tunic, pulling them over his head. His knuckles sting, but he revels in the pain. Pain is supposed to make one stronger.

Kylo doesn't feel very strong. No, he doesn't feel strong at all.

----------------

He's sitting in his room when the Force bond opens up. Usually, with their meetups, the bond is sedated. This time, the Force seems to strike upon his broken form.

Kylo drops his eyes to the floor, hearing Rey's breathing echo through the room. He dares to peek at her form.

She's tinkering with machinery, sitting criss-crossed with her back to Kylo. Rey's concentrating as she puts pieces back together. Kylo can't help but admire her. Her hair, tucked behind her ears. Her spine, and the memory of his finger trailing down it. Kylo has missed her touch. He's missed her.

Kylo steps forward, his feet hesitant, yet at the same time very certain. His body is craving her, reminding him that when they are together, they dance in between bodies, their souls entwined.

A small voice in the back of his head reminds Kylo that it's not just his body that wants to touch her. It's him, too.

Maybe he's stupid, or maybe he can't resist the voice in his head, but Kylo's mind is suddenly made up.

"Rey," Kylo says, and Rey's body tenses as she continues to work. Silence fills the room, and Kylo knows she isn't going to speak. So he says nothing, instead choosing to sit next to her.

Her body seems like it's fighting itself. She relaxes for a moment, then tenses up again. Kylo wonders what's chugging through her brain. What is she thinking? He could never guess. He didn't guess that she would promise that he wasn't alone by the fireside. That she would come to the Supremacy, fight alongside him. That she would refuse his offer, and run to her friends. Kylo could never predict what Rey would do. So he tried not to. Instead, he went along with her. He had stopped thinking with her. He had stopped thinking when she had first asked him to come to the hotel room. When she had slammed him against the wall, taking his innocence in her hands. He had never kissed a girl before her, never slept with a girl before her.

He had never been in love with a girl before her. Loving her was the worst mistake of his life. And yet, he couldn't stop. He dreamt about her, about her laugh and what their life could be like. If the war had never started if she had spotted him brooding on a street in Chandrila. If their relationship had been normal.

But it wasn't normal, it wasn't good, and Kylo would never be able to have what he wanted. So instead, he sits next to her, watching as she tried her hardest to ignore him. He stole little moments and locked them away, keeping them hidden from himself.

Rey's hands are dirty, stained with grease. She picks up a tool and starts to twist two parts together. It's only now that Kylo sees she's trying to piece the broken lightsaber back together. From how it looks, she had melted the hilt and created a new one, with a slot for the kyber crystal and two openings, one on either side. She had made a saberstaff. But the kyber crystal was nowhere to be found.

"Are you rebuilding the lightsaber?" Kylo asks. Rey says nothing, and Kylo accepts the silence.

The bond breaks apart, and Kylo can't tell whether he's relieved or sad. He's afraid that Rey will never speak to him again.

Kylo is afraid that his betrayal runs too deep.

----------------

He's on the battlefield, watching as blaster bolts are traded between the two different sides. Kylo scans the field, searching for something that needed his skills. That's when he sees the traitor, confidence oozing out of him as he brandishes his blaster, waving his comrades forward.

Not on my watch. Kylo rushes forward, dropping his cape behind him as his feet hit the ground. He's running towards the group of rebels surrounding the former Stormtrooper. Red clouds his vision as Kylo remembers all that the traitor had done. He lets out a scream, holding out his lightsaber as he runs. Suddenly, a bright light darts out, and Kylo's run is stopped by the force of something blocking his lightsaber.

Kylo glances up to see Rey, a fierce expression on her face, as she blocks him with a shining new double-sided lightsaber. Kylo stares in awe at the magnificent construction of the lightsaber. Rey truly has a gift.

She leaves him no time to marvel. Rey starts on the offensive, swinging her saberstaff at Kylo aggressively. He jumps back, bringing his lightsaber up to block her attacks. It continues for a bit, with Rey swinging, almost wildly, at Kylo as he steps backwards. But Rey is careless, and Kylo soon finds the pattern in her swings. He steps to the side as she lunges, and Rey's caught off guard. She trips, but quickly gets back up again, yelling as she moves to attack him again.

Kylo had an opportunity to counter-attack, but he hadn't taken it. As he begins to block again, he inwardly wonders why. Then, as Rey brings down her saberstaff, Kylo comes to a realisation.

He doesn't want to attack her. He doesn't want the war to continue. All he wants is to lay in Rey's arms.

So, as Rey brings back her saberstaff to attack again, he shuts off his lightsaber. The crackling red blade retreats back into the hilt, and he holds it in his hands like it's made of glass. The entire battlefield goes quiet as Kylo gets to one knee, holding the lightsaber in front of him. He bows his head, not daring to say a word. His words had never helped him before, not when he first made the offer aboard the Supremacy, not when he was in the hotel room, whispering his darkest secret. So he keeps silent, hoping his actions were enough.

His blood is rushing in his ears, and Kylo can barely breathe. He keeps his eyes trained on the grass, watching it wave in the wind. He starts to think that he's going to pass out.

A finger brushes underneath his chin, lifting it up. Kylo is forced to look into Rey's eyes. She had shut off her saberstaff, and it's hooked to her belt. There's a vulnerability in her eyes he had only seen in the throne room on the Supremacy. He holds his breath, his mind blank.

Rey's other hand grips his lightsaber, and she takes it from his hands. He drops his hands, acceptance flowing through him. If she decides to kill him, he would know it was because she thought it was right. Kylo only knew that he would die looking into Rey's eyes. He would die happily for that.

Rey points the lightsaber at his chest, pushing the metal into his tunic. Kylo doesn't dare close his eyes, but his breath comes out rapidly. And yet, there still was no fear.

Rey drops the lightsaber, catching Kylo's lips with her own. Kylo laughs inwardly, then wraps his arms around her. He lifts her into the air, smiling as she kisses him.

Everything seems okay, with her in his arms.

Kylo gently puts Rey down, arms still wrapped. She pulls away slightly, cupping his face in her hands. Rey leans forward, gently placing kisses down his scar. Kylo grins, rubbing circles on Rey's back with his thumbs.

"I love you, too," Rey says, and Kylo's not sure if his laugh is out of relief or happiness. He leans forward, touching his forehead to hers.

"I love you," Kylo repeats, and Rey's laugh is heaven to his ears.

Her smile is all he needs in life. She's all he needs.

----------------

(make sure to click on the image for higher quality)

[two-halves-of-reylo]

#25

Hello Reylo shippers,

Our new challenge brings a bit of lightness.The theme is

Celebration

Share your piece between Friday, November 30th and Sunday, December  2nd using the tag  #ReyloWeeklyChallenge or submit your piece to @two-halves-of-reylo

If you’d prefer to submit your piece anonymously, feel free to contact us. We can arrange that for you.

Not a writer or an artist? Or too shy to participate, even anonymously? You can still be a part of the community: READ, LIKE AND REBLOG THE PREVIOUS ENTRIES, AND GIVE SOME LOVE TO THE AUTHORS.

The rules and the blah blah for newcomers:

What is the ReyloWeeklyChallenge?

It’s a fun little exercise open to all Reylo shippers. There’s no obligation and no rewards other than the joy of creating and sharing something.

Who can participate?

Everyone

Are there any rules?

Kinda - @two-halves-of-reylo​ is a community focusing on canon compliant fanworks, meaning your piece must be set in canon. Your story can be rated E but please note that we won’t feature any story or art containing noncon or dubcon elements.

See: Guidelines

How long must the ficlet be?

200 words minimum.

Can I submit art too?

YES! (Please do!)

Duration of Challenge #25

Starts: Monday, November 26th

Ends: Sunday, December 2nd

How to participate?

- Post on your own blog with the tag #ReyloWeeklyChallenge.

or

- Submit your post to Two Halves

or

- Send us an anonymous ask

When to post?

You can post on your own blog as soon as your text is ready. Creations will be reblogged on @two-halves-of-reylo between Friday and Sunday.

Need some help, inspiration or have questions?

Ask for an invite to Discord!

[pacificwanderer]

Steady As We Burn by Pacificwanderer

Rey and Kylo Ren share a Force-bond and it distracts them both as they fight on opposite ends of a galaxy-wide war. Life is strange and attraction adds a layer of complication that neither Rey nor Kylo is comfortable acknowledging.

Still… Sometimes, in the sweet moments between dreams and reality, they meet as the Force tries to bridge the gap between understanding and love.

Snippets of life for two people who can’t be together, but find it impossible to be apart.

Chapter One | Chapter Thirteen

“Is this how you always eat on Naboo? Here I thought you had some manners,” Rey chided. She’d always eaten with her hands and getting used to cutlery had been a bit of an adjustment. It just wasn’t something that was necessary on Jakku and, truth be told, she preferred eating with her hands.

“It’s considered polite to eat this kind of food with your fingers. It’s meant to enhance the intimacy and also the flavors,” Ben explained as Rey gave him a disbelieving look.

“That sounds like something you made up so that you can keep nipping at my fingers,” she replied.

Ben shook his head, his messy locks falling into his eyes as his lips curved. “Here, it’s called shuura,” he said while offering her a piece of the same juicy, yellow fruit that she’d fed him.

Rey ate from his fingers while letting her tongue dip out to tease at his digits as the juice dripped down his hand. He liked that but seemed to be planning something more than what Rey was thinking of doing—which was more of what they’d already done last night.

Later, sweetheart. I’ll let you put those lips where ever you want.

What about now? Rey grumbled.

He was so good at deferring pleasure for himself. Part of her wondered whether he was still punishing himself for the crimes he’d committed by denying his own pleasure. Rey huffed a little as he gently kissed her nose, his lips sticky from the shuura, which earned a laugh from her.

“Moof milker,” she said while scrubbing her nose clean with the back of her hand.

“More?” Ben offered and Rey shook her head.

“I am stuffed. If I eat any more food, I will make myself sick. I’m not built like a conservator, unlike some individuals,” she ribbed.

Ben shrugged and Rey stared openly as his muscles flexed under her gaze. He was doing it on purpose and she loved it.

Chapter Thirteen now on Ao3.

[reyloforcebalance]

Bonded Chapter 20: Throne

My submission for the @two-halves-of-reylo weekly challenge (Week 20: Thirst). This week’s theme came just in time for a first kiss! If you want to catch up on previous chapters, check out the previous ones on AO3. Thanks for reading!

The throne room is dead quiet. Eerily quiet.

Kylo Ren sits back in his seat, his forearms resting lightly on either side of him, his fingers curled over the edge of the throne, his feet firmly planted below.

He waits impatiently, resisting the urge to sigh inside his mask.  

Instead, he coolly observes his surroundings, the red walls reflecting on the shiny surface of the floor, the long walkway stretching out ahead, the oculus to the left. The room is almost an exact replica of Snoke’s on Supremacy I, the one he so frequently visited as a supplicant.

But here, he is the sovereign.

He never gets tired of looking at the room from this perspective. Being in this seat, this position… It feels so right, so satisfying. He was born to sit in this chair.  

But the truth is, he doesn’t spend much time here. He’d go insane if he stayed in this room all day. He prefers to keep moving, to keep the generals and captains on their toes with the constant threat of his appearance. He finds things get done a lot more efficiently if he makes a point to regularly show up unannounced— to meetings, to inspections, to training exercises.

He always comes here a few times a week, though. More for symbolic reasons than anything else. This room represents his power, his authority, his unquestionable supremacy. It matters that people see him here.

Especially certain people.

As if on cue, the door at the other end of the room opens and General Hux strides through with his hands clasped behind his back. He walks steadily forward, that signature pompous expression coming into view as he does. His nose is turned up so high that Kylo can practically see inside his nostrils.

He halts just a few feet in front of the throne.

Then he just stands there. Not for long, only for a second or two, but long enough for Kylo to feel his blood begin boil in his veins. He clinches his fists.

Finally, Hux kneels, resting one arm on his knee and bowing his head deeply. The gesture appears genuine, but Kylo can sense his resentment, that abrasive grind, rubbing his insides raw. He looks down at the man for a minute, a long minute, giving him some much-needed time on the floor, a reminder of his position.

“General.” He finally speaks through the distortion of his mask. Hux rises slowly, his jaw visibly tightened.

��Supreme Leader.”

Kylo rolls his eyes. It’s been nearly a year and the man still can’t manage to utter those words to him without a mocking undertone…

He clenches his fists again, staring wordlessly down at that smug, white face. A few seconds pass.

“Don’t waste my time, General,” Kylo barks suddenly, and Hux jumps a bit. “I assume you have a reason for requesting this meeting beyond the pleasure of my company.” For the briefest instant, the general’s face twists into a sneer of disgust, but he banishes the look quickly, turning his nose back up to the air.

“Of course,” he says flatly. “I wanted to speak to you about the Outer Rim invasions.”

“What about them?” Kylo asks impatiently.  

“They’re going quite well, aren’t they?” He tilts his head with a smirk. “The Minos Cluster. Salient. Bonadan. And soon Felucia. All firmly under our control. All within the past month. That’s much more quickly than our initial estimates.” He juts his chin up in pride, as though he were personally responsible for this success. Kylo grips the edges of the throne.

“General.” His voice is clipped, irritated. “Tell me you didn’t come here to inform me of what I already know.” Hux’s eyes flit upwards in annoyance, then lower, icy blue and cutting with disdain.

“No.” He articulates the word curtly. “I came here to point out that we could be doing more. Obviously, clearing out this Outer Rim rabble is easier than we expected. So why only invade two systems at a time? We have the resources, the manpower.” He steps forward with a little fire in his voice, unclasping his hands from behind his back. “We could be invading ten systems.”

“We could,” Kylo responds matter-of-factly. “But we’re not.”

Hux bristles at the curtness of this response, jerking his head back and blinking a couple of times.

“Why?” He blusters. “What possible reason could we have for not utilizing the full extent of our martial capabilities?” Kylo begins shaking his head before the general finishes speaking.

“So, you still haven’t learned your lesson.” He sits back on the throne, his masked face bearing down on the general coldly. “How disappointing.”

Hux grits his teeth in response, but says nothing.

“You still think about everything as though warfare were our only concern,” Kylo continues. “To you, we’re always at war.”

“But we are at war!” The general growls, his face growing red as he takes another step forward.

“No, we’re not.” Kylo’s voice is still detached, neutral. “We’re helping the governments of Outer Rim systems reestablish the rule of law. It’s not war. It’s military aid.” Hux immediately scoffs, rolling his eyes to the ceiling and shaking his head in disbelief. After a moment, he looks back down with a snide expression.

“Whatever you want to call it, Supreme Leader. Military aid. A martial engagement. Clearing out the garbage.” His lips twist into a sneer. “The fact is that we’re not operating at full capacity. Why drag out these invasions over the course of a year when we could finish them in less than three mon—”

“The fact,” Kylo cuts him off abruptly, “that the answer to that question isn’t obvious to you is the reason you still haven’t recovered your demerits since Garos.” At this, Hux immediately sucks in a breath, a blast of rage surging through him. “You are a short-sighted fool who sees nothing beyond your own nose.” Kylo Ren points an index finger at the general, leaning forward in his throne. “You still make decisions as though the First Order were fighting for control over the galaxy. But that war has already been won. Now we have to rule it. And ruling is not the same as warmongering.”

“I understand that—”

“No, you don’t,” Kylo cuts off the general again. “Because if you did, you wouldn’t be here whining about the rate of invasion. You would know that though we could pick up our pace, we shouldn’t because the campaigns would be less efficient and more likely to cause an uproar throughout the galaxy.” He cocks his head, bearing down on the general for a moment, before sitting back in his chair again. “We must maintain control,” he continues, “and to do that, we need compliant and loyal systems, not systems terrified that they’re next in a chaotic cluster of invasions that will have disastrous effects on their local economies.” At this, the general scoffs again, that sneer returning to his lips.

“Always so concerned with public opinion, aren’t you?” He spits out the question, his nostrils flaring. “It’s enough to make one wonder why we even bothered to destroy the New Republic. What was the point if we govern as they did, letting the cares of little people guide our decisions? If Snoke could see us now, he would roll over—”

Suddenly, Hux croaks, his hands flying up to his neck. He desperately fights for air, grasping at his collar. Long seconds pass without precious oxygen, and his face grows into an increasingly deeper shade of red, so red his head looks on the verge of exploding all over the throne room floor.

