It's early morning. He's standing next to Darth Plagueis on the landing pad watching as Vanee lifts off in the cruiser to return his step-grandmother to Coruscant.
Kylo heard the old woman's story in full last night. It's just the sort of tale that fits into his bizarre family history. The improbable meeting, the considerable power imbalance, the different political perspectives, the secrecy, and the unrelenting danger are all hallmarks of his clan. The only thing Astral Sidhu is missing is the Force. She's still a Skywalker, though. Kylo's not exactly sure how he feels about his newest long-lost relative after one meeting. She was here mostly as a character witness for Plagueis, he suspects. To be an independent version of events with his uncle. But all in all, he's glad his grandfather didn't spend his final years entirely alone. She seemed nice enough.
Watching the cruiser ascend, Kylo remarks offhand to Plagueis, "She really hates Luke Skywalker." That message came through loud and clear from Lady Vader, even if it was expressed in polite, measured words with repeated qualifications and caveats.
The Sith Master agrees with this assessment. "She blames your uncle for her husband's death. And rightfully so, in some respects."
The mangled Muun frowns. "Back then, I believed it was all possible. That we could promote Vader to Emperor and install Luke Skywalker in the Apprentice role. Your uncle would broker a lasting ceasefire with the Rebellion and your grandfather would reform the excesses of the Empire. At long last, the galaxy would have peace and order. And then, in time, we would collectively find a way to balance the Force."
"None of that happened," Kylo grumbles. All that plotting came to nothing.
For a second, the old Sith at his side actually looks discouraged. "I underestimated Luke Skywalker's Jedi allegiance and I misjudged Sheev Palpatine's abilities. And so here we are, thirty years later, with different people fighting the same fight."
Kylo takes this opportunity to ask a question that's been on his mind for his own future: what happens if he and Rey succeed against Darth Sidious? Then what will Plagueis be up to? But Kylo's no fool. He won't ask the question directly to receive a convenient lie in return. Instead, he couches the issue in terms of the past, trying to sound casually curious. "What was your role supposed to be under Emperor Vader?"
"Behind the scenes. Even my original plans for the Empire had me behind the scenes."
Yes, Kylo thinks cynically, no doubt pulling the strings. Guys like Plagueis like to be the unseen mastermind. They live to be the one in control behind the curtain. He might owe his life to the guy, but Kylo doesn't trust Darth Plagueis the Wise one bit. But he's not letting on. He just listens like a good Apprentice should.
The cruiser has disappeared from sight overhead but Plagueis stays put, recalling aloud the past. "Lord Vader bungled things terribly at Bespin. We never recovered from that. Still, the Force was with us, or so I thought . . . I had faith it would all work out in the end. Never," Plagueis laments, "have I been so chagrined to be wrong."
It's just more blame to lay on Luke Skywalker, as far as Kylo's concerned.
"I took our failure as a sign to step back and to let the Force right itself. Only when Sheev returned in person to kill the last Skywalker did I decide to re-emerge. You were my last hope," Plagueis flatters him.
"Not Rey?" he challenges. It still rankles that Rey was Darth Sidious' preferred choice, not him. Not that he wanted to have that zombie inhabit him like Snoke. But still . . . it would have been nice to be offered the throne of Darkness only to turn it down. He had a lot of sweat equity invested in the First Order.
At the mention of Rey, the Sith Master's eyes find the Millennium Falcon parked at the far end of the landing pad. "That one's a wildcard," he judges. "Her future is clouded. Make her an ally, Apprentice. Do not let her rebuild the Jedi."
"I'm trying." He and Plagueis agree on that part, at least. It is long since time for the Jedi Order to end. The galaxy needs to move on.
"Try harder," the ugly Muun complains. He slants sly eyes his direction and Kylo has to fight the urge to squirm under the silent assessment. "You know," Plagueis purrs thoughtfully, "back in the days when I was molding young Sith in the old ways of Darkness, I always gave a promising Apprentice a special mission."
Kylo dutifully asks, "What was that?"
"To seduce a woman. My own Master gave me the same task. He said you will never seduce anyone to the Dark Side if you cannot seduce a woman. He was right."
Kylo can't help it. He's a little taken aback.
The Dark Master smirks at his frankly uncomfortable expression. "Not a skill Skywalker taught you, eh?" he leers.
"Or Snoke," Kylo admits.
"Yes, well, Sheev always was a bit of a prude."
Is Plagueis really egging him on to seduce Rey? This all keeps getting more and more bizarre. Kylo shifts his weight uncomfortably. It's not that he doesn't want to go to bed with Rey—he's had more fantasies of that scenario than he would ever admit. It's just that his sheepishly romantic nature never thought of it in terms of a mission. He and Rey are supposed to fall in love while they succumb to mutual, undeniable, irrepressible lust that is the will of the Force. Because their love is destiny and fate will let nothing stand in the way of their epic love affair.
And wait-is Plagueis sifting his thoughts? Because that crafty gargoyle looks especially smug just now. Kylo feels his face flame with embarrassment.
But the Muun refrains from commenting. He just intones, "Long have I waited for a second chance at this. Don't blow it, Apprentice. We are all depending on you. This time, we must succeed."
