Just so you know, my canon is restricted to the original and sequel trilogies (I have forgotten as much of the prequels as I can) so I am making up stuff about the Force, etc., wholesale. If it ain't on screen, it probably ain't here.

And yes, I'm going to get them together. Eventually. *evil grin*

Rey.

The thought was as automatic as breathing. Just a moment before she had been smiling at him, alive, alive again, warm and vibrant under his hands, and now -

Where was she?

Not here. Confusion swamped him, and distress. He tried to reach for her, tried to lick his lips for one hint of her taste, but nothing seemed to work. He could feel something, but it wasn't the scintillating delight it had been - it was wrong - Rey -

He opened, and awareness rushed in.

Light danced around him, vast and so joyful that he almost couldn't comprehend it. There were no shadows anywhere but inside him, and even those seemed to be muted, grayed out by the intensity of –

- The Force, it had to be. Nothing else could be this powerful, this encompassing. It held him like a fish in the ocean, surrounded by light like infinite water.

I'm dead.

It wasn't entirely a surprise. He hadn't, after all, truly expected to survive Exegol. He had gone to find Rey, to help her, to be with her; and because he had been so wrong, and he had to try to mend what he had marred, even a little.

Grief tore through him. Rey. They were apart again, and it was his fault. If he'd listened to her, believed her, trusted her, he could have taken her hand instead and -

You would still be a monster. It was stark fact. Here in the endless light, there was no escape from the truth. He had chosen to be a monster, chosen again and again. He didn't deserve what he'd been given; and yet he couldn't stop wishing for it back.

Light, and guilt, and regret. He was still in it for a long time, unable to move; in fact, he didn't think he had a body to do the moving any longer. There was just him, and his memories, and his shadows, and his grief.

Even the joy did not touch his grief.

Ben Solo. It wasn't his name in words; it was an expression of all that he was, a discordant tangle of deeds and thoughts and emotions. Why do you hold your pain so close to you?

That which asked already knew the answer. But the reply flowed from him without effort. Because it is all I have left. And the other side of that coin: Because I deserve it.

The Force sang around him, music complex beyond his ability to hear it all, yet somehow heart-lifting. Will punishment change anything you have done?

No. He couldn't deny it. Nothing can change what I have done. That's why I deserve to be punished.

He couldn't understand why he was here, unless it was to be judged and destroyed. All the lives he'd ended, all the horror, seemed to drag at him, demanding that he pay, and he wanted to, wanted to spill himself out in expiation. His father's dying face, his mother's dying whisper. They were stains, filthy, ugly. He could never, ever be clean.

Certainly not clean enough for the light that surrounded him now. Not clean enough to deserve mercy, or forgiveness.

Deep in the shadows of his sins was one bright spark, the only thing he had left of her. Selfishly, he held it close. Rey.

He'd done something right, at the end. Even the bond they shared was tainted, some warped creation of Snoke's, but somehow she had saved him all the same. She'd declined to give him the death he deserved, and returning that gift to her had been the one shining moment of his life.

The spark seemed to pulse within him, life where none should be. Will I have to let it go? he asked the Force wistfully. That would be the worst punishment of all, to lose that light and all that went with it. He'd tried to draw her to him, but instead she had set her heels and her spirit and pulled him back around, out of the darkness – Rey –

He didn't have a body to produce tears, but somehow he wept all the same, for the ruin of it all and the terrible choices he'd made. Let it end, he begged. Let me stop. I should not exist any longer.

Who are you to decide? The statement was gentle, and it bewildered him. Ben Solo, you chose to do evil, and you chose to do good. Dissolution is for those who embrace evil without regret; their spirits cannot accept death, and so cannot survive. You are here.

Only truth was possible in the midst of that light. But –

You are here reverberated through him. You chose already.

He felt utterly helpless, pinned like an insect beneath this terrifying mercy, as if it might crush him into - what? The Ben Solo he should have been? What good would that do now?

There was no answer in anything approaching words, just a serene assurance that the question was...missing the point.

Something was coalescing within the brilliance, folding down into a column, taking form as it approached him. Ben realized it was a human being at the same moment he noticed he had a body again.

He looked down at it, distracted from the sharpening figure. The body was familiar, the tall and slightly awkward frame he'd finally grown into, but the scars and calluses on his hands were gone and nothing - nothing - hurt. He couldn't remember the last time he hadn't been in some form of pain.

