Visions swim behind Leia's eyes. A night-darkened bedroom, a boy crying, clinging to his mother, begging not to be sent away. A building like the senate dome, but Leia doesn't recognize it. Her father's voice cuts through the thick silence in damning apology. Han, older, wrinkled by age and greyed by time. His eyes hold deep sorrow. A red light flashes across his face chased by shock, pain, and heartbreak. Ben, his eyes as cold as the throne of dark stone he sits upon. The stars behind him are dull and lifeless as though the galaxy itself has lost all of its hope.
"You are lucky, my dear." Palpatine's voice has taken on a silky quality Leia previously would have thought impossible. She doesn't feel particularly lucky. "The Force does not grant everyone such clear windows into what their future might hold should they choose one path over the other. Your father was granted no such gift. Join me and you will never wonder what might have been. You already know," his lips part in what might be considered a smile for some. "And could what I offer truly be more terrible than what you have already seen?"
The visions assault her again, quicker this time and with more force. The shadows in the bedroom are thicker. They whisper hatred and promise doom. All eyes are on her in the new senate dome, angry, judging, afraid. She is unwelcome, othered and alone. Han gasps in pain as the hazel of his eyes darkens before the life fades from them. Ben is drenched in blood as the stars behind him flicker out one by one until nothing is left but a pure, suffocating void.
A beat passes in silence. Leia swallows though her mouth is dry, the taste of bile on her tongue.
"I have seen more. I know very well the part you play – and my own. I can show you, or, better yet, I could show you how to see it for yourself."
Leia's hands shake. She can feel the answer forming in the back of her throat but chokes on it instead of speaking. It should be easier to refuse his offer. It should be the easiest thing in the galaxy. The Empire is evil and Palpatine is the head of that corrupted snake. He is something to be destroyed, not joined.
"I - I can't," She sobs. It doesn't come out nearly as confident as she would like. Palpatine doesn't seem convinced.
These things she's seen, they don't have to be. With her knowledge, she can alter them.
"The future is always in motion, but it depends on us to shape it. We must mold it the way we see fit. Leia, you have been given an incredible gift, don't squander it because of something as fluid as morals."
"No!" She just wants him to stop talking at this point, to leave her alone.
"You have seen your future, child. The Dark will always be with you. You can make it an enemy or an ally. That is a choice you must make, and the consequences are something that you alone will live with for the rest of your days."
Is this how her father, the biological one, had felt when he'd kneeled before Palpatine as Anakin Skywalker and risen as Lord Vader, as he had offered his humanity on a silver platter? He'd asked for nothing so bold or selfish as power or knowledge or wealth in return, only the means to save his wife - Leia remembers it well. She saw it. He did not look like a monster then, though she had tried to deny it, even just to herself. He'd wept, a wrecked man, broken. She feels dangerously close to breaking, herself.
Had he felt as she does now, faced with an impossible decision, her family pitted against everything she's ever believed in? Had he felt the terrible ripping of his soul being torn in every direction, none of them feeling like the right one?
How can she refuse when she already knows what she stands to lose? How can she accept when she knows what she might become?
Perhaps, a quiet voice inside of her begins – one that belongs to neither Palpatine nor the Dark Side, but only to Leia, herself – it would not be so bad?
Accepting this offer, as vile as it may be, would afford her a significant amount of power – whether that is something she wants or not is irrelevant. As both a princess and a senator, she knows that power can be used for good. It does not always corrupt. It merely reveals the true nature of those who wield it.
Leia's true nature, it's good – she's certain it is. She wants what is best for the galaxy. She always has. She could reinstate the senate. She could ensure a voice to the voiceless. These have been her goals from the beginning and, the ugly truth is that power is a necessary means to achieving those ends. If that can be used for good, perhaps the same can be said of the Dark Side? She doesn't really see why not.
Accepting the Emperor's offer would not necessarily guarantee her loyalty – she could never be loyal to someone so contemptable – but if he could teach her, show her what he knows…
"Leia, you can't," Luke chokes. Leia doesn't turn. She couldn't acknowledge her brother if she tried.