There is no 'we' as far as Kylo is concerned. And he's not Plagueis' Apprentice. As soon as his leg finally finishes healing, he and Rey are getting out of here. But for now, he plays along.
"Your uncle was misguided but well intentioned. When finally he realized the error of his ways, he quit when he might have helped to fix things. At every opportunity, Luke Skywalker made the wrong choice. It was such a shame. He had so much potential. Alas, the fault lies not in the Force, but in ourselves, Apprentice."
"Don't call me that in front of Rey again," Kylo complains. "It upsets her."
Plagueis could care less. "My Daughter can learn to handle it. As it is, she is much indulged. Look at how she lives," he gestures derisively to the Falcon. "She's gone from squatting in a wreck on Jakku to squatting in a wreck here. I wish she'd get that eyesore off my front lawn," the Dark Master harrumphs. "It's a wonder it can fly."
Kylo thinks of the young woman who had started shooting at him on Takodana before she even knew she had the Force. That same girl fled last night's dinner that posed no danger in a cowardly retreat. Rey isolates herself and then tells him she doesn't want to be alone. She returns his kisses and then pretends they didn't happen. She's not playing hard to get because later she clings to him in a hug so needy that it is almost childlike. None of it makes sense except it all makes sense. Rey has turned out to be a mess of contradictions. It's uncomfortably familiar.
With a glance over at the battered hull of the Falcon, Kylo sighs. "She is a prisoner of her insecurities and fears."
"Aren't we all, Lord Ren, aren't we all," old Plagueis replies. He closes his eyes and inhales deeply. "Feel all that Force," the Muun marvels. "Her imprint is enormous. Make sure you teach her to hide. She's far too conspicuous."
"I thought I was teaching her the Light."
"Teach her to hide. She may need that skill to survive one day."
Kylo isn't debating the wisdom of learning the skill. He's debating Rey's willingness to learn. "She won't like it."
"That one's a survivor. For all her scruples, she'll do what it takes to live."
"She won't like it."
"Got you wrapped around her little finger, does she?" Plagueis chuckles. "Never let it show, Apprentice. When women get the upper hand, you never get it back." With that opinion imparted, Plagueis gets back to complaining about the Falcon. "That thing is such an eyesore. If I were a proper Sith father, I would march over, drag her out, and lock her in a guest room with plenty of Force lightning until she learned how to behave. That girl needs some standards."
Kylo gives this plan a low probability of success. But he's curious: "What's stopping you?"
Plagueis grunts, "Guilt." Then he heads back inside his villa.
Kylo heads inside himself, noting that he is limping less today. By the end of the day, his ankle will probably be swollen and stiff again. But this is a better start than usual to his morning. It puts him in a good mood. He even says hello to curmudgeonly Milo who is skulking in the kitchen, no doubt pouting that his frenemy sidekick Vanee is gone again for a few days. Kylo breezes in, pours himself a big cup of caf, and settles in the living room to wait for Rey.
When she arrives, he coyly prods, "Notice anything different?"
"Yes. You're dressed. No more big, bare, hairy feet."
That's correct—he is wearing more of his new clothes—but that's not what he's angling for Rey to notice. "What else?"
She looks him over for a long moment before awareness suddenly dawns. "I can't feel you in the Force." Her eyes instantly widen. "Wait—are you projecting?" Rey looks genuinely concerned at that prospect as she worries, "Ben, you'll kill yourself! No, wait—are you already dead again?" she chokes. "Are you a Force ghost?"
He's amused. "I'm alive. I am hiding in the Force."
She screws up her face. "Like Luke hid from the Force?"
"No. I can still feel the Force, but you can't feel me. It is a deceptive technique." In old school Sith training, this trick was the first lesson of being a Sith: how to hide so that you could one day become a phantom menace to the Republic and its Jedi guardians, carrying on a long tradition of Dark deceit.
"Hiding in the Force . . . " Rey is dubious. "Sounds Dark."
"It is. I'm here to teach it to you."
"No, thanks."
It's the reaction he expects. Well, too bad. Time for some tough love. This is an offer she cannot refuse. Giving Rey his firmest Supreme Leader look, he announces, "You need to learn this skill."
She puts her hands on her hips in a mannerism vaguely reminiscent of his mother. "I don't want to learn any Dark tricks."
"Then think of it as defensive rather than deceptive," he improvises. "Rey, you may need this knowledge to hide from Darth Sidious."
That scenario gets her attention. But still, she is reluctant. "This is the first step towards fulfilling my vision, isn't it?" she frets.
"Having Sidious find you and inhabit your mind would pretty much fulfill that vision, don't you think?" he counters.
That comment scores a hit. But Rey still worries, "Dark tricks are a slippery slope . . ."
"That's my uncle talking. You know better. Do not fear Darkness. Make it your tool, not your cause, and you'll be fine," he assures.
She still balks. That vision on Endor clearly made quite an impression.
"I promise. You'll be fine," he cajoles.
"I don't know . . ."
"This trick is how Darth Sidious hid in plain sight from the Jedi Council. It's how he sat across from Master Yoda in countless meetings and no one was the wiser. We will use Darth Sidious' own strategies against him."
