After the meeting, Ben headed back into the forest. Being in the team's presence—especially Poe and Rey—had left him in dire need of fresh air and a quiet place to meditate.
Retracing his steps from earlier that morning, he made his way out to the clearing he'd found and settled cross-legged on the forest floor in front of a fallen tree. Leaning back against the mossy trunk, he let his eyes fall closed and his mind let go.
The sounds on Ajan Kloss were different from the familiar ones on D'Qar. The cries of the tropical birds and braying of the far-off beasts were somehow brash and jarring; the way the wind rustled through the trees sounded as if it heralded a storm. The scents were different too; whereas the forest on D'Qar had smelled like loam, the jungle here smelled like rain. The air was thick and almost sticky with moisture. The trees teemed with life.
All of this moved around him, in counterpoint to his stillness and solitude. His breath fell in line with the breeze, his heartbeat dropping into place amongst the chittering of creatures, but even so, he remained separate. Existing. Observing. Wondering.
He'd lost track of time when the crunching of footsteps through the underbrush met his ears. Whoever it was, they were light on their feet, and they were approaching from the direction of the base. He sensed no danger, and so he remained still, willing that they would turn back, or pass him by altogether.
He should've known he would have no such luck.
The footsteps stopped a short distance away, and something lightweight dropped onto the forest floor in front of him with a soft, earthy thud. He opened his eyes and looked down.
A long stick lay among the fallen leaves.
He glanced up. Rey stood before him, stick in hand.
A flash of irritation went through him. "What is this?" he asked quietly.
"On your feet, Solo."
"Rey—"
Without warning, she lunged forward and thwacked him on the upper arm. The whip of her stick stung.
He surged to his feet, stick in hand. "Knock it off," he snapped.
Instead of complying, she glared at him and raised her stick into a defensive position. "Make me," she challenged.
"I'm not doing this right now," he replied sullenly. Dropping the stick, he went around her and started back toward the base.
Her stick cracked across his upper back, and he cried out. That time, it actually hurt. Whirling around, he Force-summoned the stick back into his waiting hand and took a step toward her.
"I told you to knock it off," he snarled dangerously, towering above her.
"And I told you to make me."
He could feel his frustration, his grief, his exhaustion all mounting into a towering head of fury. He was teetering on the knife-edge of losing his temper. "Leave me alone," he whispered in warning.
In answer, she swung at him. He reactively blocked her, and their sticks clacked together sharply, just inches from his center mass. She reared back and swung again, and he swiftly parried her.
"Rey, stop it!" he thundered.
"No!"
His teeth clenched together as his gaze sharpened. He was well and truly angry now. He brought his stick around and cut at her in a wide, sweeping arc. She blocked him, promptly maneuvering his stick away, and then countered his attack with an assault of her own.
The duel quickly turned fierce and unrelenting. He'd never let loose on her before, always trying to retain his position as her instructor and aiming to teach her rather than obliterate her, but not anymore. He could feel his control slipping. This girl, this focal point of so much of his emotion—both good and bad—had triggered a release in him, and as his pent-up feelings finally found a way out, they didn't want to stop.
She'd come to him with the aim of starting a fight. Well, she was going to get one. And she was going to learn from it.
Recalling his days learning under Luke, training under Snoke, practicing against the Knights of Ren, and fighting against Rey herself, Ben unleashed on her with a cry of rage. He used his height and weight to his advantage, all long limbs and dark shadows as he fought her, swinging on her again and again. The tip of his stick whistled past her as she barely escaped him. Her eyes grew wide as she fought back, stumbling and scrambling under the force of his blows, defending herself against his frenzied onslaught. But she blocked him each time, and—
Then she was attacking him, no longer playing by the rules. Eyes blazing, she swung on him, struck at him, drove him back before he even realized what was happening. She thrust the end of her stick at his stomach; he blocked her, only to have it come rocketing back in an uppercut that nearly clipped his jaw. He jerked back just in time, and instinctively threw up a hand to seize her weapon with the Force.
With her hand frozen in midair, Rey snarled angrily at him. She whipped up her other hand, palm open, and an invisible force crashed into his chest with all the weight of a raging mudhorn. It sent him flying backward off his feet, across the clearing to slam into a tree. His head smacked against the trunk with a painful thunk as the air whooshed out of his lungs, and he crumpled to the forest floor, vision swimming as he gasped for breath.
Blinking dazedly in an effort to clear his senses, he fumbled around for his stick—and then froze as he felt her stick touch the underside of his chin.
He'd been beaten.
The uncomfortable tingle of embarrassment, of failure, washed over him. He didn't understand what her purpose had been in coming out here to fight him. Had it been to show him she no longer needed him? That she'd surpassed him, and his tutelage was no longer necessary? Had she wanted to humiliate him, so she and Poe could laugh about it later?
Did she really hate him so much?
Growing very still, he set his jaw, and slowly looked up at her, resigning himself to his sentencing.
He was surprised to find her eyes were red-rimmed and glassy.
"Now kriffing talk to me," she demanded in an unsteady voice.
