Peace and freedom were one of life's biggest ploys, overcast only by the tragedy that was forced upon you when your time finally ran out. A mere illusion to give two warring sides a sense of hope, a simulation of chance, but once it was over, there was someone that always stood above everyone else no matter which side came out on top.

In the end Kylo Ren had stood above a galaxy.

Now, the galaxy stood over Ben Solo.

It told him that he would never be a Jedi, a leader, a pilot or a son. Mocked him to not so much as try, and that it would help him live longer; demanded of him to fall in line and let nature run the course that it had set for him, because the war, while over, another would inevitably take its place. If he stayed out of the way, he wouldn't be caught in the middle, wouldn't be forced to pick and choose what he should be for whoever called for him.

Ben was supposed to hide that truth for the sake of everyone else's convenience.

He managed to smile at the ridiculousness of it all.

After all, it had been humorous-the things that everyone had said. That he would change, that he would be the person they needed when the time called for it, that he was everything the Skywalker, Solo, Organa legacy called for and that Kylo Ren was not a mere shadow waiting in the dark behind him anymore to drag him through.

They had been wrong about everything.

Ben should have finished his Jedi training, should have led the resistance, should have kept to the light side and carried out the legacies that he had meant to all at once on all accounts…

He'd been glad that he hadn't. Even now, he never second guessed that.

I think she wanted you to have the life that you were supposed to have. As Ben.

Being alive in itself is a purpose. Living in peace, finding happiness is a purpose.

It was laughable that those two things would never coexist-not really. In a twisted sense of morality, he'd been glad that he'd joined the First Order following a being that he thought held an unwavering faith and straightforward path for him as opposed to the twisted winding maze that had directed his life before. He'd been thankful that he had taken that same being's life, had followed a girl across galaxies even though he only did it because he felt like he had no choice.

He'd been content tracking down the resistance and deciphering what his connection to Rey haD meant. It was safe, and familiar. Ben knew what was to come, what lay waiting at the end, or at least some version of it that gave him a peace of mind, what he had to do. There was no pick and choose, only do.

Of course he'd complained and he fought but at least he knew that it was a path that he was following on his own without expectations not already brought upon him by himself.

Now there were too many questions, too many possibilities, and each step taken in one particular direction seemed to open up hundreds more that he couldn't simply decipher at a glance and base his choice on what was moral or right. He hadn't needed to worry about that before and damn Ben Solo for having more of a conscience.

He was left with more questions than answers.

Everything had changed, and he couldn't fix anything.

The pieces didn't fall into place as he believed they would have when he left the cave on Exogol with Rey. There was no written step-by-step instruction guide on the Redemption of Ben Solo that would tell him how to right the wrongs of a past life and prepare for an unforeseen future.

It didn't blur his lines together or let him see the new world outside of the black and white picture that had been thrust in his face previously, nor could he tip the Force to balance and teach him an equilibrium, and of course it would not bestow him the power to maintain it himself.

His scale still only tipped in favor of one particular side.

And completely unlike the side he held at an arm's length, he still wished that he could have saved Rey from the inevitable, and watch her become more and even better than who she thought that she would be.

Explain to his parents that he had finally done something right.

He wished that he could have become someone more himself. Every day was growing more tiresome leaving Kylo Ren behind, picking up the remnants of Ben Solo and tilting agonizingly on a thin line between the two.

Begrudgingly, he would take another lesson on the Force and the balance between the light side and dark side. Even if he knew that the Jedi believed that balance mostly meant only the light side, if he had to repeat all of the scorn and hatred he'd endured from family and friends alike, sit through every boring lecture and every bit of Padawan training and once again bear witness to his transition into Kylo Ren, he'd repeat that history if just to change this one moment.

If only to change the absolute miracle of a person that had tried to hold him together while she was the one that had inevitably fallen apart.

Rey was a precious small thing with brown eyes that always seemed to look into the depths of his very soul-the softest that he had ever seen-and looking past all of his darkness and directly into that small patch of light. Her hair was a disheveled mess of short waved and stray curls that twisted around her face with even the slightest stray breeze.

It was perfect, and seeing it down had once driven him crazy in the most alluring ways.