"You mean fight Darkness with Darkness?"
"Yes." But he's not hung up on the categorization. "And sometimes we will fight Darkness with Light. Whatever it takes. Whatever works." He doesn't have any scruples left at this point. Afterall, this is Darth Sidious they're talking about. No holds barred and no quarter for that fucker. Kylo doesn't care if he dies from Dark Force, Light Force, or balanced Force, so long as he dies permanently this time.
"So basically, you're saying that we're going to use the Force however we want?" Rey asks.
"Yes. No rules." No one to berate him for hearing—and even heeding—the call to the Light. And no one to fault Rey's Darker tendencies, which he suspects have been fostered in large part by the deprivation of her upbringing. This girl is an emotional wreck, he's learning. Full of insecurities and festering hurts that she masks with aggressive posturing and righteous insistence on simple answers and fairytale endings.
She had looked so lost last night. Diminished in a way he did not anticipate. You put this girl in a pink dress at a dinner table and the power bleed is immediate and considerable. She might be a Force prodigy from the school of hard knocks but she's also shockingly vulnerable and childlike. He hates to think of how easily Darth Sidious could manipulate her. He needs to make certain their enemy never finds her. Rey might be keen on a rematch of Exogol, but Kylo's not so certain things would go down the same way twice. And that means she must learn how to hide in the Force.
"Allow me to demonstrate." Enough with the preamble, Kylo starts teaching.
Rey listens and watches. He knows now that this is how she learns. She is something of a mimic, copying from him and others like Luke and his mother to advance her skills. It's a carryover from her self-taught mechanical prowess on Jakku. Rey learns best by doing after she's seen how others do it first.
"Now, you try it."
She refuses. Rey is too afraid to attempt it. They compromise on her describing the technique in detail back to him. It's not ideal, but he has to be satisfied with it.
"Master Skywalker would be horrified by this," Rey grumbles.
Hell, yes. "That's the best part," Kylo smirks. "Welcome to the Dark Side, baby," he teases.
Rey frowns. "You're sure in a good mood. It's weird. You even smiled just then."
Whoops. He automatically denies it. "Did not."
"Did too. You smiled when I walked in as well. It's why I worried you had died again. You smiled before you died."
"I don't remember. Didn't happen."
"It was nice," she recalls, ignoring his bluster. "You look really different when you smile . . . "
Yeah? "Different how? Different in a good way or different in a bad way?" Please say good way. He doesn't want to imagine himself grinning like a fool before he died ignominiously. That is not how a Dark hero is supposed to meet the Force. It lacks all the requisite manly melodrama.
Rey considers. "When you smile, you just look different. More normal, I guess."
Whatever. "Get over your fetish for normal. You and I will never be normal," he sniffs. He let go of the dream of being normal long ago. She needs to do the same. Kylo tries to look stern about it, but then he ruins it by smiling.
"Caught you!" Rey laughs.
And damn, if that doesn't make him smile more.
"I didn't think you would be this happy today. Not after I read the morning newsfeeds . . . "
Newsfeeds? His eyes narrow. The smile fades. "What happened? I didn't read the newsfeeds." He was too busy being hugged goodbye repeatedly by his long-lost grandmother and being invited to visit her on Coruscant. Normally, that sort of thing would annoy him and he would stomp off. But this was Lord Vader's widow and he owed her respect. Besides, Astral Sidhu is perhaps the first ever family member who completely approves of him. It felt nice. He was happy to let her draw the farewell out as long as she wanted. But now, it seems he is behind on events.
"There's war news. The Republic took back Sullust in a big naval battle. The First Order fleet was mostly destroyed, including the flagship."
He gulps. "The Finalizer was lost?" Oh, shit.
"Yes, according to the reports I read."
"FUCK!" he vents with an immediate curse. That's not sufficient, so he fires some Force lightning at nothing in particular. Because that's how pissed he is.
"Wow . . . " Rey breathes out.
"Oh, stop it!" he snaps, full of annoyance. "We've both seen you do it before yourself. Stop pretending to be so Light because we both know you're not."
"I guess you had a lot of friends on the Finalizer . . . " Rey bites at her lip.
"Friends? I don't have friends! Not like you have friends . . . not like you pretend to have friends . . . " Rey really doesn't understand the Dark Side at all. Dark Lords have enemies and allies. They don't have friends. Things aren't chummy with the Sith. "Vader's helmet was on the Finalizer . . . "
"That's right. I forgot."
"You're probably happy it's gone," he sneers, lashing out mostly because she's here to take it. "You trashed it once already—"
"That was an accident!"
"Right! Like I believe that! Happy now? That was the only thing I had of him!"
Rey truly does look sad for him. She takes a few steps forward. "Ben, I'm sorry. I understand, really, I do—Plagueis burnt my books, remember—"
"It wasn't books!" he roars.
That's when Darth Plagueis appears. "Who is shooting lightning in my house?" he demands like some grumpy Dark grandpa awoken from a nap.
Rey immediately tattles. "Ben. There's bad war news. And Vader's helmet was destroyed."
"Is that all?" Plagueis is unimpressed.
Frustrated, Kylo impulsively gives him a shot of lightning.
