Star Wars: Division

Division: a): the act or process of dividing; the state of being divided

b): the act, process, or an instance of separating or keeping apart

I was recently inspired to write this fanfiction, but it has been a very long time since I've written fanfiction; I mostly keep to stuffy essays for my graduate studies and humble attempts at writing novels. Here's hoping this fun little side project I've decided to undertake is enjoyable for the readers. I'm new to the site - I'm doing my best to learn the ins-and-outs of this site. Please be patient!

His leather glove tightened on nothing - another lie. Luke Skywalker was certainly a master of deception, if nothing else.

Standing to his full height, he turned and approached his General, the sneer on Hux's face all too familiar. With a nonchalance that betrayed his usually temperamental personality, he took his General carefully by the lapels and gave them a nice straightening and adjustment, then slowly brushed them off with his gloved hands. "Snoke thought of you as a rabid dog, General," he said evenly, their faces inches away from one another. "And he believed a rabid dog could be a useful tool. But you must know," he said lowly, almost to the point of a whisper, "I believe the only way to cure a rabid dog is to put it down like the maddened beast it is." He angled his face, slightly, to glimpse Hux out of the corner of his eye. Not unexpectedly, Hux was gazing at him from the corner of his eye, too, and he very audibly swallowed.

Kylo Ren stood rod straight and stepped away from his long-time rival-turned-underling. "Ready the forces for departure."

Hux clicked his heels together. "Yes, Supreme Leader," and then he quickly directed the stormtroopers to turn back. He smartly walked forward, turning from Kylo Ren, and his guards followed behind as troopers emerged from the depths of the base to head out.

"And General?"

Hux halted and turned to look back over his shoulder, tensed.

"Remember my words."

Hux turned himself forward and continued on without a sound. He would hate to give his nemesis the satisfaction. But he did raise a gloved hand to tug along the front of his neckline nervously, and Kylo Ren did not miss that.

No, he suspected there would be very little he would miss in regards to Hux, who he planned to keep a very close eye on; enemies closer, and all that. He wasn't a fool - Hux was not thrilled to be under his direct command, and a coup or assassination attempt would certainly not be beyond his estimations. Kylo Ren would have a lot of work to do in regards to finding out where all of his subordinates' loyalties lied. The Knights of Ren would not be enough to keep his throne.

In defeat, the First Order closed up all its hatches, and brought back all of its land equipment, and made do cramming everything into the remainder of the fleet post the Vice-Admiral's heroic suicide. Kylo Ren sneered - self-sacrificing righteousness. It was one of those defining factors between the likes of the Empire or the First Order and the Rebellion and the Resistance. Empire and First Order leaders alike never threw themselves in the line of fire - too selfish. Whereas the Rebellion and Resistance leaders wasted no time throwing their life away if it meant their cause could use their sacrifice to live on. Heroics. He snorted as he gazed out of the Finalizer's bridge viewport. Back aboard the ship, he was monitoring the spread of the First Order across the galaxy. With minimal effort, the New Republic had been shattered; with the loss of the Hosnian system, which had included the Senate and most of the Republic's military forces, the remaining planets were beginning to pull away from the fragmented government in order to protect their own interests. Some planets, such as that of their Centrist Senator-turned-spy Carise Sindian, were already aligning themselves with the First Order, as had been planned all along. And while the First Order had spent so many years preparing for war and the eventual destruction of the New Republic, the Republic itself had let its military prowess stagnate due to peace, and because of their ridiculous Military Disarmament Act, passed with such a false sense of security. No one paid any attention.

No one was noticing the tragic, bloody repetition of history except him; why was he the only one seeking a new path, a new way? Let the past die. It was time to truly bring balance to the Galaxy. It was his time.

Then:

Everything ached. It ached as if she'd spent three days hard scavenging with no rest and no food. Something in her head must've been jarred loose because as she raised it she could only see in double. With an exhausted noise, her arms gave out and she fell right back onto the solid steel floor. The Fleet. There wasn't any time to be tired and weak. If she didn't pick herself up off that dark, soulless floor and get down to Crait, then all of her friends would be cannon fodder for the First Order, and everything she'd built for herself would be lost. With a steadying breath she granted herself the barest moment of reprieve, closing her eyes to help swallow down the stirrings of nausea. Then, when she opened them back up and the room looked fairly stabilized, she pushed herself up off the ground and grabbed the broken pieces of her lightsaber. She was going to go and leave it at that. Her friends counted on her. But there was one friend who had also counted on her that she had disappointed. She stopped in her escape and turned around. There he lay, sprawled across the floor just as she had been. How could his face appear so calm when inside, she knew, he was a tumultuous mess?

