Rey?

She's gone!

How … why?!

Breathing in deeply, he quells the sharp panic punching through his chest. She's not gone, just far away, safe with his mother.

That's when the enormity of this single, unimaginable shift in his entire existence breaks over Ben, making him feel like he can't quite get enough air into his lungs.

Snoke is dead-

… Snoke is dead-

Snoke is dead.

Because Rey killed him. To save his life.

Rey has freed him.

Rey has claimed him.

Gasping, Ben begins to comprehend that his mind is clear in a way he's not sure he's ever experienced, that sticky black veil finally washed away. If he'd ever wondered how deep Snoke's influence had burrowed, he knows now. It's as if his thoughts had always had a dead weight pulling them down, and now they expand and swirl without that nagging fear that Snoke will be displeased—what that displeasure always harkened.

The terror—the hope!—that he would never escape the taint of the light, become lost to the narcotic high of the dark. That nothing could mend him, the galaxy's plaything.

Wanting nothing more than to exalt in this achingly beautiful new existence that Rey has gifted him, reality screams in red.

The guards will reach him at any moment. As he flicks his saber to life, his hand hums with its familiar power, making him ready to fight through this. He has to.

He won't let her act of fierce devotion be rendered moot.

However, even with the Force, there are eight of them. While certainly no stranger to taking on numerous enemies, never when they are as well trained as Snoke's ever-present protection. Armed in pairs, he quickly takes in their weapons: vibroblades, the staff-like bisentos, whips, and daggers. It's a gluttonous display of ancient elegance and technological savagery.

For a solitary moment, he doubts.

Then the Force shimmers with a new clarity, woven with Rey's smile; somehow, he will see the other side of this mad day—to her.

There can be no other way.

As they descend, an encroaching wall of crimson, Ben slices his blade swiftly across the midsection of the first to reach him, his eyes narrowing at the ease of it. There's no sense of loss as the guard slumps down, dispatched. The dead specter's twin arcs his vibroblade towards Ben's head.

Using the Force, Ben pushes him back, even as the wicked whip of yet another guard snicks through the air, catching Ben across the bicep. No matter, it's just a graze. But the brand new, intoxicating movement of his thoughts spin out into foreign territory. Now, he has someone waiting to bind his wounds, because Rey and her gentle hands are on the other side of this.

Then the whip slaps on the decking, enough to make him refocus on this particular enemy. As the guard pulls back his weapon to strike again, Ben yanks the end of the whip towards him and wraps it around his opponent's neck, jerking firmly. It slices through the spotless armor, separating helmeted head from neck with a satisfying efficiency as it sears through tissue and bone. Ben's nostrils burn with the stench of cauterized flesh.

Fleetingly, he wonders what species hides behind those anonymous masks.

Another guard, armed with a bisento, is holding back, but Vibroblade has returned, flanked on either side by his brothers. Eyes snapping between them, he drops low, sweeping the legs out from under Vibroblade, as he stabs up into the chest of one of his comrades, skewering him neatly on his fiery blade.

Did Snoke do to them what he'd done to Ben? A shadow of sadness eddies along his adrenaline-soaked brain, even as he has a moment of grim achievement when he downs one more of their number.

Time moves strangely, stretching and racing forward in odd leaps. This dance, the dance of survival, of domination is brutally familiar. There is no pride to take, here. Not any longer.

Daggers clatter along the durasteel as Ben crushes a windpipe just as he kicks out, his thick boot landing true on another of his enemies. But are they? He bears them no hate, no grudge. This is simply what he was groomed to do, to be.

Can he even be anything else? What if it's simply too late for him? Terror, cold, grasping terror makes his eyes widen and he falters, a weapon he can't quite identify narrowly missing his flank as his storm comes upon him swiftly. He's a foul thing, a repulsive shwll only worth his talent for death and destruction.

A voice, a presence whispers to him, glides along his pulsing nerves.

Ben ...

It breaks him from the cage he's carefully crafted under Snoke's damning attentions. Filled to bursting with Rey's grace, his storm fades away. Yes, he can, he will become something else. She'll teach him how.

But first, he has to survive the vestiges of Snoke so he snarls, throwing himself back into the fight.