Indecision is never something that has plagued Leia. Choices, while not always simple, are understandable. They are problems to be worked through, not impossible obstacles. All decisions, especially in wartime, have a cost. The trick is knowing which prices are worth paying. What is the worth of her soul? What is the worth of her future? What is the worth of her family?
"I – I need more time!" She sobs.
"Time?" Luke cries, incredulous. "Time for what?"
"There is no time," Palpatine whispers, smooth as shimmersilk.
Leia Organa – Princess of a graveyard. Leia Organa – alone in the galaxy. Leia Organa – forever fighting a never-ending war.
"Stop, just –"
She closes her eyes. See them, something hisses in her mind. She does. She sees them all, her parents, Han, her friends, Ben, Rey, Ahsoka – all of them dead, nothing but cold corpses piled at her feet. She is alone with the weight of the burning galaxy on her shoulders. Choose.
Luke's hands close around either side of her face and her eyes fly open. He's crying and saying something but Leia can't hear him over the low drone of panic in her head. Her vision is blurred around the edges. Her chest is too tight; she can't breathe. She pushes away from him.
"I need to think." She says weakly. Begs, more like. Begs her mind to think, to process a rational thought, but it doesn't seem to remember how.
Luke doesn't let her go. His hands go from her face to her upper arms, gripping tightly. She should feel secured by his touch, that he is an anchor in the storm that whirls around her, but she doesn't. He is a weight, but not one that tethers her to reality, one that weighs her limbs down as much as the choice placed before her.
"And your dear brother's betrayal, perhaps the greatest of them all." The Emperor's voice is all around her, dark and excited. "Did he tell you, your son, what the 'Last Jedi' did to him? How his cruelty will lead to your family's destruction?"
She needs quiet. She needs to be alone. She just needs a moment. Luke lets her go and it's a relief, but her relief is shocked by a cold wash of panic when her brother turns toward the Emperor. The lightsaber in his right hand ignites, its blue light nearly swallowed by the perfect black of the floor and throne before them.
"No!" Leia reaches for his arm, but his shoulder rolls out of her reach.
"I won't let you do this, Leia." His back is still to her as he takes a step up towards Palpatine's throne. He pauses, as if half expecting to be struck down, but continues when he is not. "I won't let you fall into his trap."
No, no, no! Her panicked heart screams. She hasn't decided yet! Ice-cold fear grips her chest as her choice threatens to be torn from her hands. Her heart is beating too fast, it pounds in her ears, a stampeding war drum. In a moment of pure instinct, she reaches out with the Force and pulls her brother back towards her.
Luke lurches back, flying through the air and falling hard on the throne room floor. He peers back at himself in the shiny black stone, his reflection bearing his own confusion. Leia stands above him, her hands shaking, her eyes screaming panic and apology. He clutches his throbbing shoulder as he stands, that having taken the brunt of his landing.
"I'm sorry, I –" She doesn't continue.
Luke picks himself up quickly and calls his weapon back to his hands. The Emperor cackles behind him, the sound crackling and electric, but Luke refuses to take his eyes off of his sister. He fights off anger. She's not well. Something terrible is happening to her. She's not herself.
She's hurt you before, a voice slides through the air around Luke, setting his hair on edge. He is certain that it is not his own. Fought you, took your hand. See how the Dark Side swirls around her. Do not give her the chance to kill you. He shakes his head, his skin prickling. Leia wouldn't kill him.
A memory is forced to the forefront of Luke's mind almost painfully. The version of Leia he saw in the cave on Dagobah, her eyes dark and cold, their father's blood on her hands. Visceral fear constricts his throat, steals his breath, but it feels strange, artificial almost, like it comes from some source outside of his body.
Kill her. Kill her. Kill her. Kill her. He recognizes the voice from his dreams.
She raises her weapon, the green light of the plasma blade reflecting sharply in her eyes. Her breaths are heavy and audible. Everything about her is cold, from her expression to the emotions that pour off of her, polluting the Force surrounding them both. He can't say for sure, but Luke is almost certain that the exact same command is ringing through her mind.