But she was meant to become more than a kneeling figure curiously inquiring about what his last words would be. The same girl that had brought him back and had done so much good despite being the granddaughter of Palpatine. Now, she was some strange combination of the two.

And the look in her eyes was nothing compared to how he had seen them the first time. He'd seen the eyes of a frightened girl with no place in the world and a destiny thrust upon her, had seen himself, the night Luke Skywalker had entertained the option of taking his life and stopping what he would be. He'd felt her loneliness, her pain, matching his own need to belong. Her compassion, her need to protect, to show the kindness that nobody had ever shown him. Ben recognized Rey in a small sliver of himself.

He still recognized her now, but in the eyes of Kylo Ren.

When he had extended his hand to her the first time, he may have been proud to witness the change, proud of himself for being someone that could follow the example, only because then destiny had been right and they would have ruled on the throne together as they had meant to be. When he had been the one to change, he'd questioned if things really were set in stone, and realized in that moment they were. They were meant to rule, meant to bring a new order to the galaxy.

But he decided then, making a demand to fate and destiny and whoever had decided that this was the way things should be that he would not be a part of it.

Run him through if they didn't appreciate it.

"-Listen to my confession."

The saber ripped through his abdomen again and it became starkly clear that the universe did not appreciate his decision. Suddenly, he wished that he'd held up one rude hand gesture to the universe and let that end the Skywalker legacy. At least then, he would have the final say.

Let Rey-the woman who had given him more than his fair share of scars because he couldn't and wouldn't will himself to fight back with the ferocity that he knew he could have. Their relationship hadn't been privileged enough to have begun on traditional courtship-an exchanging of letters, shy conversations or awkward exchanged glances from a distance-unless accidentally popping in on each other through their force bond at the most indecent times actually counted.

No, that was a life of luxury that while they both had been promised, they couldn't afford to spare it, and not a second time around-not for him.

Blood, violence, and death was how their story of redemption and forgiveness had begun.

It would also be the way that it would end.

When Ben tried to speak, he choked and coughed and sputtered as his new reality officially set in.

This would be the last memory of Ben Solo, the last memory that he held close to his heart of Rey for the last few minutes that he had. That couldn't have just been it. He didn't want it to be just that. Even her running him through the first time or slashing him in the face or her awkward stuttering while he was in the shower would have been preferable to this.

Ben wanted to make more of those, the good ones and the bad because at least it meant that they were getting somewhere.

Beads of sweat and ash coated his face and his ragged desperate breathing proved more fruitless. Flames danced across the floor and scorched the walls like bright spotlights that seemed to move; tumbled and flickered and multiplied with the shadow looming across the wall.

They were bright, even as they blurred away, but her voice brought him back even if she wasn't there anymore. It echoed-from somewhere-somewhere he couldn't hear.

At first, Ben didn't fight the other voices calling to him, all so very familiar. He would lay down his saver and take off his metaphorical mask that he'd worn so long, just toss it into the flames as far enough away as he could muster. There was a relief in that, to be put to rest at the part where his life finally met its fateful resolution.

Only because it was meant to happen much longer ago.

Fate had just decided to wait, toy with him for a while before handing him one final kick.

And despite facing his death with such an open mind, he'd had too many lasts and not nearly enough firsts. He wanted to experience more-as Ben-and knowing that Rey faced a darker future and he couldn't ensure her freedom from herself, well, it wasn't enough to allow him to simply accept his fate.

Seeing Rey as she was now reminded him of the way that he had looked at her when he'd interrogated her about the map that first time.

Telling her that he could take what he wanted, that he didn't need to pry too hard but he wanted her to tell him; wanted it to come from her personally. She'd looked at him like that-albeit with less resolution than what he'd offered her.

That switch of fear to empty defiance.

History was merely hitting a repeat with a quicker resolution. One that most certainly wasn't granting him any favors.

A rough breeze twisted at his hair, and he considered the possibility that it was the Force willing him back, whispering and echoing so softly with a longing whisper, reaching out to him, taking its hold.

Ben didn't listen to it, rather he reached with a trembling hand to the hilt of the saber and pressed the ignition switch, forehead wrinkling and features folding over as the pain finally struck him. He grit his teeth, breathing in deeply through his nose and chucked the weapon off into the abyss, one hand clamped over the seeping wound as he rose into a sitting position.