Plagueis deflects it effortlessly . . . right back at him. Kylo has to leap to avoid the barrage of Dark Force energy, causing him to land hard on his sore foot. He swears as he stumbles and ends up hopping on his good foot.
Darth Plagueis looks mostly amused. "Nice shot. You get one freebie and then I shoot back. That goes for you too, young lady," he addresses Rey. "Take it outside, Apprentice, if you need to rage. I feel about my art like you feel about that helmet."
"I'm sorry, Ben," Rey ventures again. "I know you loved that helmet."
Plagueis fails to perceive the loss. "It was nothing," he complains. "A melted relic that only someone ghoulish like Sheev would encourage you to worship. That's precisely the sort of iconography and ritual hocus pocus we need to move past. Masks are archaic," he sniffs. "You don't see me wearing a mask."
"You need one," Kylo jeers.
Plagueis shrugs off the insult. "I own who I am," he says with devastating gravitas before he majestically sweeps from the room.
Dissed by the Muun, upset at the loss of his grandfather's helmet that was his longtime talisman, and disturbed by the imminent collapse of the First Order, Kylo stalks off to brood.
"What about my training?" Rey calls after him.
"Practice on your own," he snarls back over his shoulder.
Two hours later, his exhaustive, obsessive reading of the newsfeeds has confirmed Rey's report. The Order is indeed perilously close to defeat. With the Finalizer and the main fleet gone, what little remained of the senior command after Exogol is now dead. Kylo doesn't even recognize the names of the two guys who appear on camera in a hastily recorded message released to the holonet on behalf of the First Order. Predictably, the pair vow to fight until the end for the values of peace, strength, and order. But even they don't seem to believe victory is possible. Their call to arms to rally the troops is halfhearted at best. It's a lost cause and everyone knows it.
In the meantime, the jubilant Resistance has declared themselves the winners. The holonet is replete with interviews featuring General Finn taking a victory lap. The traitor assures everyone that there will not be a repeat of the years that followed the fall of the Empire, when Imperial remnants persisted and entire sectors of the galaxy remained under shadow Imperial control. This time is different, the ex-stormtrooper declares. Palpatine is dead. Snoke is dead. Ren is dead. All the Force wielding fascist tyrants are gone. Soon freedom will reign throughout the galaxy at long last. The traitor is emphatically certain that the third time is the charm for the Republic.
Seething Kylo is sorely tempted to prove him wrong. Because it's now or never to reappear as the resurrected Supreme Leader and attempt to save the day. Well, maybe it's already too late . . . yeah, probably so . . . And why should he even care? Snoke was a lie and he was a chump for believing it for years. So if the First Order crashes and burns, he should be pleased. Except, he's not. Kylo sees beyond the Sith power play to the underlying issues yet to be resolved.
Despite all the hyper-credentialed intellectuals who advised the New Republic, their Senate leaders had a huge blind spot for the priorities of non-Core, non-elite citizens. It resulted in a tendency to champion high profile, esoteric issues that had little to do with average peoples' lives. That was the opening the First Order needed to harp on the many problems for which the New Republic had no compelling answers. For all their talk of empathy, Hosnia's Senate leaders had a firm ideological orthodoxy. Basically, they wanted to solve problems with the same solutions that failed in the past.
The New Republic was slavishly devoted to the halcyon days of the Old Republic. That mindset permitted them to overlook the corruption, inefficiency, and other shortcomings of the original failed galactic democracy. Clone Wars? What Clone Wars? That was merely an orchestrated conflict. There was no real disagreement amid the Republic systems, his own mother argued with a straight face. Any and all legitimate criticism was swept aside under the prevailing narrative that Darth Sidious and Darth Vader singlehandedly took down the Old Republic. It goes something like this: the evil Sith killed the good Republic, but now the good Republic is back. So, if you're unhappy with the new good Republic, you're either an apologist for evil or a loser who can't make it in a free and fair society.
That last sentiment might just be the most insidious part, Kylo thinks. For the meritocracy that the New Republic promised has appeal on its face. It's the bargain that it you work hard, get an education or a skill, and make good decisions, you will rise. But it sent a separate message as well: that if you can't get ahead, it's your problem, not the government's failure. Never mind that the deck is stacked against you because the wealth of the Core depends on exploitation of the Rim. Basically, the Core worlds want the rest of the galaxy to emulate their values and success, whether it's achievable or not. This congratulates the winners and boos the losers. It tells struggling people that it's their own fault. It feeds the sentiment that the New Republic Core elites look down on everyone else . . . because they do.
The longtime Republic Chancellor Darth Sidious hidden in the background exploited that discontent to maximum advantage. Kylo sees now the political genius at the heart of the First Order peasant revolt. The Order offers up solutions that are simple and pragmatic, if not always democratic. Their openly nostalgic, Imperialist themes appeal to people who live in forgotten corners of the galaxy. To people who feel their best days are behind them. It's a mix of straight talk, bluster, and grievance finely attuned to its audience. For the rhetoric of the First Order taps into a wellspring of social anxieties, economic frustrations, and legitimate policy grievances. Many people living in Mid Rim and Outer Rim systems listened and nodded along with it.
