A/N: Omg please forgive me I HAVE TOTALLY LOST MY MIND. Every time I get these two in the same place my best plot-related intentions go out the window and I get goo-goo eyes and things tend to take a sharp left into a downward spiral of swoon. Which is to say—I regret nothing. :)
"With thee conversing I forget all time"
- John Milton, Paradise Lost
CHAPTER 9
Rey wakes from the dream.
Her head aches. Her body feels sluggish. Her consciousness floats down from the ether. There is no darkness of Ben's bedroom, no scent from his sheets, no smell of his skin driving her to madness. There are none of his things, his lingering presence, and there is no voice leading her to the balcony and telling her to jump.
There are no more horrible words.
(You will never be enough.)
Rey covers her ears, but the tears come freely. They soak the pillow, and she rubs her face against it. The cover is rough. This is her first clue.
She blinks, and her eyes open fully. The fabric is not red. She looks around. She is not in her room.
She stares at dirty white vinyl turned brown with age, folded into pockets. They line the walls, cocooning her in a small oval space. There is a blanket that covers her, rough and brown; it is the same blanket she wrapped herself in after she had jumped into the cave of mirrors. The one she had been wearing when she spoke with Ben.
And Ben?
She reaches out with the Force. There is no answer. There is only the buzz of soft blue light that bathes the crews' quarters during the nighttime cycle. She knows exactly where she is, and yet it cannot be. She knows exactly where she is, but it makes no sense.
She is aboard the Millennium Falcon.
Her body begins to shake. Her breath comes in convulsive gasps. She can't control it. The last week—the last two weeks—was it even real? If it was, how is she here? Have they just fled Crait? Is she still with the Resistance? Did she ever have that dream of bodies falling into the red salt cavern? Did any—any of it—on the run—Leia and Poe—the palace—was it nothing—was he—was he—
Rey stumbles out of her bunk. The cold metal grate is real. The smell of stale food and endless pots of caf are real. There is the dark of the ship but no hum of the hyperdrive. It is stopped.
"Chewie?" Her voices cracks with use. "Finn? General Organa?"
There are no answers. There is nothing she remembers. There is no palace of red and black, there are no Knights of Ren. No Alec. No Ben. She feels sick. She runs to the refresher and grips the sides of the sink as if they could keep her upright. Her head presses against the mirror. What is happening to me? She feels like crying but there are no tears left. Just a dark sinking void and maybe there is nothing to come back from because there is no one who will ever come back. She looks down and sees black, but it is not the Darkness.
It shimmers in the dim blue light; it moves. It moves with her. Rey wipes the dirty reflector glass with the side of her hand. She sees herself.
Hair down, eyes bloodshot, face swollen from crying. Her skin feels cold. There is too much of it. A deep V all the way down to her navel. A cinched gold belt. No breast bindings. No clothing underneath. Her leg peeks out from a waist-high slit. The same dress.
Beautiful child, lovely child. Show me what you can do. Go to his rooms, and he will come to you.
She did. She remembers.
Touching his things. The blackness of space that threatened to swallow her whole. His razor against her cheek. His clothes against her skin. She had purred like a cat. She had writhed in his sheets and there was hunger, so much. She had wanted release. She had wanted to take it, but the voice was there again.
Outside, dear child. He will see you there.
It all went so horribly wrong. The voice. Over and over telling her—commanding her—whispering with sweet abandon that he is never coming back.
Standing on the edge. Looking down. Make it stop.
Let it end.
Her name—falling, a hand reaches out to catch her.
Rey slides to the floor as the truth crashes around her: It was real. Except now she is on the Falcon. Now she is alone.
She wanders down the port-side corridor. Her movements are slowed, a syrup heavier than blood in her veins. There is no one. The main hold is empty, the gunnery compartments, the cockpit. There is only her.
The ship is docked. She can see green outside. Not the muted greens of Takodana. This is lush and verdant and sings with life. The nose of the cockpit touches ancient trees, and vines hang down like curious fingers.
Where is she?
The boarding ramp is open. She walks down it. There are vines, everywhere. Soft plants underfoot. A large green snake eyes her with interest from a nearby tree.
She is in a jungle.