His time couldn't be coming to an end just yet, couldn't just shrink and wrap him and Rey in some tightly sealed package to deliver to Fate like a new toy to unravel and play with until it was broken. Tear two halves apart that were on the verge already.

Floating copies of masked shadows obscured his vision, framed by an approaching darkness with fringed edges. Sounds faded, lights blurred and distorted from white to grey and then black, leaving Ben alone with only his thoughts to guide him. His heartbeat resounded in his ears, growing faint with every wounded step, every shallow breath, each wet rasp from his throat as he limped toward what he believed to be the end if just to spit in its face.

Too long had he been obscured by Kylo Ren to simply give up his freedom now. Having experienced something akin to love that stretched beyond galaxies, made a friend, had once had a family that would be there if not in this life, then the next. Too many sacrifices had been made, too much grief and loss and hurt and pain.

He was just not learning to heal, a lesson that did not come nearly as easy as any lesson that the Jedi tried to teach him. Every hesitation that he would somehow turn back, every hope that he would remain at least somewhat the same would stay with him.

That was eternal. Taught in the split-second that it took for him to chase Rey down to Exogol and bring her back from the In-Between to remind him that he could do this.

And between Ben Solo and Kylo Ren, Ben was the more stubborn bastard.

Once he approached the darkness, his eyes fluttered open to the same dark that shrouded their room. The sound of Rey tossing and turning filtered below him and without missing a beat, he descended the ladder of his bunk.


Ben moved after Rey, leaning all of his weight against the doorframe while she opened the hatch and descended the ramp onto Tattooine. The sun was setting over the horizon, casting a ray of light over the rusted exterior of the Falcon, bathing Rey in her own personal warmth. It bounced off of her hair, highlighting her roots and giving her a sort of glow that brought out the natural color ever prominently.

More than anyone else, Rey knew exactly what it felt like to stand in a room with even hundreds of people and still feel lost; alone. Ben was raised along the New Republic, and had attended his fair share of events with his parents while they dealt with the ins and outs of their government.

He had known even then that they had been a mere illusion, the people surrounding him distorted. Few strived to make Leia Organa feel so much larger, more important. Others would play that same part but be just as quick to turn around and make her feel small, and weak if to suit themselves in their own personal agenda.

The one thing he could say about his mother was that even standing in a room full of enemies, she was always the one to stand above the rest of them.

As short as she was.

Despite having seen it, despite knowing, he endured that knowledge to play the part of the well-behaved son whether they knew or not. Part of him sensed that in Rey, standing in the middle of Tattooine with what were likely enemies on all sides, and not batting an eye.

Not a single care in the world if just the knowledge that she was free. No judgment. Completely above it all.

You come from nothing. You're nothing.

But not to me.

To Ben, Rey wasn't a nobody. He'd stood amongst many important figures in the First Order and, to him, she always stood above it all. Above wealth, importance, and status. Above their role in shaping the future of the galaxy and the First Order. She may have grown a simple scavenger, but she'd known who she was, hadn't needed to hide behind a role given to her against her will.

Rey never wore a mask, metaphorical or otherwise.

And she had looked past Kylo Ren, looked through every part of him until she found Ben Solo. Through every sting of betrayal, so raw and sore after every strike made against each other, every spat, every insult, every promise that he would destroy her, she never once wavered in her decision to bring him home.

Ben reminded himself of that, every time that small part of Kylo Ren threatened to pull him back. That the man who had sought comfort in his darkness still dared his heart to bleed for Rey, the savior of the galaxy, and finding safety in her when his cries to his parents, his uncle, and his peers had gone unheard.

It seemed pathetic back then, the Supreme Leader of the First Order finding such solace in his enemy, but even with the return of his old identity, that connection never wavered.

When they arrived at the village, somewhere behind him, he heard Rey's breath hitch. It was not unexpected considering it held a vastly similar atmosphere to Jakku. Different alien species milled about discussing trade and those much more well off gave petty sums for large hauls despite their wealth.

An unfair society where one being reigned supreme and the others were an insect under their boot scrounging for the smallest bits and pieces of things in the hopes that the supreme would give them enough food for a full day.

Rey's eyes bore into the back of his head, and he entertained the fact that if he put his fingers there, he would feel a hole.

