Marcus, the nervous member of Wes's crew, was so relieved that his companions weren't killed, and grateful that Rey was so magnanimous as to allow them to stay, that he rushed around to serve them the remainder of the night. He watched over the fire, skinning the hares that Ben had brought back and cooking them, hauled water from a nearby stream, and offered their finest blanket (meaning the one with the least holes in it) to Rey. This on top of multiple trips to stash their own cargo in the recesses of the cave. Wes and the woman (who had given her name as Hedvika in an extremely surly tone) said nothing, but sat back in their corner, tending to her injury.

Rey had her own injury to see to, but she wasn't sure how she would be able to treat the wound, as she was unable to reach her upper arm easily with both hands. It bled profusely, and she was reminded of the sewing lessons she probably should have taken with Roland to mend the tunic. Such lessons would have come in handy if the wound had been any deeper and needed more serious treatment.

It was an awkward business, trying to push her sleeve up to her shoulder and keep it there so she could rinse and bind the cut, the same hand being required for both tasks. It was at this early stage that Ben sat down beside her, his body facing opposite to her. Without a word, he took the soaked rag out of her hand, held her bunched sleeve up, and wiped away the dried and fresh blood.

"Thank you," she murmured shyly. The idea of asking for his help genuinely had not occurred to her.

"Just returning the favor," he replied, keeping his eyes on his work.

She smiled softly at the recollection. "Still, I am thankful, so I may as well say it." She pursed her lips in humor. "If I remember correctly, you never thanked me that night."

He looked at her through lowered eyes. "If I remember correctly, you were too annoyed with me to give me the chance."

Her brow furrowed. "Annoyed?"

"I believe you were scolding me about my mother," he said flatly, turning his attention back to her arm.

Oh. "Well, you should have said it, anyway."

The corner of his mouth lifted a little. "Still scolding, are you?"

"Still not learning common politeness, are you?" she countered.

He took up a jar of Luke's healing ointment, and opened it with an experimental sniff. Immediately his nose wrinkled, and he dipped his finger in it with a distinct expression of distaste. "I forgot how much this stuff stinks," he remarked, now dabbing it on her arm. Rey held her breath rather than breathe in more of the pungent smell that emanated from the jar.

"Does it help?" she managed to say.

"Yes," he answered with a begrudging scowl. He wiped his hand on his pant leg, and closed the lid. He looked at the jar for a moment in silence. "Thank you," he murmured.

Rey's breast filled with warmth, but she kept her voice light. "Was that so difficult?"

"No," he replied firmly, looking her in the eyes. "Just late."

She nodded, and he reached for a bandage. As he wrapped it around her arm, she looked over at the trio across the way.

"Would you have shot him?" The question escaped her before she could think twice about it.

His face jerked up sharply, but then he cast his own glance over at the smuggling crew. "Yes," he said, an angry edge in his voice. "If he had done anything to you, yes."

"And you would have killed him," she mused softly.

He tied off the bandage securely and looked her in the eyes again. "I don't miss," he repeated his terrifying boast, and she repressed a shiver, the warmth in her chest replaced by an empty sadness. How could he provoke such wildly different feelings in her?

"Then I'm glad I was able to punch him before you could," she said, studying her hands. They were dirty and scratched, but they were something safe to look at.

"So am I," he replied, surprising her. "I would have done it, but it's better if we don't leave a string of bodies along our path."

She shook her head. Was that all taking a life meant for him? The inconvenience of littering their trail with enemies? "That's not why I'm glad. I just didn't want him dead."

"After what they wanted to do to you?" he asked incredulously.

"I don't want anybody to die because of me."

His eyes, angry at first, softened into a kind of sober understanding. "That really is important to you."

"Of course it is," she said reproachfully. "Life shouldn't be so easily discarded."

"Why?" he asked. "Why is it so important to you?"

The corner of her lip lifted of its own volition. "Wouldn't any decent person value life?"

"Yes," he agreed, his eyes intent on her. "But you feel that value more keenly than anybody else I've ever known. Why?"