Flinging away a blood-colored foe with his powers, the burning in his arms from constant movement registers briefly in his utterly fractured—yet completely focused mind. Another guard falls, sliced in half with the spitting fury of Ben's saber, his whip now useless on the gleaming black of the decking.

How many more of them can there be? He's so weary of death.

Out of nowhere, the hilt of a bisento digs into his jugular as he's crushed back against a crimson beast. Wrapping his fingers around the staff, Ben pulls and pulls, managing to take a quick breath.

Another guard aims for Ben's chest, lunging forward, but stops his attack when his comrade barks, "No!"

"I told you I'd teach you some respect," growls Ben's captor into his ear.

Using long-dormant light-side techniques he stretches the air left in his lungs, but his mind is sluggish. There's no way out.

Trapped, he's trapped! His eyes swim as the last of them begin to circle him, the air throbbing with malice. Little pinpricks of light dance at the edge of his vision, counting out the final beats of his heart.

Is this the hollow conclusion to his pointless struggle? Just when he'd finally found harmony in the cacophony of his wretched life? So many nights he'd longed to simply not wake, too tangled in duty—a twisted, backwards honor—to take up his saber and be done with it.

There must have been a time before Rey, when he felt something other than numbed desolation, grotesque revulsion, dripping humiliation … if there is, he can't recall it.

But, he found Rey, freed her from that putrid life on Jakku … felt her in his arms, found out what it is to need another soul so badly that nothing else could ever matter. Perhaps his life wasn't entirely wasted.

In the end.

Lungs burning, sight dimming, he can't quite focus enough to try to find Rey in the Force, so he just lets himself remember those eyes that released him.

Then the floor under his boots rocks violently, the pressure on his throat eases as the weapon falls away from his neck, its owner losing his balance as the ship tilts wildly. Ben crumples to the floor, gasping and gulping in quenching air. Before he can gain his feet, once again the deck shifts below him and the guards stagger, momentarily deterred from their purpose.

Cold, the durasteel is cold under his hands. Attempting to push himself to standing, his arms give out, leaving him prone.

Get up. Get up!

But all he can manage is to roll away as a weapon snicks through the air filling with smoke and sparks. It gives him just enough time to block the bisento's blade arcing for his neck; he's lost track of which guard he's fighting.

Finally able to stand, he backs away quickly, trying to keep his foes at bay with his saber, his head whipping back and forth, trying to keep them both in his field of vision. They edge forward as he takes another step back, knowing he might have only bought himself a handful of moments.

Behind the advancing threat, burning red cloth tumbles down the wide view of space, revealing a massive number of ships; he's not sure he's ever seen so much cannon fire. It's almost beautiful.

Eyes flitting between the last of the guards, he tries to regain his center, feel the Force flow through him. Exhaustion bites at his heels, but time is up. Bellowing like a wounded thing, he takes another wound to his bicep, then his thigh, but he still manages to push them back, gaining him a few precious seconds.

The remaining two soldiers circle him and Ben pants, on the verge of collapse. He's bleeding—badly, but he refuses to bow to this last remnant of Snoke. If his last act is to crush what remains of the heart of the First Order, then so be it. He owes his master at least that.

As the red staff of a bisento arcs towards him, something in his blood pulls him to crouch as two blaster bolts fly through the air, followed by the thunk of bodies hitting the floor. Lifting his head, he sees Rey running towards him, blaster in hand, something feral flooding her eyes.

"Ben!"

For as long as he can remember, there was a distance between him and life. Like being under water, muted, clouded. But at the sight of her, it all snaps into focus and he's not sure he can stand the sublime perfection of her face. Time hasn't worked properly since he entered Snoke's chamber, and once again he's pulled into a moment where it ceases to matter.

She's here. He's alive. Just before reality claims him again, he dares to hope.

To dream.

Then Rey slams into him and she's in his arms. Or he's in hers. He's not really sure. All he knows is that Rey is with him, her panic and desperation all bound up in something nameless.

Whatever the future brings, he's absolutely certain he will never leave her again—never let her from his sight.

Then she's pulling back, causing his hands to convulse along her shoulders, reassure himself of her warm solidity. But she only puts a few inches between them, her eyes roaming over him, clearly taking stock.

"You're hurt!" she exclaims. It almost sounds like an accusation.

