Rey doesn't know what to make of those kisses with Ben. So, she decides the best course of action is to pretend it never happened. She won't say anything unless he says something. Maybe that's immature, but she worries Ben will make assumptions now. And so, deeply wary of a 'Join me' ambush when they next meet, Rey presents herself for training with a firm let's-get-down-to-business attitude.
Ben seems a bit taken aback at first. After an awkward minute or two, he starts teaching like usual. Things are fairly normal. Like nothing ever happened.
She's actually a little disappointed.
They are back to talking about the Force for hours on end when approaching ion engines sound overhead. They move to the window to look up at the descending ship.
"That must be Vanee back from Coruscant," Rey speculates, recognizing Plagueis' posh cruiser.
Sure enough, the creepy servant has returned and he's not alone. Down the ramp walks a woman leaning heavily on a cane.
"Who's that?" Ben wonders aloud.
"More old people," she sighs.
Plagueis now sweeps in with his other acolyte bringing up the rear. "It's here," the Sith Master intones with relish.
"What's here?" Rey asks.
"My new painting."
Sure enough, two floating crates accompany the approaching pair. As the duo plods into the villa, the woman is revealed to be ancient. Twenty years or more General Leia's age, Rey estimates. But if anything, this newest guest puts Ben's princess mother to shame with her beautiful pale blue gown that even to Rey's unsophisticated eye looks expensive and chic. The woman has white hair coiled in a chignon at her neck. All the better to see the display of jewelry at her ears and throat. It's big stuff that looks like it costs a zillion credits. Whoever this grand dame is, she's loaded.
The woman enters laughing softly at something smiling Vanee has said. She pauses on the threshold of the living room and beams across at old Darth Plagueis. "Snoke."
Snoke?! Rey exchanges glances with Ben.
"My Lady." Plagueis executes a surprisingly suave bow from the waist. Like he's just been presented to a queen. He's grinning ear to missing ear.
Rey and Ben exchange glances again.
"It's been too long since you haunted me," the old woman smiles up at Darth Plagueis as she slowly canes her way over.
"May I?" Plagueis asks, offering open arms.
"Oh, stop," the woman dismisses his formality as she walks into his embrace. When she pulls back from his bear hug, she grins up at the Sith Master. "Have you gotten taller, or I am shrinking? Because I don't remember you being this tall. And I miss your yellow eyes."
"You haven't changed a bit."
"Nonsense! I'm so old now. Soon, I'll be dead—"
"I can fix that."
"Don't you dare! I've earned a good death."
"You almost had one a few months ago." It's rather pointed comment.
"Yes, well, I'm still alive."
"That was very, very foolish," old Plagueis rumbles. He looks sincerely angered.
But the old woman waves him off. "Yes, it was. But I have a score to settle with Darth Sidious."
"So does everyone in this room."
"Yes, yes . . . my Lord, Vanee told me everything on the way here. I'm all caught up." The old woman makes her way towards Ben now. "Is this him?" She looks Ben up and down, squinting at him. "It must be. Look at all that Skywalker hair." She sees the splinted leg. "Is he hurt? Oh, he looks hurt. Vanee, you never said he was hurt-"
"He's fine," Plagueis announces, sounding annoyed. Rey ignores the glare he shoots her direction.
For his part, Ben regards the strange woman coldly as he endures her inspection.
"You favor him. I see it . . . broad shoulders and long legs. Your mother and her twin took after their mother, but you look like him. That's his glower. I remember it well," the old lady sighs happily.
"He pouts, too. Just like Lord Vader," Vanee volunteers.
Ben glowers some more.
"Forget all that, he has his Force. That's all that matters," Plagueis decrees.
"No, it's not," the old woman objects softly. "Luke had his Force. But alas, none of his heart and his vision." She peers closer at Ben now. Her wrinkled features split into a wide smile. "Oh," she gushes, "he would be so proud of you. If only he had lived to teach you himself. Snoke—"
Rey is not letting that name slide a second time without comment. "Snoke?" she challenges hotly, her eyes drilling into Plagueis. "Snoke?"
"It's a nickname I used," the Sith shrugs. "My old Apprentice knew of it."
