She's on her back, too anxious to move and too rigid to relax.
Laying here for hours hasn't done anything to get her closer to sleep. Should she just give up? Do some pushups? Even her toes are fidgety, flexing and curling repeatedly under the thin sheets and quilted coverlet huddled around her.
Her room is stuffy. Uncomfortable in its inability to decide if it's too cold or too hot. The base's centralized air control system can't decide how it wants to react to the transition from winter to spring and it's driving her crazy.
Going for a run has no appeal. Simply thinking of the Jedi texts on her bedside table makes her want to hurl them across the room.
If she were to do anything with all this energy, it'd be sparring, but everyone else is bound to be asleep. No point in going to wake up Finn just because she's antsy. She's going to sit here and wait. Sleep will come or it won't.
Rey sighs, disturbing the silence of her room, before shifting into something she hopes is a more "restful" position. The way this usually works, she'll shuts her eyes and lay there until the next morning. Deep sleep is more elusive than Han Solo when his debts came due – remembering Leia's most recent story about the late General Solo, shared during their daily teatime chat, makes Rey smile. And then she remembers what it is she's supposed to be doing here.
She frowns, willing her body and mind into cooperating with her. It's got to work tonight. Fucking sleep.
Careful breaths flow in through her nose and out her mouth, like when she manages to meditate in the afternoon Cofek-Ta sunshine. She visualizes the sun's rays pouring over her head and shoulders, warming down past her fingers to her feet. Her breathing is labored, intentional, aggressive in her hunt for peace.
Minutes pass.
Her breathing becomes more natural.
She drifts a little closer to unconsciousness, thoughts fading behind an awareness of the heaviness in her body. Her toes stop wiggling, her legs start to go heavy, her interlaced hands follow her stomach's rise and fall.
Time doesn't exist.
She's fading away, somewhere between a dream and reality. She hardly notices when the world goes still. A soft, gentle breeze passes over her, maybe pulled from her memories of training outdoors in the sunshine, its rising and falling rhythm lulling her into a deeper plane of calm existence.
Until she's suddenly wide awake, alert, tense.
Ray quickly jerks the heels of her hands into her eyes for a few seconds before rubbing her temples. Peace has evaded her hunt once more and she doesn't know if she's more angry or annoyed. All she wants is to sleep, is that too –
But then, she realizes that something has... changed. She refuses to acknowledge what this is, maybe she imagined that stillness as part of her meditation –
Eyes still closed, she becomes fixated on how her cot feels unbalanced, like she's rolling more towards its middle. There's a new weight to her right. She glances towards the imbalance and peeks through her lashes.
Rey goes completely still.
There's too much to process at first. It takes several moments to organize everything she senses. He shifts, grazing a shockingly ice-cold toe against her calf; the scale of his body dwarfs hers as he lies on his back, his shoulder and neck taking up most of her immediate line of sight; his wild hair tangles itself against her extra pillow. Her gaze lowers to his fingers reaching towards her, spread and relaxed under the coverlet. She tenses and scoots away as he shifts onto his side, the ill-manufactured coils squealing beneath them until he settles next to her.
His eyes are closed. He's not awake.
She can't go much further, she's already on the edge of the cot. And he's still too close, she can see his eyelids twitching, as if the lack of an immediate attack wasn't enough evidence that he's not really aware of where he is.
Rey is stunned as Ben reaches to curl an arm around her waist. He pulls her closer and brings her flush against him, her shoulder digging into his chest. He's warm, far too warm, he'll burn her alive, how are his feet so cold and his arms so warm? Fingers dig under her back to settle between her shoulder blades, like it's easiest thing in the world, like they belong there. His body heat is quickly filling what little empty space still exists between them.
And yet, he's still asleep.
Rey grasps the edge of her blanket and glances around the room, unwilling to move more than necessary until she has a plan. The lightsaber they both tried to claim, still in two pieces, is put away in a bag under the bed. Her staff leans haphazardly against a pile of broken droid parts in the opposite corner, too far to call to hand without making any noise. She could take advantage of this moment of weakness – he is, by all rights, the Resistance's enemy. But, without saying it out loud, without thinking of the title he assumed more than a year ago, the recognition of his role feels hollow. Forced, even.
If she needs her staff that badly, she'll get it. And it won't matter how loud she is. Until then, she'll wait.
