"Uhm, Ben?"

He'd been floating in the bliss of holding Rey close, not quite asleep. Just drifting along her currents, feeling a brand-new feeling … he thinks it might be contentment.

All of him wants to tighten his arms around her, hush her with his lips. This, it's all he's ever needed, this … her. But the cautious tone in her voice makes him crack his eyes open, finding her peering at him oddly yet still stretched out beside him. Every night, for as long as he lives, this, this, this …

"Yes?" he answers reluctantly, knowing that the absolute mess of his life will inevitably crash into them. The reminder of the outside galaxy makes him keenly aware of his state of undress.

"What happens now?" Her eyes fill with a strange trepidation then she looks away. A surge of insecurity sails along whatever it is that tethers them together. Was that her? He's about to ask what's wrong, when she quietly reminds him, "We're almost to the Republic fleet."

That wipes his mind in an instant. The Republic … the government he'd been trained to despise. But without them, he would have died, leaving Rey, breaking her heart. There's no escaping the fact that he owes them a debt of gratitude.

And his family.

The mere idea of seeing both of his parents at once for the first time in over a decade has his palms prickling and the hairs on the back of his neck vibrating with rising anxiety. Is it too late to change coordinates? Over the years he's barely touched his spoils of war, vaguely revolted by Snoke's need to reward his efficient savagery. Now though, they could travel the galaxy for the rest of their lives without ever having to worry about credits.

It's a luxurious thought. Oh, the beauty he could show her; wrap her in decadence, indulge every whim she entertains for even a moment. That everything, everything would be new to her fills him with a possessive thrill. It probably shouldn't please him so much to know that he will be the one to make her dreams come true, but it does. In a deep, primal way he must chase away her ghosts, heal the past, protect her future …

And that starts now. Chaos is coming, and even if he would never weather it for himself, for her … well, he'd do anything to give her a life of joy and freedom. Hiding, running—she's had enough fear and instability to last a lifetime. Not on his watch.

Gently, he shifts, helping them both to sit up, wincing at the tension on his wounds. Her hands flutter and when he catches her eyes, he sees only concern. That his well-being clearly means so much to her makes it even more difficult to keep himself from sinking back into the perfection of tangling himself around her, kissing her until nothing exists beyond her lips and his hands touching as much of her as he dares.

Closing his eyes briefly, he attempts to clear his head, focus on what's coming. He needs to be more centered, both to prepare Rey and himself. He can't even imagine the shape of the looming reunion, or—more likely—the confrontation.

Whatever happens, it won't be pleasant—time to get dressed. Glancing around the room, he spies what remains of his garb—a sorry sight. But there's nothing for it, as there is no power in the known universe that would make him meet his parents nearly as naked as the day he was born.

A frisson of fear he doesn't understand shivers through him as he stands and starts towards the sad pile of cloth. Plaintive wailing echoes in the Force, making him turn back to her hurriedly, but she's simply sitting quietly, the only thing amiss is an odd sort of nervousness. Rey twists her fingers together and he tilts his head in query.

Eyes sliding away, she shakes her head firmly and he's not sure what to do. He wants to press her; Rey mustn't be upset if there's anything he can do to fix it. But then her gaze returns to his and there's an intensity to how she holds his eyes, followed by an encouraging curve of her lips that placates him.

He returns her small smile, still surprised by how easily she inspires that expression. It's been … a long time since he'd had reason to smile with anything other than cruel satisfaction. Then, she's beaming in that uncomplicated way that's uniquely hers; whatever had been bothering her has receded.

Reassured, he gathers up his trousers and grimaces at the dried blood; oh well, there's nothing for it. Awkwardly, he pulls them up, acutely aware that there simply isn't a way to don them without looking a tad foolish. His tunic isn't in much better shape, and he decides not to bother with his belt or sur-coat.

Once clothed, he returns to Rey's seated form and a little glint of mischief sparkles in her eyes. She pouts in a teasing way when she sighs in … disappointment? Had she … had she liked what she'd seen? That makes him blink as he files it away to ponder later.

For a long moment he gazes down on her, drawing his fingers through her hair and tucking it behind an ear. Taking in a deep breath, he pushes forward. There are things she needs to know.

