Standing in the middle of the Falcon's main cabin, Ben continues to clutch Rey and his mother closely to his torso. It's nearly impossible to believe how completely everything has shifted in a single day.

Snoke is gone, silent forever.

He faced Luke, ended that years-long nightmare.

His parents believe him, and his mom is right here, holding him tightly.

And Rey … his fragile, futile dreams are coming true.

It's finally quiet inside his badly battered mind, the years of rage and betrayal simply … bleeding away. Even if it's too soon to express, he thinks he might be well on his way to forgiving his mother. And maybe his father as well.

Somehow, in that day in the desert, Rey, with her vivid eyes and fearless rage had unlocked his cage. It just took him a bit of time to see that the door had swung wide open—he had but to walk through …

Eventually, his tumbling realizations give way to the here and now. Still so many conversations to have, with Rey, his parents … even Luke. Luke … wait, where is he?

Scanning the main cabin, he finds that Luke has slunk away, likely now hiding in the cockpit. There's a smug satisfaction in his uncle so obviously retreating.

That he's the one left standing won't sink in yet. Perhaps it never will.

Han lurks just a few feet from them; he can almost taste his father's urgent need to join his family. Sighing, Ben turns his head until he can see him. The man's eyes are filled with more desperate hope than he can ever remember seeing; none of the typical swagger that embodies his father is to be found.

The great Han Solo seems hesitant and urgent at the same time. If Ben isn't very much mistaken, his father is waiting for an invitation. Leia's hands clutch at Ben as he begins to pull away, but he nods towards Han.

Taking in the entire tableau, his mother's expression shifts from panic to something akin to the confidence he'd always seen as a boy. She moves away, allowing Ben to hold Rey with both arms.

As Leia drifts towards her husband, Ben glances down to find Rey's face … wistful. Silently, she watches his parents, an ache blooming in his chest. In hers. These feelings, they are most certainly Rey's—why does she feel so much from witnessing two people she's only just met?

"Rey—"

"Shhhh," she murmurs, tilting her forehead towards Leia.

Pursing his lips, Ben's gaze returns to Leia and Han. Some sort of silent communication passes between them, reminding Ben of happier times. It hadn't always been abandonment and solitude. Both of them are holding themselves back, uncertainty lacing through their awkward expressions.

Then Han makes one of his charming smiles and cocks his head in query.

The roll of Leia's eyes is oddly reassuring. Clicking her tongue then shaking her head, she chides, "Get over here, you old scoundrel."

Shrugging theatrically, he grumbles, "Didn't want to intrude …" even as he strides to her. She meets him halfway, wrapping her arms around his waist without hesitation. His dad's grin is almost boyish as he returns her embrace. They both make hums of contentment that cause Ben to wonder just how long it's been since his parents have seen each other.

Over Leia's head, his father's blue eyes seek Ben's. Through the warmth, there's a desolation glinting in his gaze—it's startling to see that he's not the only one who's been cut by the shards of their broken family. Perhaps his father had been far more invested in his family than Ben had understood ...

Gods, what a mess. But they have something they haven't had in years.

Time.

His lips pull into a gentle smile when Han tilts Leia's chin and swoops in for a kiss; his mother doesn't seem to mind.

Time stretches then snaps back into place as he tries to comprehend what he'd become since he was last with both of his parents. He'd sunk so low … gods, the depravity! But now he has something to be proud of, to work towards instead of run from. When the source of that pride shifts to lay her head on his chest, he sighs gratefully. As long as he has Rey, looking to the future no longer feels like a relentless quagmire of rage and pain, constantly unsure if he'd again breathe clean air.

He'd never be so foolish as to think having Rey—keeping Rey!—will hold his storm in check forever. But when he falls asleep holding her, he's confident nothing will be coming for him.

The adrenaline is fading from his system, exhaustion demanding his attention. This perplexing bond only drains him further, and while he'd very much like to know just what his mother is sensing about them, Rey is every bit as wrung out as he is. It's time to tend to her, give her at least a glimpse of how he means to treasure her.

This precious creature, who has done nothing less than drag him back to life, back to hope, deserves all that he can provide. A not insignificant part of him wants to whisk her away to the musical oceans of Sheytaya for at least a month, but this lull won't last long.

The galaxy never leaves the Skywalkers alone for long.

