A/N: I've seen The Last Jedi six times in theaters and it's made my life complete. It inspired me to vomit out my Reylo-centric fan-theories concerning Episode IX. So here you go. My ideal version of Episode IX.

Oh, and here's the obligatory "I don't own Star Wars."

Enjoy.

The Velvet Divide

Ben's eyes never left her.

They were the last thing Rey saw as the door to the Millennium Falcon slowly slid shut: a deep mire of brown, tinged with longing, regret. A plea. She hasn't felt him since, though his eyes continued to haunt her like a breeze on the back of her neck.

It had been three months. The Rebel Alliance had since settled in a remote system of the Outer Rim, far from the radars and claws of the First Order. They were growing slowly but steadily; their missions for recruitment and building financial support across the galaxy were increasingly successful. They now held the fort at 2,000 strong, a great triumph for such staggering odds.

And still he lingered through it all like a shadow at her heels, always on the cusp of coming into focus. In some deep part of her, in some deep crack in her resolve, Rey wanted him to. She yearned to see him clearly. She ached in this silence, becoming the same girl who carved lines into steel and stared into the sunset, waiting. Finn and Poe kept close, but something in her was irrevocably changed. Darkened. Awoken.

Her mind flooded as she sat alone in the makeshift mess hall. Rey wasn't hungry, but reluctantly forced the Basalt clams and dried kelp strips down her throat. Their current base stood stoically on an island that relied heavily on the planet's lavender ocean for food; it was a very different cuisine from her days in the Jakku desert, where sand rats and sun lizards were a delicacy when she grew weary of portions.

This island echoed her time on Ahch-To, whispering of her first awakening, of her first experiments with the force. Of Luke. Of Ben. Though the vibrant lilac ocean, palm trees, and white sands contrasted starkly to the sloping cliffs and jagged, jutting mountains on which she'd trained, she felt Ahch-To like the ghost of an embrace. The aching returned, and she pushed the empty plate to the other side of the table.

"You look distracted," Poe Dameron's voice suddenly echoed through the mess hall. She didn't flinch.

"I am," she replied without meeting his eyes. "What are you doing out so late? Don't you have to be up early tomorrow?"

She felt Poe slide onto the bench beside her. "Yeah. Unfortunately, I don't sleep much these days. I've lost the ability to dream, I guess. It's mostly nightmares now."

She stole a glance at him. He was quite handsome; his face edged and curved in all the right places, with soft stubble she could easily imagine scraping against various parts of her body... There was an easy allure to his countenance, topped off with a lazy smile that could charm a Bantha. But his eyes unnerved her. They were too deep of a brown, like charred caramel; they reminded her too much of Ben's. She could almost feel the heat of his gaze on her again, a persistent phantom. She nearly shuddered.

"I guess it's a burden we all must bear. Even Jakku never gave me such nightmares," she mused. "And that's saying something. I used to have constant dreams of being swallowed by the sands or of the day my parents left. But now I only dream of falling. Falling, and… fire."

He seemed to catch on. "There was nothing you could do, Rey." He sounded disappointed, almost frustrated. "You've got to let him go."

"I know."

She really did know it, but something gnawed on the walls of her skull. Ben Solo wasn't gone – couldn't be, not after the way he'd looked at her with those eyes. He was supposed to turn. She knew it. She saw it. What happened? Her anguish could only be eclipsed by General Organa's. Rey's mind drifted to their stoic leader. How would she react to seeing Ben Solo, then - a changed man? Would she sweep him into her arms and hum lullabies in his ear? Would she smile at him knowingly, as if to say, It's about time; you've kept me waiting. Rey wanted to see what General Organa's true smile looked like. Her lips pulled in the right directions, but the crinkles of her eyes only spoke sorrow. Alderaan, Ben, Han… what hasn't she lost?

Rey stood up abruptly, snapping out of her daze. "I think it's time for me to get some sleep – or at least try to." She hustled to the door, sparing one last look at Poe when she reached the threshold.

"Good luck tomorrow," she murmured. He looked dejected as he hunched over the table, hands knotting in his hair, but said nothing.

