Finding a place to land after Exegol turned out to be far more complicated than Ben thought it would be. The major hyperspace lanes were flooded with Resistance friendly craft riding the high of the defeat of Palpatine's Final Order, causing him to take much longer and more hazardous routes through known and unknown space to get anywhere. Then he had to think of a destination that might still allow a First Order TIE to land without turning him over to the Resistance on sight.
In the end, Cantonica's reputation for catering to both sides of any conflict won out. At last the city of Canto Bight glowed in the darkness ahead. His eyes were gritty and the landing lights blurred in his vision. The med unit had beeped at him regularly for the past 36 hours, warning him to stay hydrated, reminding him that he hadn't slept. He'd considered disabling it with his fist, then took a few deep breaths. That's not how Rey would handle it, he reminded himself.
At last he landed the TIE ship in a quiet hangar off the main flow of traffic and wiped its trip log. It wouldn't take long to sell it, not with this many weapons dealers in one place. A few words to the hanger boss started the process.
He limped down a side street, his right knee still weak, catching the eyes of a few passersby who quickly looked away. Some even crossed to the other side of the road. When he caught sight of his reflection in a shop window, he understood why.
The last few days had marked him. His black clothing was torn and covered in dust. Dried blood matted his hair and left rusty smears on his neck. His eyes were swollen, red-rimmed, and blood shot as if he'd spent the last two days crying.
Worst of all, he looked exactly like he felt—lost, haunted, hopeless. If he were to tell someone he was Kylo Ren, Supreme Leader of the First Order, they would laugh at him. There was no way this broken pitiful creature had once commanded legions, had crushed planets into submission, had slaughtered cities full of innocent people . . . had ended the Jedi. And all to fulfill some perverted vision of his destiny.
Nausea rolled through him at that thought and he dodged into an alley to lean against a building and dry heave, suddenly very aware that he hadn't eaten in days. The effort made his knees weak, and he pressed his forehead against the smooth cold stone until the world stopped spinning around him.
He pushed away from the wall and began looking for the nearest lodgings, suddenly desperate to get out of the public view. A few blocks away, he opened an ornate door to reveal the foyer of a very expensive hotel. The stone floors glistened with streaks of gold and copper and his boots left dusty prints as he walked across it. Kylo Ren would not have cared, but the man he was now felt certain his mother would not approve. For the first time in a very long time, he didn't fight that feeling.
"Sorry about the dust." The apology to the desk clerk probably didn't sound very sincere, but at least it was an apology. "I need a room. One with a very large bath. And food sent up. Lots of it."
The angular face of the being across the desk gave him a disdainful look of chilly appraisal.
No, he apparently did not look anything like a commander of legions at the moment. Instead of indignation, he felt relief instead. He simply pulled over the registration keypad and input a long string of code.
As his creditworthiness scrolled up the screen of the desk, the clerk blinked their double eyes, then covered their astonishment quickly. "At once, Mr.?" They leaned forward in anticipation of a name for the record.
To his surprise, the name "Kessel" slipped through his lips without hesitation. His dad would have laughed.
The clerk summoned the service droid. "Show Mr. Kessel to his room."
"Of course. At once. Follow me, please." The silver service droid's intonation reminded him of C3PO. He reeled beneath the sudden flood of memories and his steps faltered.
"My apologies, sir. Would you like me to carry your luggage?" it asked.
He shook his head and twisted the strap of her bag tighter in his fist, unwilling to part with it. The droid led him to a large corner suite on the top floor of the building. He placed Rey's satchel on the oversized bed and took the keycode from the outstretched silver hand. The droid's head tilted briefly in apparent communication with the desk and said, "A selection of appetizers and beverages is on its way to the room along with a full menu. I have also been instructed to advise you of our laundry facilities. . . if needed, of course."
He took the hint and promptly stripped, wincing at the pain in his knee as he removed his boots. "Have these cleaned and mended," he instructed as he passed over his filthy garments, then added, "please."
"At once, sir," the droid responded politely.
Once the droid left, he locked the door and headed into the bath. The desk clerk did well—the bath was large enough for him to float in, an indulgence shipboard living never allowed. As the tub filled, he checked his injuries in the large mirror. His chest was still black and blue on his right side, now turning a sickly shade of yellow. He poked at it. It was tender but otherwise healing well. His knee was a little puffy and painful, but held his weight. Then he reached up to his face.
The scar across his face and collarbone was gone.
His chest was bruised and scraped raw in places from his recent injuries, but the long slash Rey had burned into him on Starkiller Base had healed completely. So had the smaller burns on his arm and shoulder.
He checked other places. He still bore the scar on his lower back from one of Snoke's more abusive training sessions as well as a nasty white line on his left thigh from the spear of a very accomplished Ts'ung'a warrior who'd gotten past his defenses. He even still bore the mark on his left side from Chewie's bowcaster shot at Starkiller Base. But all the injuries Rey had given him had been erased from his body.
Her gift to him. An apology? He ran his hand down his now unblemished cheek and wished he still had it, evidence that she'd been there, her mark left on him forever.
He stared at the stranger in the mirror. A man he didn't know. That man just stared back at him, haunted, haggard, and drawn.
And filthy. The dust of Exegol coated his entire body. The bath was nearly full, the water steaming. He turned away from the mirror and paused at the edge of the giant tub. If he stepped into it, he would wash that dust away. It would be gone. In a few days the marks on his body would heal and fade as well, like none of it had ever happened.
But it had. He'd lost everything. Keeping the dust wouldn't bring any of it back.