"I'm sorry," she whispered amongst the chaos and destruction and the constant hiss of the sparking electricals. "I'm so very sorry, you must understand." But her words never reached his ears because the violence of the room was too loud, and killed them.

With that, she turned and raced her way to Snoke's private transport. He certainly wouldn't be needing it anymore.

Rey sighed as she sat forlorn at the Falcon's helm, watching the blurred blue lines of hyperspace as they passed by in that tell-tale rush. She was alone; Chewie was resting, as was everyone else, and she had sought refuge in the cockpit to mourn the events on the Supremacy before it had been cleaved asunder by Holdo. And before she'd denied Kylo Ren his offer. Things had certainly not panned out as expected - "This isn't going to go the way you think," Luke pleaded - but she wasn't sure if it was because of her or because of him. She had seen him turn from Snoke, and he had done that, surely, by murdering him, and yet he kept himself aligned with the First Order. He had not bowed, as she told him he wouldn't, and with chagrin she began to realize her interpretation of the vision had been wrong. Or, more accurately, she had assumed things from the vision because she had wanted to, had wanted to believe Ben Solo was resurrected from the grave and was about to turn the tide of the war in the Resistance's favor. All she had accomplished was giving Kylo Ren the lead role in the Order, and he was not the most stable of people.

She slammed a fist down on the console in frustration. She had been arrogant, just like Luke had said of the Jedi of old; she had wanted to make things right without understanding any of the machinations, but believed she could out of sheer force of will. She knew nothing of the Galaxy's history, or the Senate and the New Republic, or the First Order, for that matter. She knew nothing of Luke Skywalker and his past, or that of the Jedi's, of the way of their Order. She knew nothing of herself or her newfound powers. She knew nothing of Kylo Ren. And yet she had gone to the Supremacy with misguided hope, all under the cover of pride. She had been a fool.

Now what? Everyone left alive to fight for the Resistance was able to fit - albeit it tightly - onto the Falcon, which was certainly no battle cruiser. Their numbers had been dwindled down to the barest reaches, their cruisers, support ships, bombers, X-wings, had all been wiped clean off the board by the military strength of the Order and Snoke's lethal command. Leia had said the pieces the Resistance needed were all right there, with them, but after everything that had transpired over the past 24 hours - the evacuation of D'Qar, but destruction of their headquarters, the loss of their entire bomber unit and half their X-wing fighters, the end of their military navy due to the inability to refuel, Holdo's suicide, her own failure with Ben, all of that and more - she didn't see how they could have any hope for the future. And she had turned her back on possibly her one chance to truly make a difference by joining the man in power, and she'd answered him by taking her lightsaber right from his grasp. She had been a fool to go to the Supremacy in order to win over Ben Solo. Had she also been a fool when she turned down the offer of Kylo Ren?

Too late, the possibilities of what she could have done in a position of high power passed through her mind. With her at his side, perhaps Kylo Ren could be reasoned with, his decisions guided and tempered as they figured out a way to navigate the politics and problems of putting the Galaxy on a better course - for a better future. What if he'd already intended that to begin with? She slammed her fist on the console again, but in anger. She hadn't listened to Luke, and that was where all this confusion had begun. Now she couldn't be sure what was Light and what was Dark. Where did she go from here?

An hour later? Eight hours later? Five minutes? Chewie came up to the cockpit and took the co-pilot's seat. He gave her a sideways glance as he checked on the system and the navigational computer, and all the routine things a pilot and co-pilot do, over and over, out of pure habit. She knew what his gaze meant, though she quirked a brow in defiance and stayed sitting in the pilot's seat, even as she slumped from exhaustion.

"How about you give me a chance to fly this thing, huh," came the upbeat voice of Poe, who seemed impervious to fear or worry or sadness. "Chewie said he wanted to show me the ropes."

That really did make Rey's eyebrow quirk because she knew that was a load of bantha crap, and Chewie's smirk confirmed it. It was all a plot to get her out of her comfortable hideaway and into bed to sleep. Chewie gave her a verbal push and she threw her hands up.