"Rey … my mother … we … we …" His voice peters out; where the words should be there's only a jumbled mess of love and abandonment. How can he possibly explain a lifetime of mistrust and rejection in the handful of minutes left to them before they arrive?

But then she's standing, taking his hands as she nods. "I know, your mother explained," she informs him gently.

The torment engulfs him in an instant—far too fast and far too total. Rey's soft tone of voice and compassionate eyes do nothing to stem the tide of a childhood raw with neglect.

Fury.

White. Hot. Fury.

"Oh, she did, did she? Strange, since she doesn't even know what happened!" he snarls with contempt, any illusions of besting his storm burning away, leaving only that barren land he'd almost learned to welcome.

She steps back, regarding him warily, fearfully, as sharp panic buffets against his well-honed rage. Even as he wants to scream and destroy, watching her shrink from him douses his frenzy with the dreams of a better man. Nerves unravelling, her guarded bearing begins the familiar drumbeat of recrimination against a hollowness in his chest.

Godsdammit. He knows she deserves none of his rancor.

Breathing in heavily, forcing himself to calm, he beseeches, "I'm sorry, I didn't … I'm not angry with you." Tension builds and he's not surprised to feel his hands clench into fists as he continues to push through his family's betrayal. Even after all these years, he still wakes in terror, flinging away the sickly-green glow of Luke's lightsaber.

"Are you angry with Leia?" she asks in a distant tone, her arms wrapped around her chest, seemingly to protect herself. From him.

Godsdammit all to hell. Now she feels parsecs away.

"Yes … no." He shakes his head in frustration, sighing as he continues, "Yes, but not … not for …"

Why can't he just explain! Cursing viciously, he tries again, keeping himself from reaching for her. "I never wanted to become this." His voice weeps with disdain as he gestures at his torso. "I thought it was my destiny, to follow the dark side, guide the galaxy towards a better way …" He trails off, all possible explanations blowing away like so much sand. Has a man ever been so wrong? Now the thought of Snoke having even a scrap of the wisdom necessary to heal the systems is laughable at best and horrifying in truth.

She blinks slowly—he can't discern the thoughts hiding behind her inscrutable expression, only that she's keeping away. How quickly he's become accustomed to having her by his side … Letting out a defeated sound, his shoulders fall with shame. As usual, his temper has built a wall between him and those he loves.

But then her rigid posture begins to relax as she takes a ginger step towards him. Then another. And another until she's blessedly near, lifting her hand, tenderly stroking his cheek. Now her eyes flood with warmth and he's trapped in disbelief. Usually once someone sees his storm crackle they never try again. Not really.

And yet, her she is, her whole being glowing with a kind of acceptance he never could have imagined.

"I know. I know you didn't want that life," she says with pure compassion. "Sometimes all you can see are two bad choices. You did what you had to do to survive."

It's difficult to fathom; she keeps coming for him, believing in him. She shines with sincerity and once again, the sheer weight of emotion coursing through him makes his throat tight and his eyes sting.

Oh, Rey …

Clasping her fingers to his face, he closes his eyes and allows his faith in her to become that much more solid. He really can trust her. Gods, there's just so much he wants to tell her, if he only knew how ...

"Ben?" Her sweet voice pulls his gaze back to hers. Not quite prepared to speak, he nods. Rey continues gently, "I know that there's more to what happened; Leia does, too."

That threatens to unmoor him completely. "Sh-she-she does?" he stutters out. It had never occurred to him that Leia Organa, twin to Luke Skywalker would have questioned her brother, the great Jedi Master. His mother still has a bit of faith in him?

Rey lifts her other hand so that she's cradling his face and somehow she makes him feel as if those hands are holding his very soul. "She said it never made sense, what happened. But she couldn't find you, not until …"

"Kylo Ren," Ben finishes for her. His mother had looked for him? That means he could have gone home after Snoke destroyed the Jedi Temple. It's far too much to take in—the implications threaten to force him to his knees with the roiling regret he only just keeps at bay on his best days. He can't allow this understanding to flower, at least not now.