Leia holds her weapon up to one side, an attack position he remembers Ahsoka teaching them back in their first lessons on Dagobah. Her hands tremble. Her whole body trembles. The Force that surrounds her trembles.
He looks at Leia – really looks at her. He sees past the vision forced into his mind and truly takes in his sister. Her face is not that of a remorseless killer. She's scared, terrified. She looks more prepared to cry than cut him down.
Something in her eyes dims as Luke raises his lightsaber to chest height. It's like a shield goes up over her features, but that is chased away by confusion when Luke disengages the blade. He tosses the hilt to the floor.
"I won't fight you, Leia." Luke says, mustering every ounce of calm and courage he can. "It's what he wants, for one of us to kill the other, a new apprentice. He's in your head."
Leia's eyes light up and widen considerably. A muscle in her face twitches and she tears her gaze away from him and turns it up towards Palpatine. There's fear there still, but realization and rage as well. She bears her teeth and moves to step towards the Emperor but her arms snap to her sides before she gets the chance and she is forced to her knees.
Luke finds himself in the same position beside her not a moment later, both of them turned to face the Emperor. He tries in vain to fight against the hold that binds him, but Palpatine is too strong. An invisible hand wraps around his throat, slowly tightening. He can still breathe, but only just.
"Foolish girl. You inherited your father's anger and all of his weakness. Your family's affinity for compassion is a plague. Imagine what the two of you could become without that pestilence. Such a shame. Such wasted potential. Well, never mind that now. Your father will be here soon, and then we can really get started."
Ben cracks the knuckles of his left hand impatiently as the Imperial guards circle. Three of the six close in on himself and Rey. He takes a deep, centering breath and feels Rey's back rise and fall in time with his own. He dares not open their connection fully. Sidious knows that they are here, that much is obvious thanks to this trap, but if they do intend to use the bond as bait - Ben refuses to call it anything else - that surprise must be saved for later.
The moment of stillness that passes as each side assesses the other feels impossibly long, like it should have ended ages ago. Everyone waits with baited breath for someone else to make the first move. Ben's grandfather, the never-ending font of patience he is, takes that honor.
Vader's arm lifts, his hand curled into a tight claw. At the same time, the guard closest to him rises from the ground, their legs kicking the empty air beneath them uselessly, their war axe clattering to the ground as hands grasp at the invisible force wrapped around their throat. It is the sound of metal on duracrete that sets everyone else in motion.
From there, it is a flurry of red, blue, and purple. The guard immediately to Ben's right swings down hard and Ben raises the blade of his lightsaber for an easy block. The guard's weapons are lightsaber resistant, made of beskar or perhaps even phrik, but Ben had expected that. Snoke's guards had been the same, and while Ben had had no guards of his own, his hubris convincing him that they were unnecessary, he imagines that they would have been equipped similarly.
A second guard, seeing an opening, slices the blade of his sythe diagonally across his body in a wide arc, aiming for Ben's neck. Rey's blade blocks that attack. Ben kicks out at the first guard, the bottom of his boot meeting the hard armor hidden beneath their long, red robe, and buries his purple blade in the chest of the second.
Rey whirls around to meet the third and Ben spares a moment to glance around the room. The guard Vader had choked lies dead on the ground beside another cleaved entirely in half. Ahsoka easily dispatches the last of the three on her side of the room, the blades of her saber crossing easily through their neck. The last two are taken out just as easily by himself and Rey.
The pitiful attempt at a distraction dealt with, one that the group wastes no time in discussing further, they tear from the room. Vader takes the lead, knowing the layout of the palace best - or, the current layout, as Ahsoka has a familiarity with the building itself thanks to her education at the Jedi temple.
Ben has been here a few times before in his youth. Many of the surrounding buildings had been converted into museums or places of remembrance, the galaxy having abandoned Coruscant as a place of governance, but not the Palace. The great ziggurat had remained abandoned, picked clean by fleeing Imperials and opportunistic thieves and gathering dust. Luke had never enjoyed visiting this place, always complaining of the stone-deep Dark energy that tainted the air, and only ever returned for the few Jedi texts and artifacts that remained.