What happens to them now? Do they still have a champion? Will anything about the latest Republic be different from the first two iterations?
Plagueis wanders in after a while ostensibly to take a break, but Kylo is well aware that the old Sith Master is here to check on him. One glance at the three datapads in his lap betrays what he's been up to.
"It's hard to lose, isn't it?" the exiled Sith commiserates as the voice of experience.
He scowls back. "It's not over yet."
"It is for the First Order," Plagueis judges. "Keep your eyes on the prize, Lord Ren," he exhorts. "Balancing the Force will do far more than any political movement can."
He disagrees. Politics and the Force are pretty much inseparable and always have been. Glancing over at his host, he hazards a tepid plot. "You look like Snoke. Everyone would believe you as Snoke. Want to be Snoke?"
"And reappear with Kylo Ren? Both of us back from the dead?"
"Why not?"
"Because the none of that matters. Let it all go. The Force is what matters," Plagueis counsels.
"The golden sequin dress is negotiable," he persists, still half-serious.
Plagueis grunts. "Sheev had better hope I never catch him. Because he is going to suffer for that golden dress. But the best revenge," he contends, "is balancing the Force. That will make you legendary, Lord Ren. Empires come and go, but the Force is eternal. The Force is what matters."
Kylo tries to agree. But he's never been a quitter and this feels a lot like quitting. What would his grandfather do in this circumstance? He wonders. Because Astral Sidhu had described a pragmatic man firmly committed to making things better for the average people of the galaxy. Darth Vader had been born a slave in the Outer Rim and he never forgot where he came from.
"Stay the course," old Plagueis counsels again. The Sith Master claps him on the back in an unexpected fatherly gesture. "Remember . . . the Force is what matters," he intones again before he exits.
Pensive and bored, Kylo wastes the rest of the day in meditation. But when even that fails to occupy him, he goes in search of Rey. The Force tells him she's on the Falcon, as usual. He stalks up the ramp hoping for some company or at least an argument.
Where is she? She's not in the lounge munching one of those nutrition bars she likes to eat. Wandering through the freighter, he ducks next into the galley and then into the cockpit. No Rey. Is she in the main cabin bedroom? He would knock, but the door is already open.
"Rey?"
Yes, she's inside. She's standing in the alcove adjacent to the bedroom that his father only half-jokingly referred to as 'Uncle Lando's cape closet.' She's posed before the full-length mirror wearing the pink dress.
At his voice, Rey whirls like she's been caught doing something she shouldn't. Her face is as pink as her elegant gown. "I didn't hear you come in," she sputters.
She needs to keep her senses more alert than that. You can't rely on the Force to announce imminent danger, you have to be on guard for it yourself. But rather than make this a teaching moment, Kylo smiles his appreciation at the pretty picture she presents. "I knew you liked it."
"Actually, I hate it," she lies, nervously toying with her hair that hangs loose in tousled waves about her shoulders. She looks very glam compared to her usual utilitarian presentation. Shocking soft, too.
"It's ok to like it," he assures, adding, "You're beautiful in it."
"I've never worn a dress before."
That much is clear. He encourages again, "You look beautiful in it."
She brushes off his compliment. "I hate it." Then, she changes the topic to hide her embarrassment. "What are you doing here?"
"I got tired of reading depressing newsfeeds. Play me a game of dejarik?"
"I'm not very good."
"Liar. No false modesty. You're good at everything."
Rey brightens at both the praise and the challenge, regaining her usual confidence. "Alright. But don't say I didn't warn you. Let me just change—"
"Keep it on," he interrupts. And did that come out like a command? He instantly makes light of the request. "It's just a dress after all." A dress that makes her look very alluring and delightfully girly.
She looks down at the gown, frowns, and shrugs. "Yeah, you're right. Whatever. I'll keep it on."
Yes, she definitely likes the dress.
Rey swishes past him now in a whisper of pink silk that is at odds with her purposeful stride to the lounge. Rey marches to the dejarik booth like she's storming the bridge of a star destroyer. They sit across from one another as she powers up the game.
The first few moves of holochess are uneventful. The real strategy comes later in the game play. So, they trade moves between small talk.
Chin propped on her hand, Rey starts, "I've been meaning to ask you—what was it like being dead?"
"I don't remember."
"Oh."
"When I woke up here, I thought I was dead in Force Hell with Snoke," he recalls.
"Is there a Force Hell?"
"Plagueis says no. But who knows?" In retrospect, his arrival back into the realm of the living seems more farce than fantasy. It was very humiliating. "I turned up here naked."
"Naked!"
He grins. "Apparently, when you disappear into the Force—"
"-you leave behind your clothes," she finishes. "Yeah, so that makes sense . . . you came back naked. Actually, I have your sweater. I kept it."
"Were you thinking I would come back?" he teases.
"No—I don't know—"
"Were you hoping I would come back?" he presses.
"Well, maybe . . . "
That's a yes, he decides happily. "Why'd you keep the sweater? Because if I knew I was coming back, I might prefer the pants. Unless you didn't want me in pants—"
"Oh no. Pants! Definitely pants!" she reacts fast.
"You've seen me naked," he reminds her. "Through the bond."
"Not 'no pants' naked."