Sorrow and that understanding radiates from Rey and she takes the last step to close any distance between them. As her arms wind around his waist, he just wants to hide within her and never come out. Closing the loop, he holds her precious form fiercely—a helpless whimper shuddering from him when she nuzzles her cheek against his chest.

A silent moment that allows him to find that calm only she can bring comes to an end when Rey's lovely voice vibrates along him, breaking the quiet. "She loves you. I don't think you need to worry. All she wants is to have her son back, to have you back."

The truth of her words is chased by flashes of memories he knows aren't his.

Long, cold desert nights lost to ever-dimming hope; skinny arms the only spare comfort to be found.

Solitude that edges towards madness, an empty stage on which to perform dreams that lose color and definition the longer the wind howls.

A stark image of Rey's bill of sale, ripping away the last vestiges of hope.

Come back!

Her suffering, immediate and vicious, pulls him from his quagmire in sharp flash. Too caught in Rey's anguish, he can't wonder how he's remembering her life instead of his own.

What is the wreckage of his history to the purity of her pain?

Tightening his arms around her, trying to reach back through the veil of time, he rumbles, "You will never be alone again; you have a home with me, within me for the rest of our lives."

She starts and looks up into his face quickly, an obvious war playing out behind those hazel eyes. This place he knows well—wanting, so badly, to believe, but equally terrified to do so. Everything between them is in the open, now, promises declared. This new garden of hope, grown in a devastated land, is as fragile as it is indestructible.

He's about to tell her that anyone who abandoned her isn't worth her tears, that he's here now, but the shrill alarm sounds, followed by the quiver of returning to normal space.

Holding her eyes, his chest fills with everything he needs to say, all he wants to ask, but the chrono has run out.

It doesn't matter that he's not ready.

It doesn't matter that Rey deserves all of his attention—anything he can give her, really.

It doesn't matter that his place is right here with his beautiful, winsome answer.

No, nothing else matters because …

They've arrived. Time is up. A meeting he's been running from since he was 23 years old is here. His choices are made, and he's determined not to waste this one last chance.

Because Rey deserves the best life he can give her, free from his mistakes. And so, he will face this.

For her.

Once Snoke's ship is locked with the Millennium Falcon, Ben turns to Rey, about to tell her he'll make sure everything's safe before she joins him. There's no real reason for such caution, but something he can't quite pinpoint has him wary, alert.

"I'm going first," Rey informs him before he can say a word. Opening his mouth to argue, he sighs instead. She's already halfway through the small hatch.

Focusing on her, guiding her through the awkward tube would have soothed his nerves, not to mention make it easier to keep himself pressing forward instead of flying them far away from facing his parents.

Just looking down into his father's ship makes his stomach flip oddly. He can't even see much, but he knows what's coming. Or at least, he thinks he does. His mother had opted to help him, concentrating on the details she needed to fulfill the mission in front of her. That doesn't mean she won't interrogate him thoroughly now that the urgency has passed. She never was one to miss anything, especially when he dearly wished she would.

Now Rey is out of his sight and that pushes him to move. Intellectually, he knows there's no danger to her, but logic doesn't really seem to matter much when it comes to her. It's as if his heart and soul are now walking around independently—with a new tendency to completely ignore his wishes.

As he lowers himself until his foot catches the first rung, he nearly loses all of his bearings when the achingly familiar scent of his childhood slams into him, dragging him back into memories he'd buried as deeply as he could.

Giggling madly as he careens through the Falcon's corridors.

Snuggling up in Uncle Chewie's fur.

Bounding into his parents' cabin, burrowing between them as his mother peppers him with kisses and his father's deep laugh cocoons him in warmth and security.

A rough hand ruffling his hair. "Hey, kid."

He hates that he calls him that, loves that calls him that.

But Rey … she keeps moving deeper into the ship, too far from him—too close to the source of his unease. Eyes sliding shut against the memories, he keeps moving.

When his boots hit the durasteel, she's already well out of eyesight so he strides swiftly, following that golden thread and the murmur of Rey speaking.

As he draws closer, ice shoots up his spine at one particular voice. He can't parse what's being said, too lost in past terror and his constant companion of vengeance.