Now that her fury has abated, some of Rey's more nuanced feelings begin to shine through. She might project strength and confidence but underneath it all she's … scared?

He would have assumed being able to feel her emotions would make navigating Rey a fairly straightforward experience. But there's just too much to tease apart, a hopeless jumble of threads in every imaginable color. The strongest emotions—bright joy, cold terror, an ugly shame squirming under it all—eddies along her river. None of it comes together as any kind of cohesive whole, and, anyway, he's not sure he has a right to feelings she hasn't voiced.

Filtering the events since Snoke demanded his presence, Ben realizes he's explained so little to her. Even before, he'd avoided threatening their delicate, precarious dance with much of anything, really. He should tell her all he can, answer any questions, but they're all so tired …

Though he truly has no clue what he's doing, either with Rey or his family, he does know that they all need to take what time they can to recover.

"Mom?" he queries, so easily finding a boy's familiarity with his mother.

Both of his parents pull themselves from their own healing trance and answer together, "Yes, Son?"

He should probably turn and face them properly, but at this point he's all that's keeping Rey upright. And, honestly, Ben's pretty sure if he let her go, he'd collapse right along with her. So, instead, he clasps her even closer, craning his neck so he can see both of their achingly familiar faces.

"I … uhm … maybe we should …" What? He hadn't thought this through. He wants to take her back to his old bunk and simply sleep but in the face of such upheaval, it feels too … simple.

A look exchanged, it's his father who suggests, "Why don't you kids get some sleep? Your girl looks like she might already be snoozing away."

Glancing down, he finds Rey's eyes nearly closed as she clings to him. Tucking away the knowledge that she's allowed him to be her safety, he smiles. His feelings are simple and true when it comes to her; it's been such a long time since he could feel anything untainted.

"You're sure? I mean, we haven't really ta—"

"We're sure," his mother interrupts. "Just …" Her face grows worried. "You'll still be here in the morning?"

The way they both look at him, as if he's a wild fathier about to bolt, sparks such conflict within his chest. They truly don't see him, can't see him. That they want to, though, and that's enough to build on.

"Yes, I promise. We'll still be here."

They all share watery smiles, then Ben looks to Rey. "C'mon," he whispers gently. "You need to rest."

An odd flutter skitters along his skin; it almost tickles. At the same time, he feels a giddy spike from Rey. Oh. Apparently, that's what laughter feels like through their connection. He likes it.

"Yes, alright, I could use some sleep, too," he acknowledges with an affectionate tone.

If he hadn't been drawing on every ounce of his energy for what feels like years, he would happily sweep her into his arms and carry her off to bed like the hero in one of his dad's hidden romance holos. Unfortunately, he really might drop her, so he pulls her gently down the corridor.

Kneeling in front of her, seated on his old berth, Ben begins to unlace her boots. Sluggishly, Rey protests.

Batting her hands away, he beseeches, "Oh, sweetheart, let me take care of you in this small way."

She makes a queer little smile, briming with cautious happiness, even as he feels her heart seize in her chest. What has her so tangled up? While he's punch-drunk in love—and it's only growing with each step away from the twisted, tortured, hollow life that Snoke demanded—Rey's an utter mess. And he doesn't know why.

Rey killed Snoke, threw herself in between him and his family when she had no idea Han's blaster had been set on stun … she'd been ready to take on Luke Skywalker, for Maker's sake. Her actions scream clarity in her feelings for him, but there's overwhelming chaos buried under her calm, if exhausted, exterior.

He doesn't know what to do.

Once he has her feet free of their confines, she wiggles her toes with a quick smile followed by a tremendous yawn. Right, sleep. Everything else can wait.

Sitting next to her on his slim bunk, he pulls off his boots and haphazardly tosses them in the corner.

Beginning to lie back, he pulls her with him but stops when he feels that surge of panic. Perhaps it can't wait. Changing course, he straightens his back and tightens his arm around her shoulders, sitting close with their thighs touching.

"Something's been bothering you since the Supremacy. What is it?" he asks gently … warily.

"It doesn't matter," Rey dismisses.

"Of course it does. We seem to want the same thing—to be together, to grow something. But then I feel so much fear from you. Or maybe confusion? I don't know; all I know is that you aren't … alright. With this. With me?" The words are stark, a question voiced by that vulnerable boy he thought he'd killed.