He smirks. "A guy can always hope."
"Dream on, fly boy," she retorts. "So why did you ditch the uniform?"
"You mean after Endor? It was soaking wet and bloody with a hole from where you stabbed me."
"Right. I forgot."
Something about her immediate disappointment when he answers speaks volumes. He calls her on it. "You thought I turned up out of uniform because I was Ben Solo, didn't you? I had come to save the day with a blue sword and everyman clothes?"
"Uh . . ."
"You did! Admit it."
She parrots his line back to him. "A girl can always hope. Wait. I'll be right back." She disappears for a minute before she returns with the sweater he died in. "Here." She thrusts it at him.
He can't resist needling her as he holds it up. "Is this my good boy sweater? I can't believe you kept this."
She shrugs. "It was all that was left."
"You didn't think you should bury it in the desert?"
"You know about that?"
"Yes."
She looks embarrassed again. "I guess I kept it to remember you by," she confesses. "To remember the man who stood with me against Darth Sidious and then saved me."
"Ben Solo?" he asks dryly.
"Yes. I thought you died a hero."
"Instead, I died a villain."
"No. Not a villain. Not really."
He'll count that comment as progress, Kylo decides. This is so them. He and Rey have no casual conversations. They are always intense and full of substance, even if they pretend otherwise.
"So . . . it looks like the war really will be over soon." Rey says this like it's a good thing. It makes all the angst of his afternoon rush back.
He scowls as he moves his next piece. "What happens when it's over?" he demands.
"We hold elections, convene the Senate, and elect a Chancellor."
"And then what? Happily ever after with the New New Republic?" he scoffs.
"Well, yes." She's completely serious.
He squints at her naivete. "You really believe that?"
"Yes. I believe in democracy."
"Why?"
She blinks. "What do you mean why?"
"What did galactic democracy ever do for you?"
Her mouth settles in a firm line as she looks away. "Jakku is different."
"Not really. It's an underpopulated, underserved, impoverished world like much of the Rim. And it's controlled by a local strongman, like much of the Rim is controlled by crime syndicates and faceless, unaccountable Core-controlled corporations."
Rey sighs as she makes her next move. "That's nothing new."
"That's the First Order's point. The Old Republic didn't care about the outlying systems and neither did the New Republic. Only the Empire did. But when the Empire fell and chaos followed, people rushed to fill the void of legitimate authority. Bad people."
"Things will be different this time." Rey sounds confident and it irks him. It reminds him all too well of the traitor general's interviews today on the holonet.
The news media gave the traitor a pass on the point, but he's giving Rey pushback. "Why? Why will this time be any different?" Kylo challenges. "The Old Republic couldn't govern the Rim and it provoked a secession movement for its neglect. Then, the New Republic couldn't govern the Rim and the First Order arose to control the chaos. But now the New New Republic is somehow going to accomplish what its prior two iterations have failed to do?"
Rey moves a piece forward out of the dejarik board's concentric rings and into the center circle. Then she shoots him a knowing look. "The Sith were behind the Separatists and the First Order."
"Yes."
"Well, that explains it."
"Not entirely. Rey, the Sith didn't create the inequities between the Core and the Rim. They just exploited them."
"It will be different this time." It's the same baseless confidence and hollow optimism the traitor general spouts. The attitude makes Kylo practically lust to prove them wrong.
He takes refuge in biting sarcasm. "You mean it will be different now that you have conquered these people a third time in less than a century? Now, you can expect them to be more patient and understanding? Your friends liberate people from their own democratically elected First Order system level governments and you think they will support you?"
"Most First Order worlds don't have democratically elected governments," she points out. "And Palpatine was elected, you know. Look, elections don't always yield perfect results. But democracy is the most free, most fair system there is. The First Order—the Final Order—whatever you call yourselves now—you are violent, fascist extremists!"
Yep, she resorts to name calling. Kylo resists the strong temptation to respond in kind and call her New Republic friends out-of-touch liberal elites who exploit the Rim. Instead, he maintains, "The First Order filled the power vacuum left by the absent New Republic. It was either us, the Pykes, or the Hutts. You take your pick for who is the worst. Care to lay odds on what crime syndicate will replace us next month? Because if you like us, you're going to love the Hutts."
"You steal children to make them stormtroopers!" she accuses. Her eyes are hot and her hands grip the table. This won't be one of their normal bickering arguments. She's truly mad.
And was he personally the 'you' in that sentence? Kylo shoots back, "I didn't make those decisions."
"I notice you didn't stop them when you became Supreme Leader!" Rey is getting shrill.
"There is a war going on. I needed the troops. I won't pretend that everything the First Order does is good—"
"Hosnia! What about Hosnia?"
"—but we had widespread popular support in some areas of the galaxy for a reason. To say that those people are all manipulated by Palpatine is to dismiss their legitimate grievances and to diminish their viewpoints."
Rey leaps to her feet as she shuts him down. "No—don't start! I've heard this argument before from your First Order media types. They foster a moral relativism that points out the failures of the Republic as counterpoint to their excesses. Two sentences later they're equating Death Stars with bad trade policies and excusing genocide with promises of better days ahead!" Rey purses her lips and shoots him a measuring look. "I never pegged you for a true believer." She's disappointed and it shows.
