As soon as they're aboard Snoke's escape craft, he comes to an abrupt halt in the living quarters, once-coveted dark oozing along him. The dark side of the Force used to fascinate him, whisper certainty of his path. Cloying in its suffocation, sharp in its judgement, and damning in its temptation. His shudder—balanced on the knife edge between revulsion and rapture—causes Rey to turn to him with concern, fingers still tangled, palms cleaved together.

"Ben?"

All he can see is her soul in her eyes and he knows he must slam the door to the dark closed forever. Yet … the very air is scented with the perfume of power. With Snoke gone …

Holding her hand more tightly, screams of his weakness echoing in his head, he attempts to push away the horrifying—bewitching—grotesque siren's seduction even as it beckons, beguiles. But soon his mind is trapped in fantasy. The vacuum at the center of the First Order needs filling. And isn't he just the one to do it? He's owed this.

"Ben?" Rey repeats, causing him to rake her with his gaze. He ignores how she's streaked with fear and glancing around the quarters.

Eyes devouring her lithe body and perfectly formed lips, lust like he's never known bursts within him, the dark wrapping around the purity of his feelings for Rey, bending them into terrifyingly familiar shapes of subjugation and ownership.

She'd look exquisite in black.

On her knees.

The image of a red saber-staff pulls at him, somewhere low and full of fire. He'd choke her on his cock, master her, dominate her, possess her.

It's the deep hollows under her imagined eyes that snaps him out of this abhorrent vision.

There doesn't exist an inducement worth the price of hurting her. He can't, won't listen to the empty promises of the dark side—never again. Dimly, he hears that she's speaking, too focused on fighting his way through the dark side. Making a different choice.

It's her fingers gliding along his cheek, featherlight and tentative that throws a rope down into the pit of his own making.

Something in him finds a new strength, and he begins his ascent.

Clenching his eyelids against the oh-so tantalizing images the dark has conjured within him, he flinches as he tears away the last of the dark side's tendrils. Dragging himself out of the pit, his body pulses with the desire to be the man Rey seems to believe him to be.

Squeezing her hand, centering himself in the sensation of their hands tangled together, he gives her what he hopes is a reassuring smile. After a long moment, she returns his expression, her eyes managing to fill with hope and apprehension in equal measure.

Hope … he'll take it.

"Cockpit is through here," he explains, frustrated at the roughness in his voice. Even without looking, he can feel how worried she is. The way she surveys the ship, obviously assessing the threat, makes it abundantly clear that he's not the only one affected by the dark side. He'd hoped to hide the source of his shame from her, but perhaps it's better this way.

It's a queer thought. Openness. Trust.

What if he let her all the way in?

Then everything creaks with a horrific moan—there's no more time for mulling. The Supremacy is pulling itself apart. Leading her away from the well-appointed main cabin, he tries to project a confidence he might have left on the deck of the Supremacy.

Looking anywhere but those eyes that flood him with honesty, his chest fills with an ugly shame for having had such lewd thoughts, even for a moment. Rey is … sacred. He never should have used other beings as he had, but bringing her so close to the monster he became—eagerly sought—well, it's simply unacceptable.

As he rushes her forward, he glances back, taking in the living quarters. The ship has been extensively modified—apparently Snoke required his creature comforts even while running for his life. What should be a spare, efficient design is instead lurid with rich silk. Golds and reds twine, creating a garish opulence that makes him want to laugh. How had he missed that Snoke was utterly ridiculous?

He tries not to think of his own sparse quarters, devoid of anything personal—as barren as he tried to make himself. But he's not so blank any longer. She's painting such vivid dreams along his aching soul, images of true intimacy replace the vision of Rey sacrificed to his folly.

Even as he clings to his almost-boyish dreams of walking with her in the forest, watching her fall asleep treasured in his arms—once again the dark corrupts what he's certain should be hallowed. Now flashes of Rey, splayed out on his narrow bed, legs wide, her core wet and glistening, invade, tempt. There would be room enough for two if he smothered her with his larger form ...

Recoiling, he manages to shrug off these intrusive thoughts just as Rey flinches. For one awful moment she tries to pull her hand from his, but it passes quickly and her fingers tighten around his once again.