Ben had visted once as Kylo Ren as well, intent on using that very Dark energy to ease the effort of communing with his grandfather's spirit. He'd heard voices here, more than usual, but none of the ghosts who resided within these walls had belonged to Vader, even if he had created them.
They are here now, the ghosts of the Jedi, trapped in this place by their own misery and fear and by the Dark presence that surround the whole planet. They are held here by Palpatine, Ben realizes with a start, their pain fueling his power.
They rise through the lower levels, ones used for storage and, formerly, as dormitories for the Jedi Padawans, as quickly as they are able. Stormtroopers patrol the halls, but even the captains, marked by the colored pieces of armor on their shoulders, stand no chance. They meet no other opposition and Ben wonders if Sidious believes Vader to have come alone. It is the only excuse he can think of to explain the pitiful display of the guards sent to stop them, even if that display was sent merely to distract them.
The Palace halls are grander in their prime, though that is to be expected. Tapestries and paintings line the walls, perhaps to make up for the lack of windows throughout the structure.
Low ceilings give way to the sweeping marble floors and thick columns of the Palace's open-air entry hall. Green and red flashes of blaster bolts from the wave of troopers that await them illuminate the room and mar the smooth stone with streaks of black carbon.
The ensuing battle is one that Ben would have once found exhilarating rather than exhausting, his body having grown accustomed to running on the combined scents of death and burning flesh alone. Ben is no longer that man, and though he knows that there are parts of Kylo Ren that will always be with him, he will not mourn the parts that are dead.
He is covered in a fine layer of sweat by the time they reach the closed double doors of the throne room, and he knows that he would be bone-tired if not for the adrenaline pumping through his veins.
The sight that greets him when those doors are thrown open with a violent pulse of the Force steals his breath. His mother and uncle kneeling forcibly before the Emperor's throne, Sidious standing above them, purple-white lighting crackling between fingers raised to chest-height.
"Welcome Lord Vader," Sidous' voice fills the space, dark and thunderous. "How kind of you to join us. I have been waiting for you."
Sidous has his children. How they got here is a mystery, but also irrelevant. Sidious has his children and Vader is going to kill him.
That had, of course, been his intention from the start, to kill the Sith, but now… Vader only wishes that his master were not so dangerous, because he would like to make his death a slow one. Something quick and painless is too good for his former master.
Vader has felt nothing even remotely close to nausea for years, having grown used to the more gruesome aspects of his life, but he feels sick with the knowledge that it is his fault that his children are here. He should have sent them somewhere safe. Their blood, should any spill today, will be on his hands, will join his mother's and theirs. That is not something he will survive, his soul - or what remains of it - stripped already too bare to be torn any further.
He would sooner die himself than see them harmed and it strikes him like a blow to the face how lacking in Dark that sentiment is. There is no place in the Dark Side for self-sacrifice. Suddenly his death in his grandson's time and alleged turn to the Light make just a bit more sense. He would give anything to see his children safe, even if that meant selling those shreds still left of his soul to the memory of the Jedi who once longed to own and consume it.
Vader's lightsaber, which has been ignited and primed since entering the tunnel, screams by his side, but Vader does not move. Not yet.
"And you have brought guests!" Sidious croons. "Young Tano, such a pleasure to see you again. I must admit, I have been quite interested in the project in which you have recently invested yourself. We have quite a bit to catch up on, in that regard."
Anger bristles around Ahsoka's Force signature, sharp deadly, but she does not rise to Sidious' bait.
"And you, I know." Sidious' head, mostly obscured by his hood, turns almost imperceptivity, to fall on the time travelers at Vader's left. "The mysterious 'Dark Side Agent'," the Emperor cackles, the lightning around his fingers glowing a bit brighter. "No longer, it would seem."
Vader's grandson is not as wise as Ahsoka, it would seem. Perhaps his lack of patience is an inherited trait, like his penchant for anger, something as genetically predisposed as the color of his eyes.
"You know nothing about me," the man growls, the sound emanating from deep in his chest.