The old woman issues a delicate ladylike snort. "Lord Sidious must have thought himself very clever to create that caricature of you. As if anyone would believe that was actually you," she sniffs. "The gold bathrobe was taking it way too far . . . he made you look like a weeknight lounge act at Canto Bight."
"Indeed." Plagueis shudders. "Now then, introductions are in order."
"Uhhmmmm, yes . . ." the old woman agrees as her eyes alight on Rey for the first time. "I know you. I saw you on the holonet." The old woman looks back to their host with concern. "Snoke, what is she doing—"
"She is my guest."
Pursing her lips at Rey and then back at Snoke, the aristocratic grand dame surmises, "You've been meddling?"
Plagueis is slyly unrepentant. "Of course."
"Well, it's about time." The woman appraises Rey coolly before she lifts her chin and disdains, "I had hoped never to meet another Jedi."
Rey instantly takes the old rich bitch into extreme dislike.
"Astral, she is my daughter," Plagueis reveals.
"Oh dear," the woman reacts. "Well, how extraordinary. There must be a story there."
"There is. I will tell you."
"Who are you?" Rey demands, tired of all this mystery.
"Oh, where are my manners? Forgive a senile old lady. I am Astral Sidhu."
"Professor Emeritus and Chair of the Fine Arts Department at Coruscant University," Vanee volunteers.
"No one here cares about that. Tell them who you really are," Plagueis instructs impatiently.
The woman's answer causes Rey's jaw to drop. "I'm the widow of Anakin Skywalker."
At her side, Ben says nothing, but she can sense him tense.
"Really . . . use the title," Plagueis grumbles. "She's Lady Vader," he announces proudly to her and Ben.
"My grandmother died when my mother and uncle were born," Ben speaks up. "At least, that's what I was told . . ." His experience with his secret grandfather must have him wary of other omissions to his family tree.
"I was Lord Vader's second wife," the old woman explains. Her features soften as tells her step-grandson, "He mourned your grandmother for years . . . blamed himself for his Master killing her. In the end, I was a poor substitute for Padme Amidala."
"Nonsense," Plagueis objects. "Anyone could see those two were heading for a split. My son was clearly not thinking with his head when he married that one. Force deliver this family from any more sanctimonious young women," he exclaims with an annoying wink Rey's direction.
Ben says nothing. Clearly the existence of this long-lost relative is news to him. Rey knows he has listened for hours to Vanee's old stories, but apparently the longtime servant omitted the best one.
But further explanations are deferred because Darth Plagueis is ready to move on. "Where is my painting? Open it up. Let's see!" The Sith Master is practically clapping his hands with excitement like a child ready to unwrap presents on Life Day.
Lady Vader pokes at the controls of the largest floating crate that followed her in. It unlocks to reveal a small painting that is very disproportionate to the size of its protective packaging. Plagueis goes in for a better look, blocking everyone's view. The only impression Rey gets is that it's orange and unremarkable.
"Isn't it small?" Ben is similarly unimpressed.
"You don't price art by the square foot," Plagueis sniffs. He turns to Lady Vader to make excuses for Ben. "Forgive the boy's ignorance. He's very uncultured. He was raised by Luke Skywalker."
Lady Vader shoots Ben a sympathetic glance and murmurs, "Poor boy . . ."
They all dutifully admire the painting which is temporarily placed on a high mantle. Then, Plagueis demands of Vanee, "Where are the clothes?" Gesturing to Ben, he complains, "He's been in pajamas long enough. It's like having an unkept, lazy teenager around the house."
That comment prompts old Lady Vader to sigh and reminisce. "Oh, that's very Vader of him." She gushes to Ben, "Your grandfather wore either full armor or pajamas. So little in his life was comfortable. It's why he hated people coming inside his castle. They might see him without the mask in his lounge clothes."
Rey digests this reveal without enthusiasm. As far as she's concerned, that's way too much information about Darth Vader's personal habits.
The old woman now starts pulling items from the second crate. Shaking out the garments, she happily explains, "I went with black because well . . . you know . . . Dark prince and all. There's a cape, of course. No coats or ponchos for Lord Vader's grandson," she harrumphs.
Heretofore quiet Milo chimes in his stern agreement. "Poncho says follower. Cape says leader." Because apparently among the Sith, the wrong choice of outerwear is indicative of a character fault.