"Fine, fine, fine," she said pushing herself up from the seat by the armrests. "Sure, whatever. Take over Poe. Force me to sleep."

Poe smiled. "Nothing personal."

"No, it's quite all right," she said tightly and moved passed him, her nose in the air.

Her cot was located in the cargo hold - the only bed there, and the one she'd elected to take in order to have a lot of needed privacy. Having a Jedi for a brother Leia must have understood, because she quickly agreed to it. With a sigh, Rey flopped onto the end of it and began taking off her boots, undoing the laces slowly due to sleepiness. It was just after she fought down a large yawn that the sound of the void began ringing in her ears. No, she thought desperately. Please not now.

Too late. Having also sensed the vacuum, Kylo Ren was already turning to face her, and when their eyes locked onto each other there was a ferociousness between them the likes of which Rey had never known. It was too much to say she hated him, but she was furious - what had he been thinking? The voice inside that asked her the same thing was quickly squashed under the boot of her rage.

His mouth worked from side to side, whether from anger or misery she couldn't tell. He looked her up and down, as if sizing her up for a battle, and it made the pit of her stomach give out. Was he looking for a fight, so soon after their last? Would he ever be done?

She looked exhausted, he noted, and there wasn't a lightsaber at her hip - a good and bad sign. Good because it meant she had no formal weapon, bad because it meant they had truly done damage to his grandfather's lightsaber. "Where is it," came the echo of his deep voice through the Force.

She didn't need to ask; she knew immediately what he meant. "Safe," was all she'd let him have by way of easing his mind.

"And the kyber?" It was the most important part. As long as it survived, his grandfather's legacy would live on.

The question confused her. There was a slight furrow in her brow, and she'd frozen in her activities of idly unlacing her boots. "The what?"

He sighed - so untrained. But so powerful, came the thought in the back of his mind, unbidden. If you could teach her - "The crystal. The blue crystal kept inside the handle."

Comprehension eased the tension in her face. "Yes, I know it. A ky-ber, it's called," she let the word sit on her tongue a moment, soaking it in, committing the Jedi vocabulary to memory. "It's intact."

He nearly sighed with relief, but caught himself. Still, it was good news - great news. He could rebuild the rest of the saber with ease. The kyber was always the most important part in any lightsaber.

Silence descended between them like a Grim Reaper, heavy and morbid. They both looked like they had so much to say, yet neither wanted to utter a word. Between them existed a lot of stubbornness of personality and a lot of strength of will. Rey turned from him slightly and finally finished removing both of her boots, which she set to the side of her cot. Still stiff with stubbornness, she stood and quickly shook out her thin, wooly blanket, and then she made to climb in and go to sleep and let the connection die all of its own accord.

"Why couldn't you say yes," his voice echoed across time and space.

She was half way into her bed already when his words stilled her. She raised her eyes sadly, gently, and met his gaze. What could she say? That she had just been sitting down for a good think and realizing she may have made a grave error in turning away from him? That she was beginning to seriously think about the opportunities that would've been open to her if she'd said yes, and was at that very moment by his side in the Finalizer's war room, drafting plans together?

That truth was too heavy for either of them to process; she could barely wrap her head around what her own mind was trying to do in concerns to that topic. So, instead she said, "You told me that night I wasn't alone. And I told you you weren't alone, either. I meant what I said. You should know how loyal I am to my friends."

He did not meet her eyes, though they bore into him like a knife, stabbing at his loneliness and pride. Why had he said such a ridiculous thing? And why did her kind reminder make him remember so well the vision he'd seen when they'd touched fingers? To quell the rising sentiment, he brought up his hurt, which churned into anger. "Your friends," he said the second word harshly, as he had done when interrogating her in his torture chamber, "are more important than the fate of the Galaxy? You saved them, and? What if hundreds - thousands of others die in this war. You can live with that?"

She did not like how he made it sound - like the war was her fault, like the Resistance was her fault. Not too long ago she had been a simple scavenger on Jakku waiting for the return of a private ship to call her home. All that aside, was he trying to say she should've simply let her friends die? "Have you no loyalty?" she sneered.

"I'm loyal to my ambition, something a scavenger wouldn't understand."

Her mouth thinned as she clenched her jaw. "Is that what you think? That I'm a simpleton with no dreams?"

"You gave your life over to living on that hunk of sand and misery all in hopes of your parents returning. That was enough for you." His mouth worked in frustration. "Look where it got you."