"You might be surprised what I do know, Ben Solo." Sidious counters. "I know that I was, surprised that is, by what I found at just a quick glance inside of your mind, and at how easily it welcomed me. The girl is, I'll admit, a curiosity."
"Don't you dare," Vader's grandson warns with a protective flair.
"The bits of your future I have managed to glean thus far have been enlightening, to say the least, but I suspect there's more, and you'll give it to me."
"We'll see," the girl snaps.
"Just look at the army you have amassed, Vader, at those who you have shepherded to death." The weight of Sidious' words land exactly where he intends them to. Vader's chest grows heavy with the responsibility. "Because that is what you have done. You have led them all to me, your own children included. You will watch as I sap their life-force, every bit of it, the same way I killed their mother - a fitting demise, I think." There is a beat of silence and if Vader was able to physically regulate his breathing he is sure it would have stopped. "Poetic, even."
"You," Vader manages past the thick fog that has descended over his mind, the one that cuts through his anger with a blade sharper than he has ever known.
Sidious says nothing, but the answering grin that splits his face is the only confirmation needed.
Something inside of Vader snaps and breaks. Perhaps it is the last bit of his sanity, or maybe, in breaking, that is what he regains.
Every pain in Vader's life, every tragedy, Sidious has been behind them all. Some part of Vader has always known this to be true. In some way, he has always known the depths of his own manipulation as well as all of the ways he allowed it to happen. He continued to follow Sidious because what else was there for him? He had been left with nothing upon Padmé's death - or, so he had been led to believe.
He takes a step forward and the floor beneath him shatters. A long crack extending from the toe of his boot snakes its way across the long room, meeting the dais Sidious stands upon. This, his former master had not been expecting, and he falters - just for a moment, just long enough to regain his balance, but that is all Vader needs.
He wraps his influence around his children as gently as he is able and at the same time throws Sidious' off. He pulls the two of them back towards him, careful to avoid the craggy pieces of broken floor littering the ground. They land more-or-less harmlessly behind his body. He does not have time to truly assess their conditions.
Sidious, having regained his faculties, strikes with a bright burst of lightning. Vader manages to block it with the bade of his lightsaber, but Sidious keeps pushing. Electricity crackles threateningly around the red plasma, winding downwards towards the hilt.
Vader sees the last two remaining Imperial guards emerge from the shadows. His grandson and the girl step forward, blades brandished, and the Force becomes flush with immense power, the bond of the dyad opening to its full potential.
It is more blinding than before and far more tempting. The darkest parts of him scream to drink from that seemingly endless well. They long to consume every bright part of the galaxy until he is restored to his full potential. Some sliver of Light must still truly reside within the deepest recesses of his withered heart, as he only just manages to resist. How then, he wonders, does Sidious feel, confronted with such temptation?
"Anakin!" Ahsoka cries, the name ripped from her throat, torn around the edges.
He whips his head around just in time to see a boulder the size of an airspeeder, ripped from the fissure he'd created in the floor, flying towards him at an incredible speed. He stops it, reversing it's momentum and sending it and the Imperial guard in its path careening into the far wall with a sickening crunch. It does not crush Vader, but that had never been the intention behind it. Distraction is, and always has been, the name of the game for Sidious. Like a street magician on a far grander scale, his talent is in forcing the eye to look at one hand whilst he preforms his trick in the other.
Sidious pushes another wave of lightning at Vader. The force behind it is incredible and it drains every ounce of energy Vader has just to block it. Pop-ups flash in front of his eyes, warning that he is over-straining vital systems. A low-pitched alarm blares and he's certain the sound's origin is actually inside of his skull.
He takes one step forward, and then another, his movements slow as though his path is impeded by thick mud. His body begs him to stop, his suit pleads with him. He collapses to one knee, a facsimile of how he would have once bowed to his master, and just barely manages to stay upright, though his limbs allow no further movement. The servos in his leg cybernetics grind and sputter as he attempts to stand and, eventually, they fail. Lightning snakes down the length of his blade and up his arm, draining or destroying his suit's energy cells as it courses through his body.