I'm sorry, she thought to herself as she returned to her shared room. She could never give Poe what he wanted; she just didn't have it in her. Not with those eyes of his, at least.

Everyone slept peacefully in their bunks, a soft choir of breathing filling the empty space. Rey noiselessly collapsed on her bed and stared blankly at the ceiling.

Her world was black.

The ground, the air, her hands – everything. Rey looked around frantically, futilely, until she realized she was dreaming. Deep breaths, deep breaths. She cringed as she anticipated the fall or the flames that unfailingly followed in the wake of sleep.

Nothing. Silence. Black.

Was this another test? A vision? Though she was already swaddled in crippling darkness, she closed her eyes and reached out beyond herself.

A small, shining orb rose before her, gleaming like amber on fire. Startled, Rey opened her eyes, still dreaming. The small orb hovered before her, bathing her in light and warming her skin. Gingerly, she plucked it out of the black air and held it close to her face. She stared in wonder at her distorted reflection, which continued to stare back as she rolled and toyed with the orb in her hands. Slowly, her reflection faded like rippling water. The orb was trying to show her something… she brought it closer to her face and gazed deeply into its tawny depths, ignoring the growing, sweltering heat. Sweat matted the stray hairs to her forehead as a new image came into focus. She stared with wide hazel eyes, her mind briefly recalling the cave under Ahch-To. She was ready for answers, now. Her breath hitched as the last details came into focus—

There was a sudden flash of brown, and she shot up from her covers gasping. She tumbled out of bed and staggered precariously to the fresher, shuddering as strands of sweat streaked down her back. She yanked the shower dial to the coldest setting and threw herself inside, not bothering to undress. She put her back to the wall and sank down into a crumpled slump. Her wits and senses slowly returned as the cool water pelted her face and penetrated the fabric of her clothing. It ran down her body in rivers and left in waves.

She didn't know how long she sat against the wall in rivers and waves, roiling in the push and pull of her emotions. She was the ocean, and a tempest was brewing.

"Ben."

Whispering his name aloud made this real. It was him.

Why? Why now after three months of silence? She leaned her head back against the wall, letting the shower rain down on her neck. Her shivering disturbed her thoughts, and she found her fingers were numb as she went to crank the water off. She focused on this instead – the numbness, the icy prickling racing across her skin, the weight of the wet clothes hanging on her body.

So much for sleep.

Ben Solo stared unblinking at his fists. She was back. Her face swam before his eyes in a sudden halo, a flash of hazel shock. The glare of it still stung the back of his eyelids.

"Supreme Leader," Hux's drawl snapped Ben out of his reverie. Hux's pale face pinched in contempt. "The preparations are complete."

"Good. Gather them immediately."

Ben pushed past him without deigning to spare a glance. This was impossible. Snoke was dead - he killed him. The memories surfaced, unbidden: Snoke's cauterized, stumpy remains charring his own throne, the cackling of Ben's saber as it ran through flesh, the tang of Rey's musk as she whirled like a goddess next to him... Thinking of her sent a ripple of fire through his chest. Traitor.

He shoved the door to his quarters open violently, and was in the fresher in five long strides. Steam suddenly erupted and coiled above him, blurring his reflection behind fog. The water wasn't nearly hot enough, but he stepped in anyway. He wanted to burn; he wanted raw, red skin. He needed to purge her from his mind, pluck her out by the roots.

He traced the outline of his scar, puckering edges and bottomless valleys trailing past his collar. Her eyes were fire when she'd gifted him this; he knew then that they were the same. The same burning rage, the same lonely souls. Three months ago her calloused hand reached for his across a low-burning fire; she was all chocolate and golden skin, a siren calling to something that had long lain dormant in his core.

He slammed the shower off, bracing himself against the tiled wall. Droplets slipped between his parted lips. She called to him, came to him, and left him. Abandoned him.

She would be the death of him.

Thanks for reading! I have the next few chapters under way, so look forward to them…

And as always, I'd love to hear what you think.