The realization that they were both getting alarmingly well at hiding their minds from one another was becoming more frustrating than he could form into a cohesive thought, only because that energy was spent keeping her from shifting around in his head too hard. And he didn't know how she felt about any of this. Not if she didn't tell him.

But she couldn't know that he knew, that he had seen what she had feared herself to be and how for a split moment similar to the sensation that sometimes pricked at him: she liked it.

There was a slight skip to her step that reminded him of some form of dance, albeit still a few paces behind. He didn't have to look to see it, hearing the irregular pace at which sand was being kicked into the air, or maybe he was merely disregarding her impatience because of how long they had been walking now.

Impatience was the correct word.

"Not used to the heat?" Rey asked suddenly.

The glaring heat on Crait was miniscule compared to Tattooine. Even with the setting sun, the pair was drenched in sweat. A blustery wind blew hot air through his shirt and spine all the same, and he huffed.

"Not like you." He answered. "I've been to planets with all variations of different climes. I prefer the colder ones."

She hummed, amused, nodded in confirmation. "The cold suits you better, I think."

"You think so?"

"Coming from a man who enjoys wearing all black?" Her tongue clicked with her answer. "Yes, I do."

Ben didn't comment, but Rey was already running ahead to something she knew better, the familiarity of the life that she had lived before, traversing the different stalls with a critical eye and one sweeping stare. One quick rotation to the opposite side and she was coming back to him. Nobody spared either of them a glance, except one small avian-like creature that glared gently at the assumption that they were thinking of stealing. That radiated off of him strongly enough.

"Their system is a lot more expensive than on Jakku." Rey reported, squinting up at him against the harsh sunlight. He provided her some cover from it at least. "An artifact used to get you a few days worth of scrap equal to a few hundred credits. It might be a bit difficult to scrounge up what we need, even with a decent trade. Let alone finding anyone willing to trade a ship."

His head swiveled around, hands on his hips, leaning all of his weight into one leg. "Why don't we split up in the meantime?" He went on to suggest. "If you want to head one way and see what you can find out, I'll go see if anyone is willing to trade."

Rey seemed to hesitate, but nodded albeit with great reluctance. "Sure. I'll meet you over there when we're done." She pointed to a small shack sitting stationary amongst the other tents and without wasting a beat, she was gone, kicking up whatever sand she could in her path and disappearing amongst the sea of bodies.

Ben took off the opposite way.

"Two hundred credits."

Ben didn't have to focus to know that the negotiator was hungry. His scaled facial features said it all. What was supposed to be muscular was gaunt, and his eyes were sunken and desperate, pleading. He spared a glance as he walked by the two arguing over one large piece of steel. "At least one-fifty? That was nearly half of an X-Wings engine from the First Order!"

"An order that lost the war." The trader scoffed. "I'll give you seventy-five."

"One hundred or you won't get the parts!" The alien quipped. "And I doubt anyone else will be able to get this type of engine intact! It's from a newer model fighter."

"You will take seventy or I will have you beat, take the parts from you and you will get nothing." The trader decided.

The negotiator scoffed, but of course reluctantly agreed with the terms. He was smaller, more frail and if it came down to a fight, it was obvious who would come out on top between a trader who looked like they ate their fair share and then some, and someone who was on the verge of starving.

He did take it, and with a quick flick of his wrist, Ben managed to slide a few more coins into his pocket before moving on.

The sun beat down on him with a vengeance, casting his shadow across the desert that grew taller as it moved overhead into one large arc. Ben kept walking, steering himself toward what looked to be a parts shop. If anything, he could probably negotiate credits in exchange for scrapping the Falcon, or maybe the owner would know anyone willing to trade for a newer ship.

Tattooine used to be a wasteland, a dumping ground for those who were unfortunate enough to end up there and a breeding ground for anything bad. Now people in small communities gathered there, made something of it, and yet he wondered why it always had to be on the planets that had quite literally nothing but the barest of resources. It couldn't have been a jungle, or even an arctic planet. Bits and pieces of ruins and ancient structures were picked clean for whatever it may hide, littered along the way as people insisted that a piece of rock held some sort of history.

He thought that he recognized some pieces of things native off-planet as well.