Rey looks around again, seeking anything she can focus on other than how the tension in her shoulders is receding and her hands have naturally unclenched. She's instinctively softening under the confining weight of Ben's arm. The possible reasons behind why he's clutching her in his sleep are too strange to comprehend. So is this unfamiliar sense of comfort, overwhelming her in its superiority over the fragmented peace she's barely capable of reaching on her own.
She can't even begin to face the responsibilities this moment might demand of her, if he wakes.
Her gaze falls on a crack in the ceiling she's noticed before but never really cared about. Admittedly, tracing its splintering ends hasn't held any level of interest for her, but it's better than being pulled deeper into this false sense of security he's projecting onto her.
There are obvious signs of age around the crack. Chipped sections of drywall. Discolorations from condensation seeping past its compromised surface. These and more are all signs that match the overall damage she's found across the various buildings on base. Smaller cracks fray from the divide above her. It's not very large, to be fair –
Ben's exhale tickles her ear.
Try again. There are four bigger cracks branching off the main one. Each bigger crack has several smaller cracks that are chipped on the edges. She should report the damage in the morning, before the entire ceiling falls on top of h –
Ben angles forward, half-covering the top of her shoulder. His weight pushes her deeper into the cot and settles her closer against his soft shirt.
Thoughts are scattered, gone.
The cyclical rhythm of Ben's breathing fills the room and there's an occasional twitch of his forearm against her waist.
She squeezes her eyes shut and imagines the crack growing longer before her eyes, imagines time passing over this moment and beyond, imagines the crack has been there all along and will be there long after tonight. She focuses on a remembered image of the nearby sun rising –
A particularly deep inhale catches in his chest and the warmth of his exhale glides across her cheek.
It's useless.
She could look at him... Just look. He won't wake up. He's basically on top of her and still hasn't woken, he won't notice if she dares just one glance. Besides, it's getting harder to ignore the growing urge to shift her weight, twist her hips, stretch her limbs, do anything but stay perfectly still.
Giving in, only the smallest bit, Rey slowly and deliberately angles her face towards him, keeping her movements as minimal as possible, just as strands of hair drift before his closed eyes. They tease the tip of his nose.
Her instinct to burrow closer towards him is getting insistent. It's annoyingly demanding.
There's a perfect little spot where she could tuck her head beneath his chin. She'd let her nose dance over where his jaw and neckline meet, and maybe his arm would tighten further against her back. The urge to see his eyes open so close to her own is more than momentary; it's taking everything she has to stay put.
Ben sighs in his sleep, his head angling lower against her pillow. His forehead is almost touching her own.
If he had to wake here, how likely is it that he wouldn't regret where the Force spit him out?
It doesn't matter, because he's not really here. Give it a few more minutes, and he'll go back to his side of the galaxy where he belongs. This doesn't mean anything. It doesn't change anything. He's not really here. He's not really here.
She's handling it.
For a while, no sound exists other than their breathing together, and a subtle humming she recognizes as the open bond. Of course, the hum has been there since she opened her eyes and saw him at her side. She just didn't notice it, couldn't pluck it out of the background, as if it were unnatural, as if it didn't belong. It did belong, and that was the problem.
Rey can't ignore the urge to move anymore. She twists to face him and by doing so, she inadvertently creates a little more distance. Thank the Force for small mercies.
His hand stays firm against her lower back and his arm is heavy against her waist. The dark circles under his eyes are pronounced even in the dark. A second dancing strand of his hair bothers his lower lip and he frowns, his brow furrowing and his lips pursing in annoyance.
Seeing that change breaks something in her.
Rey surprises herself as she deftly tucks the treasonous strands behind his ear, and it's like the smallest touch eradicates what willpower she had left. She no longer cares if he wakes, tracing a finger along his cheek and jawline. His skin is softer than she expected, even with the hint of rough stubble along his chin. She gently brushes a fingertip against his cheekbone and her thumb follows the trench she carved beneath his eye. The scar's redness has faded. Its jagged path is visible from his cheek to where it recedes past the neckline of his loose shirt.
A small hum of contentment drifts out along with his exhale, and her heart races as he nuzzles towards her hand.
She isn't capable of pulling away, even if she wanted to, even if he is waking before her eyes.
If she could've brought him home, the Resistance wouldn't be in shambles now. Leia would have her son, the medical transports would have survived the battle's chaos –
Force. She could have accepted the same hand that currently rests along her side. Ben's hand.
But then her friends would be dead.