Rey searched his face, looking for the slightest hint of mockery or dismissal. She didn't find it, only an earnest curiosity and a desperate desire to understand. Had it been so long that he had forgotten that value himself? Beneath his severe strength was something broken, and oh, how she longed for it to be mended. Her fingers itched to reach out and touch his hand, and offer him the same comfort he had given her in the tunnel.

Perhaps he read her intention in her expression, as a shadow clouded his eyes, guarding against entry, and he straightened his back abruptly. She only now realized that, however unconsciously, they had been leaning toward each other. Her eyes flicked briefly to the smugglers, but they were embroiled in their own quiet discussion and had not observed the silent exchange. Her gaze went back to her hands.

"I suppose," she said slowly, still feeling the need to answer his question, "it's so important to me because I've seen the effects of lost life. I saw . . ." she closed her eyes tightly, wishing to banish the horror she still felt at her memories. "I saw children starve and lovers shrivel away because of death. Not killing, exactly. Just death. It was everywhere, and couldn't be controlled. And if it's already so rampant, so strong and destructive, why would anyone add to its numbers by purposely killing another person?

"It's not just that person whose life is being taken, but the lives of everybody who knows them - who loves them. What did those others do to deserve the suffering that comes from their loved one being taken away from them? What did those children do wrong that they should be condemned in such a way? A parent shouldn't be taken from their child," she asserted firmly and feelingly. "They shouldn't. We don't deserve to be left alone. I've seen it. I've lived it."

"I know," he said softly.

"No. You don't," she contended gently. "No one knows this."

Rey felt a tear begin to take shape, and hardened her jaw furiously to fight against it, but it won out and spilled down her cheek, anyway. She swiped at it with a shaky hand, not caring if she tracked dirt across her face in the process. Giving way to emotion in front of Ben was embarrassing, but she also didn't want to bring on the closer attention of the others. Especially not now she was taking the risk of baring her soul.

"I was probably ten years old, and very ill," she recalled. "I'd never been so sick before; I could hardly move. I probably would have burned away in the sun if Coran and Nemira hadn't found me. They were smaller than me, maybe five or six. But they ran for their mother, and she carried me back to their home. It was tiny, barely large enough for their bed and table. She put me on that bed, and took care of me.

"When I was well again, the children asked me to stay. Liecia didn't say much, but she didn't fight the idea. So I did. And I wanted to believe that I helped. I made myself useful, and thought I was easing Liecia's burdens. I never asked about her husband, never knew if he had died or abandoned them. But I knew I hated him for being gone, because their life was so hard and Liecia suffered so much to provide for her children.

"But they were a family, for all that. And I came to love them, and hoped they loved me. I couldn't remember having a family before, and since I finally had one, I wanted to hold on to it. It was the greatest feeling I'd ever known, to be part of that." The tears were threatening to break free again, and she stopped to breathe slowly, willing the trembling to subside.

"How long did you stay with them?" Ben's voice rumbled alongside her.

"About half a year, maybe a little less," she answered shakily. "Liecia had borrowed money from a lump called Plutt. I was wrong," she said bitterly. "I was more a burden than a help to her, and she didn't say anything about it until her debt was called in. His goons came for her in the middle of the night, and she told me to stay with the children. They dragged her away, and we never saw her again."

She looked up at Ben, whose somber eyes met hers steadily.

"But I knew what they did," she uttered weakly, her voice cracking. "She couldn't pay them, and there was only one way to get money out of her. I think that's when I first began to realize how those pleasure houses found their workers."

Ben watched her silently still, waiting for her to swallow back the acrid taste of disgust at her recollections.

"Liecia had told me once about her cousin, who lived two-days' walk away. I figured she told me about him in case something like that happened. So I took Coran and Nemira there. I couldn't tell them what had happened to their mother, and they thought she was gone only for a short time. They weren't even sad or scared. And they believed that I would stay with them and continue pretending to be their sister."

She shook her head. "But I knew better. The cousin thanked me for bringing them, but sent me on my way. He wasn't trying to be cruel, but it was going to be difficult enough for him to take in two more children, let alone three. I couldn't stay. And all because someone was taken away; she may as well have been killed by Plutt's thugs."