Ben smirks. "Poncho says Luke Skywalker."
"You just proved her point," Darth Plagueis chuckles.
Ben is dispatched to put on his new clothes and boots that Lady Vader assures him will fit since Vanee scanned him for sizing. Then, Astral plucks out more garments from the crate and turns to her. "For you, young lady." She offers over a fancy dress bag on a hangar. Rey can't see what's inside, but she's already nervous. Lady Vader is clearly concerned as well. "It might not be to your taste," she hedges.
Plagueis intervenes. "Impossible. You have the best taste in the galaxy."
Old Lady Vader rolls her eyes indulgently. "You flatter me and it works every time," she laughs.
"That's why I keep doing it," Plagueis is gleefully sly.
"Well, when Vanee said I was to dress a young woman who had come to help Kylo Ren recuperate . . . that she was here to lift his spirits . . . well, I naturally assumed that it meant she and the Supreme Leader were . . . uh . . . close friends . . ."
Ugh. The woman thinks she's Kylo Ren's girlfriend. "I'm not his girlfriend," Rey nearly growls.
Plagueis is amused by her quick response. "That's not what it looked like in here yesterday—"
"I'm not his girlfriend," Rey announces, her hard eyes daring anyone to argue further to the contrary.
Lady Vader is smooth about her mistake. "Forgive my misperception, for clearly I was in error. A Jedi would never be any man's girlfriend. Please accept my apologies at the implication." The words are graciously said, but Rey is still determined to hate her. The second Mrs. Vader continues, "But since I believed you were a couple and he is the Supreme Leader—"
"Was the Supreme Leader," Rey corrects acidly.
"-I figured there were appearances to uphold and a certain gravitas to convey."
The leadup of caveats has Darth Plagueis intrigued. "Astral, whatever did you buy?"
"It's a dress. Something appropriate for the ingenue Empress or consort or—"
"Supreme Leaderette," the Sith deadpans.
"I was aiming for something appropriate for a young lady in public life." With a frantic look of apology Rey's direction, Lady Vader blurts out, "It's pink."
"Pink?" Pink?
"Dark pink . . . a very dark pink that doesn't look pink at all . . . more like a mauve," Lady Vader keeps improvising. "Think of it as a light reddish purple . . ."
Beside her, Plagueis begins guffawing.
"What?" the old woman reacts. "Pink is a universally flattering shade and you know how I feel about color theory, Snoke—"
His lips still twitching, the ugly Muun chortles, "No Jedi ever has worn a pink dress. This I have to see. Run along and try it on, Rey. I tire of seeing you in rags."
She resists. "I like my own clothes just fine."
Plagueis digs in. "We have a guest for dinner. You will make yourself presentable."
"I eat dinner on my ship."
"Not tonight."
"What I'm wearing is fine."
Lady Vader raises eyebrows at the brewing dispute. She inserts herself. "Yes, well, I'm sure what you're wearing is very practical, but do at least try the dress on. I suspect you will look lovely. And tonight is a party."
Ben reappears now looking dashing and very expensive. Like he's about to address the galaxy as the Supreme Leader. He looks from her to Plagueis, sensing the conflict. "What did I miss?"
"Look at you!" Ben's step-grandmother beams with pride. "Oh, very nice. Let me just . . ." Lady Vader approaches Ben to tug at one sleeve before she resettles his cape. "There. Much better. Those are powerful shoulders, like your grandfather," she approves as she steps back. "Under that suit, he looked like a superhero," the old woman sighs. She's back to fussing over her grandson now. "This cape has a satin trim, just like his. And I made sure there was a belt since you carry a sword. Where's your sword? Let's see the whole look."
"My sword is in an ocean on Endor."
"Oh." Lady Vader takes that explanation without question. "Too bad. I liked that cross guard sword . . . so distinctive. Well, no matter, I'm sure you can make another one." She turns back to Rey now. "Would you like me to help you into that dress?" It's a not-so-subtle hint.
Everyone in the room looks at her expectantly.
"Oh, very well," Rey grumbles. She will humor these people. She wanders down the hallway to the refresher to try on the dress. It's an easy enough task. But she gets stuck there, staring at herself in the mirror feeling very uncomfortable. The dress feels like a costume that belongs to a version of her who said yes in Snoke's throne room. Like the woman who would happily stand next to Ben dressed like he is now at some formal occasion.
