Chapter 4: Disequilibrium

"The devil's on your shoulder
The strangers in your head
As if you don't remember
As if you can forget
It's only been a moment
It's only been a lifetime
But tonight you're a stranger
Some silhouette."

-Silhouette, Aquilo

23 ABY

Ben Solo was unbalanced.

It had started during his afternoon meditation with Master Skywalker. The two had a standing appointment—every week they met by the pool in the eastern courtyard to attune themselves to the Force. It was one of Skywalker's favorite locations in the temple; he had once explained that the sound of flowing water brought him a sense of balance.

Ben had tried to hide his eye roll as he had settled cross-legged opposite the Jedi master.

The mandatory engagement was his uncle's way of recognizing their familial bond without actually having to interact with Ben. It suited them both well, although Ben hated how it elicited the same familiar twinge of rejection that surfaced every time he thought of his parents.

Meditation was difficult for the young Solo. Silencing his own churning thoughts was hard enough, but the added noise of eleven inquisitive padawans poking around in their own meditative spaces—sometimes attempting to breach his mind's barriers out of curiosity—provided yet another challenge. Even the Force itself was loud, battering at his exposed psyche as if he lacked some integral part—a rudder, so to speak—that would allow him to navigate its flow smoothly.

You feel too deeply, Skywalker had told him once. Your thoughts are in a disarray. You must create order, control your emotions. Let them float away until you are nothing but an observer.

The problem was that Ben's emotions didn't always feel like his own. They were erratic, and often misplaced. He could be practicing saber forms one moment, and filled with a deep, aching sadness in the next. Or he could be focused on mending a torn tunic when suddenly an overwhelming rage would storm out of nowhere before slipping away into the dark recesses of his mind without explanation.

Learn to control it, his master demanded. You must develop discipline.

To feel emotion is to be human, the voice in his head said comfortingly. Learn to use your emotions—let them consume you and transport you to new levels of understanding.

The two conflicted messages warred in Ben's mind throughout every waking moment. But which to heed—his detached uncle, or the constant companion of his childhood?

Ben could not remember the first time that the voice had spoken to him. For all he knew, it had always been there, listening at times, absent at others. It soothed his fears, stoked his ambition, and understood him in a way that Leia, Han, and Skywalker never had.

You are different, the voice whispered. Stronger than they are. They will never understand what it is like to be you. You and I, we are the same. Destined to be outcasts. Loneliness is the inheritance of all those who wield great power.

Ben had been confused at first. He wasn't sure what power he was supposed to be wielding. But as he aged and the look in his mother's eyes grew more guarded, the discomfort in his father's voice more evident, he began to listen more closely to the only being who claimed to understand him.

Who are you? Ben had finally had the reason to ask, around the age of seven. You're not me, are you?

A cool laugh had echoed in his mind at that. No, I am not you, the voice had answered. I have never used a name before. But you may call me Snoke.

Snoke was not the ideal companion, but often he was all that Ben had. At times he was almost pleasant to speak with, sharing anecdotes and lessons that had contradicted the many adults who had labelled Ben as an unreasonably troubled child who suffered from apathy and paranoia; Snoke's words gave credence to Ben's increasingly conflicted emotions and long bouts of emptiness, providing him with a fragment of solace in his often isolated life. But as Ben had grown, so had Snoke's temper. His fits of anger, his dislike of Ben's parents, and most of all, his loathing for Skywalker, were grating in their constancy. Ben was certainly willing to acknowledge the imperfections of his parents, and he held no great love for Skywalker, but that animosity felt oddly personal, as if it should belong only to him.

Why do you hate them? he had once asked.

Because they hold you back, had come Snoke's response. They fail to recognize your greatness.

It was moments like these that confused Ben the most. It was intoxicating to finally be recognized—appreciated even—for something outside of his heritage. Furthermore, Snoke was the only one who didn't seem to fear Ben in some capacity, and that trust endeared him to the young man. At the same time, Ben knew that his friend—if he could call Snoke a friend—wasn't being completely honest.