Shaking her head quickly, she gasps, "No, Ben! No, that's not it. It's only …" Desolation fills her face and the bond.

"Please, I have to know," he begs. Dread lurks, slinking up his spine.

She offers nothing, determinedly staring at the bulkhead.

He tries again—he has to know! "Please."

The silence goes on and on, each passing moment pounding in his gut.

Finally, she whispers brokenly, "It's too much."

He attempts to catch her gaze, but her eyes slide away as she starts to move from him. Without thinking, he snatches her back, only to release her when he feels her flinch. Dammit. Even though his instincts are to always, always keep her close, her history makes that ... complicated.

Allowing her to shift, she puts a bit of space between them. Tamping down the spiraling panic, the endless chant of worthless beating through his head, he asks, "What's too much?"

Eyes moving furtively, her only response is a slight shrug.

Most of him wants to assume she means him, that he's too much. All he's done, his box of badly made pieces he's tried to fit together. Even how he'd found her—he'd been so far gone he hadn't even noticed how he used beaten-down women to bury his own agony, only perceiving them as actual human beings once she forced him to see the truth.

It would be so easy to give into the self-loathing, the revulsion—it was all he'd known for so long—but not now. There's just too much evidence that whatever it is, it's not him, precisely; it's something else tormenting her so. Has he been wrong, that her loyalty stems only from gratitude? Perhaps the influence of the bond? The thought chills him to the very bone.

"I … Rey … I thought …" How does he explain, ask? "I don't understand … what I'm sensing from you it's ..." Huffing in frustration, he begins again. "You know how I feel about you, and I-I-" He takes in a deep breath. "I thought … I hoped you might feel the same, at least a little bit."

She still won't look at him and his stomach sinks to the deck. Then a wave of terror slams into his chest, making him gasp, "Please, please tell me. What is it?"

"All of it!" she bursts out. "The way you make me feel, knowing how you feel. What I … was …" She looks down at her fingers bunching the fabric of her leggings. "I want to trust you, this." Her hand gestures between them, finally meeting his eyes. "But … what happens when y-you're—you're …" Now her eyes have begun to glisten and her lower lip trembles.

"When I'm what?" he encourages, grasping his knees to keep from touching her.

Again, she steals her gaze away, hunching over in a protective position. "When you're done with me," she eventually whispers, so quiet and small he nearly doesn't hear her words.

"What?" he asks dumbly, not really comprehending what she means. Done with her? He'll never be done with her. He … he can't be—with this bond that's simply impossible. Even without this strange knitting of their souls, he's certain he would always want her.

Briefly, Rey catches his eyes. "You know what I am. What I let them do to me. Make me." Her voice twists with revulsion as she grimaces an expression of pure loathing. "That I'm just a sand-rat whore," she spits.

"No!" he shouts, jumping to his feet, startling her badly. Godsdammit, now she's nearly to the other end of the berth. It had never occurred to him that she might hate herself with the same intensity that he does himself. The need to go to his knees, take her hands and beg her to never, ever think such things again, is nearly crippling, but he has to be careful. The blunt edge of his emotions is not what she needs.

Slowly, he retakes his seat and looks at her for a long moment before he gently offers, "I didn't mean to frighten you, Rey … I just … I just can't bear the thought of you believing, for even one second, that I think of you like that. I've never thought of you like that." Shrugging helplessly, he says, "I couldn't."

"But, it's true," she murmurs and flashes of her degradation surge along their connection, slithering down his spine, coiling in his belly, making bile rise in his throat. She will know her worth, her shining light—he won't rest until he's wiped away every last hint of this shame.

"No … no. Oh, Rey … can't you feel how much I love you?" he tries.

She nods with a light sniffle.

"Then … then why … why would you think I could ever be done with you or see you like that?" His confusion lines every word.

"What's been happening to me … it's overwhelming. It's moving so fast. Some part of me—there's nothing I wouldn't do for you, and that alone is terrifying." Her head shakes ruefully, looking away. "I don't make sense to myself," she says, mostly for her own ears.

Then Rey's huge, vulnerable eyes find his before she says with a quivering voice, "I don't know how to trust it. Trust you," she admits, her voice thick with guilt. She leans towards him and rushes to say, "I want to, more than I've wanted anything."

Oh.

She doesn't trust him.

