Ben had lost track of time when the sky began to lighten along the horizon. Slowly, the dusky purples, warm pinks, and vibrant oranges gave way to daylight, and the rest of the team began to awaken and move about the ship. He heard the splash of liquid as someone dumped the old caf and set a fresh pot to percolate. The roasted aroma soon reached the cockpit. The sound of voices speaking in undertones came from the cabin; he couldn't make out their words, only their cadence.

Rey stirred as the sunlight filtered in through the viewport. With a sleepy huff, she scrubbed her hands over her face and opened her eyes, taking in the sunrise, the blanket, and finally him. "Sorry," she said guiltily, making an apologetic face.

He smirked in amusement. "I won't say I told you so," he teased gently, snagging her mug from the console and heading for the cabin.

He had a fresh cup waiting for her when she shuffled into the cabin a few minutes later. The team assembled around the table, and it was decided that Rose would go to the First Order transport to install the chip while Finn and Poe searched for spare fuel for the trip back to Ajan Kloss. Ben wanted to go to the old metalworking shop and see if there was anything left that he could use for constructing their disguises, and Rey offered to go with him.

The Resistance had left D'Qar in a hurry, and despite Ben's warnings, it was likely that some of the heavier equipment had been left behind. Ben and Rey quickly sought out the makeshift forge. The roof was semi-caved in, which brought back unfortunate memories of the Star Destroyer on Jakku, but once they made it inside, they were able to find some promising tools. From the rubble, Ben uncovered a dented blowtorch—which was devoid of fuel; the chamber had been punctured and leaked—a hammer, and a rusted face shield. Rey found a pair of heavy gloves, and to both their delight, a small anvil, which she lifted with the Force and carried back to the Resistance vessel. Ben made a mental note to reconfigure the torch and see if he could get it working; if not, someone on Ajan Kloss might be able to resurrect it. Good equipment shouldn't go to waste, after all.

They piled their findings in the holding compartment next to the scrap metal, then Ben dug a digital measurer out of the repair kit. While they had some time, he needed to get their measurements for the Knights of Ren armor.

He crooked his finger at Rey. "Come here."

She obediently stood before him while he began to take her measurements. With a datapad at the ready, he stiffly knelt at her feet and worked his way up, scanning the length of her legs and the breadth of her lean muscles, recording the numbers after each measurement. He took the circumference of her hips and then her waist, telling himself it was just like an embrace. They'd embraced before. This was fine. Just fine.

He measured from her hip to her shoulder. The width of her shoulders was no problem, but the width of her chest had him flushing uncontrollably until he finally shoved the measurer into her hands with a brusque, "You do that part."

She grinned up at him, but took the measurement and conferred the number to the datapad for him.

He measured her arms and recorded the numbers, then he brought the measurer up to her face. He could feel her eyes on him as he stepped closer to reach around her head. He held the reader in place as he brought the measurer around the back of her head, realizing as he did so that he was standing very close to her, close enough to notice the sweet perfume of her hair and the flecks of green and gold in her eyes as she studied him.

It's fine. It's just like embracing. It's fine.

He recorded the circumference, then brought the reader down the center of her face, spreading his fingers along her jaw as he held the marker in place. He was so close… He could've rested there for just a moment longer… He could've brushed his fingers along the soft skin, touched the corner of her lips… And stars, how he wanted to…

But he couldn't. If he started, he was afraid he wouldn't be able to stop.

He stretched the measurer up to the crown of her head, and then back to the nape of her neck, keying in the numbers as he went and praying she didn't detect the occasional catch in his breath or the way his pupils had dilated. Force, he needed to get a grip.

When he'd finally, blessedly finished with her, he turned the measurer on himself.

"Need a hand?"

"Nope, I've got it," he answered a little too hastily. "Thanks, though."

But she didn't leave. As he worked, she settled down nearby, sitting cross-legged and looking around at the trees. "I miss our training sessions out here," she said aloud.