His companion claimed that his intentions were pure—that he only hated Ben's family for the wrongs they had done the boy—but Ben knew differently. His mother had taught him how to detect a lie when he was a small child, and as his connection to the Force had strengthened, so had his ability to sense deceit. Something about Snoke was slippery. His words were too perfect, too calculated to be honest. Even worse, his advice wasn't always solid. Sometimes he told Ben to do things that worsened his constant state of unrest—things that went completely against his instincts. These demands were delivered fiercely, and failure was met with disappointment, disgust, and anger, painful in its intensity.

So, although Ben accepted the presence in his mind, he did not always trust it.

Which was why, when another voice had floated into his head during his afternoon of fidgeting and sweating across from Skywalker, he had frozen for a half a second. He knew immediately that the voice speaking wasn't Snoke.

No, Force, this was something much different. It almost felt like he was speaking to himself: Look up. Please, look up.

But it was also clear that the voice was not his own. It was far too young, too innocent. He wasn't sure how he knew these things, for an unspoken voice didn't have the same quality or tone as a spoken one. He was sure, however, that the voice belonged to someone important. That knowledge didn't stop the quick flare of mistrust that rose unbidden to his mind; if Ben had learned one thing in his eighteen years, it was that trust was a very dangerous thing indeed.

Regardless of his reservations, his reaction to the request was nearly instantaneous. His eyes flashed open, and the sight before him tipped his world on its axis. That was when the unbalance began.

Standing perhaps five meters away, peering from between the legs of several indistinct, taller figures, was a small child. Her bright, hazel eyes were wide with surprise, her lips parted in childlike wonder. She was angelic. Soft strands of dark brown hair hung in wisps around her angular cheeks; the rest was gathered back in three silky buns. Her eyelashes were tangled at the corners, her skin a warm caramel, several shades darker than his own, and she was missing a front tooth.

Ben had seen children before; sometimes he felt he could never escape them. He had to put up with every whining brat that Skywalker brought to the temple for training. They had never held must interest to him, but this girl—he couldn't put his finger on what it was about her—

She took a single, unconscious step forward. The scuff of her feet on the stone floor broke the silence. The silence.

For the first time in his life, Ben Solo's mind was completely quiet.

There were no voices, no crash and roar of the Force battering his defenses, just perfect, blissful quiet.

He felt the blood leaving his face as he stood in a single, graceful movement. Who was this child? Why was she here? And why hadn't she been here, for the past eighteen years?

The last question felt silly the moment he voiced it in his head, and he brushed it aside like old cobwebs, focusing on projecting a strand of thought towards her, probing gently.

A blistering desert, the hull of a ruined Star Destroyer, the round curve of the Falcon's underbelly against a clear blue sky. A small alcove, three letters scratched in a child-like hand.

He blinked and recoiled from her mind, uncertain where the memory had come from. It was his own memory—a vision that had come to him in a dream. He wasn't certain how the girl had managed to project it back to him, but he was wary now. He reached out again, hesitantly, and felt her dizziness a moment before she began to sway.

He crossed the space between them faster than he had thought possible, skidding the last few feet on his knees to catch her body just before it hit the ground. The weight of her small frame was almost imperceptible at the same time that it felt as if the weight of the galaxy was pressing down into his arms. She was so tiny. Fragile, he thought. Vulnerable. But something about her face spoke of hidden strength despite the slackness of oblivion. The feel of her cradled against his chest sent a fierce surge of protectiveness through him. Something prickled in the back of his mind.

Snoke was coming.

In the past, Ben had greeted Snoke's arrival with varying degrees of enthusiasm. In the young Solo's loneliest days, his companion's voice was a beacon of hope and approval. In times of uncertainty, he was a source of clarifying knowledge and unshakeable resolve. But he could also be erratic, hard-to-please, and aggressive at times. Something in Ben balked at the idea of his unsettling presence coming in contact with the child. This thought confused him even as it frightened him, and he sought vainly to push Snoke away.