He stared down at the water for a long moment, then took a deep breath and forced himself to step in. The recirculation pumps began the process of washing the legendary planet of the Sith right into the sewers of Canto Bight. He lay back until he was nearly submerged. Cleansing particles loosened the matted blood from his hair, and the now clean strands stretched out in the water around his head, brushing his face. The warm water washed around him. He instructed the lights to dim and let himself float, the water covering his ears, masking out sounds.
Quiet.
So quiet inside his head. That constant driving anger and lust for power was gone. Once, the tension inside him threatened to tear his spirit apart. Now all was quiet. He felt vacant.
He was simply a collection of empty places in the Force.
"Mr. Kessel?" the droid beeped through from the door. "Your meal has arrived."
"Leave it. Lock the door behind you."
Moments later it beeped again. "I have your clothing."
"Leave everything on the bed," he instructed, never moving in the tub. "Lock the door behind you."
"Of course."
He floated and breathed and tried not to see the holes inside him. After all, he'd spent the past two days weeping into the vacuum of his life. He needed to face the truth. He had no one. He had nothing. He was nothing.
"Not to me."
He struggled to his feet, sending a wave of water splashing over the edges of the bath. "Rey?" He cast out his feelings into the Force, seeking the bond between them, willing it to him, one hand outstretched, reaching for her with all his might. Water streamed down his hair and into his eyes, blurring his vision. He closed them.
"Are you there?" Silence filled his head. "Rey, if you can hear me, answer me."
More silence. A memory? A twisted memory? His mind turning his words into hers? He decided he didn't care. "Talk to me. I don't care how," he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. "Please."
The Force rippled around him and his eyes snapped open to see a shimmering blue form in the doorway of the sleeping room.
"You!" Ben snarled as he snatched up a towel. "Of everyone who could show up right this minute, why in the name of creation is it you?"
Luke had already turned away. "How about I give you a minute?" his uncle commented lightly and vanished.
Ben told him exactly what he could do with himself as he climbed out of the water, his weak knee almost buckling in his haste. He pulled out a robe from the rack. It was clearly meant for beings far smaller than himself so he threw it down and grabbed a few more towels instead. He rapidly dried off and pulled on his now cleaned clothing, his hair still streaming into his collar.
"All in black again. Now you look more like yourself," Luke commented as he reappeared in the sleeping area.
Ben glanced at himself in the mirror. Did he look like himself? Did he feel like himself? He shot a glare in Luke's direction and plopped down at the table where the droid had left the selection of appetizers. He began shoving the closest food into his mouth indiscriminately. "Go ahead and say whatever it is you've got to say," he said between bites. "I don't really have any choice at this point but to listen."
"Well, isn't that a change! Ben Solo finally listening!" Luke quipped lightly and took a seat across from him at the table.
"That isn't fair!" Ben raged, slamming down his drink so hard it sloshed out over his knuckles. "I was a child, you were a Jedi Master. How could you not feel what was going on inside me?"
Luke leaned over and sighed. "I could, son. I could feel this dark profound evil, emanating from the child of my sister and my best friend, my own nephew. Ben, I could see it behind your eyes when you were a baby. Worse, so could your mother. She'd seen what you would become and she put her trust in me to fix you." He shook his head. "I failed. I failed you in every way. My actions made you what you became and for that I am sorrier than you will ever know."
His uncle's words hung in the air a long moment.
Ben spread his hands on the table before him. The marble top felt cool and solid beneath his fingers. "You couldn't fix me, Master. As long as he was inside my head, no one could have. You did all you could." Ben surprised himself by meaning the words.
"You were too easy a target for him, powerful in the force, the grandson of his greatest apprentice and the child of his worst enemy. The fact that you were my pupil made it all the more perfect for him. He could use you to bring about his return and exact vengeance on us." Luke's voice was full of deep regret. Then his tone lightened imperceptibly. "But while his attention was on you, it was off Rey," he said gently. " Apparently, he could not sense her easily. If not for you, he would have certainly targeted her, a child alone, without family, without instruction."
Ben had gotten a glimpse from Rey's mind of a version of herself that she'd confronted on the Death Star wreckage-a full Sith warrior, relentless and evil. Would she have become that person as assuredly as he'd become Kylo Ren? Would he then have been tasked as a Jedi Knight to find and kill her?
"If I had to become Kylo Ren to keep her safe, it was worth it." His Rey was full of light and hope-a hope she was willing to fight for, to die for.
He took a deep shuddering breath and continued, "When I met Rey, she could see inside me. She saw something in me that wasn't him, something better." He felt tears well in his eyes."It's so hard, Master. I hate who I've been." A memory of his father's face, eyes wide with shock, pain, and disbelief, flashed before him. "Maybe that voice drove me, but I did those things. Now that I don't hear him anymore, I don't know who I am. I still feel responsible for Kylo Ren, but I am not Ben Solo either."
"Rey knew who I was and still believed in me," Ben added as his uncle nodded in agreement. "She saw something better. Now I can't hear her either." His eyes burned, and his throat grew tight. "I'm so alone. I just want to feel her again. I need her to tell me who I am."
Luke reached over and patted his arm. The touch was ethereal, but there. "That is your first lesson. You have to discover who you are for yourself. And like it or not, Ben, part of you is still Kylo Ren."
NOTES: I have played a bit with travel times in this fic, mostly because hyperspace travel in TROS seemed to move at the speed of plot instead of adhering to the previously determined concepts. So it takes longer to get places than in the movie. I find this a tad more realistic and really like the idea of the hyperspace lanes and the issues with moving through space at faster than light speeds. I mean base light speed still means years of travel between systems. So we're already going at a pretty darned good clip!