Rey runs her thumb over his cheek again.
She's not allowed herself any regrets for the decisions she made that day. Not one. Going to him was right, beyond any sense of the confusing morality she was still learning to navigate. The certainty she'd felt, and still felt, left no room for misunderstanding. Rey trusted him. Against all odds, she still trusted Ben Solo... and Kylo Ren. Something she couldn't yet recognize assured her she wasn't wrong for this, no matter what the others might think if she told them the truth.
But, that same voice warned, maybe she was wrong to underestimate Snoke's influence, in life and beyond the grave.
It must have only lasted a few seconds but she knew those seconds of torture would prey on her for the rest of her life. Spasms and bruising had lingered for weeks. Even now, she wonders if her inability to sleep might be linked to the currents that tried to burn her alive. The thought of Ben having to endure something like that repeatedly is sickening.
His arm tightens as the tenor of his dream slips through the bond, possibly as a reaction to her memories. The room around them seems to fade and Rey sees a thick gray smoke – its edges are dark, swirling around what she thinks are the boundaries between her sense of self and Ben. Shapes ghost across a visage of Snoke's throne room, like the linear monomyth of the throne and the sparking clashes of lightsabers against vibroblades. A crimson mist surpasses the gray tone, shadowing outlines of fighters engaging on all sides.
Rey shakes her head and rests her hand against his bicep, rubbing more soothing circles into his skin with her thumb. After a few seconds, she's able to push the memories they share away while minimizing the connection overtaking her senses.
She doesn't need to be in his head, and it does no good to have him in hers. Whatever intimacy that exists tonight will disappear with the sun.
It's impossible to avoid thoughts on their usual meetings with him so close. They happen more often than she'd like, but they're fleeting, and the hours of their days don't seem to mesh. There's no way for her to tell what time it is when he's surrounded by the black of space. She doesn't even know when she started being able to see his surroundings. Weeks ago? Months? The black rooms and star-studded panoramic views don't change, causing each meeting to blur together. Sometimes she'll open her eyes after a restless night just before she's beset by that signature sudden stillness. Mornings like that, she'll see him at a desk surrounded by data pads. His disheveled appearance, especially the state of his hair, will offer clues as to how long he's been at work. Or, the Force might connect them while he's battling a training droid and she's eating dinner, leaving her wondering how they're both surviving on no sleep.
One particularly difficult meeting required that she ignore his shirtless training attire, and her incredible fear that his lightsaber would slice through someone leaving the dinner line, while trying to follow conversations rounding the table, after staying up late enough to watch the sunrise.
God, she needs more sleep. By the looks of it, so does he.
He never fails to lock eyes with her, once the bond settles. Even when she avoids his gaze he finds a way to claim her attention, without saying a word, just like tonight. He's not angry, most of the time; at least, he doesn't direct that anger towards her. She recognizes a certainty, an aggressive confidence that was always there, under the surface. Rey understands how that confidence could be terrifying in the wrong situation.
Sometimes, when his guards are down, she'll find the same desperate need she saw in the throne room, and again when he was on his knees on Crait, the one time she ever managed to forcibly end their connection.
Not that he's repeated his offer, or said anything to her directly about his feelings. She sees it in the minute changes in his expression, the set of his mouth. She doesn't need to ask. It took some time before she was willing to admit to herself how much she's learned to read him, almost as well as he reads her.
What feels like hundreds of spontaneous meetings between them has made her think of the Force as an embittered old gambler consistently playing roulette with her days. No acknowledgement is necessary; they don't address each other, never crossing the minefield their experiences have created. This has become her routine. Their routine.
She doesn't like to think of those first months after Crait. They were both drowning in anger and disillusion, unable to keep thoughts to themselves despite the refusal to verbally acknowledge one another. In every painful meeting, Rey had expected him to lash out or demand the location of the Resistance or threaten that he'd find her and make her pay for refusing him. Every meeting, he proved her wrong. He was more controlled. Quieter. Colder. If not for their bond, she'd think he had no more emotion left.
She'd simply felt more lost than ever after she left him behind. Thinking about any of it didn't make life easier. Rey knows she's stuffed the pain away, avoiding it just like she's avoided the shattered kyber crystal calling out to her from under the cot. Its song is pulling at her attention, even now. She's ignored the pain, and the crystal, and she's tried to ignore him, only indulging in the eye contact he silently demands.
In all this time, this is the first time she's seen him sleep.