After a few minutes, there is a discrete knock on the door. It's that annoying old lady who is the reason for the pink dress. "Rey, do you need a zip?"
No, she doesn't need a zip. She zipped the dress with the Force. The zipper isn't the problem. None of the mechanics of trying on the dress are the issue. "I'm not coming out." Even to her own ears, the comment sounds childish.
"Did it not fit? Vanee said you he took a covert scan and usually that means it's at least close—"
"I'm not coming out."
But eventually, she comes out. Rey presents herself for inspection. She stands fidgeting with eyes averted and cheeks the color of the dress.
"That's pink. That's not mauve, it's definitely pink." The servant Milo turns out to be a veritable font of sartorial opinions Rey wishes he would keep to himself.
But Lady Vader is an enthusiastic proponent. "How beautiful you look!"
"And how uncomfortable," Ben observes. He's enjoying this moment, she can tell. "Twirl for us?" he smirks.
She shoots him a look so cold it would freeze water on hot Jakku.
"It needs a nice lipstick," Lady Vader suggests. "At your age and with that complexion, you should keep it fresh faced but with a lipstick."
Lipstick? Not a chance. Rey floofs the skirt that swirls around her ankles. "I can't fight in this . . . "
"Are we fighting? I thought we were having dinner," Plagueis drawls.
Rey complains some more. "There's no place to hook a sword."
Lady Vader frowns. "Is that a problem?"
"Yes." She learned long ago on Jakku always to keep a weapon on her person. In fact, she's holding the repaired Skywalker sword right now since she has no place to put it.
"Can't he hold your sword for you?" Lady Vader gestures to Ben.
Ben snorts. "I'm the one she's likely to be slaying."
Lady Vader frowns harder now. "I guess she really isn't your girlfriend. Oh, well. Slay with the dress, not with the sword," she coaches Rey. The woman clearly has very different priorities than she does. Cocking her head and giving her yet another critical look, Lady Vader muses, "You know, she looks a bit like your grandmother . . ." to Ben.
"You know, you're right," Plagueis agrees. "I don't know why I never saw it before. Must have been the rags and the goofy hair. Hard to see past all that," he grumbles.
Lady Vader now decrees, "Rey, you look lovely. Lord Vader would approve. He liked women fancy. He was a long hair, long dress sort of man."
Rey shoots the woman a look. "You're kidding me."
But she is sincere. "He always put women on a pedestal. And he liked them to look like they belonged on a pedestal," the old lady recalls. She sighs. "Those were different times . . ."
"Indeed," Milo laments and all the old people nod in unison.
What follows is a wretched dinner-party-and-family-reunion that Rey must endure for hours. Everything about the evening makes her uncomfortable. The fancy dress befitting an Empress not an orphan from Jakku . . . the intimidating table place setting with multiple forks and three wine glasses . . . the sophisticated conversation that lurches between talk of art and opera and memories of people who died decades before she was born. The politics is decidedly fascist, the Force is firmly Dark, and the humor is sarcastic. Rey could not be more of an outsider. It brings all of her insecurities to the forefront.
She's stared down everyone from rival scavengers to Darth Sidious himself. But outside of those contexts of conflict and violence, she loses her badass moxy fast. Confidence is highly situational, she's learning. Sure, she knows how to handle herself at the Nima Outpost and at Maz's tavern on Takodana. But somehow Darth Plagueis' dining room feels way out of her league. So she pushes the food around her plate and ignores the wine, trying to copy what the others are doing while she watches and listens.
Snoke is shockingly charming as he holds court at the head of the table with an easy bonhomie. Milo is his straight man crony and Vanee offers chuckles, concurring nods, and knee slaps on cue. Lady Vader is alternately wistful and gently tart. She has an old lady's candor that's more endearing than sharp. It's clear Plagueis and his servants adore the woman. Ben is fascinated by her, although he asks very few questions. Skeptical Rey resolves to withhold her opinion.