Something calls to her. Not painful and noisy like the Dark, not like the dead Sith Lord's voice that had been tucked so deeply inside her brain; this is gentle and peaceful and for the first time in two weeks, she feels as if she can breathe again. Her feet are bare, but she can't find it in her to be bothered. She goes deeper and inhales the wet, perfumed air of a thousand living things. It is paradise after Coruscant. But how in the Force did she get here?
The peacefulness calls to her. She has heard so many voices lately that she should be afraid of them, but she knows this one will not hurt her. It does not even use words. It takes her feelings and shelters them, gives them safe haven and a place to rest. She walks further into the forest.
The plants begin to clear. In their wake is ancient stone. A structure once, but now it has fallen prey to nature, and Rey thinks it does not mind. She winds though stone walls, a crumbling maze; there are birds of such beautiful colors, tiny frogs with songs like bells. She can hear water in the distance.
At last, she thinks. I can rest here. I can be safe.
She crosses over heaping vines and down a narrow path. She knows where she is going now though she does not know why. Her steps are sure, her resolve is firm. She climbs around a partially decayed structure, and it opens into a clearing. She sees the waterfall. She sees boulders like chairs around a felled tree. She sees a man who sits there. A man from beyond her dreams.
He stands. He wears more clothes since the last time she saw him. Black of course, but softer, less rigid, a tunic robe and pants, belted in Jedi fashion.
"Ben?"
She is running. There is no hesitation. She is sprinting, and she can't even feel the ground. He is here. He has come back.
She jumps, and her body collides with his. Her arms wrap around his neck, her legs twine about his waist. She is the vine, she is the constrictor, she is never letting go. He is warm and so solid beneath her. She is trembling, and he absorbs every bit of friction. The Dark inside him feels different from the Light that surrounds her, but it is not bad. It grounds her. It tethers her consciousness to this reality where she is here and so is he.
"I was so scared," she whispers. "I was so scared you wouldn't—"
Gloved hands caress her back. "It's okay," he says. "It's okay."
He repeats it until it becomes a mantra, until it echoes with her heartbeat, until the tears fall and she buries her face against his neck. She cries and cries, but it does not hurt.
She presses her nose against his skin. "I missed your scent," she confesses. She has no filter anymore. "I missed the warmth of your body. Don't leave me—"
"I won't." The words are roughly uttered. They are seated now. Her legs are still wrapped around him. His leather-clad palms rest on her bare thighs. She wants to lick the skin at the base of his throat.
"What is this madness?" she whispers. She doesn't care anymore. She inches closer, until the greedy place between her legs finds something hard to rest against.
She's tried of fighting. It's so stupid, she thinks. There is nothing more pointless than trying to stop this. She has never felt freer than she does in this moment. She presses her lips to the hollow of his throat. His body snaps to attention as if it's been jolted by electrical current. Her tongue licks the salt of his skin. She feels drunk with the taste. She moves her hips against him, until the center of her rubs against the hardness of him and Maker—she wants to moan. Her hands are greedy too, pulling open the neckline of his tunic so she can touch his chest. She kisses the exposed skin there. She drags her lips across it.
"Rey—"
"Ben." She wants to eat every part of him. She has no idea what she is doing. She has never kissed another person in this way, has never felt feelings strong enough to act upon.
"Rey, no."
Yes, yes, we can. We can so much. I am not going to fight this anymore. She climbs up his body so she can reach his mouth. "I know you want this."
Strong hands grab her shoulders. They pull her back. His eyes are beautiful. Dark and serious and she wants to make them catch fire. She wants to make him beg.
"Rey." There is a firmness in his voice that wasn't there before. "We can't."
Back and forth. Hot and cold. She's getting irritated now. "Why the kriff not?" she snaps.
"Because you're drugged."
The ardor fades from her face.
"I'm what?"
Maybe that wasn't the best way to phrase it. She scurries off his lap, stumbling backwards until she involuntarily connects with a nearby rock and is forced to sit again. The haze she was in begins to lift and something else takes it place. The familiar anger burns bright between them.
"YOU DRUGGED ME?"
It's a good thing they are miles from the nearest village. He can feel the ground begin to shake and knows that it is her doing.
"Alec, did actually."
"ALEC DRUGGED ME?"
"On my orders." This is not going as well as he'd hoped.
It does not help that his body is clouded with lust. No, scratch that. Desire. He is not used to such things. The Jedi required a vow of celibacy and even after his defection, he had never seen fit to break it. There were too many other creative uses for passion, and he didn't want anything to distract from his ambition.
