1/5/1 Y.O.

Rey takes Kylo back to Lirium, where he can be as loud, and as destructive, as he wants to.

Without having to worry about what his men think.

Without having to make decisions. She takes the comm he wears on his wrist off of him, and turns it off, trusting in the Force that the Order isn't going to implode if he's out of contact for a few days.

For right now, the only thing he has to do is mourn. And that's enough.

There are some small people who are very curious about the crying they can hear coming from her cottage, but she tells them that her friend lost his mother, and that he needs a place to be sad for a little while.

Half of the children don't remember their mothers, but the ones who do go solemn, nod at her, and make sure the other ones don't poke her friend.

The first night he sleeps. He cried himself out with Rey, and she didn't press or try to stop him when he left, after the suns set, and found a pile of rocks to break. Too much sorrow, too much anger, too much to bear without lashing out. By the time he drug himself back to her cottage, he was spent.

She rubbed the bruise salve she has on his hands, and bandaged them up, letting her light slip through him, helping to mend crushed capillaries and torn skin, and kept close enough so that he had a gentle touch when he wanted one.

He hit the bed and slept like the dead through what was left of the night and much of the next day.

"Rey… If the people we love are never really gone… Why does it hurt so much when they go?" Magiit asks.

Every day Rey makes sure they get an hour or so in the chapel, just thinking and talking. Any and all questions are open for discussion. This is probably Rey's favorite hour of the day with the children. And they seem to like it, too, because she's happy to listen to their answers, and never makes them feel too young or too stupid when they come up with something.

(Though, sometimes, with some of the more long-winding answers that the little guys come up with, there is a general sense that maybe getting to a point sooner rather than later might be of value. But when the point eventually comes, it won't be blown off.)

Rey feels that question, and the structures it's based off of.

"Our loves are always with us. In our heads and spirits, and in the case of our parents and grandparents, in our literal skins. But… when they die, they're gone, too.

"When you're desperately lonely, the feel of someone isn't enough. You want them, there, in front of you, breathing with you, taking up your space. You want their touch and smells and sounds. And memories just aren't enough."

She offers Magiit a weak smile and looks to the other children.

"There's a dismissive side to 'they're always with you,' too. Sometimes people will say that as a way to deflect how you feel. Or they'll use it as a way to try and manipulate your feelings, to try and make you put your hurt and longing aside. Sometimes they're trying to be kind to you. They see you sad and want you to not be sad. So, with the best of intentions, they try to shape the story, and use that to shape your feelings.

"Sometimes it's selfish. You're sad and lonely, and that makes them uncomfortable. They don't want to deal with you being sad and lonely, so they try to make you not be sad and lonely around them. They tell you there's no reason to mourn, because, after all, no one's really gone.

"And that's… bantha fodder. People leave. Your loves will, sooner or later, leave you. That's just part of being mortal. And the promise of forever, the feel of their memories, their ghosts… It's not enough. Not when the burn of loss is fresh. Eventually, there's peace, and the wounds heal, and memories and ghosts will be enough. But not at first."

"We're… meant to be sad, then?" Halee asks.

Rey nods. "I think so. Sadness, pain, anger… If we weren't meant to feel these things, we wouldn't feel them. The Force doesn't make mistakes. It doesn't give you feelings you aren't meant to have. Dealing with them, understanding them, learning how to feel them and not be swallowed alive by them, learning to be in them, and then go through them, that's what we're doing, but no one has any right to try and take them from you, or tell you you shouldn't feel them."

When they finish that talk session, and the children are working on making sure and the faviers get their afternoon exercise, she heads back to her cottage, and curls onto her side, back tucked against Kylo, feeling him, here, and now, and real.

And tries not to imagine a time where he's just… not.

She doesn't succeed in that, because in the end, there's always, always is an end. And one day, they too, will end.

But she doesn't wake him up, so that feels like, maybe, a partial victory.

And if it's clear she was crying when they reconvene to make dinner, well, right now, her home is a home that mourns, and tears are a common occurrence in such situations.

Kylo wakes up in time for supper, but doesn't eat. Food feels like ash in his mouth and tastes of death.

The suns drop. He hasn't done anything all day. He's not tired, at least, not the sort of tired that results in sleep. When full night comes, he pulls on his clothing, and heads out again, a dark-edged shape in a starlit night.