She sits miserable for hours. Forced to listen to Darth Plagueis describe how he currently pretends to be someone called Mother Talzin as he trolls Darth Sidious. Then Plagueis floats the idea that he's considering dropping the title Darth for something more modern and what does everyone think about that? Rey learns that Lady Vader answered the Resistance call to fight in the citizen armada at Exogol. And maybe that helps Rey like her a little. Apparently, long ago Darth Vader taught his wife to fly. She and Ben discuss spin moves at length while Rey feigns interest.
It's a wide-ranging conversation that keeps circling back to the persistent theme of the Skywalkers. The dinner fills in parts of a family saga Rey mostly already knows. It's the tale of a Sith Lord whose Dark hubris ultimately brought about the seeds of his own destruction when his quest to create life conceived a child of the Force born to be the Chosen One. Fear of that unknown child's potential brought about all sorts of suffering that spanned the galaxy and spanned generations. From Plagueis' own violent comeuppance at the hands of his pupil, to an initial Apprentice Darth Sidious mistakenly trained and then discarded. From the Skywalker twins separated and hidden at birth only to encounter each other and their secret father unknowingly, to Darth Sidious' quest for immortality so he could survive the uprising he long anticipated from the down-but-not-out Darth Vader. Ben's own plight is part of the fallout. So is her very existence.
Plagueis' quest for power started a civil war and then toppled the Old Republic and destroyed the Jedi Order. During his exile, there was yet another civil war. And now again, yet another. It's the Force at war with itself through the feuding Skywalkers and their enduring antagonist Darth Sidious. Sidious beat the patriarch, enslaved the son, fought the twin grandchildren, and enslaved the great-grandchild via Snoke. When Rey herself showed up on the scene, Sidious recognized exactly who she was and how he could use her. For Rey knows now she was right to call herself a Skywalker back on Tatooine. Like it or not, she has been pulled into their conflict as the alternative Chosen One.
Forlorn Rey looks across at Ben hanging on Lady Vader's every word as she speaks of her dead husband's persistence at subverting his hated Master. The Force tells Rey it's all true, but it's not the story the history books tell. So little of the complete story is known by the public. And that's a shame. People should know that the conflicts in play are as personal as they are political and philosophical. For the Force wielding demigods raging among them chart history as much by their own biases as by principles. And now, Rey herself is a conscripted member of their pantheon.
It's a lot to take in. Especially when she has to listen to some old lady cast Darth Vader in the role of tragic hero. The woman's from Alderaan, which makes it even more bizarre. Pensive Rey decides she has heard enough. At the earliest possible moment, she murmurs an excuse and heads for the Falcon. Casting a last glance over her shoulder as she exits, Rey catches Ben's pouting frown. He looks hurt, like he did this morning.
Whatever. She's done with this Vader lovefest history lesson. These people might call themselves her family, but Rey's not sure she wants to claim them.
On her way out, Rey makes sure to nab her own clothes. Five minutes later, she's back to looking like her usual self, curled up with a datapad reading the newsfeeds, trying to relax on her own. She's alone . . . always alone. Solitude is her comfort zone, even if it is her longtime nemesis. Too much of it hurts. Too little of it makes her anxious. Rey has a love-hate relationship with loneliness.
She knows she's not the only one who craves something that hurts. Why do we want things that we know are bad for us? Why does the diabetic reach for a cookie? The drunk reach for a beer? The addict lunge for more spice? What's missing in her and others that they go seeking it elsewhere in poor substitutes that only foster self-destruction? Why can't we say out loud to another, or at least inwardly to ourselves, what we truly desire? Why is it so much easier to admit that you have a problem than it is to acknowledge the cure?
Rey knows her cure: she needs love. Whatever her past truly is—however she came to be orphaned and alone on Jakku—she needs love. Desperately. She wants someone to care for who will care for her in return. Someone who will do it with enough zeal to overcome her skittishness and fear. It's secretly why she liked the bond. Ben was pretty much inescapable then, and she likewise for him. No matter how she acted or what she did, he was always coming back. It made him the closest thing she had to family since family also has to accept your faults and stick around. Rey would never admit it, but the knowledge that Ben would always be there in the bond was a constancy that went a long way to balming her abandonment issues.