Her lips twitched and puckered, and she turned her face to the cave wall, because now the tears were too strong to be fought back against. They flowed freely, and she didn't even have the drive to wipe them away.

"It was the worst night of my life, the night I said goodbye to them. For a time, I thought I had a family, and it was taken away from me. And I knew then that I never would have a family I could keep. I'd had two, and couldn't hold on to either of them. I've never felt so alone."

"You're not alone." Ben's whisper was so soft it could scarcely be heard, but she felt it graze along her skin all the same.

She looked up, blinking her tears away slowly to see him more clearly. He had leaned in toward her again, his gaze searching and assuring all at once. She couldn't imagine doubting him now, and she took firm hold of his words, nestling them securely in her heart. And she knew beyond doubt that what he needed - no, craved - was the same thing she had wished for her entire life. There was only one possible response she could give.

"Neither are you."

Rey was awakened by a light touch on her shoulder, and jerked upwards with a sharp gasp. In the gray light, Ben's shadowy figure hunched over her, his hand held up to his lips in a silencing gesture. He jerked his head briefly to the back recess of the cave, and she glanced over to see the smuggling crew fast asleep. She imagined it wouldn't be long before they woke up, too.

"Time to go," he whispered in her ear, and moved away swiftly. Rey rubbed her eyes sleepily, then stood wearily, wincing at the pain in her arm. Rolling her shoulders and neck, she tried to wake up the rest of her body.

"Isn't it early?" she asked quietly, as she walked closer to him and he handed her a portion of cold, greasy meat left over from the previous evening.

"Best to get out of here before we risk whatever tempers they wake up in," he said with another gesture to the slumbering group.

She bit off a piece of meat, frowning slightly. "I don't think we have to worry about them."

"Maybe not for another fight. But they have questions; they wouldn't stop looking over at us last night. Better to get out before they start to pry."

Quickly and silently, he strapped on his gear while Rey ate, and when she licked the remaining grease off her fingers, he held up her pack to assist her in putting it on. This was a surprising mark of consideration on his part, and she was struck still for a moment until he shook it impatiently to hurry her along.

Climbing back down the slope was noisier than she expected it to be, probably because they were trying to maintain as quiet an exit as possible, but soon enough they had reached the bottom and were retracing the steps they had taken the previous evening. By the time they emerged from the hidden crevices onto the valley side, morning had dawned, and Rey smiled with a deep, cleansing breath. The sky above was clear with soft hues of pink and blue, and though the cold air persisted, she had a feeling it would be a lovely, sunny day. It had been a long time since she'd been able to enjoy one of those.

After finding a stream to refill their water skins and take care of their morning ablutions, they continued on in a brisk walk. Muddy, snowy paths and aching arm aside, Rey almost felt cheerful. It was a beautiful day, she had slept fairly well after her turn at the watch, and Ben was at her side. It was hard to believe she would come to any harm with him.

She had never spoken of Liecia and her children to anyone before. It was one of those secrets she had even kept from Luke. And it was the chief reason she never wanted to talk about her life in Jakku. Being taken from the place forcibly was still not something she approved of, but that painful experience never ceased to haunt her while she lived there. She had thought it would remain an unspoken chapter of her life, until she felt compelled to share it with Ben.

Over and over he had shown his dedication to her well-being, and despite common sense telling her to keep him at a distance, she simply couldn't resist the impulse to invite him in. His compassionate response to her tale buoyed her and lightened the aching weight in her heart. To confide in him and make herself vulnerable was a risk, but he rewarded her confidence with understanding and a solemn promise, a kinship she treasured like a precious jewel. She truly couldn't be alone when he was at her side. And it was this certainty that was behind her pleasant mood as they trekked across the lower mountain path.

They passed the outskirts of a village about mid-morning (Istabith, she assumed from what Marcus had said the night before), and Rey could hear the dull roar of civilization in the distance where the center of the town was. But Ben was intent on moving forward, and there was no stopping until midday, hidden from the valley behind a convenient outcropping of boulders. Rey couldn't help wondering if this was another one of those well-frequented spots used by the less reputable.