But now? Now, his body is on fire. Now he wants to crawl on his hands and knees and lay his cheek against her thighs. He wants to press his face to her center and do things he has only ever read about. He wants to hear her moan his name. Loudly. He wants to make her come apart. Her legs are still bare. The dress she is wearing has turned sheer in the bright morning sun. Her lips are swollen from kisses and her eyes are hot from rage and his own blood heats in return and he wants, he wants—
"I did it to protect you." His voice cracks with the effort to control what is inside him. "You nearly took your own life. You told me the voice from the library was talking to you, so I… it seemed logical that the only way you could be safe was if you were unconscious."
She frowns. "I don't remember that part."
Ben does. He strained the laws of physics to get back to her. He remembers seeing her motionless form, the look of terror on his Confessor's face, and a thousand other feelings much too complicated to name. He does not want to think about them now.
"The sedative used was a powerful one. There may be some memory loss but everything should return in time. I'm sorry. I didn't see any other way."
She is replaying something in her mind. "And then I woke up, and I saw you and—oh Gods." She buries her face in the palm of her hand. "I attacked you."
He wants to tell her just how much he didn't mind. "I should have said something sooner—"
"Where are we?" She is looking around now. "Why do you have the Falcon?"
"I captured it." I could not bring myself to destroy it is what he does not say. He does not tell her that he had flown to the other side of the galaxy in it, that he made some slight modifications to the hyperdive, that he noticed the changes she'd made to the compressor—he could tell it was her from the lingering scent on the coils—and thought them brilliant. "I thought the familiar would be comforting."
She rubs her forehead. "Disorienting, more like. But I'm glad you kept it safe." It is the closest she has come to a smile, and his heart soars.
There are so many things I have done, he thinks. I wish I could show you them all. "The planet—"
"It's strong in the Force, isn't it? The Light side. I could feel it as soon as I stepped off the ship."
"There were archives here once. And a temple and a school."
She raises an eyebrow and he knows her question.
"Not Luke's. Thousands of years before. During the Old Republic. I wanted to get you as far away from the palace as possible. From every reminder."
"Even you," she gestures to his black Jedi robes.
He shrugs. "I was trying to be considerate."
She considers him, and he feels self-conscious under her gaze. "They look good on you," she says, then adds playfully, "You are not meant to be a Sith."
He gives her a flicker of a smile as he remembers her old words. "I won't turn," he says.
The looks she gives him makes his heart stand still. "I am not asking you to."
Time slows, and he wants to preserve this moment forever. He wants to go back to the feeling of when he was wrapped in her arms, but she breaks away first.
"That's it, isn't it?" she clears her throat. "That's what was causing the pain between us."
"Hm?"
"The palace."
"Mostly," he says.
"Mostly?"
"I have theories."
Her stomach rumbles.
"Let's discuss them over breakfast," he says.
Kylo sets the dejarik table in the main hold of the Falcon. The food the palace droids packed is not elaborate, but there is plenty. Fresh bread, hard and soft cheeses, a smoked Isher duck and fruits from around the galaxy. He sits at the table and waits for her. Somehow, he does not mind being on Han Solo's ship; he is glad it is here, that it could be useful to her.
When she joins him, her hair is clean and damp and tied it back from her face. Her eyes are clear and free of the sedative that was lingering in her system. Her skin smells of the waterfall that she bathed in. She wears arm bindings and breast bindings (he cannot see the latter, but he can tell from the shape of her silhouette), and there are boots upon her feet.
The only thing missing is her Jedi garb, and that was likely because the droids forgot to pack it. If there had been more time he would have told them, but there wasn't. He'd been so desperate to get her away, kicking himself for ever bringing her there in the first place, like dropping her in a pool of slow-acting poison. He is not sure he will ever forgive himself for the fact she came to harm.
Instead of the brown and grey wrappings and pants there is a long gown cinched at the waist with a wide brown belt. The fabric is cream-colored and sturdy and hangs neatly without artifice. As Jedi as one can get from the selection, he assumes, and it makes him want to smile.
He doesn't mind her loyalty anymore. It doesn't anger him like it used to. She can be whoever she wants to be, he thinks. He just wants her safe. He wants her happy. He wants her to want him like she did when she was sitting in his lap, but without any other influences. Not even the Force.