But he was already there, rushing into the empty spaces of Ben's mind, summoned no doubt by the surge of his emotions. Who is this? Snoke asked innocently, his voice sending a chill down Ben's spine. He was so rattled by his companion's arrival that he was unable to resist as the girl was lifted out of his arms.

All at once, the noise of the world slammed back in. Ben almost crushed his hands over his ears, despite the knowledge that the cacophony he was experiencing was contained within his own head.

Some of it though, was not.

"Kid!" a voice was shouting. "Leia, what's wrong with her?"

Ben blinked once, twice, trying to throw off the fugue that had crept over his senses. To his shock, a familiar figure was crouching before him, supporting the child's body.

Han Solo had come to Yavin 4, and he had brought company.

The courtyard was suddenly a flurry of movement. Skywalker was on his feet, Chewie was roaring loudly in consternation, and both of Ben's parents were on their knees examining the unconscious girl in Han's arms.

Ben was at a loss. For a moment everything had been clear, and now it all felt disjointed, like he had suddenly been stripped of his sight or equilibrium. Moreover, he was strangely irritated by his separation from the child. He had only meant to prevent her fall—something that any decent person would have done in his place. Initially he had planned to lower her to the ground gently and back away, put some distance between himself and this supremely bewildering situation. Now, however, he felt the strange urge to shove Han aside and make sure the girl was alright. He imagined he could still feel the quick hummingbird throb of her heart against his palm—the one that had been pressed, moments before, between her shoulder blades. He longed to feel it again, at the same time that he loathed the part of himself that had taken such interest in her. Ben curled his fingers into fists and watched helplessly, torn. Leia cast him a single questioning glance before laying a hand across the child's forehead.

"She's fine," Leia proclaimed. "She's just passed out. Luke, is there a place we can lay her down? Poor dear, she's probably exhausted from all this travel. Move over, Ben; lift her up, Han."

The ungainly group shuffled towards the edge of the courtyard, Han bearing his young charge and Skywalker leading. Ben trailed behind, feeling unwelcome but incapable of drifting away.

They took the child to the medical bay, which was manned by the temple's sole medical droid. She was laid down on the crisp white sheets, her small form somehow appearing even smaller in the center of the vast bed. Ben's heart clenched at the sight and he shoved the visceral response into a corner of his mind to be analyzed later.

A flurry of action followed, during which Ben was nudged and shuffled further and further from the patient. He hovered nearby, relying on his height to maintain a clear view and listening to the medical droid's diagnosis—dehydration, shock, and a combination of other factors, including malnutrition and lack of sleep. An IV was inserted into the girl's small arm, making Ben flinch as if the needle had pierced his own skin.

"There also appears to be significant bruising to the upper back and torso," the droid announced clinically. "Large welts may indicate some sort of blunt-force trauma inflicted by—"

"What?" Ben exploded, his temper suddenly flaring. He took a step forward, ready to swat the droid aside with a single hand. "Are you saying she's been beaten?"

The droid's head swiveled to face him—if it could have shrugged, Ben was certain it would have. He felt a sudden surge of hatred for the pile of scrap-metal. "It seems highly likely," the machine continued. "Life history information would aid in further diagnosis." Its head swiveled back towards Han, who was looking down at the girl with an expression of helpless sorrow.

"She's a—was—a slave," he croaked. "Chewie and I found her on Jakku, camped out in the Falcon. She worked for one of the junk traders out there."

Ben felt his rage growing, seething under his skin. He wanted terribly to break something, inflict pain. He was distantly aware of Snoke's growing curiosity, but wasn't able to contemplate it in that moment. "A slave?" he grated out. "She's a child. What kind of person—"

He cut of abruptly, noticing the strange looks he was drawing from his uncle and parents. Even Chewbacca was looking at him with his head cocked slightly to one side in confusion. Ben knew that it wasn't a matter of unprecedented anger—these four were more accustomed to his mood swings than anyone in the galaxy. No, it was the source of his fury that had turned their heads. It was not at all uncharacteristic for him to indulge in anger, but it was uncharacteristic for him to take such furious interest in the wellbeing of a child he didn't know. It wasn't that Ben lacked empathy—he simply wasn't prone to displaying such explosive emotion on behalf of others.