Ben stepped inside of it, traversing down the wall of random gadgets and tidbits sitting stationary in one cramped, shoddy tent. At the very back, there looked to be a repair bay-a small wooden table with an assortment of well-maintained tools and broken things sitting on it gave him the impression-and storage boxes decorated with more than a few locks and tied shut with rope.

Grabbing a datapad sitting on the workbench, he tapped the screen to find it locked tight with a password.

"Do you normally walk into people's tents and touch their stuff without asking?"

Ben stiffened, his fingers subconsciously reaching under his shirt for his lightsaber but he refrained, setting the datapad down onto the workbench and whipped around.

It was a woman who stood level with his chest, looking up at him with harsh brown eyes and heavily tattooed arms crossed with a look of utter contempt. Her hair was red and blonde as if part of it had been bleached by the sun, pinned up in one intricate braid atop her head and fit with massive goggles. Her clothes were similar to what most everyone wore on Tattooine: The barest. One of her arms-while he wasn't trying to stare-was mechanical from her elbow to the tips of her fingers.

She squeezed by him to retrieve the datapad, rubbing her wrist against the screen as if cleaning it from where Ben had touched it earlier.

Strangely, he didn't know if he should have been offended by that or not.

"You know, looking over your shoulder should be second nature. Especially out here." She pointed out. Once she had determined it was clean enough, she set the datapad down, looking over him as if just taking him in for the first time. There was an arch to her brows. "You're going to get heatstroke."

"What?"

"Wearing that?" She gestured vaguely to his clothes, and he plucked at it with two fingers.

He shrugged. "I'm not from around here. The last time I was here, Tattooine was a wasteland. I guess I'm just ignorant where it's involved."

"Yeah," She cracked a smile that tugged at high cheekbones, followed by a huffed laugh. "I gathered that much. But innocence doesn't bleed ignorance."

"Right." Ben's eyes followed her when she moved toward the back of the tent, setting her metal appendage on the worktable. It was old, but more well-kept than the rest of the junk surrounding it. He couldn't help but stare, no matter how used to it he considered himself to be.

"It's just a temporary arrangement." She went on, as if reading his mind-as ironic as that was. "I'm going to get a better one, granted when I can afford it." With nimble fingers, she peeled back the layers of synthetic skin and biofibers to expose the elbow joint and started unscrewing.

"I'm assuming that it took you a while to learn how to do that?" A lame attempt at conversation, and he knew that even when she turned her head to him with a skeptical stare, lips pressed together as if contemplating whether or not she should offer an answer.

She did, albeit with a small awkward laugh. "My father was a mechanic."

And her use of the word was hit him square in the chest, wondering silently how most conversations he had ended up with confessions of dead familial members. She must have noticed his expression as she shook her head and continued.

"When the First Order took over the Empire, he was downgraded to a petty scrapper. It was a growing industry, one of the most profitable in some of the more industrialized planets, but working conditions became harsher, pay was cut and," She shrugged. "Overall things just became harder." With one final twist of the screwdriver between a slot in the metal, she flexed her fingers. It was stiff and awkward, but it worked. "I haven't talked to him in a while though. They just thought that if they followed their rules then everything would be fine."

His stomach dropped.

"And it wasn't." Breathing in a sigh, she rose to her feet, rotating her arm and giving it a quick once over. "But that's just the reality of things. A lot of people are at a loss right now with the end of the war. Maybe things will improve, but maybe they won't."

A surge of guilt swelled inside of him, but her face was neutral, tone even as if that had been so easy to come to terms with. "He wasn't the best at parenting anyway. Turned his back for a few minutes and I wandered straight into a Nexu's den." Her eyebrows cocked upward. "Oops."

Ben merely observed as she screwed the forearm to her elbow and pieced some smaller components to the joint, her one hand surprisingly nimble, but the way she confided in him so easily made him surprisingly uncomfortable. And also still completely clueless.

"And he made you that arm I'm assuming?"

"Yes, but because he was a scrapper, he taught me everything I knew about fixing things with basic scraps and other salvageables. And I left."

"To Tatooine of all places?"

"You're one to talk being here without knowing much about the climate." She challenged. "Some things just aren't meant to be, no matter where you are. So you just find a place to settle."

A silence settled between them and with that, she breathed. "So, what do I owe you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You sat here and listened through my long spiel, so what do I owe you for your time, um?"