"So tell me," she says, having consumed the whole duck and licked the last of the black plum juice from her fingers (Kylo thinks he may have stared for too long), "what are these theories of yours? I have a few of my own."
He gestures for her to go on.
"It doesn't hurt now," she says. "You and me."
"No." He wonders if she knows the answer.
"It's because I'm away from there, isn't it? The palace, it was… doing things to me."
"Yes."
"And the voice," she continues, "the voice I kept hearing was Plagueis. He told me so. He promised to teach me how to be powerful in the Force and I was stupid enough to listen. I began meeting with him every night—"
"In the library?"
"Yes."
"What did he say?"
"He told me that it wasn't the bond. He said it was me. May I?" She points to his hand. He instantly understands. He moves to take off his glove, but she does it for him. He watches as she holds his forearm with one hand while the fingers of her other tug each point of leather until it is removed. She places her small hand in his. She closes her eyes.
In the twenty-nine years he has been alive, he has never felt anything more erotic. It takes all of his considerable power to keep his body from responding. She gives him what is inside her mind.
Kylo hears her voice. He hears another voice too.
"The bond with Ben has grown too strong. It's hurting us—"
It's not the bond.
"Then what is it?"
Do you understand how loud you are? The Force barreling off you in waves, flying in every direction. It riles up everything around you. You reach out and they reach back.
"You mean the voices? But how am I doing that?"
Because you cannot control it, witless girl. That fool Skywalker didn't stick around long enough to help you harness it.
"So how do I harness it?"
First you have to understand it. You… project the Force. You amplify it. And that gives you tremendous power.
"Over what?"
Over everything. With training, you can wield great influence. But left uncontrolled, it's just a siren that deafens all who are around you.
"Like when I was in Ben's head. But, he was also in mine. That didn't have anything to do with projection. Why could he get inside mine?"
Go back to your first question.
"The bond?"
It seems you are not as stupid as you look.
"So… if I project the Force too loud… and the bond with Ben opens the channel between us… What do I do now?"
Now that you're aware, you need to control it.
"How?"
With practice.
"What did Plagueis have you do?" Kylo asks. Their hands are still joined, but Rey has temporarily stopped the connection.
"Try and influence the Knights of Ren while they were training. Control the outcome of a match."
"Were you able to?" He is genuinely curious.
She nods. "I think so. He also…"
"What?"
"He wanted me to use other powers. Seduction. Passion. To get their attention. To get yours."
Jealousy uncoils within him. "Was that the reason for the dress?"
She squeezes his hand again and suddenly he is transported to his rooms, to the vision he saw on Ahch-To, except he is in her head this time. She lets him have everything; she holds nothing back.
She is touching his things, writhing in his bed. He feels her desire and it sparks his own. When he hears her sigh his name, his body goes rigid. But then, everything changes. He hears Plagueis tell her to go outside. When it comes to the moment where she steps onto the balcony, he hears Plagueis' voice turn cruel. Useless child, garbage child. You are less than dust beneath his feet. He will never come back. No one will ever come back. They run from you. You are a plague. A curse. You are not worthy of love.
You are nothing.
Rey releases him from the vision. She is breathing too hard; she fears she has shown him too much. She feels ready to crack wide open.
"I never should have—" she presses her palms to her eyes, trying to block it out. "I'm so ashamed."
The room is still, and then she feels it. Two hands, one gloved and one bare. They take her hands and lower them into her lap. When she looks up, Ben is kneeling before her.
"I will find a way to destroy him," he says. "Even from the dead. I will never let him harm you again. I will never let anyone harm you." His voice is terrifying; it is the sweetest sound she has ever heard.
"Will you show me?" she says.
"Show you what?"
"How to protect myself."
He has had so many names. So many titles, wanted and unwanted. Prince by birth, scoundrel by heritage, heir to the most powerful legacy ever bestowed by the Force.
He looks up at this woman and there is a truth he knows with more certainty than anything else. As clear as the bond that flows between them.
He belongs to her. As if the Force has made him for this purpose alone. Kylo Ren, Ben Solo, the Emperor of the Known Galaxy is in this moment just a boy kneeling before a girl.
Strange, beautiful creature, he thinks. I would show you anything.
