Present day

The post-sex clean-up was not sexy and just a bit awkward. Ben slid out of her, planted a sloppy kiss on her cheek, and hurried to the en suite bathroom where Rey had to fight the giggles as she could hear him struggle with a still-erect penis and a desperate need to pee. After a couple minutes' battle, he returned, naked, and with a robe in hand.

"It's a little big," he said, helping her into it. "But I like it cold in here."

Like your heart? The thought came, unbidden to her, and she squeezed it away before he could read it.

"Thanks," she murmured, wrapping it around and going to the bathroom for her turn. She slid the door shut. Her fingers hesitated on the lock.

She caught her image in the mirror. Her hair was a mess but her makeup was nearly flawless. Leia's steady hand and fancy makeup did its job. She was overwhelmed with a sudden sense of shame and guilt. She tightened the robe. What would Leia think of her? And Luke? And Finn?

She wobbled to the toilet – fuck, still fucking drunk – and dropped herself heavily on the seat. Her world was spinning. She was high on hormones, Ben, the wine, everything. She pissed and lazily wiped herself down, realizing how slick her thighs were still. She suddenly felt disgusting. That was her fluid, and Ben's, and she immediately wanted to wash it away.

There was a huge tiled shower stall with glass doors – it was big enough to fit probably four people. She saw a shelf with some neatly rolled towels and snatched one, hung it over the shower door, and shrugged out of the robe. She needed to be scrubbed, now.

She stepped in the shower, praising herself for figuring out how to navigate the knobs and turn it on the first go, and resisted shrieking when the icy cold water sprayed from the rain maker above her. She spun some other knob around until the water transformed into steamy, hot lava just as she liked.

The water was sobering. Tremendously confusing emotions washed over her, streaking down her back, snaking down her thighs, and trickling in the drain. She thought of Luke and HOTH and Kelly and Ben and Leia and Ben and Ben and everything was him, everything smelled like him, goddammit, she needed to be clean. She grabbed the loofah hanging on the faucet and scoured furiously at her skin. The shower filled with a delightful smell of his soap and she realized it was a smell of him.

"What's wrong?"

She was too drunk to tell if the voice was in her head or outside of it. In the fogging glass of the shower, she could see his blurry figure, still naked, standing at a respectable difference.

"I always shower after sex," she said, lamely. That was in fact, not true, but she was making a special exception for this particular evening.

"So do I." He was outside the shower door now.

"Don't lie," she said. His drinks caught up to him and his wall wavered. She knew he was saying it because he just wanted to partake. "You can come in."

A cold breeze rushed in as the door swung open and he stepped in. He was a little wobbly and she grabbed his arm to steady him.

"Thank you," he murmured. He looked at her, strangely, his eyes struggling to focus.

"Are you okay?"

He blinked as water dripped from his brows and his eyes focused on her. He cocked his head to the side. "Are you?" A little smile spread on his lips. "You look a little scary right now, if I'm honest." He cupped her face with one hand and rubbed his thumb under her eye.

"Get me a wash cloth, then," she scowled.

Obediently, he reached outside of the shower and grabbed a square cloth from the towel rack. He soaked it under the water and put some facial cleanser on it. It smelled like grapefruit and herbs and he smoothed the cloth over Rey's face, rubbing gently at the makeup weeping around her eyes.

This strange, affectionate behavior caught her off guard. Rey rarely ever enjoyed tender touches such as this. Small gestures of kindness and the simple, gentle human touch were things she always craved but rarely received. She kept her eyes closed as he swiped the cloth over her eyebrows and with his other hand, he tucked a wet lock of hair behind her ears. A shiver tickled down her side and she let out a little gasp. This was even better than sex.

He withdrew quickly. "I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?"

She shook her head. For a third time that day, she felt like crying. "No," she said. "No, you didn't."

The cloth came across her face again. "Good." He rubbed at her face a bit more and assessed his work. "I think I did the best I could," he decided, holding up the cloth which was darkened with her eyeshadow and lipstick, making an inhuman and creepy mask on the fabric.