Finally, Kylo releases his invisible grip and the general falls to the ground, taking a giant gulp of air into his starving lungs. Kylo sits casually in his throne, observing Hux on his hands and knees before him, gasping and wheezing on the floor.

“One of these days,” the Supreme Leader begins dispassionately, “you’re going to learn that little people are dangerous. Individually, they’re nothing. But together? They’re the Rebellion that destroyed the Empire. And if we’re not careful, they’ll be the Resistance that destroys us.”

Hux looks up from the floor, his face twisted into a look of disgust and resentment. He begins to rise, opening his lips to speak, but Kylo cuts him of.

“Get out.” He commands tersely.

The general clenches his fists and straightens, his face tensing in defiance. He begins to speak again, but before he can get a word out, Kylo casts him across the throne room with one smooth flick of his right hand. Hux lands just in front of the walkway, skidding halfway across its smooth, shiny surface towards the exit.

“Make me repeat myself, and I’ll demote you.” Kylo’s distorted voice resonates, filling the empty expanse of the room.

Hux picks himself off the floor once more and immediately charges down the walkway, his shoulders visibly hunched into his ears. Kylo can practically hear him seething, still feel the resentment inside him like bits of glass grinding in his gut. Once he reaches the door, it whirs open and his black clad form disappears.

The moment the door closes, Kylo shoots up from the throne, grabbing his master comm at his side and walking a few paces forward.

“Cancel the rest of my appointments,” he commands at a growl.

“All of them sir?” A response crackles through almost immediately. Kylo sucks in an angry breath.

“If anyone else walks into this room today, they’re not walking out,” He warns through gritted teeth. He doesn’t bother to wait for a response, turning off the comm and returning it to his belt. He clenches his fists, walking forward a few more steps before abruptly reaching up to unclick his mask, pull it overhead, and chuck it violently across the room.

He whips around, not even seeing where it lands. He begins manically pacing the area just in front of the throne, bringing a hand up to rub his jaw as his mind races with furious anxiety.

Hux.  

That man is a problem.

He wouldn’t give a damn about all his pissing and moaning if it weren’t for his sway over the other generals. But the unfortunate reality is that while half of them hate his guts the other half would follow him into an asteroid field. He’ll grouse about all of his idiot ideas being ignored and the others will actually listen.

Kylo can’t have that. He can’t have his generals at war with one another. And he certainly can’t have Hux undercutting his authority at every turn.

But he can’t get rid of the man either. Not yet, anyways. He’s too integral to this organization, too revered as the strong arm of the First Order. Too many people are loyal to him, would perhaps even leave with him if he were to be dismissed.

No, Hux must be managed, not discarded. But how?

Scaling down his authority hasn’t worked. The demerits haven’t worked. In fact, he’s gotten worse. He’s openly challenging his decisions in meetings. If he doesn’t get his way, he makes sure every leader worth a damn in this organization knows about it. And even though his authority was reduced after Garos, he worms his way around it through the generals who are loyal to him. They do his bidding, practically without question, as though he were Supreme Leader.

Kylo growls as he pushes out an exhale, still manically pacing back and forth in front of the throne.

Hux is progressively driving him into insanity.

He just wants to take that man’s throat, just reach out to grip him with his actual hand, and squeeze, squeeze until his eyes pop out of his sockets and his face—  

Suddenly, Kylo stops cold, his violent fantasy halting abruptly.

By a familiar feeling rising in his core.

At first, he’s caught off guard, his chest seizing at the unexpected interruption.

But after moment, he bows his head and closes his eyes, clasping his hands behind his back and focusing on that feeling, that warmth gradually welling from within. As he does, his rage abates, like boiling water removed from heat. The more her presence draws nearer, the more he feels himself become reset, his mind reverting to a calm, even base.

Finally, he feels her materialize a few paces to his left. He takes a deep breath, in and out, then opens his eyes and turns his head towards her.

Rey stands gaping at the surroundings, her emotions darkening into a heavy, sinking feeling.

At first, Kylo’s confused.

Is it him? Is she upset with him? Why would she be?

But then the realization hits.

It’s the room. And the memory associated with it.

She looks up and around solemnly, taking in the scene as though she never expected in a million years to be here again. He feels her wrestle inwardly with a complex storm of emotions, so many he can’t identify all of them— there’s some anger. Disappointment. Also longing. Sadness.

Finally, she turns towards him, her eyes meeting his, lingering for a moment before drifting to the throne behind him. She scans the back of the room, her eyebrows knitting as she does.  

“No Praetorian guard?” She looks over at him.

“I don’t need one,” he answers matter-of-factly. She doesn’t react to this, instead crossing her arms and turning to walk towards the oculus. He regards her as she does, noticing the difference in himself, in the atmosphere, with her here.

It’s strange to be with her in this room again. It feels dissonant yet familiar at the same time.

Perhaps that’s because he imagines being here with her so often. Almost every night, he sees that moment in his mind, the image burned into his memory, her looking up at him with those clear brown eyes, her tear-stained cheeks… except in his version, she always takes his hand. Then he draws her in closer to him, never taking his eyes off her—

“You don’t spend much time in here, do you?” Rey interrupts his thoughts, her back to him as she examines the oculus.

“Not really,” he answers frankly, walking towards her. He stops just a couple of feet away.

“So, why are you here now?” She tightens her arms around her body, tensing subtly as she turns to face him. Kylo doesn’t immediately answer, instead studying her closely.

Something’s… off with her. She feels more guarded than usual. Maybe it’s the throne room? Being here again. He looks down at her silently for a few more moments, trying to read her. But she feels closed, armored against entry.

“I make it a point to meet certain people in here,” he answers finally.

“Like who?” She breaks eye contact, stepping around him to walk away. It’s almost as if she’s uncomfortable standing so close to him…

He turns slowly, eyeing her with suspicion.

“Like General Hux,” he replies, staying right where he is, watching her walk several steps further.

“He’s not giving you more trouble, is he?” She asks casually with her back still to him, slowing her pace, appearing to observe the room again. Kylo grunts.

“Hux is always trouble,” he says wearily.  

“What is it this time?” Rey turns to face him, her arms still crossed, looking up at him with a kind of detached interest. He narrows his eyes, still trying to read her. She looks relaxed but she feels on edge, nervous even. He cocks his head, examining her curiously.

“He wants to speed up the rate of Outer Rim invasions,” he informs her, taking a step forward. She immediately takes a step back even though there’s quite a few paces between them.

What is wrong with her? Surely, it’s not just being in this room with him again. He continues to examine her closely, growing increasingly curious. He twitches his jaw, considering what might be behind this…  

“And what did you say?” She asks, turning to the side and beginning to walk slowly towards the throne. He clasps his hands behind his back and steps towards the throne as well, exactly parallel across from her.

“I told him no,” he says decisively, his Force-senses heightened, attuned to her inner rhythm, that strange guardedness emanating from her.

“And I take it he didn’t like your answer.” She continues walking forward with measured steps.

“No, he did not.” Kylo suddenly stops and turns to face her. She does the same, arms still crossed. They stare at one another with what seems to him like an unnecessary cavern of space between them.

“What would you have told him?” He nods towards her. She immediately uncrosses her arms and raises an eyebrow, surprised by the question. She looks off thoughtfully, considering her answer, some of that guardedness abating as she does.  

“I would have said the same thing,” she announces definitively with a few nods of her head.

“Why?” Kylo asks, turning his chin up a bit, genuinely interested in her rationale. He resists the urge to step towards her, instead standing with his hands still clasped loosely behind his back.  

“Because…” she begins deliberately, choosing her words with care, “If you speed up the invasions, they’ll be less efficient and there will be more margin for error. In fact…” her voice trails off for a moment. “You may be going too quickly as it is.” At this, his head jerks back and he unclasps his hands from behind him.

“What do you mean?” He asks, crossing his arms, wary but intrigued. Rey takes a breath and crosses her arms again, taking a cautious step towards him.

.

“I mean,” she starts hesitantly, “it would be better if you slowed down enough to exercise some discretion.”

“Discretion?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Well,” she draws out the word, looking down. She pauses for several seconds, then finally looks back up. “Take what you did in the Minos Cluster, for example. Now, I’m not saying you didn’t do a good thing,” she assures him hastily. “Taking down Riker Vos and his whole organization…” Her voice trails off, her eyes growing soft. “That was wonderful,” she commends him. “They were truly evil. The Minos Cluster, the entire galaxy is safer now without them.” He feels himself grow warm inside as Rey looks up at him with admiration. But the warmth subsides when he sees clouds gathering in her eyes.

“But…” He articulates the word expectantly, taking a measured step towards her. Rey looks down again, her shoulders visibly dropping.

“But,” she continues in a low voice. “You began the invasion with a series of aerial assaults, destroying all of the gang’s major bases of operation in one fell swoop.”

“So?” He shrugs his shoulders, confused by what she finds problematic about this.

“When you did that…” Rey still looks down, her emotions deepening into a strong wave of compassion. “You didn’t just kill all of Vos’s men.” She looks up with solemn eyes. “You killed all of his slaves too.” He immediately lets out a heavy sigh, his eyes drifting up to the ceiling.

“Those were innocent people.” He hears Rey take several steps towards him. He looks down to find her only a few feet away now, staring up at him intently, entreatingly. “They didn’t deserve to die. It wasn’t even their choice to be there.”

“I know that,” he answers in a clipped tone, trying to conceal irritation. “But innocent people always die in war, Rey,” he tells her dismissively. “That’s just the nature of it.”

“But they don’t have to!” Rey protests, stepping towards him again, eyes wide with passion. “Whether or not more or less innocent people die in a war is up to those in charge, the decisions that they make. Decisions like whether to blast everyone to bits indiscriminately in an aerial assault or go in with ground forces first and target selectively.” Kylo can’t stop himself from rolling his eyes and turning away from her as she finishes. He takes several steps towards the throne, jaw hardened, looking down. He stares at the floor for a minute, deep in thought.

How can he get her to understand the position he’s in? The things he must consider in these situations?

He ponders these questions for a moment before his head snaps up, a memory suddenly coming to mind. He turns back around towards Rey.

“Do you ever have an occasion to speak to my mother?” He asks abruptly. Her eyebrows instantly shoot up in surprise.

“Uh… y-yes,” she stutters in response. “Sometimes.” She gazes up at him with intense curiosity, shocked that he would even bring up the subject.  

“The next time you see her,” he continues wryly, “ask her about the Sallow Men.” She narrows her eyes at him.

“And what will she tell me?” She asks warily.

“The truth, I hope,” he answers, gazing at her evenly.

“And what’s that?” She tilts her head. Kylo purses his lips and looks down.

“When I was a boy and she was a senator,” he starts in a self-assured tone, stepping towards her, “the Sallow Men were one of the worst criminal organizations in the galaxy. They were slavers, ran half the black markets in the Outer Rim, gave the New Republic all kinds of trouble. So, finally, the Senate decided to create a military alliance against them. I was on the Senate floor when they were debating about how to begin the attack.” Rey observes him with intense interest as he speaks, completely engaged.

“They argued about the very thing you brought up just a minute ago,” he continues, stepping towards her again. “Should they take out all the major bases at once and kill everyone inside, including the slaves, or should they go in with ground forces and try to spare them?” He stops just a foot in front of her, and she looks up at him, eager for him to finish.

“So?” She raises an eyebrow. “What did the Senate decide?” He looks down at her coolly for a moment.

“They decided to go in with ground forces first,” he informs her. “And do you know what happened?” She shakes her head. He waits a few seconds, then leans down, bringing his face a little closer to hers.

“The Sallow Men used the slaves as human shields,” he reveals darkly, and her eyes immediately widen in absolute horror. “They forced them to create a perimeter around the bases. By the end of it all, not only did most of the slaves die but considerably more alliance forces died with them.”

Rey looks up at him in utter shock, deeply shaken by this. For a few seconds, she just gapes, horrified. Then she looks away, eyebrows furrowed, desperately trying to process through her emotions, the facts of the story, the implications of it.

He straightens, observing her as she processes. At first, she churns with uncertainty and doubt. But after a minute, he feels her harden with resolve. She looks back up at him with a piercing gaze.

“And if I asked you mother for another example,” she challenges, “another time when a similar strategy was used and it saved lives, would she be able to give me one? More than one?” She raises an expectant eyebrow. Kylo holds in a heavy sigh and shakes his head, but doesn’t answer her. Instead, he turns and starts walking towards the throne again.

“You know...” He hears Rey follow behind him. “I’m sure that to you, the lives of slaves are nothing. They’re just the little people. But even so-called little people matter, Ben.” At this, he halts abruptly. She continues walking, circling around to plant herself in front of him, fixing her eyes firmly on his.

“Do you have any idea how many slaves there are in the galaxy?” She asks pointedly. He doesn’t respond. “Millions,” she intones. “Millions and growing, at an alarming rate, actually. That’s a lot of people, Ben.” Her voice darkens with warning. “A lot. Much more than any Rebellion or any Resistance. Maybe you shouldn’t be so careless with their lives. Because one day, they might just notice. And then, well…” She cocks her head sharply, raising a knowing eyebrow.

It takes Kylo a few seconds, but eventually the heavy weight of realization, what she’s implying, descends upon him. When it hits, he immediately steps around Rey, approaching the throne, bringing a hand up to rub his jaw, suddenly deep in thought.  

A slave rebellion.

Now that’s an outcome he’s never considered before. In all the time he’s spent imagining different scenarios, different possible obstacles in consolidating power throughout the galaxy, he never once considered the idea of a slave uprising.

But is it even conceivable? How could such a scattered lot ever hope to become organized? Surely that kind of large-scale effort would be unlikely. Surely…

Kylo stares down absently, storming with thought. Without really thinking about it, he turns around and sits down on the throne, leaning over to rest his forearms on his knees.

He looks up briefly when Rey moves towards him, taking a seat on a step nearby.

Kylo glances over at her, deliberating in his mind…

Maybe she’s right. Maybe they should start some of the invasions with ground forces. Some of them. Reserve it for gangs like the Merdos Syndicate? Ones with a particularly nasty reputation. It will certainly give credence to their claim that these invasions are helping the local populations…

But it will drag out the length of the assault significantly. It will take twice, maybe three times as long. And they’ll lose more of their own forces.

He sighs and brings a palm to his eyes.

And if he chooses to go this way, Hux will most definitely use it to stir up more trouble. That alone is enough to make him reconsider…

He wipes his hand over his face, resting his back on the throne behind him. He sighs again, shaking his head.

Every now and then, he’d love nothing more than to forget about all of this, forget about being Supreme Leader, forget about obsessively planning for every possible obstacle that lies ahead. He needs a distraction, just a few measly minutes where his mind is occupied by something, anything, else…

He closes his eyes for a moment.

Then suddenly, he opens them again, sitting up and turning his head slowly to Rey sitting not far. She’s staring down at the floor, seeming lost in thought.

“So, what about you?” He asks abruptly. She immediately sits up, a bit startled, and looks over at him, eyebrows knitting in confusion.

“What were you thinking about just before the bond happened this time?” Her eyes instantly widen and she looks back down, a pang of fear seizing her chest. Kylo tilts his head, studying her, intrigued by this reaction.

“Is that not what we’re doing here?” He shrugs, black eyes fixed on hers. “I just assumed that’s why you were asking me about why I was here today.” He gestures flippantly at the room. Rey shakes her head violently, still looking down.

“No.” Her answer is strangely emphatic. “That’s not what I was doing. I was just… curious.” She starts rubbing her right thumb and index finger together anxiously. He narrows his eyes.

“It was your idea, you know,” he reminds her wryly. “You’re the one who said we should start sharing what we were thinking of just before the bond happens.” Rey immediately shoots up to her feet and walks away.

“Well, it was a stupid idea,” she snipes at him, crossing her arms, sulking with her back to him. He feels her grow intensely guarded again, armored, like when she first arrived.

Now Kylo’s very intrigued.  

His jaw slides to the side as he studies her, a suspicion brewing in his mind. He rises slowly from the throne, never taking his eyes off Rey, and moves towards her cautiously. She visibly tenses at his approach.