He glanced up at her, then followed her gaze. It felt like a lifetime ago that she'd arrived on D'Qar and they'd begun training. "Me too," he said.

After a moment, she spoke again. "Ben?"

"Yes?"

"When we were on Jakku, just before the First Order arrived, you had this… moment." She hesitated. "You looked like you were in pain. What happened?"

He thought back to when they'd emerged from the Star Destroyer, and the enemy fleet had come out of hyperspace above them. "I call them divergences," he answered. "It's what happens when the timeline goes astray from what I originally saw." He recorded another measurement on the datapad.

"But I thought you'd said the timeline is way off by now. How is it you don't have constant divergences?"

He wrinkled his nose. "It's all a bit complex. I don't fully understand the theory behind diverging timelines and whatnot. But as far as I can tell, whenever something is about to happen that will influence or alter the timeline in a major way, then"—he snapped his fingers—"a divergence occurs."

"And these divergences hurt you?"

"Not exactly. You know the feeling when your foot falls asleep?"

"Yes. It tingles."

"It feels like that. Sometimes less intense, sometimes more." He gestured skyward, indicating Jakku. "That one was pretty intense."

"Why did it happen?"

He shrugged. "We weren't originally supposed to be on Jakku. We're not supposed to be on D'Qar now. The First Order definitely wasn't supposed to find us there and nearly kill us. Take your pick."

"Where were we originally supposed to be?"

He hesitated. Yet again, she was straying too close to subjects he didn't want to discuss. He knew how badly she wanted to know everything, and he hated that he couldn't say more. But he couldn't tell her.

"It's hard to say," he hedged.

"Ben…"

"Rey, please don't," he implored softly, setting the measurer down to look at her seriously. "You know how I feel about this."

"And you know how I feel about it," she replied, getting to her feet and crossing her arms over her chest.

He watched her warily. But she didn't seem angry. More… upset. Disappointed.

"Ben, I care about you," she said earnestly, stepping closer to him. "I worry about you when you insist on shouldering all of this alone. I promise, I won't think you're a monster. Please tell me."

He swallowed hard. He couldn't stand to hear her beg. "Rey, I've already told you everything I can."

"No. No, you haven't. There's more, I know there is."

He clenched his jaw and turned away.

"Or maybe you just don't trust me," she said softly. "Is that it?"

He whirled back to her. "I trust you with my life!"

"Just not with the truth about you. I don't understand, Ben. You care about me, right? And I care about you. You have to let me in sometime." To his horror, her eyes began to fill with tears. She blinked them back feverishly. "Please?" she whispered.

He felt sick. "Rey, you said it didn't matter," he said weakly. "You promised it didn't matter."

She held his gaze, lip trembling, and then suddenly her eyes widened. "The nightmare."

"What?"

"Your nightmare. There was a body. You were holding a body." Her gaze roamed as her mind ticked over, and then she gasped as she realized the truth.

"I died, didn't I?" she said slowly. "In your vision?"

His throat closed off. It was the thing he feared most, his worst nightmare, and the whole reason he'd even stayed with the Resistance after meeting such opposition amongst their ranks. "No," he managed hoarsely. "No. It isn't going to happen. I swear, I won't let it happen, Rey—"

She sucked in a breath, letting it out in what sounded suspiciously like a sob. Her hand clutched at her chest. "You have to tell people these things, Ben!" she cried.

"And create mass hysteria?" he argued defensively, swallowing down the growing sense of panic. "That was the whole point of everything I've ever done—saving lives. And I have!"

"But don't you think people have a right to know? That I have a right to know?"

"Damnit, Rey, it isn't going to happen, so drop it!" he exploded.

He knew immediately that he'd made a grave mistake.

She stood apart from him, watching him with wide eyes. Her tears spilled over, running down her cheeks. "You'll never open up, will you?" she whispered.