"Ben."

"Ben?"

"Just Ben."

"Alright, just Ben I'm Tera."

"Tera?"

"Just Tera."

Ben cocked a smile at that, deciding against offering any sort of comment. "I need information about a ship."

"You'll have to be more specific. There's a lot of ships that come and go through here."

"I'm looking to trade my ship, hopefully for a newer one."

"Where are you headed?"

Ben hesitated, settling with: "Let's just say it's in the Naboo system."

She whistled long and low.

"That's extravagant." She nodded thoughtfully. "If you're looking to get there from here, it's going to cost you."

"How much?"

She narrowed her eyes, pressing her tongue against the inside of her cheek.

"More than you could earn in a lifetime here. Trust me."

Ben deflated, his features slowly slipping from his normally neutral expression.

"You might be able to find some people looking to hand out bounties but other than that you might have to scavenge like the rest of us and hope for the best. Unless you have a decent ship for trade, there is a guild specifically for that, that way." She pointed in the direction that Rey had gone.

It was rare, kindness in a place like Tattooine where scavengers and hunters thrived, where even a dead body went into a processor. But for some reason, she set him on edge, weighing him down with the need to repay the favor, as if it would come back to bite him when he didn't pay her back.

The tension left his body and his shoulders dropped. "I can't pay you for this."

"Consider it a courtesy."

"I don't understand why you're doing this."

"There hasn't been democracy since before the reign of the empire. You can't count on any government to save your life so you have to do it yourself. If I can help where I can, I will for the right person."

"And you don't think that the worst person could change even if they tried? People can't stand together to make their own democracy?"

"The way I see it, right and wrong tend to change when someone really needs something. Democracies die every day and I tend not to cry when they do. It's just how things are."

"And that's just the truth?"

"The truth is a matter of circumstances. You tell it when it's convenient then lie when it isn't." She cocked an eyebrow. "Don't trust me?" When he didn't offer an answer, she approached him. "If you don't trust me to do it for yourself, do it for your friend."

"What?" He gawked. Despite his retreat, she persisted.

A dimpled smile stretched both sides of her lips. "I saw her when the two of you split off." Tera mused. "She's cute. I can tell that you care a lot about her."

"It's not like that." He mumbled.

Her lips were parted, soft and with clear doubt. "You don't sound so sure."

He wasn't.

Never had Ben ever thought of Rey as cute-beautiful even in the worst of moments yes-but he'd always held her in such high regard, and yet he'd always failed to remember how favorable of him she was even after everything.

He needed her to calm the rage that sometimes built inside of him without warning, needed to know that there was a reason that he had come back, and whether knowing or not, she needed his ambition, his strive to do more than what was originally planned.

They each filled the other's vacant space, and it wasn't possible that she didn't care for him. Through the Force, he felt her fascination, her sympathy and her admiration all at once. She cared, and yet at the time he had felt that, his hand was still empty grasping at nothing.

Bright, shining Rey who believed in Ben Solo had refused him even if she had urged the word please from his lips. He'd let go of his courage, his dignity, and showed her a display of control to let her know that he had meant it. He willed her to understand, and to agree with him and she hadn't. There were still obstacles that they needed to traverse, together.

His brow creased with distress. "Thanks for the information, but I'm going to go find her." Without waiting for a response, Ben ducked his head out from under the tent, scratching at the nape of his neck and looking around for his missing companion. He nearly missed it, the commotion erupting from one of the tents in the direction that she had gone and his feet subconsciously took him toward it, their connection surging stronger than the Tattooine heat.

Ben wouldn't consider her a teammate.

Nor would he put her on the scale of a friend.

His weakness, he would consider.

Goodnight, Ben.

But the gentle kiss that she'd pressed on the underside of his jaw the night before brought more questions into the open about their relationship, and he didn't have an answer beyond what they were meant to be.

Every part of his life, he had begged for attention and respect. Each person he knew had let him down in some way or another, and yet he desperately wanted her to stay, to convey how important it was that they stay together. Beg it to be what it was even if she had taken his hand in the end and renewed some strange form of hope that stayed with him after he had been brought back from the brink.

A Dyad still tumbling toward an end that he could scarcely see. What he wanted so badly beyond that was not a possibility that he could entertain. Not now.