"What do you think they were carrying?" she asked, warming her back on the sun-kissed stone. Ben lifted an eyebrow in question. "Wes's crew," she clarified.

He shrugged. "Not sure. Probably alcohol - bluewine or Kira's Mead. Those exact a hefty toll at Corellia's borders."

"Were they working alone?"

"Hard to say. Most smuggling crews usually run small, but there are a couple gangs that have created networks that span the Realms. They're not much better than dangerous criminals, really. Trust doesn't come easy in that line of work, and it's next to impossible to maintain with a large group spread out. So the gang heads generally are more violent to command loyalty. I don't see the benefit; it's too much effort."

"So if you had been a smuggler, you would have kept a small crew?" Rey speculated with mild amusement.

Ben's head shot up, a suspicious austerity spreading over his face, a reaction that surprised her until she realized what associations he would make from her question. A part of her wanted to apologize for bringing up a painful subject, but another part kept her silent. She had warned him she wouldn't avoid the topic of his family, and this was a prime opportunity to steer the conversation to his father. But she judged it best to tread lightly, and didn't mention Han Solo's name just yet.

"Even with a small crew," she mused, keeping her voice casual, "they must have contacts in different places. How would they get clients, otherwise?"

His shoulders relaxed slightly. "That's why I didn't want to risk staying too long this morning. Who knows what theories they're floating amongst themselves about us? And if they talk - when they talk," he corrected himself, "that's when the rumors will spread."

"And they'll guess who we are?" she asked with some concern.

"Maybe not Wes's crew, but somebody could eventually wonder if the missing princess is one of those strangers - strangers who wouldn't give their names - who threatened to cut off Wes's ear. Most would think it's an impossible idea, but even one person making that stretch of a guess is enough to set tongues flapping."

"Then I shouldn't have let them stay last night," Rey concluded regretfully.

"And I shouldn't have shot an arrow into that woman's hand," Ben replied ironically. "Don't blame yourself. We both took conspicuous actions. Your inviting them to stay was probably wise. It might keep their mouths shut out of gratitude, and it didn't send them out to immediately spread word that a couple of bloodthirsty travelers are camping out in the caves.

"But no matter the consequences of coming across them, it's best to get as far from the source of gossip as quickly as possible. And hope the weather cooperates so we can clear more distance."

Rey couldn't disagree with that assessment. But she chewed on the inside of her lip all the same as she considered their encounter.

"What is it?" Ben asked, and she jerked her head up in silent inquiry. He gave her an amused look. "When you bite your lip like that, you're trying to figure something out in your head, or you have something you're wondering if you should say."

Rey's eyes widened in embarrassment, and she immediately loosened her teeth's grip. She knew she occasionally gave way to the habit, but didn't know that it was such a common occurrence that he would have noticed it. He chuckled lightly at her reaction, but said nothing else about it.

Once she was sure she'd beaten back the urge to blush, she said, "I was wondering if all smugglers are like that. So quick to fight, I mean. They must be, from what you say about them."

He squinted a little, his expression noncommittal. "It takes all kinds."

"Was Han Solo like that?"

The color drained from his pale face in a flash, and he gave full rein to the guarded anger that had threatened a few minutes earlier. "Why do you want to know about him?"

"He was your father," Rey pointed out, steeling herself for another fight.

There was the barest twitch under his eye, but otherwise he kept that stony exterior that she had to remind herself not to back down from. "Once," he muttered, his voice strained. "Once he was my father."

Rey imagined that most people would hear only the anger in his voice, but she was certain she heard regret and longing, as well. "So, was he? Like the other smugglers?"

Again he took a long time to answer, an inner struggle taking place within him to which she wished she had admittance. "No. He wasn't like them," he finally said. "He would try to charm people before going in for a fight. Most of the time he succeeded. He was a charismatic man, and could carry on a conversation even with his enemies."

Ben looked away, and Rey could see him steadying himself. She was almost sorry that she wouldn't give him a respite from the subject. "And he was the one who showed you all these places? He's how you know about the caves," she pressed.

"Yes," he replied shortly, a hint of annoyance added to his cold manner.

