Rey coaxed her little ship into the air, her hands trembling on the controls. She'd had three months to recover from death; Ben had had barely an hour. But then, she'd had three months to live with the awful knowledge that her other half was gone, and he, just a moment. Who was in the worse shape?
A mechanical whir in the back brought her back to the ship and made her blush furiously. It was the sonic refresher; Ben was, without announcement, getting himself cleaned up. She thought again of his promise – "Not here" – and felt that strange, foreign feeling catch in her chest. Thoughts swirled in her mind, mostly of him kissing her neck, his weight pressing gently but urgently into her, and she tried to push it all aside so she could pilot the ship out of atmosphere.
She flew slowly and carefully, forcing herself to watch the monitors and keep her mind on what she was doing. Uninhabited by any sentient beings, the planet had no shields she had to pass through; there was no one to tell that they were leaving, lifting up beyond its one moon and into the open space above. When she looked down at it, she could see the scorched spot where the temple had stood. Was it worth the sacrifice? What would Luke have thought of the loss?
And then Ben opened the cockpit door and ducked his head down to enter, and she thought, Luke would have felt it a more than fair trade. Ben was wearing a shirt cut for a man larger than he, perhaps even a different species; it was silver-grey with a gentle sheen and a notch cut out at the throat, an embroidered band of steel and pewter wound around the neckline. The front of the shirt was tucked into a pair of onyx-colored trousers, just a hair too short; then she realized that, no, the shirt was not too large for him: it was just the same fussy style as some of the men had worn on Naboo. Ben was wearing it unaccessorized and without the long, brocaded robes over top, without the golden chains around his neck, and without his hair carefully combed and curled into elegant artifice.
He gave her a resigned look, as if to say it was all he could find, but he looked like a prince. Rey remembered that his mother had meant to be a queen on her home planet; she had never not looked regal, even at the end of her days, on Ajan Kloss, when the war had run her ragged and exhausted. He wore these clothes with the same lightness with which Leia had hers, as if he'd been born in them. And he had been; here he was, prince of Alderaan, supreme commander, Jedi knight. For the first time, she could see that he had his mother's eyes.
He pushed his long black hair out of his face. "I'll get us into open space," he said, giving her a break.
Rey went back to the cabin, realizing, as she shut the door behind her, that she couldn't even think clearly with him so close. Her heart was beating so quickly in her chest that she had to stand and recite a meditation chant to catch her breath. She opened the cargo box where Ben had clearly found his outfit, pulling out the silken fabrics one at a time. Not one item seemed right for a scavenger from Jakku. She thought again about Ben, looking so … right in the same clothes she could hardly let herself touch. What would a woman wear to stand at his side? A shimmer of white caught her eye in the bottom of the box, and she drew out a simple shift, long and cool under her fingers. It was barely decorated; perhaps it was meant as the inner layer of one of those elegant outfits, like the gown she'd worn to the party. She hung it up outside the refresher and stepped inside, pulling the tawny dress Malla had made up and over her head.
She reached up to take her hair down, carefully pulling out the pins, letting the over-elegant braids and twists fall around her shoulders. Ribbons and jewels fell out of it, and she remembered why Ben had been so surprised by her appearance. She hadn't taken it down since she'd left Naboo.
She separated the metal hairpins from the wood, each in its own pile on the ledge of the refresher. She picked up the fallen ribbons and ornaments in a clump and set them on the other side of the threshold. Then she turned on the sonic stream, and let the sweat and dust pour off of her.
Clean and now a little cold, she pulled the white shift dress over her head. It flowed over her body like quicksilver, down to the middle of her calves. It was simple and maybe a bit too big, but she'd been mistaken to think it unadorned: embroidered flowers, the same shimmering white as the dress, densely encircled the wide neckline, thinning out in number the further away from her throat and down her chest. The same flowers went around the loose wrists and bottom hem. Some being had spent a month or more making a garment meant to be hidden underneath several more layers of ever-more-beautiful fabric. Rey's nut-brown hair, grown long and thick with so much care, hung almost to her waist when she pulled it out from under the dress.
As she did so, she felt the ship lurch to a stop. The tight, trembling feeling returned: fear, excitement … desire. Ben opened the door back to the tiny main room and entered. He didn't meet her eyes as he bent to pass under the doorframe and stood, tall and beautiful. Once, she thought she hated him; once she would have been afraid to be so close to him, with no weapon in her hand; once he'd been a terrifying presence – a monster, then a mystery, and now – now her breath caught and her heart pounded to look at him, her hands trembling, but not in fear. He took a step toward her, and she heard his promise again in her memory, "Not here," which meant Yes somewhere else. Here.