“I’m not sure it was,” he tells her. “The more we learn about the trigger, the closer we get to controlling it.”

“We can’t control it,” Rey snaps at him, twitching her shoulder, clearly irritated. She turns and starts heading towards the oculus, seeming to want some space between them.

Kylo follows her.

“You don’t know that,” he insists. “It certainly doesn’t hurt to try. And you’re the one who’s always searching for the bond’s purpose. You don’t think this will help you discover it?” Rey slows as she lets out a low groan, hunching her shoulders into her ears. She stops and rolls her head back, turning her face up to the ceiling, exasperated. He pauses just a few feet behind her.

“Come on, Rey,” he goads her. “It’s not that hard. Just tell me.” She twitches in irritation again. Suddenly, she whips around with a caustic glare.

“You know, you didn’t exactly tell me what you were thinking about before bond,” she accuses, jutting her chin up.

“What do you mean?” He shakes his head in irritation. “The Outer Rim invasions. Hux wanting to speed them up like an idiot.”

“And that’s all?” She raises an eyebrow in doubt. He stares back at her evenly for a few seconds. Finally, he looks away.

“And… the fact that I can’t seem to keep Hux under control,” he admits quietly. Kylo tenses inwardly, hating the sound of those words uttered out loud.

“Well, fancy that.” Rey grunts softly. He looks up to find her eying him, amused. “You’ve finally found something beyond your control.” A subtle smile teases her lips. He rolls his eyes.

“Fine,” he says dryly, crossing his arms. “Now you know what I was thinking about. Your turn.” She immediately stiffens and turns her back to him. She feels rushed, frenzied, like she’s desperately searching her mind for what to say.

“I was thinking…” She lets her voice trail off, tensing. “I was thinking about when I healed you in the training room. I was wondering…” She pauses, twitching her shoulder. “I was wondering if I could do it again on someone else.”

Kylo stares at Rey, gaping.

What a terrible liar.

He doesn’t need the bond, hell he doesn’t even need to be Force-sensitive, to know that was a lie. He shakes his head briskly, trying to recover from the shock of it, from the fact that she of all people would tell a bold-faced lie. And considering what it was regarding, he is now madly curious to know the truth.

He observes her incredulously for a few moments, then looks down, considering how to approach this, what to say next. After some thought, he moves towards her, stopping just at her back. She’s still visibly tensing.

“Rey.” He draws out her name. “Are you sure?” His tone is knowing, as though the answer is obvious. She immediately scoffs and whips around to face him.

“What? Do you think I’m lying to you?” She protests, looking up at him snidely, barely concealing a flash of alarm.

“That’s exactly what I think,” he states confidently, staring down at her. Her eyes widen for a moment but she soon resumes her cutting glare, her face hardening in defiance.

“Well, you’re wrong,” she spits at him, then abruptly turns a heel, walking towards the oculus again.

“I hate to tell you this, Rey.” She slows at the sound of his voice. “But you are not a good liar. Add that to the fact that I’m Force sensitive and we’re bonded…” He grunts and shakes his head. “You can deny it all you want, but I know you’re lying.” She halts outright, dropping her shoulders. He stands where he is, unmoving, just observing, curious to see how she’ll respond to this.

She sighs heavily, her head bowed and her arms crossed. She shifts awkwardly a bit, the manifestation of an inner war… to deny or give in? Finally, she drops her arms at her sides.

“It’s just…” she begins, growing nervous, suddenly feeling very exposed. “It’s not something easily put into words. I’m not even sure I can put it into words. So, I just… said something else instead.” He regards her softly for a moment, sensing her vulnerability, a tender spot.

“Ok,” he says quietly, uncrossing his arms. He takes a careful step forward. “Would it be easier to show me?” She turns towards him, her eyebrows knitted in confusion, but she immediately registers his meaning when she sees his face.

“Oh, no.” She scoffs, bristling at the very idea of his suggestion. “Definitely not.” He tilts his head.

“Seems like a perfectly good alternative to me.” He squints at her, half in challenge, half in suspicion.  

“No. Not happening,” she decides with a definitive shake of the head before stepping to the side and brushing past him. He pushes out an exhale, annoyed at how quickly she dismisses this idea. How does he get her to reconsider...?

Then, suddenly, it hits him. Something he’d forgotten about. But now is the perfect time to remember.

He turns around slyly as Rey continues to walk away.

“I’m calling in my favor,” he announces abruptly. She halts and twists to face him, confused.

“What favor?” She demands.

“Remember the conditions you agreed to? When I let you into my mind to see…” his voice trails off, and he gulps, fighting the sudden tightness in his throat. Rey’s eyes immediately widen in recognition. They drop to the floor a moment later when she realizes what this means, the favor he’s asking for. She grows uneasy, furrowing her eyebrows and continuing to look down, seeming to search for way out of this.  

“But—” She starts and immediately stops, not knowing where to go.

“But what?” He probes. “It’s not comparable?” He raises an eyebrow. She glances up with flash of exasperation, her lips straightening into a thin line. She opens her mouth as if to speak, but still has nothing to say. She looks down again, pulling her arms more tightly around herself.

“It’s perfectly comparable,” he begins casually, stepping towards her. “You have something, something that was on your mind when the bond brought us together, that you can’t articulate out loud. So, you let me inside your head. It’s the exact same situation, just reversed.” Her shoulders seem to progressively sink as he approaches, weighed down by the miserable acceptance that he’s right. “Perfectly comparable,” he repeats, stopping just a foot in front of her.

She’s stiff, hunching and drawing herself in, trying to make herself small, as if she could somehow become small enough to disappear into thin air.  

“Come on, Rey,” he goads softly. “All the same conditions apply. I’ll stay on task, it will only be a minute, and we won’t talk about it afterwards.” She sighs heavily, her eyes still fixed on the floor, self-conscious and deeply reluctant. “What was it you told me? All you have to do is stand there and think.” She groans a bit at hearing her own words reflected back at her. She shakes her head and sighs again.

“What do you say?” He asks quietly.

She doesn’t answer him. She just stands, tense and perfectly still. A minute passes in silence and he feels her vulnerability deepen into something else.

Fear.

She’s scared. Very scared. There’s something about the prospect of doing this that she finds utterly terrifying.

As Rey stares at the floor, holding onto herself for dear life, Kylo feels a strong wave of compassion overtake him.

He is dying to know what she’s hiding from him.

But… he’s not willing to put her through this to find out.

“Rey,” he says gently. He reaches out to rest a hand on her shoulder but the moment he touches her, she immediately jerks back, practically jumping out of her skin. He instantly withdraws his hand and takes a step back from her, confused and not a little hurt by her reaction. She still refuses to look up at him.

“Forget about it,” he says in a low voice, regarding her softly. “If makes you feel like this, then I don’t want to know.” He lingers for a moment, still baffled by her behavior, then turns, churning with a mixture of disappointment, tenderness, and concern.  

The throne room is silent except for the click of his boots as he strides away.

“Do it.”

He halts at the sound of Rey’s voice behind him. He turns around to see her approaching him swiftly, her face both urgent and resolved.

“Do it,” she repeats, stopping just in front of him. “Get it over with. Come on.” She gestures towards herself with a hand, looking up at him impatiently.

“Are you sure?” He knits his eyebrows, put off by the sudden change.

“Yes I’m sure.” She says the words so quickly, they jumble together. “Just get on with it. Every second you wait, you make it worse. So, come on.” She gestures to herself again, then crosses her arms and squares her shoulders, looking down, preparing herself. She stands, tense and ready, for a few seconds as he looks at her, perplexed, reconsidering whether or not this is a good idea…

“Come on!” She practically shouts this, her head snapping up in exasperation. “What are you waiting for!?”

“Alright, alright,” he answers quickly, struggling to adapt to her sudden urgency. She closes her eyes and looks down again, bracing herself.

He crosses his arms and closes his own eyes, then pushes carefully into her mind.

She immediately stiffens, that nervous, exposed feeling returning in a powerful wave.

But she doesn’t fight him. Instead, she quickly directs him to his destination, the reason why he’s here.

She replays the scene in her mind. The training room. Healing him. The images, the emotions flash by…

It looks so different from her perspective, almost entirely unfamiliar. It’s a strange kind of disassociation, seeing himself through another person’s eyes.

He wishes he could say he enjoys the view.

But no… He’s ashamed by what he sees.

He’s yelling at her, eyes cutting, nostrils flared. He’s bearing down over her, bullying her. Painful jolts of shock and hurt rip through her and he looks pleased with himself, his face twisted into a self-satisfied smirk. Then, there’s the blue of the training room floor followed by darkness.

And her emotions, her thoughts overwhelm him, drawing him so deep that he loses himself in her.

She feels so hurt, so lost. Maybe he’s right? Maybe she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. The Force. The Dark Side. The Light Side. She doesn’t know what it all means. She doesn’t know the history, the practice, the theory. She feels so blind sometimes, like she’s crawling through life on her hands and her knees, reaching out desperately in the darkness, trying to find her way…

But she knows what she feels in her heart.

And that’s what it was. That’s what ultimately drove her to extend her hand towards him and do what she did.

She’s thought about it a thousand times. How did she do it?

She still has no idea. She didn’t act with intention, she acted on instinct, a deep, primal desire, one she wasn’t even consciously aware of at the time. It’s only now, after hours upon hours of reflection, that she realizes what happened was only a shadow, a disappointment.

And now that she’s finally figured it out, what she really wanted to do in that moment, the memory of it breaks her heart.

Because she didn’t reach out to heal his shoulder.

She reached out to heal his soul.

She just wanted to reach into him, push past all his anger and resentment and self-loathing, to that brokenness inside him, like the crack in his kyber crystal, and mend it, so deeply, so thoroughly, that there wouldn’t even be a scar left.

Then, she would just sit back and watch, watch all of his rage roll back like clouds, dark and stormy billows sweeping away to reveal the sun, everything else that he is.

Generous. Protective. Loyal. Kind.

The man who wants to build things. The man who’s driven to become a fair and just leader. The man who seeks advice, who’s willing to listen, because he wants to become better, smarter, wiser.

The man who wants to be like his father, who can be just as infuriating and lovable as he was, and just as strong. The man who’s more like his mother than even he knows— decisive, confident, commanding but also tender and gentle, soft and considerate.

The man who could be so caring, so merciful, so compassionate if only he’d stop trying to kill the best parts of himself.

The man who encourages her, empowers her, makes her feel like she’s special, inspires her to push her limits, to challenge herself, to grow.

And it’s just not right, it’s not fair, that she’s the only person in the galaxy who ever sees this man. She can think of so many places where he’s needed, wanted, where he would be welcomed. She shouldn’t be the only one to benefit from his guidance, his kindness, his concern.

The more she gets to know him, the more it kills her that he spends most of his time buried under a thick coat of rage, a practiced, purposeful anger converted from the never-ending stream of pain seeping out of his broken soul.

She just wants to set this man free�� Ben Solo. Destroy Kylo Ren for good and set him free.

That’s what she wanted to do in the training room. Not mend a wounded shoulder.

She wishes she could say that her motivations were pure, that she wanted to do this for the good of the galaxy, out of the goodness of her heart.  

But the truth is her reasons were selfish. She just wants Ben Solo, misses him and wants him around more.

She misses his company, his conversation, how he challenges her but also supports her, encourages her. She misses hearing about his perspective, his experiences. She even finds herself missing his smart-ass sense of humor.

Mostly she misses the way he sees her, really sees her, in a way that no one else does. No one else sees her cry, or knows her most deep-seated fears and insecurities. No one else knows that she thinks of the Falcon as her home, or that she’s scared of lightening in a thunderstorm, or that she worries she’ll never discover her true destiny. Everyone else sees what she wants them to see, usually her survivor’s armor, a hard exterior that projects confidence and self-sufficiency, that hides all of her vulnerabilities.

But she can’t hide that from Ben Solo because she’s bonded to him. She can’t lie or pretend that everything’s fine, because he feels what she feels. When they’re together, everything that hurts in her hurts in him and visa versa. She has no choice but to show him her true face.

That’s why, at the end of the day, he’s her closest friend, the person who knows her better than anyone.

The fact is that he’s the only one who understands her, understands how she can feel so lonely, so isolated, even when she’s surrounded by friends. He’s the first person she wants to talk to when something’s troubling her. Whenever she’s feeling scared or broken, she finds herself wishing he were there, just to hold her, to comfort her, to tell her everything’s going to be alright. Because she’s never felt more at home than his arms, never felt more content, more protected, more loved—

In an instant, Rey’s thoughts grind to a halt and she jerks back, gasping, her eyes flying open. It’s so jarring, that Kylo reacts without thinking, violently ejecting himself from her mind.

But not before he felt the realization hit her. He was there for that. He was in her mind, in her heart, when that wave of emotions washed over her and for the very first time, she recognized it for what it was.

Love.

She loves him. Just as much as he loves her.

She looks up at him, clear brown eyes wide with shock.

Kylo doesn’t think, doesn’t deliberate, doesn’t question. He just acts.

He steps forward, capturing her lips with his own, pulling her into him, an arm behind her waist, a hand at the back of her head, taking her hungrily like he’s wanted to do for so damn long, like he’s imagined doing every day since he first extended a gloved hand towards her and offered everything he had to give.

At first, she’s stiff and awkward, unsure of herself. But she soon follows her first instinct, just melting into him, giving into the moment, what she feels in her body and her heart. She slides her palms up his chest, slipping her fingers behind his neck and into his hair.

They open their mouths into one another, taking each other in, losing themselves in the physical sensations—the wet, the warmth, their muscles trembling with desire— but also the emotional experience, the oneness of a shared love flowing between them.

Time and space fades away, leaving only the heat, the blood racing through their veins, the gripping and pulling of flesh as one kiss blends into the next one, then the next, and then the next.

It’s perfect.

Until he feels her begin to stiffen again, her chest seizing with panic. She slides her hands down to his chest and starts pushing him away.

He releases her lips, but keeps her close, still pulling her into him with one arm behind her waist and a gloved hand cupping the back of her head. They’re both panting and trembling, and she’s starting to cry, tears pouring over her full, soft cheeks. She still pushes against his chest with her palms but he resists, drawing her in closer, bringing his lips to her ear.

“Don’t fight this, Rey,” he begs her, his voice just above a whisper. “Please. Please.” The last word comes out breathless, almost desperate.

She starts to cry harder, her shoulders shaking with soft sobs. He pulls back, just an inch away from her, framing her face with both hands, his thumbs at her cheeks, brushing away her tears. He lingers for a moment, eyes pleading, before he rests his forehead on hers and starts shaking his head gently.

“Don’t fight this,” he repeats, almost wearily. “Please. Please. You’re always…” He scoffs softly, pulling back just enough to look her in the eyes, her beautiful brown eyes, still glistening with tears. “You’re always searching for the bond’s purpose, what it’s for…” He abruptly drops a hand to her waist again, pulling her in close, his lips descending to her ear.

“This is what it’s for.” His voice is hushed but impassioned. “It’s for us to be together. Like this. Part of you has to know that.” He feels her body begin to shake more violently, a fresh round of sobs overtaking her. He pulls back again, an agony of emotions ripping through him, both his own and hers, all of the love and desire and fear and pain, weighing his heart down with a crushing burden.

Her eyes drift up to his, barely visible through her tears, and suddenly Kylo feels everything she’s experiencing, everything storming inside her, sharpen into one, unmistakable emotion.

Sheer terror.

She freezes, her body stiff like a statue, her breath caught in her chest. She stares up at him, her lips parted, eyes wide with fear.

Then in an instant, she’s gone, her warm body disappearing in his arms, nothing left but cold air and the smooth black floor below.

Kylo staggers, reeling from shock, his mind not fully convinced that what just happened was real.

He stands in the throne room, numbed and unable to move, alone once again in the deafening silence.  

[farkasxolotl]

Reylo Week. Day 2: Dark

[yeahnobaggage]

Droids

Thanks to @mholshev for helping fix some things with this chapter. She was bogged down with RL work this week and didn’t have time for her own chapter, but she found the time to pre read mine. Get you a friend like her.

Read the full story here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14194017/chapters/33790293

Ben thought to himself, Rey’s next question was sure to be why.