"Did you come here often?"

He exhaled loudly through his nose, a slight tremble in his shoulders. "No, not often. There wasn't a lot of time for . . . father-son excursions," he bit out the words.

Rey had too many questions, but she gave voice to the one that, to her, was the most important. "Do you miss him?"

The steel flint of his eyes evaporated, and a haunting anguish overcame them before he looked away again. Perhaps she had pushed too far. And then, in a stark whisper, his tortured reply came. "Every day."

Was it possible for her heart to swell and shatter at the same time? She couldn't leave him alone after a confession like that, and stood to reach out to him. But the instant she moved, he shot to his own feet and threw out his hand to stop her.

"Don't!" he blurted out, his voice still raspy.

"Ben, I just -" she started to explain.

"Just. Don't," he repeated, his eyes growing hooded. "Don't try to understand. Don't try to comfort me. And don't call me that name."

She'd not forgotten his reaction when she had used his full name, but his order was a shock, considering how often she'd still called him simply 'Ben' without comment. "But it's your name," she insisted, taking a step toward him.

He shook his head manically. "No. It's not. I forfeited that name when I killed my father five and a half years ago. I stopped being his son that day."

Rey sighed in heartache. "You didn't kill him."

"You weren't there," he said with an ugly glare.

"Your mother was," she replied quickly. "She told me. She told me everything that happened. You weren't the one who killed him."

"I as good as killed him. If I hadn't been there, he wouldn't have -" he stopped himself, as though his air was cut off.

"He was a good man who wanted his son to come home," Rey said, stepping forward again. He didn't back away this time. "What happened to him was not your fault. You weren't responsible. It isn't too late. You can come home again. Your mother -"

"Stop!" he interrupted, his eyes turning more wild. Rey stopped her advance, and watched him heave shuddering breaths as he fought himself for control. She was dismayed to see his expression toughen and become more rigid.

"I know what you're trying to do," he said. "Trying to turn me into some good man, like Han Solo was. You've tricked yourself into believing I'm some sort of hero. I'm not. I'm the furthest thing from it you can get."

"You're not," Rey argued, matching his obstinacy with a determined look of her own. "You can try and convince yourself you're the devil, but you'll be wrong."

Now he began to close the distance between them, stalking forward forcefully. "I'm not a good man," he contended. "A good man wouldn't bring about his own father's death."

He was directly in front of her, his eyes searing into hers. "A villain wouldn't help me escape," she said, her breaths coming in faster. "Look at what you've done for me."

His lip curled in a sneer. "That's a poor example."

"Why?" she pleaded.

"It just is. You can take my word for it. I don't lie."

Again that urge to slap him rose within her, but she didn't give way to it. He might need some sense knocked into him, but she wouldn't resort to violence to do it. She held her firm stare as she said once more, "You shouldn't blame yourself for what happened to your father."

A strange desperation crept into his face. "Then who should I blame?"

The answer sprang easily to her lips. "Snoke. He orchestrated everything, didn't he? He put you there. He knew that battle would be what cut you off from your family."

"Yes, but I didn't have to listen to him, did I?" he countered furiously; she could feel his hot breath. "And ever since then, nothing I've done is anything Han Solo would do. I haven't been his son. I'm not Ben Solo."

"You're not Kylo Ren, either!" Rey exclaimed just as angrily. "Whoever he is supposed to be." She waved her hands around wildly to stop herself from taking his shirt into her hands and shaking him. "Whatever Snoke wanted you to be, you're not him."

"But I was," his voice lowered dangerously, and he leaned in. "You know that I was."

"That man is not who I see now," she proclaimed quietly, tilting her face up to his in challenge. "The man I see now is capable of good. I know it."

His eyes flitted over her face, and he swallowed. Then took a step back. Rey immediately felt the cold air envelop her body again.

Ben looked at her quietly for another moment. "Don't make me into a hero," he finally said, his voice now dull, all fight in him gone. "It's not what I am." He backed away a few more steps, and, sitting back down in the place he'd flown up from, he faced away from her.

"Han Solo's son died with him," he declared hopelessly.