Should he be offended? "You thought I was an opportunist?"
"No . . . Well, I don't know . . . I guess I thought you had to go along with it all as the Apprentice . . . "
Ah, they're back to the 'good boy' sweater. Rey keeps wanting to view him as Snoke's victim in need of saving. Perhaps he should be flattered, but a large part of him is annoyed at that portrayal. The situation is more complex than she realizes. In many ways, the First Order was the lesser of several evils.
He's straight with Rey now, like always. She needs to wipe the rose covered goggles from her eyes and see him for who he is. "I was the Apprentice, yes. I also believe some of it."
"You do?"
"Yes. But Rey," he meets her eyes and holds her gaze, "that doesn't mean I always agreed with Snoke's means." He was no fan of Starkiller Base.
"You mean you didn't care about Snoke's means. Not enough to object, that is." Rey cocks her head at him. "You know, last night at dinner I listened to Lady Vader make the pitch for your grandfather reforming the Empire from within."
"That's right. Revolution throws out the good with the bad."
"Which turned out to be a good thing since there wasn't much compromise and reform in Darth Sidious," she huffs. "Face it, Ben. Some things are too bad to be reformed."
"You mean like me?" he challenges softly. "Like Kylo Ren?"
She furrows her brow. "I'm talking about the First Order. You are not the First Order . . . not anymore." Rey shoots a pointed look at the 'good boy' sweater next to him in the booth.
"I guess . . . " He's not so sure.
Kylo turns his attention back to the dejarik board. He makes a move that leaves him vulnerable. Rey takes the bait and takes him on, winning the next move with an easy kill. But he's accomplished what he planned, for the forfeit of his piece opens up new avenues to attack her. Does she perceive that risk? Kylo wonders. He was trained by Darth Sidious' puppet Snoke to always think two moves ahead of his opponent. It allows him to easily take her next three pieces. And now, the advantage is his.
Rey's mind is still on politics, not the game. She lifts her chin and proclaims, "When people in the Rim are free and can think for themselves without First Order media outlets shoving fake news down their throats, they will understand. They want what people everywhere want: freedom, opportunity, and happiness."
She's half right. "The Rim might want opportunity and happiness. But they don't want freedom." He leans forward across the table for emphasis. "They want order."
"You're wrong."
"We'll see. History is on my side." Kylo now slides his strongest piece into attack position. It's a bold, risky bet that could bring victory if she's not careful. "Your move," Kylo prompts her softly.
Rey frowns down at the board, looking momentarily stumped. She hunches over the game, studying it as she speaks. "Finn's latest message predicts victory in a month. Maybe less, if Dantooine falls quickly."
"Is the Republic going to occupy the Rim?"
"Of course, not. Those systems are free now."
"Free to be controlled by criminals and off-world investment vehicles? Free to pay extortion money to the Hutts? To become a haven for scofflaws and smugglers with their trail of violence, spice, and vice behind them? People like Han Solo made a living off all that misery. Bounty hunters were what counted for local law enforcement," he recounts the truth of Rim living. "Don't kid yourself, Rey, there is nothing romantic and dashing about smugglers, pirates, and guns for hire. They have no allegiance other than credits. At least with the First Order, there is an ideology. We have a creed that trumps avarice."
"Things will be different this time," she stubbornly contends. Then, she makes her own bold move. She's attempting an end-run around his strategy. "Your move," she tells him smugly.
He answers her move and then waits. This is it. Her next move either wins or loses the game. Kylo waits to see how it will unfold. Will she win? Will he win?
Neither of them wins. The game is a draw thanks to a technical malfunction. For as Rey sits deciding, the decades old dejarik table glitches. She swears in coarse Huttese as she pounds the controls. "I hate it when it does that." Then, she pounds some more. Rey isn't much for finesse.
"I guess we both win," he is diplomatic about the outcome.
Rey snorts. "You were going down."
"That's what you think." He shrugs, unconcerned. "I guess we'll never know. Rematch tomorrow?"
"Yeah, okay." She starts poking at the game controls, yanking off the faceplate to expose the machine's inner workings. She frowns at what she sees. "I'll take this apart later tonight and see if I can tighten the connections. It's old wiring that looks brittle."
"This was fun. You're a worthy opponent," he commends her sincerely. "That was a good game."
"I guess that's praise coming from you," she decides, still poking. "This kind of chess game is pretty Sith." And now, suddenly she is uncharacteristically unsure of herself. Rey sits back and looks away as she worries, "Ben, I don't know if there will ever be a place for you in the Republic . . . not feeling like you do . . . "
"You mean because I won't be publicly contrite Ben Solo serving a prison term in a softie sweater? Clothes make the man apparently," he smirks, holding up the garment in question.
Rey doesn't appreciate the levity. The princess dress she's wearing probably doesn't help. "It's not what you wear that's the problem, it's who you are."
That's true. And he's fine with it. Like Plagueis who refuses to wear a mask, Kylo owns who he is and he won't make nice to the Republic to ingratiate himself. That's not just because of his political views, it's also good strategy. He was raised the prince of doomed Alderaan, so he knows there will never be an acceptable apology for things like Hosnia.