His peripheral vision is limited by the confines of his mask, but he can see Ahsoka defending his children from the last remaining Imperial guard, and on the other side the dyad approaches the throne. Vader's audio receptors have been damaged, likely irreparably so, so he cannot hear what is said, but he can feel Sidious' jubilation.
There is a great swell of power and, at first, it is difficult to tell from which end it originates, but when Sidious staggers backward, clutching the arm of his throne for support, Vader knows that it was his grandson and the girl. The dyad, in their untrained fury, launch themselves forward, lightsabers raised, with the intent of cleaving the Emperor in two, but he recovers quicker than they had expected. Catching them off guard for only a moment, they fall to the ground on their knees not far from Vader.
Vader can see what will happen next as clearly as though it is a vision, like one of the prophetic dreams of his youth. Sidious' focus will be on draining the dyad of their power, sapping the bond of all it is worth until the two that inhabit it are left as nothing but empty husks. Ahsoka will intervene, and Vader's children, brave and heroic to the last, will try to help, but Sidious will be too powerful to stop, too powerful for anyone to stop. He will kill them all, saving Vader for last. He sees no other paths, no other logical outcomes for this encounter to take.
He will not allow that to happen.
He pools every last ounce of power he has, finding and draining reserves left untouched since he wrestled the gods of Mortis, those living embodiments of the Force who fell to his control once long ago. Like then, he calls on both the Dark and the Light, willing and begging them to bend to his needs. He is a vessel and he is the Force. He is the Chosen One, destined to bring balance - though he could not care less about that at this moment. He fights not for balance or the Force or the Jedi or the Sith, but for his family - for his children and theirs, for Padmé and her memory. She would detest so much of what he has become but, hopefully, for this moment alone, she would be proud.
The ceiling above cracks and splits, slices of moonlight peak through the fractures. Concentrating his power, Vader focuses on the structure of the room, and wills it to shatter, to crumble inwards - but it is not enough.
Vader does not feel the hand on his arm, he is too far removed from his physical body for that, but he does feel the rush of energy, the dyad lending him a fraction of their power. It flows through him, fills his lungs in the way air refuses to, his suit almost completely non-functional at this point, but that hardly matters now. There is a warmth that radiates from the very center of him, spreading outward like a flood, a balm to everything that has ever pained him.
Stone falls like rain, tumbling from the decaying ceiling and crushing the throne below - the throne and its occupant. Darth Sidious, a monster certainly, but a man also, just as fallible as any other, tethered to this mortal coil by only one body.
All things die; even stars, even emperors. Sidious dies and the universe exhales, as though relieved of a great pain.
Vader, too, falls, only barely managing to roll himself onto his back before his suit gives out completely.
His vision has gone dark and he cannot hear anything, but he is vaguely aware of commotion around him, the others running and checking on each other as the dust settles. They are all alive, alive and unharmed, and that is enough - perhaps not enough for the galaxy or the Jedi or the Force itself, but it is enough for him.
He closes his eyes and he sees her. She gleams in the sunlight, radiant as a star, her gauzy golden-saffron skirt pooled in the grass beneath them both. She is laughing at something foolish he's said. Were she really here, he would hold her, feel her warm in his arms, kiss her, keep her forever or as long as he was allowed – but she is not really here and neither is he. She is dead and he is dying. If this is death, this brief glimpse into one of the happiest moments of his life, perhaps then it is not so bad. It is certainly more than he deserves.
He is dying, or, he should be. He cannot survive long without the necessary and life-sustaining systems of his suit for long, and while he cannot check on their functional ability with his mask inoperable, he doubts that many, if any, still work at all. But his lungs do not burn, deprived of oxygen, his mind remains sharp and un-fogged by the looming threat of death.
He should be dying, but, somehow, he is not.
An audible hiss sounds next to his ear, and his helmet lifts. The Padmé he sees is not a ghost nor a vison brought by death itself. It is only a memory, as she is, and he opens his eyes.
The soft moonlight streaming into the room burns his sensitive retinas at first, but, eventually they adjust and the world and all of its colors comes back into focus. They are all there, the dyad and Ahsoka and both of his children, but the one his eyes fall to first is his daughter. Her brother's arm is wrapped around her shoulders and she trembles, Vader's helmet held securely in both hands.