Taken aback by the unexpected change in her demeanor, he could feel the fight leaving him as he began to wonder whether he'd misinterpreted something. He was no longer sure of her aim, or of where he stood with her.
Forgetting the stick, he laboriously pushed himself to his feet, still leaning against the trunk for support. His head was throbbing, and he felt sick.
"What do you want to talk about?" he asked defeatedly.
"How about whatever the kriff has been wrong with you?" she suggested. "Ever since that day on Ahch-To, you've been cold and distant. Why?"
He snorted derisively. "You can answer that better than me."
"Because I talked to Luke?"
He raised a brow.
"But I came to you afterward!" she argued. "I asked you about it. I wanted to hear your side!"
"You had decided how you were going to judge me long before you entered that hut."
"No, I hadn't!"
"You couldn't bear to be near me at dinner."
She hesitated. He nodded silently, knowing he'd proven his point, but the victory was hollow.
She took a half-step back from him and threw up her hands. "How am I supposed to know what to believe if you won't talk to me about it?"
"I thought you learned all you needed to know from Luke."
"Stop it, Ben! Just—stop." She looked up at him tiredly. "I'm trying. I am trying to hear your side, to be here for you. To be your friend. Remember?"
His gaze dropped away from hers. Yes, he remembered quite clearly back on Ahch-To, when she'd declared herself his friend, and how happy it had made him. It seemed like a lifetime ago.
"You aren't alone," she whispered earnestly. "Even though you continually try to pull away from me into this self-imposed exile, I'm still your friend. You aren't alone."
He was mortified to feel the backs of his eyes beginning to burn. Turning away from her, he ran a hand over his face, trying to calm down, trying to hide it before she saw—
A gentle hand on his arm tugged him back around. She was standing nearly chest to chest with him. The warmth from her body, heated from their fight, radiated over him.
"Please talk to me, Ben," she pleaded quietly. "Please let me in."
His lower lip was wobbling, and he hated being so emotional, so weak in front of her. But he couldn't do it. He couldn't tell her. His fear was too great. He would definitely lose her if he did.
"I can't," he murmured, so softly he wondered if she'd even heard him. "You'll think I'm a monster."
"How could I ever think that?"
"You would. Everyone else already does."
The hand on his arm squeezed. "That's impossible."
He gingerly covered her hand with his. "Do you trust me, at all?" he whispered.
"Of course I do."
"Then please trust me with this." He held her gaze, trying to communicate his sincerity, his steadfastness, everything he was feeling. "Whatever happens, whatever you hear—I want this war to be over. I want the Resistance to win. And I will do everything in my power to see that happen. Whatever it takes. Never doubt that, no matter what."
…
Ben spent the rest of the day avoiding people as he started working on his part of the mission. With a stormy countenance that warned off the few recruits he came across, he foraged among old crates and boxes, scoured through the hangar, and hunted around the base for any forgotten bits and pieces he could incorporate into outfittings for a passable Knight of Ren.
By evening, he'd found some old canvas tarps that were moldering and greyed with age, a couple old headsets whose function was questionable, and a few other odds and ends that might prove useful. He packed it all into a canvas bag and stored it in his quarters for the time being. Once they got to D'Qar, he would continue the search for metal scraps that he could fashion into armor plating and weaponry. It was going to be tricky, but he'd find a way to make it work.
He hadn't eaten breakfast that morning, and he'd skipped lunch in favor of working. As the allotted dinner hour rolled around, he found he'd actually developed an appetite, so he left the bag in his room, washed up, and headed to the mess hall.
He'd scrounged up a half-ration and holed himself up at a table at the rear of the room when the rest of the tactical team came in. He wasn't surprised to see them all together. Finn and Rose were obviously an item nowadays, and Poe and Rey seemed well on their way. The pilot's arm was slung over the scavenger's shoulders as they casually walked over to the sideboard. Ben forced himself to take another bite.
But then Rose spotted him and pointed in his direction. To his surprise—and expressly against his wishes—the group converged on him. The girls sandwiched him in before he could flee, and the other two men sat across from him.
Poe started reporting. "We finished examining the ships. All are in reasonably good order. There were just a few hiccups from them sitting unused for so long, but everything is resolved now. Someone will need to make a fuel run, though. When Leia said the reserves were low, she wasn't kidding. But there's enough fuel for now. We should be able to take one of the mid-sized transports for our mission. There will be plenty of ships left, just in case everyone else needs to get off-planet real fast."
"Good," Ben snipped, eyes glued to the table. "Then we can head out tomorrow morning."
"Great." Poe smacked his hands flat against the table and looked around at the group. "Let's get packed up tonight so we can go first thing."
They finished eating and left the mess hall as a group. Poe and Finn took the lead, discussing their return to D'Qar, but Rey hung back and fell into step beside Ben.
"If I'm going to pose as a Knight of Ren, you're going to have to teach me a bit more about them," she said softly.
He shrugged listlessly. "You'll be wearing a mask with a voice modulator. Focus on your body language. Be angry. Don't take no for an answer. Be willing to fight anyone who challenges you."