Why was he allowing some oversized imposter to masquerade as the dark lord, Kylo Ren, wearing his mask, parading as Supreme Leader before thousands of members of the First Order? Why did he appear to be celebrating the death of his mother, when he clearly had mourned her loss in front of Rey?

Why indeed?

Fortunately for Ben, the Force connection petered out before she could ask.

Without realising it, he had removed one of his gloves and was touching his fingertips to his lips, chasing their Force kiss, the sensation of their mouths together, and remembering the feel of her breath, the taste of her.

He needed to consider exactly how he should answer that question.

*

Several months earlier, after the battle on Crait, the Finalizer had docked on the damaged remains of the Supremacy. Verbal exchanges between Ben and Hux were short, sharp and to the point. Their personal animosity toward each other was just being held in check. Hux was grudgingly accepting Ben as his new Supreme Leader, and Ben was allowing Hux to live.

For now.

The Rebel Star Cruiser, Raddus, had obliterated three Resurgent-class Star Destroyers on the Supremacy. Some lunatic manning the Raddus had jumped to light speed right through the Mega-class Star Dreadnaught, soaring off the right wing. Five of the original eight Star Destroyers, including the Finalizer remained untouched. The Supremacy might never fully recover its previous capabilities, but there was still nothing to rival it in the entire galaxy.

Hux was stewing with simmering rage over his lost Star Destroyers. As he listened to reports from his officers, detailing the extent of the damage, his eyes bulged so much that Ben thought he might cry blood.

Ben.

Once Rey had begun addressing him as such, it was incredible how the name had resurrected itself in his mind. For a long time, his birth name and all it represented had given him only a deep sense of shame, something to be rid of. Now, it had become his identity again, at least in his private thoughts, and his private interactions with Rey. He wanted to be that man, the Ben Solo she thought he was.

Kylo Ren was the man behind the mask. Kylo Ren had been Snoke’s puppet. Kylo Ren was for show.

Once the Finalizer had docked, Hux and Ben stalked away from each other without a word, Hux to rail and puff away at his minions, Ben to supervise the repairs on his command shuttle.

Ben was eager to be gone. Spending so much time in the company of General Armitage Hux was tedious. He had to find where in the galaxy Rey was hiding, and convince her to join with him. Once they were together, really together, they’d deal with Hux and work out a new way forward.

No more of the limitations this Force bond imposed. They would be together, in the flesh. She’d probably want to touch him again, this time without wanting to kill him. Ben felt likewise. Those moments together on the Supremacy had been palpable, powerful. He wanted her. He felt her longing. Ben wondered if she thought about what it would be like to kiss as much as he did.

He couldn’t think beyond those twin goals. Find Rey and be with her. With touching.

It was best to let Hux carry on, torturing or wiping out individuals and entire populations, those who refused to bend to the iron will of the First Order. Hux, like many spiteful and weak individuals, was never happier than when he was wielding his supposed power over another.

The insipid, milky redhead had no personal or true power. He was a snivelling slime, a cretinous coward. The one thing keeping him alive was the command he had over his armies.

For now.

The allegiance of armies could be turned with the right level of persuasion.

Ben had reclaimed his mask. It was something of a fuck you to Snoke. He wondered how it felt to be sliced in two by a child in a mask? He’d donned the mask on the journey back to the Supremacy, pointedly ignoring the raising of Hux’s feathery ginger eyebrows in response to it. The mask helped with the charade. It helped him to hide. It also hid when he rolled his eyes at every half-witted, grasping thing Hux said or did.

He was pacing along the bridge of his command shuttle, watching over a number of maintenance droids that were whirring furiously, repairing the damage sustained during the battle on Crait.

Two stormtrooper captains stood guard on the open ramp of the shuttle. One pressed the comlink on his helmet. “Yessir,” he said, nodding in acknowledgement. “Right away, sir.” The stormtrooper turned and marched up the ramp to Ben.

“Supreme Leader, General Hux requests your presence at your earliest convenience.”

Ben dismissed the captain with a flick of his black-gloved hand. “If the general needs me, he comes to me.”

“Supreme Leader,” the captain began again, and swallowed. His hand betrayed him, reaching to touch the base of his throat. “General Hux is meeting with his colonels in the command observatory. There is an urgent matter that requires your immediate attention.”

This was a tense moment for the captain while Ben stared at him, deciding his next move. One of the droids let out a squeal when a panel it was working on shorted out. A shower of sparks flew and the air filled with the smell of burnt wires.

Ben’s head whipped around. “Watch it,” he said. His voice was deadly soft and the droid let out an apologetic sound, rotating with care to resume its work.

Kylo Ren’s temper tantrums were well known and feared, his intense and unpredictable stares perhaps even more so.

Ben turned back to the captain who was holding himself very still. “Very well,” said Ben at last through his mask. He stormed from the loading dock, a looming and imposing figure with a swirling black cape, shining boots clicking sharply on the obsidian floor.

He should have seen it coming.

Ben’s head was too full of Rey. The agonised look on her face at their final parting. She was conflicted. She didn’t want to turn her back on him, he was certain, but she thought there was no way forward for them. Prepare to have that thought challenged, Rey. He would be on his way soon, the Force would lead him to her, right after he dealt with whatever tiresome decision Hux needed made.

The command observatory was located toward the centre of the Supremacy. It was a circular room with eight split screens that showed all activity on each of the loading docks for the five remaining Star Destroyers. A shining stone table of pearly grey was fixed in the middle of the room with about thirty padded black chairs surrounding it.

Hux was holding court with a group of his colonels who were seated at the table, their eyes flicking back and forth from their general to a hologram of the damage sustained to one of the Star Destroyers. The curved walls of the observatory were lined with stormtroopers, unmoving, brainless white statues, their pose regimentally straight, and they were holding blasters that were pointed to the floor.

Compensating much, Armi? Thought Ben.

When Ben entered the room, Hux and each of the colonels stood, and then pressed a single knee to the floor, bowing deeply.

“Supreme Leader,” simpered Hux, along with the colonels.

“As you were,” said Ben. He waved his hand and the colonels resumed their seats. “Well?” he said, facing Hux.

“Ah, yes.” Hux smiled. It looked painful. “Supreme Leader, we thought a presentation to the troops, a respectful homage to Lord Snoke as it were, was in order. And an address from…”

“You do it.” Ben had no time for posturing. “This was what was so urgent?”

“No,” said Hux. “This was.”

In the split second that Ben saw the shining red of a Praetorian guard helmet projecting a moving image of Kylo Ren sending the lightsaber to slice through Lord Snoke, the stormtroopers, their blasters set to stun, sent Ben to oblivion.

When he came too, it was with a pounding headache and a sour taste in his mouth. He was lying on a thin mattress on top of a black stone cot that protruded from a shining black wall. He swung his feet around to sit up and his head swam. He looked down. There was a white bandage on the back of his left hand. He removed it and saw needle marks.

He’d been sedated.

He stood up, his hand rubbing some soreness from the back of his neck. The mattress disappeared into the wall, leaving a smooth surface, and no line or trace that it had ever been there.

Ben looked around at his surroundings. He was standing in a large, shining black cell. He could see his reflection in the walls, the floor and the ceiling. Every surface was the same. He removed his mask. His hair was matted and his face deathly pale. He’d looked better.

There was no way of telling how much time had passed or where he was. He could be on the Supremacy or he could be in another star system, light years away.

He reached out with the Force.

Nothing.

The walls were thick, impenetrable.

The anger built within him, needing expression. He stared at the mask in his hands and his fingers tightened. He reached inside and pulled out the wires. It wasn’t enough. He threw it on the ground, stomped on it, and kicked it away, striking the wall opposite. The mask broke in two, like the cracking of an egg. The floor and the wall continued to gleam, neither showed even a scratch.

Ben screamed, an agonised, animal-like noise, and commanded. “Let me out!”

A square of the wall depressed and into it appeared a small, service droid. “Welcome, Supreme Leader.” The top of the droid held utensils and a segregated dish filled with green and orange mush. There was steam rising off it and it smelled fragrant. Ben realised he was starving. He had no sense of how long it had been since he had last eaten.

Normally Ben didn’t lower himself to address droids. “Where is your master? I demand to be released.”

The droid released a series of beeps. “You must be hungry,” it said. “Please, you are welcome to eat.”

He knew it immediately for what it was. Only Snoke could have designed a cell like this, a cell to hold a powerful dark knight, a cell serviced by droids, immune to the powers of the Force. Snoke had planned for every contingency, even one to imprison his apprentice, Kylo Ren, should he decide to turn rogue.

Well, almost every contingency, Ben thought, remembering his master lying on the floor in two pieces.

Except Snoke wasn’t the one holding Kylo Ren in this cell. Hux had been the one to orchestrate his capture. It stung a bit that Ben had been taken by surprise, but the general had no idea that Kylo Ren was Ben Solo, son of one of the most famous smugglers in the galaxy, a man with some renown for swindling, swaggering or blasting himself out of sticky situations. Ben smiled at the thought of his dad, and then pain lanced, bright and sharp. He pushed it away, locked it in a box, unable and unwilling to deal with the overwhelming guilt.

Hux had already demonstrated what a moron he was by sending Ben’s first meal to him on the head of a service droid.

It gave Ben a great sense of satisfaction to smash something. The droid was nothing but a few bolts and fizzing wires when he’d finished, and the walls of the cell were painted in streaks of orange and green.

“Tell Hux I’m waiting to speak to him, unless he is too much of a coward.”

The surrounding silence was profound. Ben’s laboured breathing was the only company to be had.

In the coming days, an unpredictable routine developed.

A narrow bed extended from the wall at regular intervals. Ben had no idea if he was sleeping during the day or at night. Meals appeared on pieces of black stone that slid out from imperceptible joins in the walls. Every few days, a fresher would appear in a cavity of the cell and disappear after a short period of time.

When he shouted into the void that he needed to relieve himself, a robotic voice drifted from above, although there were no noticeable speakers or vents. “A stall will appear in twenty seconds, Supreme Leader.”

The location on the walls for meals, the bed, a fresher or a stall seemed to move around, the locations were impossible to predict, and therefore it was challenging for Ben to plan any sort of disruption or escape.

There was no human interaction and Ben’s life became controlled by droids. They always referred to him as Supreme Leader. Ben assumed that was Hux demonstrating his sick sense of humour.

Ben was a monk. He was used to living a life of solitude and few possessions, but this was a stretch, even for him. He spent his time meditating or exercising, using his body weight. He would strip to his pants and plank for stretches of time, walk on his hands, balance on one foot, perform a series of manoeuvres, imagining he was holding a lightsaber.

He spent a lot of time imaging how he would kill Hux. It would be slow and painful and very rewarding.

Most of the time he thought about Rey. He sat on the cold, hard stone and remembered the times they had spent together. He remembered the first time she had pushed back when he tried to enter her mind. He remembered the first time they had touched through their Force bond. He remembered their perfect synchronicity in their fight against the Praetorian Guard.

He remembered when she denied him.

It was of no consequence. It was only a matter of time until they were joined forever. It was their destiny.

Time was difficult to measure. It gave Ben a lot of opportunity to think. He was reasonably certain that he was being held somewhere in the bowels of the Supremacy. Moving him to a different location left too many variables for Hux to control remotely.

By Ben’s calculation he’d been aware of being in his cell for a couple of weeks when Hux’s disembodied voice filled the cell with sound. His voice had been altered so that it sounded more droid than human, a safety measure to ensure that Ben wasn’t able to use the Force to locate him.

“Ren,” was all he said.

“When I kill you,” said Ben, “you will know it is happening. There will be pain. It will go on a long time.”

“Perhaps I’ll do the same when I find your girlfriend.”

“She is more powerful with the Force than you could ever understand. You will never defeat her.”

“Unless I blow her and her rebel base out of the galaxy.”

Ben concentrated on breathing slowly, in and out of his nose. He said, “There is no way this will not end badly for you.”

Hux said, “When they are destroyed, I will proclaim your treason. There will be a public execution. I look forward to it.”

“That’s the difference between you and I. You crave the attention. I don’t care if I am the only one to see it,” he kept his voice soft and deliberate, “when I kill you.”

“Well see. Enjoy captivity, Supreme Leader.”

There was a short crackle, then silence. Ben’s breathing had grown loud. He clenched his hands into fists and felt the power of the Force pulse around him, inside his cell, with nowhere to go.

At least two more weeks passed.

Ben could only sustain his anger for so long before he descended into a deep state of depression. There had been no Force bond with Rey since the day she denied him on Crait, shutting the door of the Falcon in his face.

For the first time since he had chosen to follow Lord Snoke to the dark side of the Force, Ben began to question his destiny. Had he been right about everything, about her? He’d been so certain. Was she lost to him forever? He thought he might be going mad.

He sat on the floor of his cell, feeling utterly hopeless.

The pressure began in his head, then a thrumming and a pop. Ben blinked in shock.

Rey was there. She too, was sitting on the ground, drinking deeply from a bottle of water. She looked sweat stained and dusty. His heart soared at the sight of her, in shock, in gratitude, and with something else he couldn’t name. “You’re here,” he said, almost leaping to his feet. He winced at the raw longing in his voice.

But what could she do for him where he was? He was of no use to her either. Plus, she’d denied him.

Embarrassed by his helpless state, Ben’s anger flared and his heart hardened. “Go away.”

They snapped at each other a bit and then Rey, her voice full of strength and tenderness, said, “I’m here.”

Ben stilled and closed his eyes. He felt those words settle and wrap around, snake inside his soul and across his skin. He knew, more than anything that this was the most important thing. He could be held captive for the rest of his days, so long as he knew she was there, with him. He was flooded with a rush of pleasure and warmth so profound that the tension that he’d been holding tight within his body, seemingly for weeks, relaxed.

[thisgarbagepicker]

“Night Spectres” - Reylo Weekly Challenge

My contribution to the third @two-halves-of-reylo Tumblr weekly challenge, “Scars” theme.

“Night Spectres” (AO3)

Words: 2,830

Summary: A week after reuniting with Resistance, Rey is plagued by nightmares of the Supremacy and struggling to cope with her new life as a rallying point of rebellion. As she inspects her healing wounds and contemplates taking a late-night shower, the Force bond opens for the first time since she last saw Kylo Ren on Crait.

The young woman in the mirror is beginning to look more like herself. Rey leans nearer to the filmy glass and gently prods the bruise above her left eye. A week after the event that gave it to her, it has all but faded entirely. There are others on her body that are more stubborn—her back, ribs, knees, and shins all bear marks of the fight on the Supremacy, and likely will for another week or so. The angry slice at the top of her right arm has scabbed over. It will leave a scar, which she supposes could have been prevented in better times. But the Resistance supply of medical necessities, and everything else it possesses, is dire. She would not have allowed the use of bacta for such a small thing even if it had been offered her.

She is grateful of the quiet afforded by the hour, which is either very late or very early. The new base is never silent during waking hours, and often not even at night. In spite of the reasons for her wakefulness, the unusual tranquility seems like a gift. Particularly when all she really wants to do is sneak a shower and go back to her bunk in the hopes of having at least another hour or two to rest her eyes, even if sleep continues to elude her.

People have stopped pressing Rey about what happened on the Supremacy. They take her lack of denial of the rumors they pick up in intercepted transmissions to mean there is nothing to deny: that she is responsible for Snoke’s death. They suppose she must be struggling to cope with the things she saw and did and will give more detailed accounts when she’s ready. At first she didn’t agree. She was coping fine, she told herself. Now, she thinks they are probably right. The nightmare that woke her tonight is not the first she’s had since Crait, and she knows it won’t be the last.

Snoke inside her head, a grasping claw ripping here, tearing there, taking anything and everything because he can, leaving her nerves blazing and mind raw and aching. A body bisected by a beam of blue light, toppling from a throne, and the sharp sickening smell of cauterized flesh. The weight of the lightsaber in her hand as it enters body after body, the low sound of its hum always steady in the violence of thrust, swipe, parry, lunge. So little blood but red everywhere and that smell again and again and again. Ben, Kylo—she hasn’t decided how she thinks of him now, when she does, which is often—his face ashen and pupils blown in the aftermath of carnage. As fire falls around her, the way her heart and hopes crumble when she realizes that Luke was right: this would not go as she thought it must.

Sensory impressions, seared in memory. Each night her mind, stripped of waking rationality, brings her something new and uniquely terrible. Rey closes her eyes and takes a deep, centering breath.