Ben was her guilty secret that only Luke knew. She never confided the bond to General Leia or to Finn, Rose, or Poe. There were many good reasons for that decision, even after Ben died on Exogol. But now, Rey wonders if is a statement on how arm's length she keeps her Resistance friends. She trusts them, but not enough. Trust will always be her problem, she fears.
And there's the rub: she wants love but she cannot trust. And so, when it is offered to her, her knee jerk reaction is to reject it. Everything. Ben said he had—is—offering her everything. Everything. She doesn't dare take it, but she wants to. He kisses her and says they are destiny. She half believes him. So why is she rejecting him? Why did she pretend those kisses never happened? Why does she need to keep her distance? Is it fear? Not enough self-worth? Risk aversion? Maybe all of the above? Well, for whatever reason, here she is hiding on the Falcon where she feels safely separate, but comfortingly close, to all that tempts her.
She's not surprised when an hour later, Ben marches up the ramp of the Falcon in search of her. She watches as his eyes slowly canvas their surroundings, taking in the faded, patched together, ramshackle mess that is the aging freighter's main lounge area. Ben visibly swallows. Clearly, this setting is bringing up old ghosts. And so, of course, his opening line is nasty. "It looks worse than I remember."
"It sat in the desert for years."
"I wondered where all the sand came from." He pokes at a long, gritty smear of it that's underfoot. "I hate sand."
His eyes find the beautiful pink dress carefully hung on a hanger off a random knob. Is he going to make another crack about the dress? He doesn't. Instead, Ben gets at another, even more sensitive topic. "When you left, I was half expecting to hear you fire up the engines and take off . . ." he observes offhand with a casualness neither of them believes.
She comes clean. "I'll admit, I was tempted."
"You were tempted a lot," he accuses softly . . . truthfully. "Why do you do this? Why do you pull back from people?"
"Those are a bunch of old people. Old people talking about dead people," she grumbles.
He raises his eyebrows. "You do know that's what most every family gathering is like, right?"
Actually, she doesn't. "I wouldn't know. I don't have a family."
"Fine. But if you want people in your life, you shouldn't push people away."
"I don't push—"
"You do. Are you like this at the Resistance too? With your new friends?"
"No. Well . . . I don't know." She bites her lip, thinking of all the unanswered messages from Finn and Poe piling up in her inbox.
"Do you not want people in your life?"
"Of course, I want people-"
"Because I don't want people."
Oh. She squints up at him in confusion. "You don't?"
"No. Not really. Maybe just a few . . . not too many. But you," he accuses, "you take that to an extreme."
"Does that surprise you?"
"It disappoints me. I want better for you."
Rey doesn't know what to say to that comment. She just looks away. His pity feels humiliating even if it's sincere.
Ben doesn't let up. "I saw how lonely you were on Jakku. Rey, I remember."
"Back then, I wanted a family."
He points out, "Plagueis is offering that."
Hardly. "These people have an agenda. I don't trust them. They aren't safe!"
"What about me?" Ben asks with disarming gentleness. "We were bonded once."
Her heart skips a bit. Because is this a prelude to another 'Join me' speech? She shifts in her seat and stammers, "You're . . . you're . . ."
He waits.
She blinks, searching for what to say.
When she hesitates too long and he goads her, "Kylo Ren? I'm too Kylo Ren, is that it?"
She shakes her head. "No, that's not it." Ben is far too dangerous, and not just because of his politics or his Force. He's entirely too seductive in ways she doesn't like to acknowledge. It had been easy to turn down his offer to rule, just like it had been easy to turn down Palpatine's offer of unlimited power. But what Ben's offering now—friendship with kisses and maybe everything or anything else—is tempting. In some ways, it's far more threatening than power. It's also very problematic. And she's enough of a survivor to know not to take foolish risks, even if those risks have dark eyes, pouty lips, and wild hair that she longs to sink her fingers into.
He's looking at her expectantly. She needs to say something. But what? "You're . . . you're . . ."
He is frustrated by her inability to find words. His jaw is clenched and his eyes are resigned as he raises hands in defeat and grinds out, "Okay, I get it. You want to be alone. I guess that's what you're best at," he snaps.
This, at least, is dynamic she knows how to handle. Conflict with Ben is nothing new and it actually puts Rey more at ease. She takes his cue and it's another one of their low-key fights as she casts aside her datapad and leaps to her feet. "Did you come to keep me company?" she asks, crossing her arms and lifting an eyebrow. "I didn't really think this was your scene . . ." she obliquely refers to the famous ship owned by the father he murdered.