But it was the blindingly clean robes of a Jedi covering the rest that raised his newly returned gorge. I didn't earn these.

He fumbled for the fastenings, but before he could undo them a hand covered his, stilling it.

Ben looked up.

Luke was neither the wild-eyed man who had stood over Ben's bed all those years ago, nor the stony image that had taunted him on Crait. Nor was he a young man, exactly; it was more as if all the essence of him had been distilled and purified, and poured into a familiar form to which age was meaningless.

The sight of him stole the strength from Ben's limbs. His incandescent fury no longer existed; all that was left was the guilt and pain that had lain beneath it. Ben buried his face in his hands, as if that would help, and sank to his knees. Skywalker twisted in his mouth to a choked "Uncle Luke - "

"Ben." The word was anguished, and strong arms wrapped around him, a firm embrace that he could not fight. "Ben, I'm so sorry for what I did to you."

It wasn't chiding; it was contrition. The apology was the last thing Ben expected, and without his rage he could not deny it.

And it hurt.

He curled into as tight a ball as he could, and shook, unable to believe the words, unable to defy them. No, no, how can he – how -

Luke held him through it, steadying him until the spasms subsided, until Ben could clutch a fistful of Luke's robes as if he were four again and whisper "I'm sorry too."

"I know." Luke pressed a rough kiss to the crown of Ben's head. "I know."

Time didn't seem to be a factor. They sat on some solid surface amidst the light; the Force was still all around them, but that sense of attention was absent, rather to Ben's relief.

And...they talked. Or conversed; not all of it was in spoken words.

"We did fail you," Luke said, his face serene, but Ben could feel the sadness and regret beneath. "I failed you. My moment of weakness drove you deeper into darkness."

And Ben could see it, sense it, Luke's horror and fear at Palpatine's shadow over Ben's heart, his panic and the shame that had followed when Ben had fought him off.

It soothed the old hurt, a little. But - "You were right, though," Ben said, unable to meet Luke's eyes just then. "I had already turned."

Memory spilled out of Ben in a tangled rush, the voices in his head, the fear, the disdain and rage. It was easy to see how his mentors had failed him, but Ben knew very well that his own pride and temper had led him into Palpatine's clutches.

"I could have chosen differently," he said in the end, head bowed. His hands gripped one another in his lap; it was odd to see them without the burn scars from his saber-work or the old slash from a broken wire on the Falcon. "I chose the Dark Side."

"That's true," Luke said quietly. "And it's a burden you will have to carry with you. But you never stopped fighting it, Ben. If you had, no one could have brought you back."

Ben blinked. Luke's words flipped his perspective inside out. Was I fighting to stay in the Light, all that time? He'd thought he was fighting the draw back to it.

It was so clear in his mind. The guilt overlaid with fury, the hurt and betrayal, the constant need to prove himself to someone who would never be satisfied. Trying so hard to be strong, while underneath doubt and desperate loneliness ate away at him.

All those opportunities to stop, and his pride and will won every time.

…Except the last.

"What can I do?" he asked Luke. "I can't fix it, I can't bring back all those lives. Can I be punished?"

Luke's mouth twisted wryly. "Ben…search your feelings. Your guilt and repentance is your punishment. Nothing anyone could do to you would make up for what you've done, and none of it would work as well."

Ben frowned. "But I – "

Luke put his hand over Ben's clenched fist. "This is pride," he said. "Turned backwards, but still pride."

The little burst of anger in Ben's chest was familiar, even comforting, and it horrified him. No! He gulped, and Luke's fingers tightened, helping him draw back from that precipice. He's right.

Luke's tone went humorous. "You're not special. None of us here deserve the mercy we're granted, but we have to suffer it all the same."

His eyes were twinkling, and Ben's face felt odd; when had he last smiled?

…Oh.

He looked down again. Body or no body, he could still see the shadows within himself, and the little spark nestled at the core of him. With infinite tenderness, he drew it out, watching it scintillate in the cup of his palms.

This is going to hurt.

Ben held out the spark to Luke. "Take it. Please, take it."

Luke sighed. "Ben, we just discussed this."

"No, it's not punishment, I – " He blinked, reconsidering. "Well…maybe a little. But that's not, that's not why!" Luke was giving him that skeptical look, and Ben swallowed, still holding out his hands.

"I don't deserve her," he said, bitter truth. "I never did. And she shouldn't be tied to a monster like me."