"Rey—"

"No." She took another step back. "It's fine. I understand. But there's… there's nothing left for me to do, is there?" Another step back. "I'm… I'm going to go back to the other transport." Her eyes flicked up to the Resistance vessel. "I think you should fly back in this one."

"Rey. Rey."

But she left.

She turned around and left.

And he had a bad feeling she wasn't coming back this time.

…

He was still standing there when Rose and Finn arrived a while later, carrying several canisters full of fuel. He didn't think he'd moved. He wasn't sure if he'd even blinked. He felt numb.

"Did something happen, mate?" Finn asked, jerking his chin over his shoulder.

Ben didn't answer. Wordlessly, he looked around and started gathering up the measuring materials.

Huffing at the perceived slight, Finn stomped off with the fuel canisters, muttering under his breath about bad attitudes and what a lovely flight they were going to have.

Ben didn't have the energy to respond.

Rose paused by his side. "Both chips worked," she informed him gently. "That's really good, in case we need a backup. You guys did good work."

He didn't say anything. Acknowledging anything related to Rey hurt too much.

Rose bit her lip. Without another word, she hefted her canisters and went to help Finn refuel the ship.

Ben tucked the datapad and measurer into his pack, secured the pack in his berth, then settled into the captain's seat to begin the pre-flight sequence. His hands flew across the console on autopilot, flicking switches and gearing up to prepare for the trip to Ajan Kloss.

He heard Rose and Finn come up the ramp, and the hiss of the hydraulics as the ramp closed behind them. They joined him in the cockpit and buckled in.

"I take it Rey and Poe are flying back in the other transport?" Ben asked tightly. His voice sounded rough around the edges.

"Yep," Finn bit back.

He didn't know why he'd asked. Perhaps to have it confirmed that this nightmare had just become real. Perhaps due to his deeply-seated, masochistic urge to ram his foot into his mouth and ruin every good thing that had ever come his way.

Pulling out her comm, Rose radioed the other vessel, asking if they were ready to go. Poe replied in the affirmative.

Hand to the thrusters, Ben lifted the ship through the trees. Up ahead, he spotted the First Order transport, already heading into space. He followed them. Once they were through the atmosphere, he put in the coordinates for the base and engaged the hyperdrive switch.

…

By the time they touched down on Ajan Kloss and Ben had shut the systems down, Rey was already out of the hangar. He spotted the tail end of her shawl disappearing around the corner.

Finn wasted no time gathering his things and leaving, too. Rose ducked her head as she passed by, carefully avoiding his eyes, and followed Finn out of the hangar.

Ben stayed behind to empty out the storage compartments, collecting the armor pieces and metalworking tools with the intent to take them to the repair shop. Anything to keep his hands busy. The primitive shop was nothing to the forge they'd had on D'Qar, but with these newest additions, it would suffice. He just hoped he could fix the blowtorch.

He was stacking the pieces into a makeshift canvas bag when Poe cornered him. "Hey!"

Ben looked up at the sound of the angry voice.

Poe came to a halt before him. "What the hell, Solo?" he demanded, throwing an accusatory arm out to the side to indicate his point.

"What are you talking about?" Ben asked tiredly, returning to his task.

"Rey. She spent the entire flight back crying. What did you say to her?"

Ben's chest tightened. "Nothing," he muttered.

In the blink of an eye, Poe shoved him up against the fuselage wall. "It didn't look like nothing," the commander hissed threateningly.

"I was only trying to protect her." It sounded pathetic even to his own ears.

"Well, a fine job of it you're doing," Poe sneered. He ticked off on his fingers. "You've lied to her. You've frightened her. You've hurt her. Yeah, you're doing a fine job. Hell, it's no wonder she came running back to me!"

Ben's eyes locked onto the pilot. His chin trembled.

Poe continued, a victorious gleam in his eye. "Yeah, that's right. I know you have a little thing for her. But you kriffed it up big time, pal. She deserves a helluva lot better than you." He leaned in. "Stay away from her, Solo."

With a final nasty look, Poe stormed out of the transport.