Ben understands the reference. "Does the rest look this bad?"
"Pretty much."
"I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Han Solo never kept anything nice." She's expecting Ben to make a few more sneery comments and leave, but instead he starts poking around. "Does the dejarik table still work?"
"It glitches a lot."
He nods. "Probably from Chewie pounding it. It's not wise to upset a wookiee."
"They might shoot you," she goes low.
Ben says nothing. He just limps past her down the curving hallway towards the cockpit.
Rey follows. She comes up fast but stops short. Watching as Ben stands with one hand on the pilot seat staring at the controls. He's displayed in profile and his expression is bleak. Haunted even. Suddenly, Rey knows exactly how young Ben Solo appeared after he caused that Force shockwave at Luke's Temple.
Well, he should be upset here in the Falcon. He murdered his own father. Seeing Ben confronted with Han Solo's beloved ship should feel a bit like justice. But truthfully, Rey has a hard time with the sympathy this moment arises. Why does Ben elicit such instinctive compassion from her? She can't explain it. But just like on Ahch-To when she went straight to the Dark, she is drawn in time and time again by this fallen Jedi.
She can see now all the promise Luke and Leia must have perceived long ago. No wonder they were frustrated with the lackluster Skywalker Padawan. For Ben speaks of the Force with the reverence of a priest. He has the dedication of a scholar to its analysis and history. He also has the conviction of a born leader. What a waste that he ended up on the Dark Side commanding the lie that is the First Order. So much was lost when Snoke sunk his claws into young Ben Solo. But it's all still there, Rey knows, buried under resentment, anger, and despair.
Could she still reach him? She wants to try. Rey feels bad now for resisting his attempt to reach out tonight. But it rubs her the wrong way to hear she's the one who needs advice. Ben is the one who needs help. Anyone can see that. But perhaps she was too defensive about being lonely earlier.
Ben starts poking around at the controls, noting the rewiring and rigged workarounds. "Someone put a compressor on the ignition line," he complains.
"It's bypassed now."
"Good. That puts too much stress on the hyperdrive."
"That's exactly what Han said."
"Did he?" Ben grunts. "I'm surprised. That's the sort of shortcut he might take. He did a lot of work on this ship, but he was a pretty average mechanic. Chewie was constantly redoing his work."
"Oh. I didn't know." That's all news to her.
He gripes, "The only thing Han Solo was good with was a gun. My uncle was a great mechanic. He was the far better pilot as well. I learned to fly and to fix things from Luke. In the end, that turned out to be the better choice, even if it wasn't a choice . . ."
That's the first praise Ben has ever given to Luke. Rey notes it but refrains from commenting. "Your mother said Han wasn't around much . . . "
"In every way that matters, Luke was my father." Ben grimaces at the painful admission. It's hoarsely said. His choked tone even more so than the actual words puts what happened at the Temple in a fresh light for Rey. "I guess I was the son Luke Skywalker never had . . . and the son Han Solo didn't want . . ."
She's about to say something when Ben abruptly slaps hard at the back of the pilot's seat. Then, he kicks it viciously with his good leg.
She objects. "Han loved you!"
Ben whirls to glare hard at her. "I'm sure he thought that. Like I'm sure he thought he loved my mother."
"You didn't need to kill him—"
"If I didn't, someone else would have," he jeers back. Ben's words are unrepentant but his expressive face is full of remorse. Here again, Rey sees the conflict within this Dark prince. These flashes of vulnerability make her want to help. There is a conscience buried in him, and that means there is Light in him still.
No one will ever reach this man by challenging him, she instinctively knows. Like her, he's ready to fight at the slightest provocation. So she drops the accusations and tells herself that what's done is done. Han Solo is dead and Ben will have to live with that. Plus, ever since she herself stabbed Ben in the heat of anger on Endor, Rey better understands how you can lose control in the moment. Had she not been able to heal with the Force, the outcome might have been the same for Ben as for his father.
Rey now tries to make amends. She begins, "I'm sorry about earlier. You're right-I do push people away."
"So, it's not just me?"