And then he swallowed her up in his arms, more quickly than she could respond; she made a soft sound, unsure, and he pressed his mouth to hers as if to catch it. There was nothing, nothing beyond the two of them. A thousand unspoken promises flowed around them, almost tangible.
"You saved me," he said between kisses, wonderingly, his fingers in her hair.
"You saved me first," she replied. He didn't respond, but pressed his forehead against hers. She realized, as if his thoughts were her own, that he didn't mean Ossus – or not only Ossus, but the ocean moon of Endor, where she'd plunged his own lightsaber into his chest. She hated the thought of it, of the pain, but his memory wasn't of that pain but of the healing that followed it. She had stabbed him and he'd only adored her for it. Rey's fingers found the hem of his shirt and lifted it over his head. She dropped it behind her and felt the satin flutter against her back as it fell. She ran her hand over him, over the place where the wound should have been. There should have been a scar – he should have been dead – but there was just his own smooth skin beneath her touch.
He was looking at her, she realized: looking at her while she examined him. The soft curtain of black curls fell over his forehead, a disobedient strand with a mind of its own. The scar over his eye was gone too, she realized, just then. She hadn't noticed it before, she'd been so focused on getting out in one piece, but now she reached up and moved the hair away, just to be sure. The scar she'd given him that night on Starkiller Base, with the snow falling all around – it was gone. She traced where it should have been with one finger, over his eyebrow and down his cheek. He closed his eyes at her touch, enjoying the soft caress, and she kissed him again.
It was, for she couldn't think of any other way to think of it, like coming home. This was home, Ben's arms around her, holding her close to him, two halves of a whole. Her entire life, every moment she hadn't been here with him, had been wasted: every second she wasn't beside him, pointless. This was all she'd ever wanted.
"You don't need this," he said, running his hand down her arm over the smooth satin and flawless embroidery. She didn't need to be a princess, a porcelain doll in fine gowns, her hair in perfect artifice, her face painted and nails polished. He'd seen her rage and fire, her tears, her childlike joy, and he held her close all the same. She closed her eyes – it was all too much to bear at once – and felt her heart beating hard. Sweetest terror.
"Take it off me then."
He startled, just slightly, against her, as if he hadn't expected her to say that. Even as he stood there half-naked himself. It was funny, really, that a man who wanted to seem so self-possessed could be so –
With one hand, Ben slipped the neckline of the shift over one shoulder and then the other, so that it slid down her body, catching on her elbows. She had just a moment to consider it before he slid his fingers down her arms, making her shiver, and the dress fell the rest of the way to the floor. She released the breath she was holding in, and when she opened her eyes, she saw him standing back, just a bit, his eyes lowered, looking at her all over. She should have been embarrassed, should have blushed, should have tried to cover herself, but when his eyes met hers again, she could only feel that strange, warm sense of happiness again that he was here with her for this.
And then he stepped forward, catching her up in his arms again, pressing her backwards to the little bed. He nearly lifted her up as she kicked to get loose of her dress, now a puddle on the floor, forgotten. The cot was too small for two, but neither of them seemed to mind the closeness it forced. She lay back against the blankets, Ben above her, all warmth and most welcome heaviness. She wrapped her legs around him and he ran his hands all over her, finding her breasts, her hips, between. Rey felt a little shock as he touched her there; when she looked into his face, there was, not fear, but concern, as if he worried he might hurt her. It didn't hurt, though – his hands were soft and his touch kind, wondering, awed, as if he couldn't believe any of it was happening. Neither could she.
Rey found the lacings of his trousers. They were loosely and incompletely tied, as if he hadn't intended them to stay on for long. That made her laugh just a little into his shoulder, and he laughed too at having been found out. He wriggled out of them, and then they were both entirely bare.
He pressed himself into her, hard and eager, but stopped. Rey opened her eyes and scoured his face; had she done something wrong? She was suddenly desperate to have him inside her, could hardly bear the anticipation. "Ben?"
"I've never," he whispered. The man who'd been Kylo Ren, Supreme Leader of the First Order, was a maid. It almost made her laugh out loud.
"Me either," she whispered back. "Go slow," and with her hand guided him into her. For a moment, his eyes shut almost as if he were in pain. As for her, she felt wonderful: he slid into her easily, fully. She hadn't been prepared for the intimacy of it, to have him that close, but it seemed right. Her entire life, they'd been bound together without ever knowing it, and since they'd met everything was different. Talking with him was like talking to herself. He was already the person closest to her. It was terrifying, and thrilling, and … wonderful.
Ben opened his eyes again and moved inside her, and that felt even better. Light was creeping through the little chamber, curling around them like a being of its own; a cool, blue light, gentle as smoke, seeping as through a crack in a wall, like purple dawn on clouds. "Are you doing that?" he asked when he realized.
She shook her head. It was neither of them, and both of them. And when he kissed her, it was perfect.