It is a gift to see them like this, with his own eyes, even with the tears that blur his vision. "Luke, Leia," he says, his voice no more than a ragged whisper.
"Father," Luke smiles.
Rey clings to Ben, her face buried in his chest, her tears staining his shirt. She can't stop sobbing, her body shaking with relief and lingering fear. She's never been embarrassed of crying, least of all in front of Ben, but she is relieved when she looks up and sees a matching wetness in his eyes. He kisses her quickly, but they are startled apart by the sound of the throne room doors opening.
She reacts instinctively, grabbing her weapon and fearing the worst when she sees a large group of beings silhouetted by the light of the hall outside, but the familiar sound of Han's voice cuts through the adrenaline fueling her body.
"Leia!" He shouts, crossing the room at a sprint.
His voice seems to break whatever spell Leia had fallen under. She drops Vader's mask onto the ground with a crash, the lenses cracking on the loose rocks below. Whipping around, she meets Han in a tight embrace, her back instantly heaving with sobs.
Ben and Rey find themselves drawn over to his parents by a force beyond themselves. They approach hand-in-hand while rebel soldiers flood the throne room, blasters drawn, searching for threats among the dust and rubble. They find Vader and surround him, but are blocked from getting too close by Luke and Ahsoka both.
"What the hell were you thinking, Leia?" Rey hears Han mutter, his lips pressed tightly to the top of the princess' head. He's covered in sweat and dirt and there's some fresh-looking blood on his temple, but he seems otherwise uninjured. "What the hell, sweetheart?" He repeats.
He must hear the stones rattling around, disturbed by Ben and Rey's feet, because his eyes fly open and lock on them instantly. He's already crying, but fresh tears stream down his cheeks and he instantly pulls them into the embrace.
It feels nice, just to weep and hold each other, to feel the others solid and alive in her arms, even as her body aches from the strain of battle. Han grips Ben's shoulder tightly and then his fingers brush Rey's hair, as if reassuring himself that they are, indeed, still there. Ben pulls Rey in tighter to his body by proxy of his mother.
It is warm and real and heartbreakingly wonderful for a moment - and then it is gone.
One moment, Rey is standing amidst the crumbling ruins of the Emperor's throne, clinging tightly to the only family she has ever known, and the next she is in a room she doesn't recognize, lying in bed. She throws off the blankets and scrambles onto the floor, landing hard on her knees.
She blinks around in the darkness, trying to gauge her surroundings and find that she does recognize this room, or, part of her does. It is like recalling a recent dream, remembering that this room is hers, that it has been since she was a child.
The poster on the wall is of her favorite band. She recently attended a concert of theirs - well, a holographic version of the concert at a local projection hall, as she'd not been allowed to go off-planet alone. The miniature engine on the desk is part of her latest project for school. The knickknacks lining the shelves are hers as are the clothes in the closet.
Her mind swims with competing memories and she is struggling to piece them all together as she stands, but a knock on the other side of the door nearly sends her tumbling to the floor again.
"Rey, sweetheart, are you alright?" Her mother calls through the thin layer of durasteel.
Her mother? Her mother. Her mother.
"M'fine!" Rey squeaks, backing up slowly until her back meets a wall.
"Are you sure?" Her mother sounds unconvinced. "I know we spoke the other day about - privacy and boundaries, but I'm coming in."
"No! No!" Rey cries.
Something familiar pulls taut inside of her and she welcomes it without another thought. Ben appears on the other end of the room, sprawled out on the floor, wearing a matching sleep-set of purple silk. His eyes widen with no small amount of awe and relief when they meet hers.
"Rey, thank the Force!" He sighs, his voice trembling noticeably. It's clear he has been crying. Quickly, he scrambles across the floor and wraps his arms around Rey's waist, burying his face in her stomach. "They were trying to tell me that you – that they never – where are you?"
Rey squeezes her eyes closed and thinks. "Coruscant," she answers after a moment.
Ben nods quickly. "I'll be there," he promises. "I'll be there."