Ben was left rooted to the floor. His legs didn't seem to want to function, and his feet had turned to lead. His side was burning dully; he must've pulled it without noticing. Bacta patches did a lot, but they couldn't do it all. In a stupor, he stared at the opposite wall, his mind whirling in circles.

You've lied to her. You've frightened her. You've hurt her.

She came running back to me!

She deserves a helluva lot better than you.

Yes.

Yes, she did.

When he could finally summon the wherewithal to move, he finished packing his things, then made his way to the repair shop. The shop was little used, as people preferred to take the tools to the job rather than bring the job to the tools. He spread the contents of the canvas bag across a free workbench, then sat on a stool and stared at the pieces.

After a while, he began to work. He was able to repair the blowtorch in a couple of hours, then laid out the hammer, anvil, and other equipment. He dug out some of his old clothes, retrieved the canvas tarp he'd found ages ago, and began to repurpose them, working mechanically and never making a sound. If he kept his hands busy enough, perhaps his mind would stop replaying that horrible moment on D'Qar when it all came crashing down.

After several days, his design began to take shape—reinforced vambraces and greaves, strapped over a ragged tunic with sewn-in padded armor strips. A thick belt around the middle; heavy, treaded boots. A roughly-hemmed cowl styled to drape over his head and wrap around his shoulders.

He saved the most important part for last. Taking the pieces, he began to round them, shape them, detail them into a mask whose design lived on only in his memory. He fitted servomotors into each side, then installed the voice modulator Rose had fashioned out of the old headset. Finally clicking the last component into place, he closed the servomotors and set the completed helmet on the table top before him.

Kylo Ren's infamous visage stared back.

The only times he took breaks from working were to eat and sleep, and he didn't do much of either. He had very little appetite, and his mind was too tormented to allow him to rest. When he actually did emerge long enough to go to the mess hall, he would see the rest of the team sitting in a huddle, and he would immediately steer away. Ever since D'Qar, he'd felt decidedly unwelcome among them, and everyone else. He practically lived on caf, and his stomach hurt with the constant influx of strong caffeine and insufficient sustenance. He didn't speak to anyone.

Once or twice, he'd fallen asleep over his work, and woken later with a jolt and a stiff neck. His side still ached from the TIE fighter bolt. He'd taken off the bandage and bacta strips ages ago, but hadn't bothered to go to the med bay to finish treatments. It would heal in time. And if it didn't, it didn't.

When he started to work on Rey's armor, his mechanical approach faltered.

By now, it had been weeks since he'd last spoken to her. It felt like a ragged void had been ripped through the middle of his life. In her absence, he wasn't quite sure what to do with himself. He felt… hollow.

He'd long begun to doubt his decision not to tell her what had happened, but it was too late to rectify that now. He'd tried to reach out through the bond several times, but each time, it had been muffled. She hadn't spoken to him since their argument in the forest, and she physically avoided him at all costs. She was never alone, always in the company of Finn, Rose, or Poe. Always Poe. The pilot had hardly left her side since they'd gotten back to Ajan Kloss. The thought made bile rise in the back of Ben's throat.

Ben had begun to doubt whether she'd ever actually cared about him, too. Apparently he was a liar and a tormentor, so it made sense that he wasn't good enough to warrant her affection. With the team as dysfunctional as it was, he wondered whether they would be able to see the mission through after all. He was beginning to doubt everything.

But he had nothing else to do, and so he worked. The faster they could conclude this mission, the faster he could leave, though where he would go, he had no idea. Anywhere but here would suffice.

Referring back to the datapad, he recalled when he'd taken her measurements. When he'd been so close to her that he could've touched her. He could've encircled her wrist in one long-fingered hand. How was it that a person so small could be so strong? Or capable of inflicting such mortal damage?

His mind went back to the day they'd gone swimming on Ahch-To. How she'd clung to him. The feel of her sleek, cool skin against his. That night on Jakku when she'd come to him after the nightmare, when she'd curled up against him and he'd held her. The weight of her against him, the fresh, sweet smell of her hair.