He's stronger than this! She needs him—he needs her. While he has no idea how to be who she deserves, he's absolutely certain that the vestiges of Snoke and his corrupted use of the dark side have nothing to offer either of them. Slamming his defenses into place, his former master's twisted teachings fade, bringing forth the urgency of their situation.

They reach the cockpit—he knows it was only a few long strides, but he's exhausted from fighting for his life. Much as he wants to float along Rey's currents, there's no time to rest. He has to get them away from here!

But, before he can slide into the single pilot's seat, she's already made herself comfortable.

Wait. What?

She knows how to fly?

When? How?

Clearly purposely ignoring the retreating darkness, she lightly runs her fingertips along the dash, scanning the board of lights and toggles. It reminds him of how musicians greet their instruments.

As he tries to decide if he should bid her step away or give her instructions, the choice is taken from him as she flicks four switches and tweaks several levers. With a jarring drop, they're in the launch tube in moments.

Eyebrows crawling towards his hairline, his eyes widen as she doesn't hesitate, deftly piloting the craft out into the debris field. Cannon-fire streaks past them and his battle-worn nerves grow taught and alert. Ben wants to trust Rey to handle this, but he wants her alive far more.

One of the pale streaks of energy zings just past them.

"Shields!" he exclaims with a bit of panic just as the vibration of the ship shifts, indicating she'd already anticipated the need.

"I know," she says with exasperation.

He doesn't even see the huge chunk of twisted durasteel until Rey has already maneuvered around it.

"Take us to open space," he commands, sounding like he's barking orders.

Rey's lips purse and while giving him a quick glare, she somehow manages to miss the relentless blocks of torn hull flinging themselves in their path.

It's worse than an asteroid field and it occurs to him they're in an enemy ship. Is it even possible for his mother to warn the Republic fleet off of them? She doesn't know what their craft looks like. Gods, he hopes they won't become target practice.

"There!" He points frantically as the remains of an AT-AT careens towards them.

"I know, Ben!" Now she sounds annoyed.

Clearly, Rey has it very much under control, so he holds his tongue. He must admit, she's a gifted pilot. Then it hits him. She feels as necessary as drawing breath, yet he actually knows very little about this wondrous creature who managed to change everything. It doesn't matter, not really—but he doesn't even know her favorite food. How is he meant to care for her without the lightest glimmer of her desires?

"Almost there," she hums, ending his reverie before it can completely unspool him. Turning the ship into a roll, Rey neatly avoids two pieces of tortured debris at once. Well. For the most part—a ragged edge screeches along their hull.

For one terrifying moment, he thinks this might be the end as a squadron of TIEs bear down on them. But Rey pushes the craft to its limits—so close, so close—and the ships pull off, having found a closer, more immediate target.

Feeling blood seep down his thigh, the pain he'd ignored begins to make itself known. Grinding his teeth, he cannibalizes what he has left in order to keep himself standing. Yes, he needs to get these wounds closed, but he can't tend to that until he knows his mother is safe—that Rey is safe.

They both exhale in relief as the ship enters wide-open space, leaving the battle behind them.

A not insignificant part of him wants to enter random coordinates and just fly.

Fly.

Fly …

Leave it all behind. Build something new.

But the truth of their situation forces him to accept that this time is not now. Not yet?

"Leia, we've made it out. Setting coordinates now," Rey says into her comm as her fingers dance along the keypad.

His mother's voice still threatens to unmoor him when she responds, "We have them on the run. Once we've rounded up survivors, we'll meet you at the rendezvous point …" The communication channel crackles, filling his mother's pause. She sharply inhales before asking, "How is he?"

Leaning forward, Ben answers, "I'm fine." It's a wholly inadequate response, and it's his turn to go silent for a long, heavy moment. "Thank you, Mother … Mom," he stutters out.

A gruff, painfully familiar voice responds with, "You will always be our son, Ben."

"Dad?" he murmurs. Ben doesn't have the capacity to consider what it means that Han Solo came, too.