“Breathe,” she whispers roughly to herself as she releases it. “Come on. Rey, just . . . breathe.”

It’s hard tonight but she manages, and she shivers as the air stills. She feels something within her slip into alignment. Better. She again inspects the wound on her arm, frowns at the memories it calls up, resists the urge to pick at the scab, and begins to draw her shirt up over her head.

A man clears his throat somewhere behind her. Startled, Rey yelps and spins, tugging her shirt back into place. It’s him, standing against the wall with his eyes averted. Kylo. Ben. Kylo. Ben, she determines in the moment. It’s who he is. Better to think this way. It bolsters her belief that there is still a chance that she wasn’t wrong and that the Force is at work even in this. Still some reason, no matter how small, to hope for him.

That doesn’t mean she isn’t angry or hurting. She turns back to the mirror, where her face is taut with alarm. She can’t see him reflected behind her, even though he should be visible in the glass. But then he isn't really here, is he? Rey looks over her shoulder again to make sure this isn’t just her mind tricking her. Some new nightmare. He is still there, staring at her now.

Her mind is working too slowly, and part of it stubbornly continues to insist that she is alone in the room. Unbidden, she remembers local lore on Jakku, of sand wraiths and night spectres. Ghosts. If you had the misfortune of encountering one, stories said, you were not to speak to it. If you did, it would stay, feed on you, haunt you, until you were never truly alone and the knowledge of it drove you mad. She doesn’t say anything.

He’s standing stiffly, and his voice is flat and low when he says, “I thought you were ignoring me on purpose.”

Rey considers doing just that. It would be easiest to splash her face with water from the sink and leave as if Ben isn’t here. She doesn’t feel like arguing, and that is the only way she can see this going. But she really does crave the singular prolonged solitude the shower would provide, and his presence puts a bump in that plan.

“Go away.” She immediately regrets saying it. Not because she doesn’t mean it, but because it’s a ridiculous request in the circumstances.

The look he gives her, like he can’t believe she just said that when she knows this is as much out of his control as it is out of hers, makes her even angrier. After a week of nothing, Rey was starting to think that their connection in the Force truly had died. Now she sees that this was just another simplistic, premature assumption.

She has been standing hunched up against the sink basin as if Ben’s presence here frightens her. Which it doesn’t, so she forces herself to relax. It almost works.

“How’s your wound?” he asks as she straightens.

The question nettles her. Something in the way Ben inclines his chin when he asks, a flimsy pretense of superiority that she sees through and doesn't like. She isn’t sure how long he was watching her before he alerted her to his presence, but evidently it was long enough to see her examining her arm. He has no right to ask, as far as she is concerned.

“It’s nothing,” she says shortly, glaring at her own solitary reflection. “Like me, remember?”

Rey can’t help it. Reflexively, she turns to look at him, curious to see if her words get a reaction. She is pleased to find that he looks fleetingly abashed.

But then his face hardens. “Is that supposed to hurt me?”

She’s not sure. It hurt her, when he said it on the Supremacy, and she senses that it hurts him now to be reminded of his tactlessness. Why did she do that? She should be ignoring him. Instead she’s already being drawn out, so easily, and willfully makes it worse. “Does it?”

His only response is to take a few steps toward her.

“Don't you dare.” Her voice doesn't sound right, the way the room makes it echo slightly. She’s not even sure what she thinks he’s going to do. She just doesn’t want him nearer. “Stay where you are.”

Ben halts, so suddenly and completely that she almost thinks he’s run against a physical barrier. “Happy?”

Rey isn't sure if he means the question in reference to his stopping at her request, or to her situation at large, here with the Resistance. She suspects the latter.

“Yes.” A partial lie. She looks at him full on, and feels herself about to resort to his methods of deflection. Yet she’s been provoked, and she can’t stop herself. “You aren't.”

He is impassive at first, but only just able to hold it. Then his mouth squirms and he turns the statement back on her, just as she knew he would.

“And you're lying. I can feel it.”

“Then why ask? It's a stupid question.”

She isn't in unhappy. The people here are important to her. She cares about them. Finn most especially, and Leia, too. They have never made her feel as if her place should be anywhere else. There is belonging here, but tempered by a sense she gets, a little more each day, that they view her as something other. Something with the power to lift stones with only a thought, or wield a legendary lightsaber with next to no training, or bring down the Supreme Leader of the First Order single-handedly. Something around which they can rebuild their hope and the rebel platform. Another Luke. And so, while they mean well, Rey knows everyone treats her differently since she returned. Except Finn, but even he has things he seems afraid to ask her. She can sense it, and that’s almost as bad.

And there is her failure to save the man speaking to her now. It wasn’t her failure alone, but she’d placed so much on it that it weighs on her anyway. Mostly at night, when she has little else to distract her from it, and anything that might serve as a distraction—meditating, mending her saber, perusing ancient Jedi texts—only brings him more to mind. All these things accounted for, happiness is not something Rey considers within her grasp yet.

Ben is rankled by her response for reasons she doesn't know. He takes another step toward her, then stops as if he forgot himself briefly. “If you hadn't attacked me—”

“If I hadn’t attacked you?” Rey cuts him off, pushing away from the sink and rounding off to his right, looking wide-eyed at him. She tries to keep her voice low, but it’s difficult in her mounting indignation. “Attacked you? I didn’t attack you!”

“Oh, no? Why else would you have tried to rip the lightsaber away?” He’s facing her off, arms stiff. His posture is all bluster, but his voice quavers. “If not betrayal?”

She would laugh, mostly out of shock, but she’s too aware of the seriousness of his accusation, and her throat constricts. Even if he is wrong, there is hurt in his eyes all over again. At least she isn’t alone in that. Rey refuses to give him any ground, and her mind races for an answer that isn’t hostile.

“I didn’t attack you,” she repeats, more calmly than the last time, but still piqued. “You think I want you dead? If that’s so, why would I have left you alive? I woke and found you unconscious. I could have ended it right there.” Her eyes fix on the scar that curves over his face and neck. She notes the way it starts as a fine line over his eyebrow, cuts deeper across his cheek, seams his jaw and throat, and though the rest is hidden from her view, she remembers the stark way it hooks over his chest as well. Ben notices the way she stares, and she doesn’t stop. She wants him to know that the intensity of her gaze is as much a reminder as her next words. “But I didn’t. Again.”

He visibly deflates and takes a step back, though his face is still tense, and his eyes are darting over her. She can’t tell what he’s thinking. Whatever it is, it’s troubling him deeply, and she doesn’t know why, but she longs to know it. There is a way she could find out. Not one she’s ever tried intentionally, and she doubts it would work now. She doesn’t want to revisit that moment in the interrogation room ever again, in spirit or otherwise, so she leaves Ben to his thoughts.

“I thought you’d gone back to Luke. That you’d brought him . . . given him the—” He isn’t even looking at her as he speaks, favoring the floor near her feet instead, and barely anything he is saying makes sense to her. He’s somewhere else right now. She doesn’t think she’s ever heard him at a loss like this, or seen him so confused. “To . . . but then he wasn’t even . . . no. No.”

She isn’t sure what to make of these half statements, so she ignores them. “I wanted the lightsaber, so that I could leave. I suppose I’d have . . . fought you, if you tried to stop me. But . . . what was I supposed to do? Let people I care about continue to die? Just watch? No. What you expected from me, it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right.”

“What I offered you,” he says, recovering suddenly, like she’s misspoken and he’s trying to help her remember the correct version of events. “When I asked you to join me, all I wanted—”

Rey shakes her head. “That wasn’t an offer. You assumed. You assumed after I’d faced . . . all that, and what you said to me, what I admitted, that I’d just—no. I’m not like you.”

“You assumed, too.” His voice is even, his eyes dark. He doesn’t elaborate, but he doesn’t need to. Rey knows exactly what she assumed would be the outcome of that day. Everything she told him in the turbolift, and everything she didn't. So much more. He must have some inkling. “You are like me. At least I can still admit that.”

“Stop.” Turning on her heel, Rey stalks back toward the mirror, refusing to look at him. “I know. I know that. Just stop.”

She hates this. She wishes he wasn’t at least a little bit right. She wishes the connection would close. She wishes she’d ignored him after all. She wishes he’d never told her he was here and just let her go on with what she was doing, decency be damned, and let the minutes pass in ignorance. She won’t be sleeping tonight, even if she tries.

“What did you really expect?” she says.

He doesn’t answer, even after she gives him a few moments, and so she spins to demand he do so. He is no longer there. The connection has closed, leaving her alone again. Or as truly alone as she can ever be anymore, which in this moment is no comfort. Ben will be there, in the Force, always so close and yet undeniably separate until the next time they are made to appear before each other. Because now she knows—there will be a next time.

Rey scrubs her hands up and down her arms in a bid for focus, quickening the motion until it almost hurts. She stops with a sharp gasp as one hand jerks too high and pulls violently at the scabbed wound on her right arm. There isn’t any blood, but some of the yet-unhealed tissue is exposed, pale and tender where she sees it in the mirror.

She’s wasted enough time. Abandoning her reflection, she runs the shower hot until steam begins to pour out, strips down, and steps in. For a while she just stands there, staring at the wall and watching the water slide down in rivulets, letting it scald her a little until her skin adjusts, trying not to think of how the droplets remind her of falling tongues of flame. She forgot soap, but she doesn’t care. She didn’t come here to get clean. Her hand slides up to the wound again, presses it gingerly, then rests there to shield it from the water.

Two hands reaching out.

That was what Rose said, when Rey met her a few days ago. They chatted a while, traded some stories, compared their respective battle wounds. Rose was in far worse shape than Rey was then, but she seemed tough, if a little awestruck. She said the wound at least looked interesting, tried to guess what had made it, and then said that: “It looks like two hands reaching out.” It shook Rey a little in the moment, but she hasn’t thought of it again.

Now she can’t stop thinking of it, and of what she saw when she and Ben touched hands. She recollects the anguish of having that conviction torn away when the future she saw did not immediately come to pass. The wound it left behind, unacknowledged until now, is still so raw she feels it almost physically, and she is suddenly overwhelmed.

Rey sinks to the floor of the shower and sits with her knees bent, her back curled against the wall. The connection endures, beneath the surface. Reminding her. Picking at her. It isn’t seamed into her face, a memento every time she looks in the mirror. Instead it is somehow worse. The living reminder of a past that can’t be reclaimed and a future she fears will never come to be. She shudders as a sob comes on in earnest, and she cries openly as the steam twists around her.

[capaldisrighteyebrow]

Cycle - A Reylo Fic

Written for the "First Blood" weekly flash-fiction challenge @two-halves-of-reylo. Inspired by my grandmother's schoolmate who was, most unfortunately, never told about her period and stood up in class because she thought she was dying.

All thanks go to @liminal-zone for helping me not give up on this when I got frustrated. <3 Rating: Teen & up Tags/Warnings: Fluff & hurt/comfort. Mentions of blood and cramp pain. Links: AO3 || FF

She expected the far reaches of space to be more chaotic, more dangerous, more wild. But the Rebellion's latest outpost is stationed at the edge of a crystal-clear, purple-hued lake with flowering trees lining its banks, and it's just so. . .serene.

It's strange. For the first time, nature isn't trying to beat her down. There's no blistering sun or suffocating sand. There's no pelting rain or holes that wish to swallow her. There are only cool breezes that rustle the white blossoms adorning the trees, dragging the more fragile blooms down to dance along the surface of the lake, and the mysterious sound of tinkling chimes.

Hidden away in beauty, Rey should be able to forget. When she closes her eyes, she should see the sparkling water and the rainbow scales that mark the fish she's been feasting on. Out here, she shouldn't see him on his knees in the dark, haloed in the dust of the past. She shouldn't see defeat hanging like chains around his shoulders in a cowl he forged himself.

The moment's peace she's longed for since leaving Jakku is finally at hand, and it's making her absolutely miserable.

Because no matter how much tranquility she breathes in, his please rattles in her hollow lungs in a continuous, desperate echo that begs her to not forget.

Two months go by before they finally have a space which can rightfully claim the title of medbay - a place where the newly recruited staff can do more than ration out salves for burns and wince through unsteady sutures administered by untrained hands. It's not only a place to go to for emergencies, but somewhere every Resistance fighter - green and veteran alike - is ordered to visit by General Organa for a routine physical.

"Jedi-in-training are no exception," Leia affectionately chides after Rey skips her appointment slot for the fourth time.

She's patched herself up for so long that having anyone else examine her seems useless. Her time would be better spent training with Finn, or helping Rose with repairs, or figuring out a way to retool the broken lightsaber stowed away with the sacred texts on the Falcon. She knows her body better than anyone else; she'd know if something was wrong.

Rey likes the class one droid - an ancient thing that looks as if it could use more than an oil bath - that takes her vitals. Leia, finally, granted her permission to speak to a machine rather than a person since Rey's always been more comfortable around metal and gears than flesh and bone.

After she's passed the initial tests and provided bio-samples, the droid's monotone voice cycles through a list of questions that goes on and on and on. Only one strikes her as odd.

"When did you last bleed?"

Puzzled, Rey has to think a moment. She searches her memory for the last training session where things went wrong and she ended up with stitches. "About a month ago."

Her answer ticks another question off of the checklist; after ten more, she's released with a clean bill of health and the standard send-off of, "eat well and exercise."

Finally, an order she can agree with wholeheartedly.

The warm waters of the lake are the perfect temperature for bathing. While most of the crew still prefer the privacy of the freshers, Rey doesn't have as many inhibitions; the rare water-baths she'd had on Jakku happened around a communal trough where female scavengers and Niima residents did their business quickly and without comment. Rose joins her just because she relishes the chance to swim.

"It's easier to float," Rose admits as she splashes into the water. Lingering soreness in her shoulder from her Crait injuries impedes her desire to teach Rey more than simple strokes. "But who enjoys that stillness?"

Rey sinks up to her shoulders, hardly making a sound in comparison to her lively companion. The warmth feels particularly wonderful on her aching muscles today. She's not sure what she did differently during her sparring session with Finn yesterday afternoon, but everything from her waist to her hips feels like it was stepped on by a happabore.

She turns her face toward the sun. Even with her eyes shut, she can trace the circle of light smiling down on them. For a few minutes, she tries to push away all other thoughts and channel the positive energies around her into her aches and pains.

"Uh. . .Rey?" Rose starts. Her paddling slows to a stop several feet away. "Did something surprise you?"

Rey squints one eye open. What on earth could Rose be talking about?

Rose's eyes laugh at her in a knowing way, but Rey still doesn't see anything humorous. The tech nods at the water in front of Rey, and she looks down. Dark spots cloud the space around her hips. Rey jerks back, but the cloud follows her in the water, sneaking from between her legs. Shaking, her hand slips between her thighs, then quickly brings it out of the water. There isn't much left on her hand, but Rey can tell it's blood.

"Rey?" Rose's tone goes from conspiratorial to concerned.

"W-What's going on?" Rey stammers. Did she tear something during her training session and not notice? Rey retreats toward the shore and stands at a place where the water hits her mid-thigh. Bright red rivulets streak down from her center, and it takes all of her willpower not to shout for help. "Why am I bleeding?"

Rose churns water for several seconds. Her friend would do more than blink at her if it were serious, wouldn't she? She would jump out of the water in search of aid if it were a true life and death situation, right?

"Rose?"

Whether it's her wide eyes and short breaths that snap her into action or the terror in her voice that spurs her forward, Rose wades over to Rey and reaches up to rest her hands on the Jedi's shoulders. "Oh, sweetie. We need to have a talk."

Meditation doesn't help. The pills the medbay technician gave her, among other supplies to deal with the blood, only take the edge off. Rose had collected some additional treatments, but she'd been called away to solve a duct issue. Without an explanation of what everything is for, all Rey can do is lay on one of the Falcon's cots, breathing and mulling over the information that's been dumped on her at least half a decade too late.

Every month. This crippling pain is going to happen every month, though Rose had assured her the cramps will lessen over time, had attempted to joke about mother nature catching up for missed cycles.

Rey had responded with a grimace, not a grin.