His chest ached as the memories besieged him. The worktable became blurred. He raked his hands through his hair and balled his fists in the locks, his breath coming in stuttered bursts as he fought back the onslaught of emotion.

How he wished he could take it all back.

After a while, he realized he'd been staring at the same metal fragment for a good quarter-hour. Stirring through the mire of dark thoughts, he forced himself to stand up. He needed to try to eat again. He was losing weight; his clothes were beginning to loosen on his frame. There was too much left to do, too much fighting to do, to grow weak now. He had to keep going.

Leaving everything where it was, he left the repair shop and headed to the mess hall.

He hadn't realized it was the dinner hour, but as he stepped into the populated hall, he immediately spotted the team, sitting in their usual spot. He thought Rose might've glanced in his direction, but the rest of them didn't notice him. That was fine; all he wanted was to slip in, grab something, and get out.

But then he saw Poe's arm slide around Rey's shoulders. The pilot leaned in and kissed her temple.

He felt like someone had punched him in the gut.

All thoughts of food forgotten, Ben turned and fled the mess hall. He hardly knew where he was going, only that he felt dangerously close to vomiting and had to get away from… from…

In a fog, he stumbled back into the repair shop, his entire body trembling. He felt like he was breaking apart. His head swam and his stomach roiled.

And then suddenly, he was boiling over.

He had never felt so insignificant, so forgotten, so utterly uncared for. Everything he'd ever wanted. Everything he'd ever fought for. Dismissed so easily… How could she do that? How could she go back on her word like that, and go running straight to him? How could they…? How could—

In a fit of painful, helpless rage, he roared and raked everything off the worktop. The armor fragments clattered to the floor, reverberating through the room with a clanging metallic echo. Kylo Ren's helmet hit with a heavy thunk and didn't move.

He stood in the midst of the chaos, shaking and panting. He was filled with warring emotions. Fear. Anger. Hate. Suffering.

It was all forfeit. The team was broken. Rey was out of reach. There was nothing left.

Good… good…

Shivering, Ben hissed into the empty room, "What could possibly be good about this?"

Let the hate flow through you. There is nothing left for you in the Resistance. Join me, and I will give you everything you've ever wanted.

"You could never give me what I want," Ben gritted out.

Together, you and I can turn her, Palpatine murmured in the depths of his mind. You could rule the galaxy as one.

As one. The idea was so overwhelming that he fell to his knees. More than anything, he wanted that. To be with her.

But…

"She will never turn," Ben whispered, a soft, proud note in his voice. "She is too strong for you." He smiled faintly. "She is Light incarnate."

He could feel the Sith Lord growing angry. Then we will snuff her out, along with the rest of the Resistance! They despise you; you owe them nothing. We will rid the galaxy of them, and you will be placed on my throne! You will have the respect and deference you've always deserved. The descendant of Darth Vader! Heir apparent! Prince of Darkness! Join me, and you shall have it all.

Ben balled his fists until his knuckles cracked and turned white. He'd had enough.

"I will never join you, Palpatine!" he roared. "I will never betray them to serve a monster like you. I would rather die."

There was a beat of unexpected silence. For a moment, Ben wondered if the dark presence had left.

But then…

So be it, came the low, deadly tone.

Pain like Ben had never experienced lanced through him, igniting a trail of fire down his spine. His side erupted in agony, the barely-healed wound reopening as he arched back. He collapsed breathlessly to the floor as his muscles contracted, twitching involuntarily as they pulled tighter and tighter. The force of the contractions ripped through muscle fibers, tearing through tendons and ligaments. He wondered fleetingly if his bones would break.

But then he wasn't cognizant enough to think anymore. He grunted hoarsely in mindless pain, clawing at the floor, unable to draw enough breath to scream through the spasms that seized him. As the air in his lungs ran out, his vision began to darken around the edges…