"It's everyone," she confesses, feeling her face flame.
He's looking at her like she owes him an explanation. Ben does this a lot. He challenges her silence.
Flustered, she mutters the truth, "People stress me out. Especially a lot of people."
He nods slowly. "I think I understand."
"You do?"
"It's all their minds. All their feelings. You're very sensitive to others in the Force. It can make crowds overwhelming. All those minds."
She nods. "It's too much."
"Tell me."
"At the Resistance, after Exogol . . . all those happy people . . . it was overwhelming . . . "
"Too much collective emotion?" he guesses.
"I don't do emotions well."
"I've noticed, Jedi."
Is he teasing her? He is. But with Ben, it's always hard to tell. "I was relieved to leave them," she confesses. "To get away from it all." It didn't hurt that she was frustrated about the Resistance path forward and worried about Darth Sidious re-emerging. It meant all that energy and emotion felt misplaced. Like their euphoria was a self-delusion.
"I can block it out if I have something to focus on. Like at Exogol in the arena . . ." She could block out all those cheering Sith acolytes and the battle above them.
He nods. "Let me help. I can teach you to pull back from other's minds."
"More mental shields?"
"Of a sort. It will help. I promise."
And there, standing in the dim, powered-down Millennium Falcon cockpit, Ben starts to teach her more defense tactics. How to shut out her surroundings and distance herself from others' emotions. How to find her own mental focus amid a crowd of minds screaming out their personal desires. As always, he is patient with her stupid questions-this side to Ben is so disarmingly kind. His teaching isn't the manipulation and gaslighting she feared. It is utterly sincere and very personal. And now, again she worries she made the wrong decision in Snoke's throne room.
"This is a coping mechanism," he informs her sternly. "It's not how you want to live your life."
"I understand."
"Do you? Rey, there will be times and there will be people who you need to shut out. But don't shut everyone out."
"I won't," she promises. "Thank you. I know I'm not the best student—"
"I want to help. I grew up steeped in the Force with a mother who was quite powerful. From a young age, I was taught to manage my talents. It was the Jedi way—often, the wrong way—but it was something. You never had any of that. It's why you need training. This power . . . it has downsides. I think it's why so many Force users end up alone. It's hard for others to appreciate how different we are. Our heightened senses are beyond their comprehension."
She gulps. For he just put into words her worst fear. It's not death, it's not failure. It's ending up alone . . . like on Jakku.
Ben must sense her unease, for he warns, "There's no use in pretending you're like everyone else. You're not. You need to accept that. Just like you need to accept your role in finding balance."
"I don't want to be alone," she blurts out. Suddenly, she's close to tears at this raw admission.
"You're not alone," he answers firmly.
He's told her that before, but it still feels like a lie. Because she might have a teacher in Ben and friends back at the Resistance, but she's alone in her fight to keep the spirit of the Jedi alive. And maybe Ben and Plagueis are right about moving on from some of the Jedi's more extreme ideas. But they have gone too far with discrediting the entire religion. Rey wants to retain the essence of the Light Side ideals: truth, compassion, and fairness. She will champion those virtues in the face of cynicism. But dinner tonight has her feeling especially beleaguered. Like she's alone in this fight against a chorus of Dark Side men of varying degrees of Sith-ness. From Sidious, to Plagueis, to Ren.
"Rey—"
"Yes?" she looks up.
"You're not alone." Ben walks forward and it's not to kiss her. This time, it's to hug her. He folds strong arms around her in a full embrace. She's stiff for a second before she melts into his chest. This is the comfort she needs right now, even if she's too shy to say so. But somehow, Ben knows anyway, bond or no bond.
With her head against his chest, his words spoken softly are right above her ear. "If you are alone, it is by choice. You are one half of our dyad. We belong together. We are stronger together. Never forget that when people try to separate us. Rey, don't make it easy for them. It's what Sidious wants."
Is he about to tell her that they are destiny at work? That she owes it to the galaxy to join him and balance the Force? No pressure . . . no pressure at all . . . Rey closes her eyes to shut out the insistence she knows is coming next.
But Ben simply pulls back after a long moment of snug embrace. He tells her, "I don't want to wake up tomorrow to learn you fled in the night," before he turns and limps out.