Maybe if she hadn't been such a glutton, it wouldn't have come to this. Starvation and stress, the medbay technician had told her, could have delayed her cycle all these years. Rey knows she shouldn't wish for her old life - that going hungry and hauling salvaged parts through the desert were worse than this - yet the familiar struggles would be welcome right now.

It's one thing to slice a hand open on a jagged piece of metal - a pain that ranks somewhere around an eight as it happens and a two for the next month. It's another thing entirely to cycle through minutes-long stretches of a solid five all morning and afternoon. The interminable aching is the true torture.

"Rey?"

She startles at the soft intonation of her name. Her body reacts to the intruder, ready for a fight, but it ends up battling itself - piercing her with a hot, needling sensation that makes her groan and clutch at her stomach.

Why did it have to be him?

"What's wrong?" She sees him sweep his eyes from top to bottom, seeking a source for her distress.

"Give me the dignity of going away."

She doesn't have the energy to push him from her mind like she did on Crait, to close him out of a moment of weakness she'd rather keep hidden. She's not sure if it makes it better or worse when her request isn't met with animosity, but genuine worry.

"Are you hurt?" he presses, drawing nearer.

She laughs through gritted teeth. "Up until a few hours ago, I thought I was dying." Why would she admit to that? Maker, the nagging throbs in her lower abdomen and back have started to drive her loopy.

For the first time since their connection began, Rey lets herself notice him. He's wearing a similar outfit to the last time she saw him, but the clothes don't fit him as snuggly as they used to, like he's lost the muscle she's gained over the past few months. Rey excuses her perusal as needing to discern which one of them has appeared in her space - Kylo or Ben - though she knows the two are inseparably intertwined. It's only a question of dominance.

His eyes, soft and colored by the desire to ease whatever ails her, incline toward Ben.

Why did it have to be him? she thinks again.

"Rey - "

"I'm going to be fine," she emphasizes, sucking in a breath that belies her words. "Don't you have other things to worry about, Supreme Leader?"

He doesn't rise to the bait, doesn't switch demeanor to make it easier for her to goad him into leaving. Instead, he drags a hand through his hair, smoothing out the waves in tandem with his patience.

"You're deflecting," he remarks, shaking his head and looking at the ground before meeting her eyes again. "Let me help you."

Another cruel fist clenches inside of her - a seven edging close to an eight - making Rey turn her head into the mattress and whine. Once it passes, she asks, "Why would you want to help me?"

It's a valid question. He's still the leader of the First Order; she, a Jedi fighting for the Resistance. They aren't supposed to help each other, aren't supposed to care about one another's well-beings.

"I don't want you to suffer." The last word is almost inaudible.

The suffering she's known doesn't have a number scale. It dwells in her heart, lamenting for lost causes, for things split in half without hope for repair, for months spent without speaking.

It's a suffering which can only be ended by surrender, and she's not ready to give up.

Of course, he's only talking about the accessible pain, the ones which can be soothed.

"Really, don't trouble yourself," she tells him.

He ignores her and begins to explore the space, stepping over to a metallic trunk hosting Rose's collected treatments. He assesses the contents, lifting the cloth draped over a bowl resting on the heater. "Volcanic stones?"

Rey's only response is to groan as a level nine twist and pinch causes her to gasp. She curls in on herself, but it brings no relief.

Ben glances over his shoulder as he continues on to the next item: a jar with an opaque ointment. He lifts it to his nose, then draws it away, blinking his eyes from the sting. "Methanol rub?"

She's in too much distress to deny herself from asking, "Can you bring that over? Rose said it would help."

He turns and steps over to the bunk, but doesn't relinquish the jar. "Help with what?"

His insistence is maddening, but she doesn't care anymore if he knows what's wrong. "Cramps!" she half-shouts. "Is that what you needed to hear? I'm on my moon-cycle."

"Ah," he draws out as if the pieces of a puzzle have come together to form a clear picture.

She motions to the jar. "Now hand it over."

"No."

Rey huffs loudly, expanding her lungs with enough air to launch a rapid string of her finest curses at him when he adds, "Turn over. On your stomach."

She deflates instantly. "W-what?"

"I know what to do," he says, sheepish and with a faint red tinge on his cheeks. "I can make you feel better."

If the pain didn't seem to be getting steadily worse, she wouldn't humor him. As it is, she's desperate and willing to try just about anything, including trusting him.

Rey does as he asks and flattens herself out on the mattress while he brings the bowl of heated stones over. He places them on the floor next to her bedside, then kneels down. His bare hand rests on her lower back, pressing ever-so-gently on either side of her spine, an inch or two above her tailbone.

"Does it hurt here?" he questions, voice deep and rumbling in a way that makes her heart flutter. He moves his hand again. "Here?"

"More on the left," she reports, then amends, "It all hurts. Everything hurts."

"Then we'll fix everything," he returns, a smile warming his voice. "Can I roll up your shirt? It's better for the stone to rest on the skin."

She nods, lost in his shared promise: we'll fix everything. If only he truly meant everything - the pain in her body, the suffering in her heart, the hurt that's spread across the galaxy because of the war they continue to fight.

They could fix everything, together.

He pushes her shirt out of the way, bunching it halfway up her back. Taking one of the hot stones from the bowl, he passes it back and forth between his hands to absorb the sting of the fresh heat, then places it against her skin.

Rey gasps and jerks her hips away even as Ben retracts the stone. "Too hot?"

Yes. It feels like a scalding piece of metal that's been baking in the Jakku sun all afternoon. But even the momentary heat has started to seep through and loosen the muscle intent on strangling itself, so Rey shakes her head. "No. It just caught me off guard."

He hesitates a moment longer before placing the stone back in same spot. The pause between contact lends it the perfect temperature, just hot enough that her fingers clench into the sheet beneath her, but tolerable enough that she can stay still. He waits for another stone to cool slightly before laying it on her other side, right above her kidney. Prepared this time, Rey sighs at the sensation.

Ben begins to move the smooth stones, running them over her lower back, up her spine to the rolled hem of her shirt, then down to the waistline of her sleep shorts. As they transfer their heat to her sore muscles, he replaces them with fresh stones from the bowl.

"How did you know?" Rey asks. "How did you know what the stones were for?"

He's silent a long time, and Rey wonders if she actually voiced her question or if it was all in her head. The next time he switches out the stones, he reveals: "I've seen it done. I didn't understand it at the time, but I've seen the relief it can bring."

While she wants more information, she gets the sense that it's a topic he doesn't feel comfortable elaborating on. Instead of pressing him, she snuggles her head into her folded arms and sighs contentedly. "It feels better than you can even imagine."

Ben repeats the process again and again, until every stone is exhausted and Rey is half asleep. It's the first time she's felt relaxed enough to rest since the aching started the previous afternoon. When the heat of the last stone fades away, she whimpers - actually whimpers - over the loss.

It's not that the pain has suddenly returned which drags the sound from her throat, but the absence of his touch.

Just when she wonders if their connection lapsed without her notice, Rey feels something else on her skin: his lips. They brush against her lower back, slightly parted and letting the warmth of his breath gloss over the tender spots.

There's no drowsiness in her voice when she asks, "Is that something you remember seeing too?"

"No," he answers, leaning over to caress the other side of her back with his mouth. The words are mumurmed so close to her skin that she feels them move. "They say kisses take the pain away."

"Ben - "

He clears his throat and pulls back, fumbling with something on the floor. "It's foolishness, really."

"Then why did you. . .? Oh!"

The press of his fingers is a shock that takes her breath away. There's something coating them that feels cool at first, then burns with a comforting, radiating heat.

"Sorry," he utters. "It's the methanol rub."

Rey wants to say there's no need for an apology, not when his hand sliding over her back feels even better than the rocks, but all that comes out is a quiet moan. His touch spreads the warmth of the ointment as well as his own; both seep into her and alleviate the remaining tension knotted under her skin.

She's heard Rose use the word blissful when talking about Finn's massages, and for the first time, Rey thinks she understands what it means.

"Can you do this every month?" she asks, sleepy once more.

"If you'd like," he returns. "Though it would be easier to do in person. You could still - "

"Ben."

She cuts him off not only because she doesn't want to ruin the moment with offers she'd have no choice except to refuse, but because she hears footsteps coming up the loading ramp.

He senses it too, and abruptly severs their connection.

She's just sucked down enough air to control her panicked breathing when another Skywalker calls into the semi-darkness. "Rey?"

"General Organa?" Of all her possible visitors, the Resistance leader comes as a true surprise.

"No, no. Don't get up," Leia says quickly when Rey starts to push herself off of the mattress. "I only came to see how you're feeling. Rose has been worried."

"I'm much better now," Rey assures her as she settles back into place. "Just tired."

Whenever she's in Leia's presence, be it in the command center or elsewhere on the base, a sense of calm washes over Rey. It could have something to do with the woman's Force signature that Rey doesn't understand yet, or it could have something to do with the motherly care that naturally emanates from her, but Rey revels in it all the same. As Leia comes to sit beside her on the cot, a feeling of ease floats down to blanket her.

"Would you like me to use the stones?" Leia asks, reaching down to fish one from the bowl. "Oh, they're cold."

Rey swallows, suspecting that the Force-sensitive woman can detect a lie as easily as she reads ship schematics on a datapad. What would she do if she knew about the bond Rey has with her son?

Leia saves Rey the trouble of sweating out her options. She drops the stone back into its container and picks up the upcapped jar instead. "May I?"

Rey nods, still not trusting herself to speak without accidentally revealing her secrets.

With the pads of her fingers, the general applies a small amount of balm to the half-coated side of Rey's spine, rubbing soothing circles onto her back. She takes her time, humming a scale of notes over and over to fill the silence. Even without the Force, this woman wields her own power over those around her.

Enveloped in peace, Rey begins to drift off again.

"You know," Leia starts softly, voice wading through a pleasant memory, "Han used to do this for me."

Rey's eyes crack open. Her heart stutters against its resting rate. "He did?"

Leia hums a single note - an affirmation. "Han never liked an enemy he couldn't shoot, much less one he couldn't see," she explains with a smile. "There were days he'd spend hours easing my pains with hot stones and ointments."

Finished with the application, Leia puts the jar on the floor and gently rolls Rey's shirt down to cover her back. She stands, then pulls the blanket up to cover the younger woman's shoulders, moving her hair away from her face with a delicate swipe. It's the first time Rey can remember anyone ever tucking her in.

"Rest now," Leia says, straightening up.

As she's walking toward the door, Rey can't stop herself from mumbling one last question: "Why did he do it?"

The general's hand touches the arch leading toward the loading ramp, smiling as if Han Solo still stands beside her when she's on board this ship filled with his memories, their memories.

"It was just one of the ways he showed me he loved me."

[hellomelusine]

Phantom Fear

Written for the ‘Fear’ challenge from @two-halves-of-reylo

She shoots up in her bunk, almost tumbling from it as she does. Her heart beats a frantic rhythm beneath her ribcage while her lungs struggle to take in air. She doesn’t truly dream anymore, not the way she once did. Now, when she sleeps she finds herself falling into the arms of force and she slips into nothing or the bond she shares with him. Two years ago she had tried to slam walls down between them, but it didn’t take, not when they were both sleeping at least.

She winces as a sharp phantom pain lances through her abdomen and she staggers to her feet yanking her sleep shirt up as she goes. She jams her fingers into her stomach and feels nothing out of the ordinary from it. She screams this time when pain rockets through her as it just misses her spine. Bile rises in her throat as her brain catches on to the implications of what this means.

For the first time in two years she lifts all of the blocks she had built around their bond, feels the force sigh in relief as it throws the bond fully open to the horror that awaits on the other side.

He is dying. She can feel his lifeforce fluttering at the edges of her being, ebbing away like grains of sand clenched in her fist.

“Ben.” She rushes towards him, eyes scanning the room he’s in, even though she knows there’s no point, she knows nothing of the interior of First Order ships, but knows it’s empty. He’s been left for dead.

Something sharp lances through her chest and she recognizes this feeling, but it’s been so long since she’s felt it so acutely. Fear. She can even feel it in the force and through the bond and Ben Solo is dying. Her hands settle on his back, feels his breathing rattling through him as she brushes his hair out of his face. All of him was bruised and bloody and broken and burnt.

Balance - powerful dark - light rises to meet it - son of solo and skywalker and the force - and Rey was no one. But she couldn’t exist without him. Couldn’t bear to think of living out her life without him just on the other end of the Force, waiting on the other side of this bond she had tried so hard to pretend didn’t exist.

Light flickers under her palms as she pushes the force into his body. She rarely practiced healing in the force, it was complicated and draining, but Ben Solo’s story couldn’t end this way.

“Rey.” His voice rattles before he coughs. “You can’t be here.”

“I’m not really.” She sighs trying to stop her hands from shaking.

“They’ll kill you too.”

“I’d like to see them try. Now shut up and let me heal you.” She thinks he might laugh at this, something she has only heard in their bond shared dreams and she knows she can’t lose this, whatever it might be. She can feel it when he’s stable, feels the knot inside of her loosen, feels the force hum around her with pleasure. “How long do we have?” She asks, rolling him over gently. “You look even worse than bantha shit, but let’s worry about that later. Can you stand?” She helps him stand at his nod and sways under the weight of him when his knees buckle. 

“We don’t have long,” he rasps, “but there’s escape pods through the bay doors over there.”

They hobble along and she shoves him in one, strapping him in and then overriding codes as fast as she can. “Alright, with any luck I’ll meet you where you end up. Or you’ll meet me, I’ll get there first.”

“Rey,” His hand shoots out and grips her arm, “thank you. For a minute there I was -”

“Yeah, me too.” She whispers, cutting him off with a smile. “May the Force be with you.” she shifts her arm to grip his hand, squeezing it as she leans over and hits the button that will now launch his pod and the 15 others along the row.

She sees him roll his eyes as the force bond breaks and she’s standing back in her quarters on The Falcon. She dresses quickly, takes a detour to the medbay to rouse a droid and then find Chewie in the cockpit. He roars a greeting as she enters the needed coordinates before turning to face him with a smile. “It’s time.” She confirms with a nod. “I’ll inform Leia once we’re in hyperspace, but for now -” She flips a switch. “Punch it.”

[knight-of-cookies]

Jumping into reylo week.  Inspired by a piece by @kyloreyx.

@reylo-week-2018

---

In the dark, alone she could think back on all of him: from the creature in the woods to the warrior in the snow. And then on the man in the darkness, right there with her,even when light years away.

[reylofarkas]

Don’t be afraid... #ReyloWeek

[jessahmewren]

What Monsters Do

A Reylo ficlet 

-0-0-0-

He turned, hand still balled into a fist, and made his way down the long durasteel hallway in a rush.  People made way for him as they usually did, but as his boots beat out a sharp staccato that was not unlike the pounding of his heart he scarcely noticed them.  It was not until the door hissed open and he was safely within the confines of his quarters that he realized he’d been holding his breath.  

He opened his palm and looked down at the smooth leather surface.  It was still damp where he had wiped the moisture from his face.    

Gingerly, he touched his tongue to it.  Rainwater, he surmised, mixed with the spray of the ocean. It was too fresh…too green…and beneath it all, a sweet and salty tang, something bright and clear…like a sun-bleached pool where it had splashed across her skin.

Rey. It was a name he thought in secret, but a word so palpable it almost sang in the near darkness of his room.  Why is the Force connecting us?

He could almost taste her smile in the remnants. If he closed his eyes, he could almost hear her laugh and see her upturned face.  

Of course she would relish so mundane a thing as a rainstorm, being from a dustbowl like Jakku.  

Murderous snake.

His eyes flew open, half expecting to see her there. But there was no one; he was alone. The spot on his cheek burned where the rain had drenched them both.

He remembered the fury in her eyes, the same from the forest.  The soft brown of her irises had gleamed with hatred as she’d looked at him.  He was a monster; she was right to see it.  And monsters didn’t lick raindrops, or touch their faces, or marvel at a woman who had never seen the rain.

-0-0-0-

[two-halves-of-reylo]

#22

Hello Reylo shippers,

Are you ready for a new challenge? Sharpen your minds and quills because this week the theme is:

Calligraphy

Share your piece between Friday, October 12th and Sunday, October 14th using the tag  #ReyloWeeklyChallenge or submit your piece to @two-halves-of-reylo

Remember that anxious/shy/beginners authors are welcome to participate! - Let us know if you want to submit anonymously. We can arrange that for you.