It can't be. It can't be! The trail has been cold for years.

Heart racing, hands trembling, vision bathed in that haunting green, his fingers seek his saber but it's back in the escape craft.

"Leia, I don't care! We have to get her away from him!" the voice shouts.

That pulls him so hard into the present that he breathes in sharply and his hands ball into fists. He doesn't need a weapon to tear that man limb from limb; he's much stronger now.

No one will take her from him.

Especially not his uncle.

Ben stalks into the main cabin, violence lining each step. Rey stands to the side of the twins squaring off, a perplexed look on her face until she sees him. The relief he sees flood her eyes flares a bit of warmth inside his rage.

"You don't understand! You don't know what's between them!" Leia pleads.

"Love? Attachment?" Luke snorts in derision. "He always was a crap Jedi."

Stalking forward, Ben snarls, "Shut. Up." There's a small satisfaction in how Luke's eyes bulge out of his craggy, age-lined face. He's all blustering righteousness, but Ben can smell the guilt. He hopes his mother can, too.

Retreating several steps back, the old Jedi beckons to Rey, "Come here. You don't know what he is."

The absolute fury bursting from Rey makes Ben's head turn sharply, finding her crackling with energy and her eyes sparkling with searing gold. Now he sees how she survived Jakku.

"No! You don't know what, who he is!" she spits as she flies to Ben's side, curving into him as if this is her natural place. Because it is.

"See how he's already twisted her mind! She reeks of his corruption!" Luke declares with disgust, his lips curled with revulsion. "It might already be too late to save her."

The idea of Rey needing to be saved—from him!—has a growl building deep in Ben's chest as he pushes her behind him. If anything, she must be protected from his murderous former master. And what better way to ensure her safety than by ridding the galaxy of this duplicitous hypocrite?

He's been waiting for this day for a long, long time.

Before he can launch himself at the great Luke Skywalker, his mother steps between them, yelling in her brother's face, "Godsdammit! Focus! Look at them, really look at them!"

"Need any help, Princess?" calls from the cockpit.

Leia throws her hands up and answers, "Sure, why not?" Catching Luke's gaze, she barks, "Now, look!"

Mulishly, he steps to the side of his sister in order to get a good view and his eyes narrow. Ben can feel Luke's attention narrow in the Force, digging into that which is not his. Eyes rolling back into his head, the Jedi lets out a shocked gasp.

Now. Now!

Taking advantage of Luke's distraction, Ben's hand shoots out, pulling into a familiar claw. Before he can muster any sort of defense, Luke's fingers tear at the phantom fingers slowly crushing his windpipe. Fleetingly, Ben enjoys finally, finally having this man at his dim mercy.

His mother whirls towards him and screams, "Ben!" just as Rey pushes past, refusing to be protected. If he wasn't rather busy, he'd drag her back behind him. Having her out in the open, close to the only true danger left in the galaxy nearly breaks his concentration. Instead, his eyes flit wildly between her rigid, furious form and the reddening face of his uncle.

"Ben! Let him go!" Leia demands.

"You don't know what he did to me!" he thunders, just as his father lurches around the corner, blaster drawn. In any other situation, Han Solo's arrival on the scene would have threatened to rip Ben in two, the emotions he inspires too incongruous to coexist.

For a single moment Ben senses his parents share a look and then time fractures.

Han aims.

His mother screams.

Rey throws herself into the bolt arching towards his chest, her beloved body crumpling to the deck before he can even understand what's happened.

Blinking rapidly, time reintegrates and he sees. She's not moving.

No!

Rey!

Gods, no!

"REY!"

A/N: HEA Policy in firm effect!

Thank you, ArtemisBare! You are my partner in the crime of Feels Murder in the First Degree and it's just too much fun! All my love and gleeful cackles, m'dear.

Thank you, Readers! I'm really sorry for the cliffhanger, but I'm hopeful leaving it here will help motivate me to write the next chapter swiftly. You are all wonderful and being able to share my writing with you helps me unearth joy in the midst of chaos (see what I did there?). Stay safe and may you find pockets of happiness wherever you can. *Great big soothing hug*