"I don't care," he sighs before he grasps her face and kisses her softly, hoping she can feel even a fraction of what she means to him. But battle has his blood up and the kiss quickly turns decidedly carnal. Fantasies unfurl as he imagines pressing her to the floor, stripping her bare to his starving gaze. What would it be like to feel all of that skin? Be inside her as she's inside him?

Responding with equal ferocity, Rey's hands tangle in his hair and all he knows is fire and devotion. Rey is who he has been waiting for. She's what he's been seeking since he was a boy, finally knitting together that rift that tore him open when he'd only just begun.

He's taken more women than he can remember, yet he feels entirely untouched—that's when he realizes he's never made love. He couldn't have, not until Rey ...

And then he must pull back. He refuses to be yet another man pawing at her, treating her as nothing but a vessel for his self-loathing. Gasping for breath, he finds her eyes.

Her eyes!

"Are you really here?" he asks in awe, his mind finally fully in the present.

"Yes, I'm here."

"How?" His voice trembles with emotion.

"Your mother. Apparently, she contacted the Republic fleet while you were both en route to me."

"But, how …" he trails off, trying to put it all together. The last dispatch he'd read indicated the Republic was attempting neutrality, providing fawning diplomacy while also funneling financing to the Resistance. Did they find out about Starkiller?

And how in all the hells did she find the Supremacy?

Then he doesn't really care, Rey's smug grin filling him with a boyish joy as she strokes his cheek. "She put a tracker on your ship while we were in the cottage. As soon as I woke up—we're not done talking about that—we rendezvoused with the fleet."

"But …" He still can't quite string it all together, vaguely grateful he'd been so careless.

"Your mother, her people … I was pulled from our … connection right as we made it on board. Leia went to bring down the shields while I ran as fast as I could." To punctuate her point, the Supremacy takes another beating, but they manage to keep each other standing.

In the lull, she leans her forehead against his. "I will always find you, Ben," she murmurs. "You saved me, did you really think I could just let you go?"

His throat tightens as all his jumbled realizations slot together. Snoke is gone. He's free. All the dreams he's had since he first held Rey's eyes swell within him—all residual thoughts of lust quickly cast aside as he wonders if he might be able to actually keep her. That she might want to keep him. The very idea overwhelms whatever composure he has left, and he lets out a choked sob.

"Oh, Ben," she croons as she pulls him into her arms.

His fingers clutch at her as he buries his face into her neck, hidden by her hair. Her hands soothe along his back, and he tries to catch his breath through the cascade of pent-up truth. He never had to live this life, never had to damn his soul.

The reality of his choices becomes nearly unbearable, and he begins to sag in Rey's arms, but a horrible creaking sound booms across the deck.

Right. Imminent destruction. Swiftly, he grabs her hand and begins to drag her to Snoke's escape craft. "Come on!"

But Rey pulls back from him and yells, "Leia!"

The decking under his feet begins to warp and an impossible choice coalesces before him. Ben can't leave without his mother, not after everything … not ever. Could they make it to her in time? Get all three of them to safety?

As he's paralyzed by indecision, Rey shoves her hand into her tunic and pulls out a comm, holding it near her face. "Leia!" she cries into the device.

"Do you have him?" his mother's strong voice demands.

"Yes, yes, I have him."

"Get off the ship any way you can!"

Rey looks to him and he leans towards the comm. "Don't worry. Get to safety!"

"Already on the Falcon. Signal when you're away!"

He catches Rey's eyes, this new something passes between them as he again takes her hand, and they begin to run.

A/N:

*slinks into the room ashamedly*

I cannot believe this is my first chapter of 2021. Since I started writing, I'd never gone longer than a month without writing and being unable to sucked rocks. I'm terribly sorry for leaving you hanging like this, and I really hope I'm back.

Thank you, ArtemisBare for being the best sounding board ever. You really helped me get back into the groove and I love you so.

Thank you, Mr. Downing for seeing me through an exceptionally difficult time.

Thank you, Readers! I have missed you so, so much. I think the hardest part of not writing was how much I deeply missed the alchemy that is a story brought to life by its readers. I really hope you like this one. My gratitude for your time is one of the purest feelings I've ever experienced. Thank you.