Leia promises, "We'll talk properly soon. Stay safe. Keep each other safe. Falcon out."

Time is fracturing again, his brain unable to process the monumental shift in what his life is. Who he is. Years it's been since he's heard his father's unmistakable voice. He thinks he was probably still a teen when he'd last spoken with him.

Heart racing, temples pulsing, he gulps down air as calm utterly escapes him. Oh, gods, how can he face them?

He starts violently when he feels Rey's fingers press into his bicep and his gaze snaps to hers. She's the only thing he doesn't question in all of the galaxy.

Hold me. Save me.

"Ben?" The concern he sees knitting her brow makes him want to soothe that line away with kisses and safety.

But nothing is making sense, his vision kaleidoscoping, collapsing at the edges as hyperspace streaks past them. They're safe. Why doesn't he feel like it?

Something … something is wrong.

Why is he so cold?

Wait. Blood, pain. Injured, he's injured.

Rey.

The last thing he sees is her mouth moving frantically.

Don't be afraid.

Rey …

It's her desperate sobs that reach him first, before the warmth of her fingers on his skin, before comprehending that she's stripped him of all but his underthings, even before the dull pain thrusts his consciousness forward. He's not sure he's ever heard anything so raw, so pure as Rey's primal keen.

Forcing his eyes open, he finds her draped over him, her hands almost clutching at him, face buried in his chest. Watching her shoulders heave, he has the strangest realization.

Is Rey crying … for him? He's not quite ready to truly believe he might mean half so much to her as she does to him. Even if her obvious anguish at his state does reach inside him and meld together a few of his broken pieces, quieting one of the voices in his storm. The howling just at the edge of his consciousness doesn't hurt quite so much, now.

She mustn't suffer like this.

"Shhhhh," he whispers and Rey bolts upright, her hazel eyes rimmed red and finding his in a fraction of a moment.

"Ben!" she wails. Then her arms wrap around his neck and she's kissing his cheek, his neck, anywhere she can reach before she settles on his lips. The salt of her tears bursts along his tongue; nothing has ever tasted so sweet as the proof that he matters. To her.

Lifting his hands, he strokes along her back, lost in the heat of her mouth. But then sharp pain emanates from his wounded thigh and he tenses, attempting to stifle his grunt. She'd been clamoring on top of him and the last thing he wants is to frighten her away, but she pulls her lips from his and rips herself from his arms.

"Oh, gods, I'm so sorry! Did I hurt you?" she asks with huge eyes and heavy guilt, putting a bit of space between them.

There are just too many sensations coursing through him. His bicep throbs in two places and he senses the injury in his thigh is far deeper than he'd understood whilst fighting. And he's also overwhelmed with need—an elemental need to have her close, her pliant fingers again stroking his chest. His naked chest. A whimper escapes him without his permission, and he just wants to pull her back on top of him. Yes, the pressure on the slice in his leg had hurt, but he'd happily withstand it if he could keep holding her—kissing her. His mind nearly whites out at the thought of her removing her clothing, too.

"Please, come back," he beckons, watching as she hesitates. "You won't hurt me."

Cautiously, she returns to his side, gingerly sitting on the edge of the bed. The bed? Looking around, he realizes she'd moved him to the bedchamber. Oh, gods. Snoke's bedchamber.

No. Dead, his master is dead. He no longer has any power over Ben. Whatever it is that streams along a golden thread connecting him with Rey flares, grows, pushing back the foul echo of Snoke. He's not going to let any of that in.

Besides, where else was she supposed to tend to him? It's just a bed. Anyway, it's likely Snoke never had reason to actually sleep here. The thought of that animated corpse engaging in something so vulnerable, so mundane leeches away some of Ben's ingrained fear.

Taking her hand with his, he gazes up into her delicate face. Her hair is all over the place, a dark smudge of something mars her cheek, and her eyes are swollen from crying. He's never seen anything so beautiful.

Her body trembles, making him frown slightly. "It's alright," he breathes out.

Shoulders sagging, a shudder moves through her. "I … I just … when you collapsed," she chokes out. "I thought, I thought—after everything you were going to die!"