And why would she? Yes, he got her away from that fetid brothel, brought her to her little house … but wasn't it just another way of buying her? He'd never asked her what she wanted. Then he left her on the forest floor, trapped by Force sleep, ignoring her wishes completely. All he's done is selfishly gorge himself on her baffling generosity. Her innate goodness.

At every turn, she's proven her loyalty to him, but has he done the same? He's only thought of himself, acted for what he wants.

Now he's the one to look down. "You can trust me, and I promise I'll prove it to you every day." He's about to go on, explain that he understands why she might have questions, need reassurance, when she sighs deeply.

"No, no, that's not it. I don't know how to trust anyone. Most of me is sure this will all disappear the first time I displease you."

An icy, grotesque thought knifes through his center. Has she thought … has she thought that what they have is transactional?

"I … you …" He grunts in frustration, shaking his head. "You could never displease me. And even if you did, it wouldn't change anything."

His words have no effect, her eyes still open pools of fear.

While he should focus on convincing her that he's not going anywhere, ever, all he can really perceive is the horror bubbling up inside him at the idea he's misunderstood everything. That he's just a better class of client.

"Have you … when you …" He swallows past the sudden dryness in his throat. "Rey, when you touch me, let me touch you, is it just to keep me … happy?" Forcing the words out, giving the reprehensible idea form, it has his newly reclaimed heart close to shattering.

Her eyes go wide as she rushes to close the distance between them, wrapping her arms around his neck. "No, no, no," she babbles.

Tears wet his neck, her head shaking back and forth as she keeps on chanting. He wants to think this intense reaction means he hadn't misjudged everything so badly, but the idea is just too familiar. How could he not believe that of course it was all turning to ash.

Always, he's always known he would never have anything real. It's why he never even tried. That kind of connection was for better men.

Believing for a few fleeting months that maybe … maybe ...

The moment his collapsing dreams cascade through the bond to tangle with her barbed protection, she keens, pulling back to look at him. He's not sure he's ever heard such anguish given voice.

Her fingers are digging into his face before he registers that she's shifted and all he can see is frantic hazel, begging him for something he doesn't even begin to know how to give.

He wants to, though.

"Please, please, never think that you don't deserve this, us, not even for a moment!" she cries. "I want you to touch me, so much that it turns everything upside down! You make me hope!"

He nods with no real understanding, making her whole face scrunch up in frustration, then her head falls forward, landing on his chest.

Her slender fingers clutch at his cheeks.

"Ben … Ben …" she breathes out. "You make me believe."

"In what?" he asks, almost rote. But the sleeper in his chest stirs.

"That … that …" Her voice fades away into a broken sob.

He knows he should find it within himself to seek her eyes, hold her close, make her safe. Rey is every bit as damaged as he is, likely more so. Why can't he pull himself together enough to try to believe her, push aside a past that only wants to drag him back into the filth?

Years of failure coalesce into a sharp, obsidian shard pointed straight at his heart. He can't stand on his own two feet.

Maybe not even for her.

But … then he feels how she trembles.

Shakily, he raises his hands and curls his fingers around hers, finding the faith to finally meet those pleading, eternal eyes.

"What, what do you believe?" he asks with a gentle voice, his feelings for her clawing through the morass until it's all he knows.

Her voice is so quiet, but so sure when she says, "That I could love you. That they didn't kill that part of me."

And there it is. They're two people who have been nearly devoured by life. Only he can understand her; only she can understand him. Together, they will heal. They already are.

Holding her eyes firmly, he manages to intentionally push who she is to him through the bond. Wave after wave of dreams, understanding, devotion. She's wound through every cell in his body, every inch of his soul.

Because this is beyond language.

Oh, oh, she's joining him in the miracle of their connected hearts. For the first time, he's enveloped, cocooned in who he is to her.

Their feelings curl, dance, sing together and then she's kissing him so beautifully. She might not be able to form the words just yet, but he smiles against her perfect mouth in realization.

Rey loves him.

A/N: Thank you, ArtemisBare for putting up with me dragging my feet for _three weeks_ of writing this. You are a saint. Happy early birthday, Beautiful!

Thank you, Readers! It's been a while since I expressed my gratitude to you for being a huge part of changing my life. Writing saved me. Writing showed me what I'm meant to do with my life and I know I would never have kept at it without such supportive kindness. I seriously get choked up if I think about it too long. All the warm hugs in the world, my friends.