Not a writer or an artist? Or too shy to participate, even anonymously? You can still be a part of the community: READ, LIKE AND REBLOG THE PREVIOUS ENTRIES, AND GIVE SOME LOVE TO THE AUTHORS.

The rules and the blah blah for newcomers:

What is the ReyloWeeklyChallenge?

It’s a fun little exercise open to all Reylo shippers. There’s no obligation and no rewards other than the joy of creating and sharing something.

Who can participate?

Everyone

Are there any rules?

Kinda - @two-halves-of-reylo​ is a community focusing on canon compliant fanworks, meaning your piece must be set in canon. Your story can be rated E but please note that we won’t feature any story or art containing noncon or dubcon elements.

See: Guidelines

How long must the ficlet be?

200 words minimum.

Can I submit art too?

YES! (Please do!)

Duration of Challenge #22

Starts: Monday, October 8th

Ends: Sunday, October 14th

How to participate?

- Post on your own blog with the tag #ReyloWeeklyChallenge.

or

- Submit your post to Two Halves

or

- Send us an anonymous ask

When to post?

You can post on your own blog as soon as your text is ready. Creations will be reblogged on @two-halves-of-reylo between Friday and Sunday.

Need some help, inspiration or have questions?

Ask for an invite to Discord!

[lizardbeths]

Ficlet: To Heal

For the @two-halves-of-reylo​ weekly prompt of “Kyber”

Star Wars sequel trilogy, 

Rey/Ben Solo 

summary: Rey finds he has one more thing to do to fix what he’s done.

Future fic, established relationship, fluffiness, this is not a ‘how they get to this point’ fic (also at AO3) 

Rey’s not surprised to find Ben left the bed when she stirs, prodded awake by some turmoil in the bond. He’s been gnawing at something for several days that he’s not been ready to share.

She pads out to the common area to find him dressed in an undertunic and sleep shorts, sitting at the table. His hair is an untamed, spectacular mess that she immediately wants to sink her fingers into.

But before she can do it, she recognizes that mess on the table is what’s left of his lightsaber. The hilt’s in pieces, exposing the inner mechanisms, and the vents are detatched. Rey stares, confused by what he’s done. He couldn’t have done a more thorough job if he’d just cut it to pieces with hers. “Ben? What are you doing?”

He doesn’t look at her, though he shows no surprise that she’s there. “I didn’t want to bleed the crystal,” he murmurs. He opens his hand to display the kyber crystal in his palm. She leans nearer, drawn to it and its muted song. “Snoke said if I couldn’t even hurt a rock, I was useless to him. That my grandfather would be disappointed.”

She wishes she could kill Snoke herself for that. It fills her with rage every time Ben tells her something of his time with that manipulative lying bantha dung. She slides into the seat beside him, leaning her head against his shoulder in comfort. “Your grandfather would be proud of you,” she reminds him. “He chose the Light, too.”

He turns his head to press a grateful kiss to her temple. “I was wondering if I could… heal it back.”

Intrigued, she looks again at the crystal. Up close the fine red threads through its lattices are visible. “Is that possible?”

“Not that I know of. But how many Dark Siders try?” he asks. He has a point, since not many return at all to the Light, and fewer survive. The books are no help, since they don’t talk about Sith techniques or how to fix them.

Ben closes his hand around the crystal again in a tight fist. “But I don’t know. It could destroy the crystal. I-- I’ve already hurt it enough.”

She closes her hand over his and the crystal inside. “You’re not going to hurt it.” There is nothing but confidence in her voice; she knows this. “We’ll do it together.”

Ben brightens and his back straightens from the sorrowful hunch in his shoulders. They both know it’s the right solution as soon as she says it. Together they can do anything; they already have, and they can do this, too.

He turns his head and it still feels like a gift when he smiles. “Ready?”

With anyone else, she’d ask if he was sure, but with Ben, she already knows. “Let’s do it.”

They face each other, palms pressed together and the kyber crystal between.

It aches and trembles, afraid. Rey soothes it, bathes it in Light, so it calms, while Ben, so delicately, reaches within. The Force is all around them, full of life outside the Falcon in the lush greenery of Chandrila.

Please, Ben whispers to the Force, help me. Help me heal what I hurt.

He doesn’t demand the help or seize it, yet there’s power behind his plea. The Force answers. It surges between them, and brilliance rushes through her.

She blinks, leaning back, as the crystal between them streams light between their fingers. The light ebbs, and she knows before their hands open that it’s healed. Its heart is strong and clear now-- the wound healed completely.

Eyes shining with wonder, Ben gazes on it in his palm. “We did it. I can make a new saber now.”

But a new saber seems like a terrible waste right this moment, when the bond is still shimmering between them, eager to draw them together. She plucks the crystal out of his hand and sets it gently on the table. “Later. We’re not done yet.”

She takes his hand and he follows her back to bed, while behind them, Ben’s kyber crystal shines and seems to purr with contentment.

[reyloforcebalance]

True Power

My submission for the @two-halves-of-reylo weekly challenge (Week 18: Dark Side). These weekly challenge fics are accidentally turning into a story… if you want to catch up, check out the previous ones on AO3. Thanks for reading!

Kylo Ren roars in pain as the blade slices through his flesh, pinning him to the wall.

Both his hands fly up to grip the center of the double-sided sword now sticking out of his right shoulder. He looks up into the blank face staring down from above.

The droid cocks its head and twists the blade like it’s relishing the moment. It’s humanoid— a lithe body with two arms, two legs, and an armored shell that mimics the curves of human musculature.  Kylo can see his own reflection in its face, which is nothing but an oval-shaped screen nested inside a large, metallic hood.

It leans in menacingly, its hand sliding slightly down the hilt as it does.

And that’s exactly the opportunity Kylo needs.

In an instant, he snaps the arbir blade in two, then drives the newly freed end into a weak spot in the droid’s armor, a small opening just between its neck and shoulder.

The droid jerks back mechanically, releasing the end still pinning Kylo to the wall and reaching over to dislodge the blade from its body. Kylo grits his teeth and groans as he pulls the sword out of his flesh.

He ducks in anticipation of the droid’s next move, a hard jab to his core, sidestepping past it and gaining some distance. He whips back around to see the droid beginning to stand from a kneeling position, gripping the remaining end of its own blade in one hand and the intact blade it disarmed him of in the other. It turns methodically towards him.

Rather than resume its assault, it cocks its head again, then steps slowly to the side, moving along a curved path. Despite its mechanical movements, the droid has the air of a predator teasing its prey, seeming to take pleasure in building up tension before an attack.

Kylo begins circling it as well, gripping the hilt of the sword still slick with his own blood. He breathes heavily, dripping with sweat, dark locks of hair sticking to his forehead. The wound in his shoulder throbs, a regular rhythm of shooting pain, crackling like electricity through his veins. He concentrates on the feeling, how the nerves in his damaged flesh scream for attention, begging for healing, begging for him to stop.

But he doesn’t.

Instead he switches the sword from his left hand to his right and squeezes. The damaged muscles in his shoulder howl in response. As the pain surges through his body, Kylo can’t stop a smile from creeping across his lips.

It’s been a long time since he’s been injured in the training room. A very long time.

He likes this droid. He likes it very much.

He’s been waiting all day for this. And he’s not disappointed. He’s never seen a sentry droid fight like this one. It has all the advantages of a robotic combatant— an extensive catalogue of martial skills, flawless execution— but it’s programmed with an advanced AI that’s designed manipulate psychological weaknesses, giving it an eerie sense of personality and a flair for cruelty in combat.

It doesn’t just fight to win. It fights to demoralize, to utterly exhaust the opponent’s mind and body. During the demonstration this morning, it thrashed Hux’s cadets with what Kylo can only describe as a kind of sadistic brutality. It taunted, it terrorized, and it took every opportunity to inflict flesh wounds, forcing its opponents to fight through physical pain.

Which is why he’s been absolutely burning to get into the training room alone with it, to face it one on one.

Suddenly, Kylo jerks to the right, just barely dodging the blade whizzing by his cheek. The droid continues to circle him as though nothing happened, now armed only with the double-sided sword. Without thinking, Kylo balls his left hand into a fist and beats it against the wound in his shoulder three times, sending a sharp, searing pains down the length of his arm.  

The droid abruptly whips into action, snapping its sword in two and charging forward. It launches into a relentless offense, its blades a flurry of motion, slashing and thrusting with power, precision, and inhuman speed. Kylo struggles to fend off the forceful blows dealt by his stronger opponent, each impact bringing a newer, deeper wave of pain to his right shoulder.

To an outsider, the battle would seem to be all but won. Kylo’s at the disadvantage in every way. The droid is physically larger and stronger. It has two blades to Kylo’s one. It’s progressively backing him into a corner with its complex combination of slashing and hacking, perfectly executed. And though both of them are injured, the droid feels no pain.

Of course, this is where a casual observer might wonder why Kylo’s choosing to wield his one blade with his injured arm.

And here lies his advantage, an advantage very few would understand. Every time his wound is aggravated, every time the muscles tear a bit more, every time his nerves scream in pain— he grows more powerful. For any other person, that shoulder would seize, too painful and too damaged to fight with. But for him, pain increases rage, and rage increases his strength through the Force.

As Kylo continues fending off the droid’s blows, his blood turns to fire in his veins, surging through his body, charging it with dark power. He starts to feel physically stronger, clashing against the droid’s hard strikes with equal force. It’s still hacking and slashing in a series of moves intended to keep an opponent on the defense, but it’s repeating the same combination again and again and Kylo’s learning its rhythm.

Suddenly, he dodges to the left and leaps high into the air. He lands on top of the droid and instantly begins driving his blade into its right shoulder with furious strikes— one-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight times and the droid’s right arm is dislodged from the rest of its body. Before it hits the floor, Kylo flips off the droid’s shoulders, landing behind it. He immediately whips around.

The droid is beginning to kneel, reaching for its severed arm with its remaining limb, intending to reattach it. But Kylo lifts the arm into the air with a wave of his hand and clenches his fist, crunching it into a ball of metal and wires before casting it across the training room.

The droid turns its head, following its now destroyed arm with its blank screen of a face. Kylo seethes, beating his right shoulder before lunging forward. He meets the droid’s blade with a fiery combination of strikes, well-practiced and fueled by the Force raging through him. He’s pure energy, pure fire, now physically stronger than his opponent, forcefully slashing and hacking, pushing the droid backwards as it fends off the blows reigning down upon it.

He gives himself over the rage, his true weapon, and it rips through him in a ferocious blast of violence. His mind is consumed by the power he feels in this moment, the strange contradiction of unrestrained passion and white hot control. He thrusts his blade forward, across, down, again and again and again, overwhelming the droid, giving it no opportunity to strike back.

This fight is his. This droid is about to become a heap of metal and wires…

Suddenly, Kylo catches sight of something out of the corner of his eye and in an instant, his rage abates, like roaring flames encountering the gushing floods of a river.

Rey stands at the side of the training room, her arms folded across her chest, observing with intense interest.

He halts his assault, only for a split second, but it’s all the opportunity the droid needs.

Kylo feels an explosive blast at his side and he immediately flies across the training room, landing on the matted floor with a thud. He hears the droid charge towards him at full speed.

“Cease all functions.” Kylo barely gets out the command before the droid reaches him. It freezes mid-rampage, remaining in statue-like position for a moment before straightening and dropping its weapon. Kylo breathes heavily, each inhale sending shooting pains throughout his left side. He pushes up from the floor, already picturing a large bruise emerging across the skin of his ribcage.

He hears Rey jogging over from the side of the room, stopping right beside him just as he fully stands. He looks down and is met with concerned eyes.  

“You’re hurt,” she tells him with knitted eyebrows, extending her right hand towards him.

“No, I’m not,” he replies with an irritated jerk of his head and she stops, dropping her arm. He wipes the sweat off his face and shudders, annoyed that the bond caught him by surprise yet again. He stoops over to pick up his weapon from the floor then walks over to the droid, appearing to examine it but really just giving himself an opportunity to catch his breath and change gears, adapt to the new situation.

It’s not that she’s unwelcome. It’s just… not an ideal time. He can’t put his finger on why, but he particularly hates it when she shows up at a time like this, when he’s tense and hot with fury.

Of course, her presence has a marked influence on that. He felt the rage start to leave his body the moment he realized she was here, like steam evaporating from a hot surface. As he leans over to pick up the droid’s weapon, he notes his blood is no longer exploding through his veins but slowing to an even flow.

He takes a minute to examine the weapons in his hands, looking both of them over then snapping them together to form a full arbir blade. All the while, he concentrates on breathing, on Rey, on what he senses in her as she stands behind him, observing.

She’s concerned. And vaguely disapproving.

He needs to distract her…

“I’m sure you remember this from the Throne room,” he announces abruptly, turning and tossing the arbir blade in her direction. Her eyes widen, caught off guard, but she catches the double-sided sword easily, her reflexes sharp. She looks down at the weapon, studying it, most likely remembering their battle with the Praetorian guards, one of them wielding a weapon much like this one.

“It’s not equipped with an ultrasonic generator,” he continues, walking towards her. “But there’s no need for one unless you’re fighting against a lightsaber.” She snaps the blade in two and brings one end close to her face to inspect it.

“Would you like to give it a try?” He asks suggestively, his lips curling upwards.

He’s been dying to get her into the training room again, to try out new weapons— ones she’s never used before— and see how she does with them. He loves being in a fight with her, watching her improvise, get creative…

“I don’t think that’s the best idea,” she responds finally as she connects the blades together again. “Not right now.” She looks up at him but her eyes almost immediately drift down to his right shoulder. “That’s an angry wound.” She nods towards the shoulder. “You shouldn’t be fighting anyone until you get that taken care of.”

He rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything, silently extending a hand for the sword. She gives it to him with a wary expression, still looking concerned. He walks briskly past her towards a wall with weapons affixed to it. He casts the blade to the floor and immediately strides over to the washing station, grabbing a towel and wiping the sweat from his face. His shoulder is still throbbing, the pain transforming into an inconvenience now that he’s no longer in combat.

He hears Rey approach slowly from behind. He senses her burning with interest, a question on the tip of her tongue. He doesn’t turn around but quietly continues to clean himself up, taking note of the blood flow at his right shoulder. Rey stands silently, watching him, growing more impatient, that question nagging at her.

“Yes?” He draws out the word expectantly, still facing the washing station.

She doesn’t say anything. Now he senses hesitation. He shakes his head, more to himself than to her, and casts his towel to the side. He sighs heavily, finally turning around.

“What is it, Rey?” He asks impatiently, folding his arms. “I can feel you squirming with a question. Just spit it out.” His eyes bore into hers as he waits for her to speak.

She parts her lips, but no words come out. She stares up at him for a moment before looking away, seeming to wrestle with herself, like she wants to ask the question but knows she won’t like the answer. A few seconds pass in silence as she carefully considers her next action. Finally, she looks back at him, her eyes tinged with disapproval but also a little tenderness.  

“Why do you aggravate your injuries during a fight?” She asks quietly, maintaining a soft gaze. He immediately looks away, realizing why she was so hesitant to ask the question. The answer will not lead to a pleasant interaction between them.  

“Because it makes me stronger,” he tells her dismissively, turning back towards the washing station and grabbing the towel again.

“How?” She probes behind him. He dampens the towel and begins absently cleaning the area around his wound, not because he really needs to, just to do something.

“Pain is a trigger for Force-sensitives,” he answers matter-of-factly. “Pain, hatred, fear— all of it can be converted into rage. Pure energy, pure power. It increases strength, speed, endurance—”

“But at what cost?” She interrupts him. “To your body, to your mind?” He rolls his eyes, keeping his back to her. “What’s the effect of channeling that kind of energy in the long term? Won’t it ultimately weaken you, diminish you?”  

“In some ways.” He twitches his jaw, irritated, as he casts the towel back on the washing station. “But not in a way that really matters,” he finishes, turning around to face her. Rey looks him steadily, arms crossed, back straight, and feet firmly planted like she’s in a battle stance.

“What ways?” She narrows her eyes, jutting up her chin up. He blinks, folding his arms again and staring down at her neutrally.