"I won't be the fall guy for Snoke and Sidious. I won't take the blame for Starkiller Base."
She nods slowly. "That's a problem. Because if Darth Vader was once the most hated man in the galaxy—"
"Then I'm a close second?" he guesses.
"Yes. And you're the only contender left alive to punish."
"So I'll stay dead. Not many people know my face."
"The Resistance leadership does."
"Does that matter?"
"It does if we ever want to . . . uh . . . be together . . . you know . . . if destiny ever comes true . . . " she stammers, flustered and blushing prettily.
She's got it all wrong. "Rey." He reaches across the small table to grab her hand and cease her tinkering. "Rey, the Resistance can't stop destiny. Neither can you. That's the point."
She shakes her head. "I can't keep you a secret. Ben, if they knew you were alive—
"They'd be sending you to kill me?"
"Yes! And that's why I've been thinking that I need to leave—"
What? "No!" He grips tighter now, and she doesn't pull away. In fact, she offers the other hand. He accepts and now they are holding hands across the game table.
"I want to learn more from you. I need a teacher, I know—"
"You can't leave-we're not done yet!" She can't walk out on him now.
Rey reasons, "The longer I stay here, the deeper I betray the Republic and the more suspect I become in their eyes. You are a taint. I'll never explain this," she wails, looking miserable. "I'm not even going to try."
"Rey, we will need to leave soon. Plagueis can't be trusted. But we need to leave together so we can keep training."
"I've got to go back to the Republic. And you can't follow me there."
He's getting frustrated. "Have you heard nothing that Plagueis and I have said? You need to leave the Republic in order to save it. Balancing the Force is the only way to defeat Darth Sidious."
"You want me to turn my back on my friends?"
"If you honor what they fight for, then yes." As she fumes, he reminds her, "I'm turning my back on the First Order as well. You've read the newsfeeds. You know how badly they need me."
"That's different."
"Not really. Not for me."
She sighs and looks down at their clasped hands. "I wish things were different . . . "
He slants her a resentful glance. "You mean you wish I were Ben Solo and you could argue for clemency so I could train you openly."
"Yes. Something like that. But you're still very First Order—"
"So is a third of the galaxy's population."
"—and no one in the Resistance will accept you." She pulls away now and leaps to her feet. Rey is agitated as she starts pacing. "I wish there was some way they would accept you . . ."
Her pacing is making him nervous. It's like she's going to flee at any moment back to the Resistance. So he's on his feet now to intercept her. Placing hands on her forearms, Kylo stands close. "You know what the Force wants. Now, ask yourself what do you want. Trust your feelings," he urges. Choose me, not the Resistance.
"I do . . . It's just . . ." She looks up in appeal to him, clearly frustrated for her predicament.
They are standing in the perfect posture for a kiss. This is his chance. That interrupted make out session in Snoke's living room has only whetted his appetite. He wants a kiss and more . . . much more. Not last night's chaste hug but bare skin on bare skin and his hungry mouth on hers. In the moment, Kylo is certain that their attraction is very strong and unmistakably mutual. He's tempted. She's tempted as well.
His head dips lower and hovers there just above her upturned and waiting mouth. He knows what he wants to do, but he's far from certain that it's the right course. Darth Plagueis might want him to seduce Rey to their cause, but he's shy of more rejection given the misgivings she vocalized tonight. The only thing worse than Rey turning him down again would be Rey accepting him and then running home to the Resistance. And so, he's stuck here. Made uncharacteristically cautious from bad experience.
The tension is killing him. Finally, Kylo dips lower but his lips land on her forehead. It's a soft salute that leaves them both frustrated and wanting. But at least it shows he cares.
For tonight at least, they will continue to dance around one another. Each afraid to make a bold move like they did earlier on the chess table. This isn't a game. Hearts and lives hang in the balance. Get this wrong and billions could suffer for it. They are Skywalkers after all, and their personal struggles have larger consequences on the galaxy.
"Good night." He abruptly pulls back and turns to head towards the Falcon's ramp. It's a strategic retreat.
"Ben," she calls after him.
"Yes?" He stops and half turns to face her. He doesn't really want to leave. Does it show? A little encouragement is all he needs right now.
"I really wish things were different."
Her comment tells him everything he needs to know: he made the right decision just now by not kissing her lips.
She repeats herself. "I really wish things were different."
Kylo nods but shoots her down. "They won't be. We will have a lot to deal with."
Is this part of the test for balancing the Force? Do he and Rey have to compromise personally before they can find the universe's equilibrium? He wonders. There are so many differences they must bridge to succeed. So much stands in their way. He knows it. She knows it, too. But if this were easy, someone would have done it by now.
He's still clutching his sweater from Exogol as he leaves. It's dirty and torn, he notices afterwards. Why did Rey keep it? Sentiment. It was all she had left of a man she never really knew who had a profound impact on her life. It's the very same reason he prized Vader's helmet. And sure enough, as he raises the sweater to his face, he thinks he can smell Rey on the fabric. It smells like all-purpose soap combined with a faintly earthy scent that is indescribable but uniquely feminine. It gives him pause. She must have kept it close, he realizes.