She gave him a small smile. "Thanks. Could you pass me the shampoo, please?"

"Turn." He nudged her and she obediently turned around, her back to him and her front toward the steaming water. There was a clicking noise as he opened a bottle and a minty smell filled the shower. He clapped his hands together and then they were on her head, lathering the shampoo through her hair.

She sighed, softly. His fingers massaged her head, raked through her hair, and rubbed at her neck. She couldn't remember the last time someone washed her hair that wasn't a stylist at a salon. Her thoughts drifted back, back, and she suddenly remembered a stern woman, who smelled faintly of cookies. She had leaned Rey over a deep sink and lathered her hair, gently teasing the knots out. She was rough and methodical, but let Rey pick out colorful hair ties that she used to tie her braids together. A girl named Rose was there.

"Who was she?"

Rey tensed. "No one," she murmured to the steam.

She had to be someone.

No one important.

Ben raked his fingers through her hair, just like Mrs. Johnson had, from root to tip.

In Rey's mind, in her memory, in her guarded, precious memories, she saw Mrs. Johnson in the mirror's reflection as she combed through the young Rey's hair, but something new appeared. A figure, off-color and blurry, interjected and forced itself inside her head. Ben stood behind her, fuzzy and out of focus as he pushed into her memories. He spoke again, but his mouth didn't move.

She cared about you, I think.

"No," Rey snapped, her voice echoing off the tile walls. No one cares.

That's a lie. His tentacles crawled into her thoughts again, intruding into her mind, catching wisps of ideas, of people. But that was enough, and she walled her mind. She couldn't let him see the rest of them; Finn, BB, even kind and gentle Poe.

"Stop it." Her voice was a growl.

He stepped away from her, recoiling from her, like they always did. He withdrew so quickly from her mind, it was like a whip cracking and she almost fell over.

"I'll have your clothes cleaned and ready for you in the morning," he said. "Whenever you're ready to go, a car will take you wherever you need." His jaw was tight and clenched as he hesitated. He wanted to say or do something, but he didn't. He slipped out of the shower so quick and silent, if her eyes were closed, Rey would have only noticed the brief, cold breeze in his wake from the door opening.

"He will not get to me, I swear it," she seethed under her breath. She stubbornly washed the remaining shampoo out of her hair while she glowered over his audacity. How dare he! How dare he seduce her, get her drunk, taste her, tease her, make lo—fuck her, and then be tender and sweet, only to try to reach into her mind? Surely, he only did it because she was drunk and not because he wants her, not because she wants him.

She finished her shower angrily and cocooned herself in his bathrobe. She brushed her teeth with a toothbrush that had been left out for her, and she did that angrily, too. She glared at her reflection as she brushed her hair and sloppily braided it. She half-expected, with a little bit of hope, that he'd be waiting for her on the bed, but he wasn't. The bedsheets were straightened up, a pair of slippers was at one side, and all of her clothes were gone. Her purse, watch, and phone were neatly stacked on a nightstand, next to a cold, sealed bottle of water.

"Who does he think he is," she hissed. She stomped over to the nightstand and cracked the water open – oh, there was even a little blister pack of ibuprofen and a little bottle of multivitamins. How delightfully fuckin' thoughtful of him. She choked down a couple of pills, chugged the bottle, and went to the bedroom door to secure it – but her hand couldn't find the will to turn the lock.

I'm here hoping that we can bridge the chasm. Her own words echoed in her ears. Her fingers hesitated on the lock, brushing ever-so-lightly against the polished metal.

Trust. Trust begins with us. She dropped her hand, leaving the door closed, but unlocked, and shrugged out of the robe. She crawled naked under the covers and turned off the light, the world spinning around her, threatening to throw her off the ride. She clutched a pillow to her, imagining just for a moment how she'd like to be spooning him instead.

She needed to let herself trust people. She needed to trust him. But all she could think of as she drifted to sleep was her aunt, Mrs. Johnson, and the lives of HOTH who relied on her strength to protect them.

And of course, Ben. Always, Ben.