"I don't think she'd agree with you," Luke said dryly, and folded Ben's fingers over the spark. "Besides, once the Force has bound a dyad together, even death can't break them apart. As you can see."

"But we shouldn't be bound!" Ben's voice cracked. "Snoke said he did it, to, to force us together, it's wrong – "

And that was the worst of it, that something so sweet and strong should be nothing but the product of a twisted, malevolent mind. They'd fit together so well, those few brief moments when they'd finally stopped fighting it, fighting each other, themselves – to know it was false, coerced, that the best thing in his miserable life was a lie –

If they couldn't break the bond, what would happen to Rey? Forced to spend her life, maybe even after, with an evil tie to a broken man?

"Ben. Ben, listen to me." Luke's tight grip on his shoulder made Ben look up from his clenched fist. "Snoke lied. He tried to use that the way he used everything else."

Ben's spinning thoughts stuttered to a halt. Snoke had lied to him, again and again, but that was the Sith way, to make the apprentice find the truth in the lies - always the hidden motivation, the plot behind the words…

"I…how else could it happen? She's a Jedi. And I'm…what I am."

Luke sighed again. "Dyads are very rare, but they can't be coerced. Any bond put in place by the Dark Side – well, let's just say you'd be able to tell."

With the statement came knowledge, a vision of what such a thing would be like – hatred and compulsion mixed, a hellish drawing together without joy or tenderness. Ben pushed it away, shuddering.

"Ben, dyads exist for a purpose. They bind two uniquely matched people who are capable of bringing forth great change when united."

The memory was immediate, all the mingled terror and delight of it, of knowing not Rey's thoughts but her emotions, her intentions; of the solidity of a touch-warmed saber hilt hitting his palm, and the one exquisite moment of facing Palpatine together, without division or conflict.

It had all gone to screaming hell, of course, but it had given Rey the opportunity to succeed. "We did do that," Ben murmured, unable to resist a tiny surge of pride. More in Rey than in himself, but it had been a triumph.

"Exactly. Call it the Force's way of stacking the deck." Luke's smile was dry.

Ben looked down at his closed fist. The spark glowed so brightly he could see it through his own flesh. "But I'm dead. I can't help her now. And anyway…she deserves better than me." Because it was true; for all his remorse he was still a murderer of thousands, a monster who'd killed his own father and caused his mother's death.

Luke grimaced, impatient. "She's an impulsive, sometimes thoughtless, reckless young woman who makes wrong choices as often as anyone else. Don't put her on a pedestal, Ben."

Irritation edged Ben's voice. "I don't want to put her anywhere. I want her to be free."

No, his longing cried; yes, he told it sternly. Pedestal or no pedestal, she deserves better.

"It doesn't matter, nephew. Neither you nor I can break a dyad." Luke cupped a hand beneath Ben's fist, gazing down at the spark, and his voice was full of regret. "I should have done better by her."

"Is...is she okay?" Ben drew the spark back within himself, guilty and relieved, and nestled it carefully in the deepest spot.

Luke's hands opened in an uncertain gesture. "I think so."

That grabbed Ben's attention. "What do you mean, you think so?"

Luke gave him a sharp look, then relented. "The Jedi came to Rey on Exegol to help her defeat the Emperor…all of us. We made an agreement."

He sighed. "We can't approach her without her permission. She can invite us, but she has to make her own decisions."

Ben could see the sense in that. Having a thousand generations' worth of judgmental Jedi looking over one's shoulder would surely be enough to drive one mad.

"And she hasn't invited you." It wasn't a question. Rey, so fiercely independent, would probably try all other avenues before asking for help.

Luke shook his head. "She will eventually. But for now, we're forbidden."

Ben nodded mechanically. "I think...I think I need some time," he said after a moment. Whatever passed for a brain in this body was buzzing like a badly tuned shuttle drive.

Luke nodded and patted his shoulder, and for the first time Ben noticed that his missing hand was restored. "All the time you need," he said.

Ben puffed a breath, then frowned down at the robes his new body was wearing. "Do I have to wear these?"

The odd communion was still in place, because Luke laughed. "It's completely up to you. But for pity's sake, Ben, not black again." He gave Ben one last pat, and simply disappeared.

...How does he do that?

There was, apparently, a lot to learn.

Ben looked down again, and...it wasn't the Force he reached for. More some impulse within himself. But the robes became not the unrelieved black of Kylo Ren, but a simple gray tunic and trousers, the lines echoing the playclothes of his childhood. Gray as the shadows within him.

It would do.