“Over time, it can take a toll on the body,” he answers frankly. “Eventually, it can cause physical deformity. Assuming one lives long enough.”

“Are dark siders known to die young?” Something about the way she asks this sounds more like a criticism than a question. He abruptly turns and begins striding to the other end of the training room.

“That or they live for hundreds of years, like Snoke.” He hears Rey following behind him.

“So, you’ll either die in the next few years or grow to be horribly deformed.” He pushes out an exasperated exhale, continuing to charge towards the blade the droid was holding when he cut off its arm.

“I’m sure you’ll recall that Snoke’s physical deformity did nothing to diminish his power,” he snipes at her. “Just the opposite, in fact. As his body grew weaker, his strength in the Force increased a hundredfold.” He stoops down to pick up the end of the arbir blade lying on the floor.

“And it doesn’t bother you that you’ll eventually look like he did, all twisted, mangled flesh?” She still has that disapproving tone in her voice. He turns around but doesn’t look at her, instead brushing past her on his way to the side of the room.

“I honestly don’t think about it,” he calls back, hearing her tag along behind him again. “I’m sure when the time comes, it won’t really matter.”

“It won’t matter that you’ll look nothing like you do now, that you might not even look human?” She asks incredulously.

He bristles and instinctively clenches his fists, causing shooting pains in his injured shoulder. He feels himself growing more irritated, annoyed at how easily she seems to pass judgement on something she doesn’t understand.

“Power has a price, Rey,” he answers curtly.

“Well, it seems to me that the price is too high.” At that, he whips around and she halts, jumping a little in surprise.

“Really?” He steps towards her with fire in his eyes, still clenching his fists. “And what’s the basis of this judgement? What do you know about the dark side?” He spits out the question as he leans over her menacingly. “Please. Educate me.” He cocks his head in challenge.

She shrinks away a bit, her face guarded and uncertain. They stare at one another silently for a few seconds before she looks away, her eyes growing distant. He feels her emotions change, a strong sense of conviction replaced by something he can only describe as self-consciousness.

“That’s what I thought,” he says in a low voice, lingering another moment before he turns around and resumes walking. “You don’t know a damn thing about the dark side,” he calls back snidely. “In fact, I’d guess you know as much about the dark side as you do about the Jedi.” He feels this hit her hard, a harsh reminder of her ignorance about the Force. This time, he doesn’t hear her follow him.

He reaches down for the blade that the droid threw at him earlier and swoops it up from the matted floor. He attaches it to its other side, then walks over to the weapons affixed on the wall, casting it on the floor with the other one.

“Why don’t you teach me?” Rey suddenly calls to him from the middle of the room.

“About what?” He turns to find her walking slowly towards him, her arms crossed lightly, her shoulders relaxed.  

“About the dark side, about the difference between the dark and the light.” She continues towards him, her tone curious now, casual even. He narrows his eyes, suspicious of this change in her. What is she up to?

She stops just in front of him, looking up with clear, earnest eyes, like a student ready to learn. He doesn’t sense disapproval anymore, only genuine curiosity, though he can’t shake the feeling she has some kind of ulterior motive. He tilts his head, examining her closely. She maintains her gaze, her light brown eyes fixed on his, appearing completely ingenuous.

“What do you want to know?” He asks coolly, crossing his arms. Her eyes flit up to the ceiling for a moment before resting back on him.

“Start with the basics.” She shrugs her shoulders. “Based on your experience, what’s the most fundamental difference between the dark and light side of the Force?” Kylo ‘s eyebrows shoot up briefly.

“Surely that’s something you already know,” he begins in an authoritative tone. “Dark siders channel the power of the Force through emotions that are often considered negative— pain, anger, hatred, fear— whereas the light side is the opposite. The Jedi taught channeling the Force through things like peace, calm, compassion, and love. They feared the stronger emotions. They believed in restraint, in eschewing certain undesirable experiences.”

“And you disapprove of this?” She raises an eyebrow. He clicks his tongue, considering for a moment before he answers her.

“Not of channeling the Force through so-called lighter emotions,” he says decisively. “But teaching that one should completely reject feelings integral to sentient existence, feelings that can unleash the true power of the Force? That I very much disagree with.” Rey knits her eyebrows.

“What do you mean by the true power of the Force?” She tilts her head, looking a bit confused. “Is channeling the Force through peace and love not true power?” Kylo immediately scoffs.

“Rey,” he intones deeply, “You have no idea.” He steps towards her with a dark glimmer in his eyes. “You haven’t really felt the Force until you’ve felt it through rage. It’s like losing yourself yet maintaining control at the same time. Trust me. Once you get a taste of that kind of power, there’s no turning back.” Something flickers across her eyes when he says this, but the emotion is too fleeting for him to detect.

“So, you think the dark side is the stronger aspect?” She asks to confirm.

“Without question.” He practically cuts her off. “The dark side is all about unleashing one’s potential, not holding it back. All of the things the Jedi Order rejected— aggression, anger…” He leans down a little, dark eyes fixed on hers. “Unrestrained passion.” She flinches ever so subtly, almost imperceptibly. “These are all things dark siders embrace. And it’s ultimately the reason why they know the full extent of the Force’s power in a way that a Jedi never could.” He lingers for a moment, a smirk teasing the corners of his lips, before he straightens.

Rey gazes up at him softly for a few seconds, then abruptly looks away. She presses her lips together, appearing lost in thought.

“But…” She begins slowly. She looks back up at him, uncertain. “Why are emotions like anger and aggression the better way to wield the Force’s power? Are there not ways to use the Force through peace and love that can’t be done through the darker emotions?” Kylo rolls his eyes slightly.

“Yes,” he concedes begrudgingly. “But that’s not my point.” He pauses, searching his mind for the best way to explain this to her. He purses his lips and looks up to the ceiling.

“Think of it this way,” he begins confidently, looking back down at her. “The bedrock of Jedi training is meditation. It’s at the core of almost everything they teach. They even teach battle meditation.” He scoffs contemptuously, shaking his head. “That’s not to say,” he continues, “that nothing can be gained from meditation. But it’s ultimately a passive exercise. The entire Jedi philosophy is passive, to observe and maintain, not really do anything.” Rey listens intently, processing the information, more to understand than to judge.

“But dark siders,” he intones, a slow smile creeping across his lips. “The bedrock of their training is combat. It’s active. It’s all about taking any situation into your own hands and making it yours, bending it to your purpose, your will.” He feels himself grow more impassioned as he speaks, a spark igniting in his chest. “The Jedi called it darkness and that term has come to define it, but really…” He grunts softly and shakes his head. “It’s only a belief that the Force should be used to do something more than simply keep the peace. It should be used to create peace, to create order, to propel the galaxy forward through sheer will and power.”

Rey’s not looking at him anymore. She’s staring downward, her eyebrows furrowed. He senses her struggling internally, working through what he’s telling her. After a few moments, she begins nodding her head a little.

“I think I understand what you mean,” she starts slowly. She finally looks up at him, her eyes calm and confident. “And quite honestly, the Jedi philosophy of being passive is something I’m not sure I agree with. Master Skywalker taught me about that, actually.” He tenses instinctively at the reference to his uncle, and when he does, the nerves around his wound scream. He pushes out an exhale, ignoring the pain.  

“But I’m not convinced that the emotions used to wield dark side of the Force are more powerful than those used to wield the light,” Rey continues with conviction. “Compassion, love… these things aren’t passive in nature. Surely, not everything the Jedi taught about using the Force through these emotions was passive. And even if it was, that doesn’t mean such emotions can’t be used in other ways, perhaps ways that haven’t even been discovered yet.” Her eyes begin to sparkle with possibility. Kylo tilts his head in concession.

“That could be true,” he admits. “But I still don’t think anything can outmatch the unique ability of anger and aggression to harness the full power of the Force.” He juts his chin up decisively.

“I suppose that depends on your definition power,” Rey says quietly, looking down. “And I’m sure that whatever can be done through love doesn’t exact the same cost as what can be done through anger.” At this, Kylo sighs heavily, his eyes rolling upwards.

Just when he thought this conversation was going more smoothly than expected, she’s back to this again.

Rey looks up at him with solemn eyes but he doesn’t say anything. Why open up that subject again, if he can help it? He turns and begins to walk away.

“You know…” He slows at the sound of Rey’s voice. “When I appeared here today, you were on top of a droid, relieving it of its right arm,” she continues wryly, walking towards him. He stops altogether, though his back is still to her. He’s wary of where she’s going with this…

“You were so consumed in rage. You didn’t even sense my presence. Not then and for a while after. It was like nothing else existed except pain and anger and all its energy coursing through you.” He turns to face her, his expression guarded.

She walks right up to him and stops just a foot away, her eyes full of purpose but also soft and tender. They seem to pierce right through him.

“I felt how much you were enjoying it in the moment.” She pauses, unblinking. “But I also felt something else. How your body was screaming for you to stop, for you to heal. And something deeper. Like… a pain in your soul.” He closes his eyes and starts to turn away again, but Rey reaches out to stop him, gripping his forearm.

“Ben, you were the one who said that the bond brings us together when we’re feeling vulnerable.” She sounds earnest, pleading even. “All I’m asking you to do is consider that maybe, just maybe, there’s something about being in that kind of rage that’s a moment of vulnerability for you, even if it doesn’t feel that way at the time.” He pulls back, but she grips his forearm more tightly.

“Maybe the bond’s trying to get you to realize what all of this anger is doing to you.” At this, he jerks his arm away, aggravating the sharp pains in his shoulder.  

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” He spits at her with contempt. She flinches slightly, looking a little hurt, but she quickly hardens with resolve.

“I know what I feel through the bond.” She responds confidently. “I literally feel your pain, Ben. So, don’t try to lie to me. I know exactly what rage feels like for you, how it rips you apart—”

“Oh, come on, Rey,” he interrupts forcefully, stepping in closer, glaring at her with disdain. “You think you know the dark side because you saw me in a Force rage for half a minute? You don’t know anything. About the dark side, about the light side. You barely understand the Force at all.”

He steps forward, pushing her back, bearing over her, covering her with his shadow. “You’re a desert scavenger who’s only training was one week with a sad old failure of a Jedi. Why would I ever listen to anything an ignorant girl like you has to say about the Force?”

Rey’s head snaps back, eyes wide with surprise. She’s utterly speechless. He cocks his head snidely, challenging her to answer.

She looks up at him, her lips parted, surprise gradually deepening into a hurt expression. She maintains her gaze until her eyes begin to well with tears. Then she abruptly looks away, shaking her head briskly.

Kylo takes a step back, giving her some space, and observes her silently. As she wipes her cheek with the back of her hand, his chest tightens, feeling like its pulled in opposite directions. On the one hand, he still burns with resentment that she would even attempt to lecture him on how he should and should not use the Force. On the other hand… he hates seeing her like this. Especially when he’s the one who caused it.

Rey hugs herself tightly, eyes closed and head bowed, trying to collect herself. She takes several measured breaths, shallow at first but soon growing deeper and longer. Eventually, her shoulders relax and she drops her arms.

She continues to breathe steadily. He senses she’s not upset anymore. In fact, she’s entering what he can only describe as a meditative state. She feels calm, at peace, focused on everything and nothing at the same time. She stands before him like this for a minute, ignoring him completely, seeming unaware of her surroundings.

The suddenly, she does something very strange.

With her eyes still closed, she raises her right hand slowly. She stops just as she passes his injured shoulder and opens her palm, extending it forward not an inch away from his wound. She stands just like this, perfectly still, perfectly quiet, seeming to do absolutely nothing as several seconds pass. He tilts his head, eyeing her curiously.

Then he feels it.

A change in his body. The torn muscles in his shoulder begin to mend, to grow back together. His screaming nerves start to quiet. The throbbing gradually fades way. He watches, gaping, as Rey puts him back together again, taking away all of his pain until eventually, there’s nothing left.

Once he’s whole, she drops her hand, still bowing her head with closed eyes. She waits calmly for a few seconds before turning her face up to his.

She doesn’t say anything. Neither does he. They both just stare at one another. Her gaze is soft, not a hint of satisfaction or smugness or anything resembling pride. No, instead her eyes are full of something else, something he hasn’t felt from someone in a very long time.

He finds that he’s frozen, unable to move or speak, barely able to breathe. He can only stare at her, lose himself in her eyes, in this feeling he can’t quite believe is real.

She stares back at him wordlessly, as lost in him as he is in her.

Then she abruptly disappears before him like she has many times before, the loss of her presence making his heart drop in his chest.

But this time, her absence isn’t followed by that aching emptiness, that loneliness that tugs at him most cruelly just after the bond takes her away.

He’s much too consumed by something else to feel such a thing.

He stands in the center of the training room, still unable to move. His arms hang at his sides, his head still turned downward, looking at the space where Rey used to be. He’s still processing the shock of what just happened.

There are so many things he could be thinking about right now.

Like the fact that she’d clearly never done that before. He felt her acting out of instinct, not training.

Or the fact that healing is a very difficult Force skill to master, one that he never came close to being able to do himself.

Or the fact that what she just did is a perfect example of a Force ability that dark siders have never been able to fully accomplish.  

But he can’t think about any of these things. He can’t think of anything but how she was able to heal him, the emotion she tapped into to do it.

It’s very distinct. Though it’s been well over a decade since he’s felt anything like it, he recognized it immediately.

He doubts that she knows what it is. Why would she? She’s never had an occasion in her life to feel such an emotion. But she’ll recognize it for what it is soon enough…

He thinks back to those precious moments, her palm hovering next to his wound, the muscles in his shoulder growing back together. He thinks about that warm, steady glow that welled within her and through the bond, in him as well.

And for the first time, he allows himself to admit the truth.

That he’s been feeling that way about her for a long time. It’s something he’s known, but desperately tried to deny, to avoid. But now that he’s certain the feeling is returned, he can finally give himself over to it.

So, that’s exactly what he does.

He remembers the first few times the bond brought them together. He remembers what it was like to be seen, actually seen, after years of living his life under a mask. He remembers how terrifying that was. And how deeply satisfying. He hadn’t realized how much he craved it, how much he desperately wanted someone to know him, to see everything he is, even the things he’s spent his entire adult life trying to hide.

And when she saw that, when she saw his true face… her first instinct was to feel compassion for him.

Because that’s who she is. He has no idea how she could have possibly managed to become that way. Most of her life, she’s just tried to survive, completely alone, in a barren, sand-choked wasteland where practically everyone around her was willing to steal or lie or kill. Growing up in an environment like that, she should be selfish and callous. She should be bitter and untrusting, willing to betray the moment it’s convenient.

But she’s not.

Instead, she’s full of compassion and empathy. She helps perfect strangers, even when she has every reason not to. She can see the good in anything, even monster like him. She takes such pleasure in the smallest things, like a flower or the sound of rain. In so many ways, she’s still a lonely little girl. And yet she’s capable and brave, too brave sometimes. She’s imaginative, innovative, creative. She can fix anything. He’s never met someone who’s so vulnerable and so strong at the same time.

As he thinks about these things, that familiar feeling rushes upon him at once, but this time, he doesn’t bother to fight it, or bury it, or conceal it. He just experiences it, the crushing weight of it, so overwhelming it’s painful, but damn it’s the best pain he’s ever felt in his life. It’s an exquisite pain, not at all the kind that can be converted into rage. It’s only a manifestation of feeling so much, so deeply, all at once. It’s a powerful combination of every kind of desire imaginable. And now, he feels that desire blending with a deep sense of gratitude.

Because now he knows for sure that she feels the same way about him.

He stands still for several minutes, losing himself in these thoughts and emotions, until he finally wills himself to move, to turn towards the door and take one step, then another. He takes each step more quickly than the last until he accelerates into his normal, brisk stride. He presses a panel by the door and exits the training room into the wide hall of the ship.

But he doesn’t notice anything around him. He’s still in a daze, still lost in his own mind. He charges forward, seemingly with purpose, but he’s not paying attention to where he’s going.

He’s still consumed with what just happened, with everything he’s feeling.

And for just a moment, the thought occurs to him.

This emotion that’s coursing through him right now is more intense than anything he’s felt before. More intense than rage or hatred or fear. It’s so all-consuming, so deep, so dynamic.

It’s powerful. More powerful than he could have possibly imagined.

And it’s all the more powerful now that he knows it’s shared.