He feels pulled to Rey's chapel, so he goes, settling himself in the center, kneeling, trying to quiet his mind, trying to find his peace again.

Ben… You can't do that. Ben, you musn't… Ben, that's bad… Ben, we have to go… I'm sorry, Ben… It's important, Ben… I know, I wish I could be home, too, Ben… Ben, you have to fight it. Ben, you can't let it win. Ben… Your Uncle Luke will know what to do…. Ben…

It doesn't work. Hasn't for a while, but today… His mantra, his liturgy for a restless mind, his focusing charm, the words that made anger go from a wild rage into a tight flame… Today, they're useless.

He built it up over the years, condensed it down, made sure the voices that disapproved, the ones that sought to shun him, or hurt him could ring out over and over. And now they're all gone.

Every single one of them rendered silent by death.

Through victory I gain freedom… That was a mantra, too. And maybe there was truth there. He won. Won all of his battles. And now… his hate is leaking away. It's not there to power him, not there to guide him, or carry him, or…

And maybe that's freedom, but it's the freedom of a drifting ship out of fuel.

"Ben…" he can hear her voice so clearly.

There never was a Ben… But that's not true. There never was a… whatever it was they wanted. That version of a person: the kind, light, good Ben… He never existed.

But there had been a child, and he answered to a name, and that name was Ben.

And that child loved his mommy and daddy, and he wanted them to love him. He wanted to spend time with them, and he wanted them to approve of him, and he wanted them to look at him with smiles and joy and…

And he knows it happened, sometimes.

He knows there were good times.

In eight years, he can remember… four or five times when all three of them were together. Swimming at the beach, and they went to Lando's wedding, he remembers that, and… There were some good times. Some really good ones.

But he remembers fear. And he remembers goodbyes. And Ben, don't cry. We'll be back, soon, sweetheart.

And eventually he didn't cry. When they could see. But the better he got at not crying, the worse he got at not scaring them, and everyone around him.

And eventually Ben… You have to learn to control this. You can't give into it. Uncle Luke can help. You'll learn to be a Jedi and… this… will just be a learning experience.

He kneels on the floor, in the center of the spiral, feeling the stones digging into his knees and feet. There's no solace here. No peace. His repetitions were, if nothing else, familiar, and familiar brings comfort, but not today.

Nothing touches it, today.

He feels her, senses her presence, sees the light in the chapel shift, glow blue, and looks up.

Then he stands up, pads across the chapel to her, and looks down… She's more than a head shorter than he is. His eyes close, and he feels the tears starting.

It's stupid, but real, and it's out of his mouth before he can stop it. "You were taller than I was the last time I saw you, in person."

"I know."

"Was it worth it? Did you get what you wanted? Build your important things?"

"No." She's looking up at him, eyes tracing the face she hasn't seen since Crait, and not for almost a decade before that. "Did you need to hear that?"

"Yes." His voice cracks on that and he nods. "I did." That comes out shaky, and he's got to sniff, hard after saying it.

"I am so sorry."

He's crying harder. "Good."

Ghosts can't touch, but he has the sense of her hand against his face, and he leans his cheek into it.

"Why did you come?"

"To look at you, and truly see you, at least once." Her eyes are still searching his face.

He's staring down at her, eyes dark, hair wild, scar catching the shadows, deepening in the dim light of the stars and his mother's glow. "Am I the monster who kept you up at night? The future you didn't want to think of?"

"Not anymore."

He nods at that, too. Inhaling, deep and shaky. He bites his lip, hard, but he has to ask. "Have you seen him?"

She nods.

"Tell him…" He doesn't know how to finish that. So much of all of his hate for Han has leaked out of him over the last year. So much of all of his hate is leaking away.

"You'll tell him yourself, when you're ready, Kylo. He's always around, somewhere."

Kylo nods, and Leia fades away from him.

There was a boy, and he had a name, and that name didn't fit him. He tried to make it fit. He pulled it and stretched it and squished it and… And it was never right.

So he pulled himself, and stretched himself, and squashed himself, and it still didn't fit.

And every time he tried to shift himself, the name fit less and less, and the more angry he got about having to fit that name.

And his mother loved that name, and she feared the name he'd take for himself.