As he spoke, his mind recalled his days as Kylo Ren. Fighting his way through the ranks and bringing the Knights of Ren to heel—as much as could be done. The constant flux of anger and conflict within him. The violence. The hatred. The horrible things he'd done.
Monster.
I know everything I need to know about you! You are a monster.*
Perhaps this hadn't been the best idea. But it was the best they had, and they were running out of time.
A touch on his arm startled him out of his thoughts, and he reflexively jerked away from her. "We'll meet in the hangar first thing in the morning," he muttered, then veered off down the corridor toward his room.
…
When Ben arrived in the hangar, a cup of caf in his system and his bag slung over his shoulder, Poe was already there, going through the pre-flight checks on a mid-sized transport. It was an older model, stained with age and with visible rust spots along the ramp and landing gear.
"You're sure this thing will work?" Ben asked as he approached, eyeing the hull of the ship dubiously. He hadn't seen one of these models fly in ages.
Poe glowered at him. "Yes, I'm sure, Your Highness. Go on inside; as soon as Rose and Finn get here, we'll be ready to go."
Ben frowned. But what about—
"Rey, everything good to go in there?" Poe shouted up the boarding ramp.
Ben looked up to where Rey had appeared at the top of the ramp. She'd been here all morning with the pilot, he realized. Maybe the two of them really were an item. If he'd had any breakfast with his caf, he was sure it would be making an unpleasant reappearance right about now.
But when Rey saw him, she smiled brightly, and for a moment, it was like the sun had broken through the overcast sky. He hesitated, uncertain whether to bask or hide from the rays.
"Good to go," she reported, still smiling at him. "Good morning, Ben."
He mentally shook himself out of his reverie. "Morning," he offered quietly, and climbed aboard, skirting around her to set his stuff down in the cabin.
"Did you sleep better last night?" she asked from behind him.
He hadn't realized she'd followed him. "Yes," he answered simply, casting about for something to do. Anything to keep busy. He opened his pack and dug through the contents, making sure he'd grabbed all the Jedi texts, although he'd checked several times before he'd left his room.
She came over to lean against the wall beside him. "Well I didn't," she said conversationally.
He glanced up at her sharply. "Is everything all right?" he asked before refocusing on the books.
She nodded, but the gesture was half-hearted and uncertain. "Yeah. Just nervous about the mission, I suppose. I don't know what to expect."
"You'll be fine," he said quietly. "You won't be alone."
"Neither will you," she replied with feeling.
He paused in recounting the books, and looked up at her.
She reached out and rested a hand on his arm. This time, he forced himself to remain still. The warmth of that slender hand penetrated his sleeve and set his skin ablaze. He watched her warily.
"It doesn't matter what Luke said," she promised him, her voice low and earnest. "You're my friend, and I trust you. I'm sorry I made you think I didn't."
The books slid back into the bag, utterly forgotten, as he turned to look at her more fully.
She squeezed his arm. "Ben, I—"
A crash at the entrance to the cabin made them both jump and turn toward the ruckus. Finn had caught his toe on a warped piece of flooring and spilled his bag across the floor; he'd caught himself from falling just in time. Rose hurried to help him. Poe came up last, closing the ramp and clapping Finn on the back to check on him. Rey's hand slipped from Ben's arm.
"All right everyone, buckle in somewhere 'til we get to lightspeed," Poe said, striding through the cabin toward the cockpit. "Rey?"
"Yes?"
"Co-pilot?"
She hesitated, then glanced back at Ben. He'd been watching the exchange with steely resignation, but his brow furrowed when she met his gaze.
"I actually have some things I need to talk with Ben about," she said. "About the mission. Jedi stuff."
The pilot's eyes flicked between the two of them suspiciously, then he continued on to the cockpit without another word. Finn followed him.
Rose took their bags and made herself scarce. Ben narrowed his eyes on the engineer's retreating back, then returned his attention to Rey.
"What did you need to talk about?" he asked, sitting in a cabin chair and strapping in.
She sat beside him and buckled her own flight straps. "I didn't have anything particular in mind," she confessed. "Could we just meditate for a while?"
"Sure."
She held her hand out to him.
He paused, studying her hand as he deliberated the offer, and then slowly reached out and took it.
He found it hard to believe that such a slender, fine-boned hand could be so warm. Or so rough, for that matter. It was as if her skin had absorbed all of her hardship on Jakku, claimed it, owned it, and strengthened her with it. Even though his huge paw dwarfed hers, the strength in that hand amazed him. The heat of her skin warmed him down to his marrow.
She threaded her fingers between his and pulled his hand into her lap, then closed her eyes and took a slow, deep breath. He closed his eyes and did the same.
As he fell into meditation, he could feel her at the edges of his consciousness—a warm, sparkling presence, just enough to remind him she was there. She never came any closer than that, never intruded on him, but remained at the periphery of his awareness, solid and steady. It made his breath catch in his chest. He squeezed her hand gently, trying his best to communicate his gratitude for this moment without words. She laid her other hand over his and squeezed back.
A/N: Starred (*) phrases were borrowed from Star Wars!