She huffed, "Yes, the love of my parents - thinking they'd return to take me back in their loving arms - was enough for me." She set her chin defiantly. "Why wasn't it enough for you?"

He tightened his fist and squeezed in some unconscious attempt to wring her neck, choke her like he so often and enjoyably choked the cur that hounded his heels. What he wouldn't give to see her knowing, piercing gaze roll up into the back of her eyelids while desperately grasping at her throat, the color quickly rising in her face while her lips blanched deathly white. He was growing so weary of her insight into his thoughts and feelings, of the digs and jabs she threw verbally that cut him to the quick. There was no mistake Kylo Ren had been burned in his life and wounded by those he loved, but she was certainly slicing him open in ways he had never thought possible.

"You know nothing, Jedi," he spit the epithet like a curse. "You gravitated towards Han Solo like a kicked animal, pathetic and mewling. And what? He told you you were a good pilot and gave you a pat on the head and his signature smirk, and you think that makes him a good father? You think you know all there is to know?"

Stung, she stepped backward, blinking furiously at the rising moisture in her eyes. How badly she had wanted to cling to Han Solo and Chewie and the Falcon as a home she was returning to after a string of long, lonely years. It had been so natural. Felt so good. But she realized part of what Kylo Ren said was true: she had been a wounded animal that would've been content with anyone that reached out a kind hand. She would've followed anyone home - like a lost kitten - if they'd been even remotely decent. A family - it was all she desired. It didn't even matter if she knew the person or people or not; if they gave her the chance, like Han Solo had offered - that blissful offer to board his ship and fly with him - she would feel connected to them and form a friendship to quench her starving soul. And she had done. Han Solo had become a surrogate father in a matter of days, and she took his death like she had actually been his daughter. But none of it was true. She was nobody, as she had so cruelly admitted to herself. She came from nothing, as Kylo Ren so brutally pointed out. How could she ever belong anywhere?

"But you've always had a home," she said quietly, swiping at her eyes angrily. "With the likes of your parents, you must have lived comfortably. You could have anything you wanted. You were going to grow up to be a world leader and a Jedi. That wasn't enough, either."

"Being a pampered prince or gluttonous Senator is not what I wanted," he ground out through stubbornly grit teeth. "So, no, it wasn't enough. Don't you understand?"

"No," she said with a sudden burst of exasperation, throwing her hands up. "No! No, I don't understand. Explain it to me because apparently I'm just a stupid scavenger. I'm not smart enough to puzzle it out."

On that she was wrong. She was far from stupid, far from not smart enough, and he knew it well as the constant victim of her wit and powers of perception and empathy that gave her a profoundly worldly knowledge of people - of him. Where these qualities were his biggest weakness, they were her greatest strengths. She read people like books. And he relied on stoicism and - if necessary - violence to navigate interactions with people. They were so foreign and unknowable to him. But she picked up on their tells and their thoughts inherently through her unique connection to the Force.

He hated it.

He hated how her hazel eyes dissected him so clinically, with such precision it went straight to the bone. She exposed him. She made him vulnerable. It was difficult to look her in the eye. She had called him a monster, and he was. She had sensed he was conflicted, and he was. She sensed there still lingered remnants of Ben Solo, and there did. She sensed he wanted redemption.

He did.

How could someone know him so well, but for so little time?

"I want to change the Galaxy," he said imploringly, advancing towards her. "I want to end this useless cycle of the Sith, the Jedi, the Empire, the Rebels. It only tears the Galaxy apart, creating misery and death and spilling blood in its wake," he spoke with so much emphasis on those last words his fist shook. "Surely you feel it."

She swallowed. He meant felt it - through the Force. The way it jerked and tugged at odd moments that would make her dizzy if she concentrated on them for too long and let them in. There was a natural cycle of life and death that occurred because it needed to - because it should. But then were incongruous occurrences that sent ripples throughout the Force that anyone sensitive might feel, as if someone were reaching in a sly finger and plucking a dissonant heart string for fun. It was lurching and awful, and she quickly closed herself off from it to avoid dry heaving due to an empty stomach.

"You do," his low tone echoed, booming in her ears at the same time.

"Yes, I do," she said with a gasp of air from the lingering hints of pain. "I do." The prickles along the base of her neck were so blinding she'd doubled over, hands on her knees. When she looked up to search his face - to really read his intentions and perhaps help her decide on the path forward - he was gone.