And his father hoped that, if he was let to run a little wilder, he'd eventually burn off the name he'd choose for himself and settle into the name that didn't fit. But his father also had a name that didn't fit, General, and he too was uncomfortably trying to shove himself into a mold made for someone else.

And kneeling on a hard stone floor, filled with the memories of the boy, he can see his rage, remember it, but he can't feel it.

There is a saying that you aren't truly dead until the last person who remembers your name is gone. He's not sure about that. He remembers, but he can't feel it, know it, not any more.

Kneeling on the hard stone, Kylo Ren knows that not only is Leia Organa gone, but so is Ben Solo.

"Let the past die. Kill it if you have to."

He kneels on a hard stone floor, (when he finally stands, his knees will be bruised) staring up at the sky on a planet he doesn't even know the name of, wearing the token of a religion he's the second ever member of, on his sixth day as the Master of a new government.

The past is dead. He's killed it, literally and figuratively.

Before him, there's only future.

He rises, legs stiff, limping a little because both of his feet are asleep. The green sun is just starting to crest the plain as he moves through Rey's town.

He hasn't seen too many sunrises. It's just not a thing on a ship, and when he sleeps somewhere with a day/night cycle, his body rapidly shifts into sleeping through the later part of the night into the morning.

And he's fairly sure he can't see too many of them, not here.

Not now.

Here, now, he's a feature of the night. A dark shape in a dark space. But the sun is coming for him, caressing over his skin, a warm green that he's not exactly used to, but doesn't find unpleasant.

Maybe one day, he'll greet the sun openly, here.

Maybe one day, he won't fear showing his face to Rey's town, friends, family…

Maybe.

He touches the door to her cottage, but of course, it's unlocked. He's the only one who ever locks it, and he only locks it to keep the outside from coming in, when he's in there.

He knows her day is starting soon, but not yet. He quiets his moves, because she's shifting from deep sleep to waking sleep, and he doesn't want to startle her. It doesn't take long to pull off his clothing and boots. Then he carefully slips into bed with her, snuggling up behind her.

He should have known it wouldn't work. Her eyes don't open, but she asks, "Did it help?"

He bows his head to her shoulder, inhaling her morning scent, and feeling her hair against his face. "I don't know."

She squeezes his arms, and presses back against him. "Did it hurt?"

"Yes."

"Good hurt?"

"Probably." No one knows better than the man who trained in both the dark and the light that, sometimes, you need to go through pain to get to something important.

He cuddles her, looking at the sunlight stretching across them, dimmed by the curtain, but not shut out. He feels her skin against his. Since they've been sleeping together, neither of them has found any reason to wear pajamas. He feels the shift of her breath, the slight thrum of her heart, and the glow of her life.

He's rarely given much thought to his own life force. It's just a thing that is. Something he takes for granted, though he assumes, that like everyone else, he'll one day find himself without it.

Right now, though, he's very aware of it, feeling his own breath, own pulse, and own glow, dim though it may be.

And right now, lying in bed with her, he's very aware of the future, and how this, here, his body and hers, combine to create that future. How their literal, physical lives combine to shift and form the vague images in his mind.

His shaft rises against her, and he's almost confused as to why, this isn't sexual... It's a morning cuddle, both of them with solemn hearts. She's not in his arms, calling his name or stroking him. So, it's not sex… Except it is. It isn't erotic. It is sexual because that's how his body understands life. Rising against her, that's how his body seeks the future and more life.

She notices he's poking her, for the first time in a few days, and rubs against him, encouraging.

He smiles against her shoulder and gives her a little rub, too.

She shifts her leg, scooting back against him, and he rocks his hips, adjusting a bit, and then slips against her. He's not entirely hard, and she's not especially wet, so for a bit they're just rocking against each other. Eventually though… Slow, easy, gentle, a centimeter at a time. His body seeking hers, seeking life and a future and… more of this glow of living. And he knows it can't happen, the preventative takes care of that, but his body doesn't, and he's content to go with it. The motions feel good. The desire for it is real.

His body, hers. His life, hers. This motion, this slide and glide. And not today, but one day, this will be real, and it will result in a life, and a future, and another glow.

A rumor spreads across the settlement at Lirium, one child to another, that when Rey's friend went to the chapel to meditate, it glowed blue.