"No, no," he croons, pulling her closer, making space for her to join him on the bed, lay her head on his chest.

There's a moment where he thinks she'll refuse his overture, but then she's almost crumpling into him. Gathering her up as best he can with his injured arm, he kisses the crown of her head as she settles her cheek against his chest.

Oh, has anything ever felt so sublime? The feel of her body, the sensation of how her fingers trace along his skin, are heady and he knows he'll always be greedy for it. But, more than that, it's something that rewrites a bit of who he believes himself to be. Rey is finding comfort in being in his arms. The slight tremor in her muscles subsides and the uncomplicated act of making her feel safe keeps him planted in this moment. He has no illusions that what comes next will be easy or simple. The feel of her next to him? Well, that will make it bearable.

He probably should inspect himself—he has no idea what she knows about field medicine, but somehow, he's certain that there's nothing he needs more than this peace, the warmth they find together.

Shifting into a stretch, Rey props herself up by an elbow, so he turns his head to meet her unguarded gaze. He's not really prepared to try to match words to all that's transpired, but he can sense her curiosity.

"Rey," he offers, his voice low and soft. Then he lifts his hand and smooths his fingers through her messy hair, distracting him completely.

"How are you feeling?" she asks, her hand still against his chest, continuing to make patterns. Just that, the way her fingers trail warmth is vaguely hypnotic. He'd much prefer to sink into the spell she's weaving, but instead he focuses on his wounds.

Flexing his arm, he glances down and smiles at the two neat rows of bacta patches holding his skin together. A med droid couldn't have been more precise. "The bacta feels like it's working well. And if you did as fine a job on my thigh, I should be completely healed by tomorrow."

Her eyes light up and she gives a sweet little lopsided grin. "I'd never used real bacta before, but a nice old woman in Niima taught me how to use a water plant and cloth, so I-"

It takes him a moment to process that she hadn't had access to the most basic of medical supplies before he interrupts with, "Force, Rey. I knew things weren't easy for you … but not even a medpac?"

The brightness of her expression dims. "I don't know what that is," she mumbles, her cheeks burning with humiliation. Is it physically possible to kick his own ass? He never meant to make her feel ashamed.

"I didn't mean it that way, I promise. I'm impressed. But it does make me ache that you had to live like that."

Her gaze flits away and she shrugs. "I've never known anything different." Then her eyes hold his with gentle intensity. "Not until you."

For this, he needs to face her fully, so he tamps down the instinct to cry out in pain as he turns on his side, now his face inches from hers.

"I hope-" Swallowing thickly, he continues. "I hope you understand that you'll never have to struggle, to want, to scratch and scrabble for scraps—not any longer. Not for one more day, hour, minute."

Her eyes widen and the cautious hope that fills them hurts as much as it encourages him to go on. "I want … I need …" Gods, why can't he find the words to make his intentions known? He clears his throat and tries again. "Rey, all that I've wanted since the moment you first looked at me is for you to have the beautiful life that should have always been yours."

She nods but doesn't say anything. Cupping her cheek with his hand, the Force begins to hum with potential. "But now ... please let me be part of that life?"

Her fingers press his palm into her face and her lips turn up slightly. "Of course you'll be part of my life. How could I ever let you go?" she asks with a touch of awe.

Leaning forward, she captures his lips and light sparks then floods the air around them as he deepens the kiss. She wants to keep him … Tears spring to his eyes at the realization that he won't have to let her go. For the first time in his life, what he wants, what he needs, is simple. He doesn't have to decide between his instincts and duty, legacy and himself.

Rey wants to keep him.

The joy that takes hold of his heart pushes away everything but a bliss that would surely blind him if given form.

Rey wants to keep him.

A/N: Thank you, ArtemisBare! You are always extremely helpful, but getting the Pain Train chugging again has taken a bit more patience and, well, you're a QUEEN!

Thank you, Readers! It was thrilling to be able to connect with you again. I was rather terrified that it had just been too long and that no one would still be reading. Your reviews, favorites, and follows were like a soft bed after months of sleeping on the hard ground. Thank you, from the bottom of my squishy heart, for stickin' with me! Mwa, mwa, mwa!