He fell silent, taking a half a step back and lowering his head.

"Well," Skywalker said slowly, drawing the word out into the silence. "Han, perhaps you and Chewie would like to stay here with the girl, see that she finds a familiar face when she wakes. Leia, perhaps you would be kind enough to fill me in on everything that has happened. Ben, with us."

Ben started in surprise. He had expected a dismissal, not an invitation to join his mother and uncle. Nodding sharply, he followed the two as they exited the medical bay. A string of longing seemed to pull him back towards the large bed and its tiny occupant, but the feeling faded as they turned the corner and headed in the direction of Skywalker's study.

The office was another of Skywalker's favorite places. Its large window overlooked the training yard and obstacle course—a fact that the Jedi master took full advantage of while he was trapped at his desk reading correspondence from across the galaxy. Skywalker was accustomed to simple things—his workspace was spacious but spartan, containing a single communications console, a desk adorned with several neatly-stacked files, and a low, round table where he met with visitors and the occasional unruly apprentice in need of discipline. Ben was perfectly familiar with the table, and settled himself next to Leia while Luke set about preparing three cups of a warm herbal tea as was his habit. He distributed the drinks silently before sinking into a chair opposite mother and son.

"Now," he said softly, taking a sip of tea. "Tell me everything you know."

Leia dove straight into the story, explaining to Luke how she had gone to Takodana in search of Han and found him in the company of a young girl whose Force-sensitivity could be detected from afar. She described the girl's request for help, the description of the ship bearing her parents away, and her quiet, resolute personality.

"Rey doesn't believe that she is Force-sensitive," Leia explained. "Until just a few days ago she lived in isolation on Jakku, so it's little surprise to me that she has no knowledge of this part of herself."

Rey, Ben thought, turning the name over in his mind like a cool, smooth river stone. It felt right, the way it dropped into the silent expanse of emptiness, casting ripples that stirred the soft, dark edges of his consciousness. It captured her well—her radiance, her light.

He shook his head slightly, tuning back into the conversation at hand.

"I thought it best to bring her here. Her connection with the Force is quite powerful for one so young. I expected you would want to meet her," his mother finished.

Skywalker steepled his hands beneath his chin as Leia finished her explanation. "Interesting," he said quietly. "Very interesting. It almost reminds me of another story. Another child found on a lonely desert planet."

Ben narrowed his eyes in confusion. Normally he would have assumed that Skywalker was talking about his own past, but he knew for a fact that his uncle had been nearly a man by the time he had left Tatooine. Besides, there was something about the look the siblings exchanged that told him there was more to this story.

"Leia, the girl's parents—surely you must sense—"

"I know," Ben's mother cut in quickly. "I know, Luke. But she is just a girl."

"She could be—"

"No," Leia said sharply. "No, Luke." Her gaze cut over to Ben, and he knew that she wished he were absent.

No such luck, mother, he thought. Spit it out.

"It is out of her control," Leia whispered, looking down. "She has lived a hard life, even I can see it. She needs someone to care for her, to guide her. Surely you of all people can understand that."

Luke sighed heavily, gazing down into his cup for an interminable moment. "Fine," he said at last. "She can stay here, at least until she's healthy. There is much I can teach her. If she decides to remain with us, I won't turn her away."

"Thank you," Leia breathed. "You won't regret this."

"Only time will tell us that," Luke said cryptically, rising from his seat. His gaze drifted to Ben, who had been following the conversation intently. Why don't they trust her? he wondered. She's just a kid. Skywalker brings plenty of children here for training. I'm one of them.

"Leia, perhaps you'll give Ben and I a moment," his uncle said mildly. "There are a few things he and I need to discuss. Perhaps we can meet you and Han in the medical bay in half an hour? I'm sure you would both like to greet your son properly."

A look close to guilt crossed Leia's face as she stood to leave. Her hand dropped onto Ben's shoulder, but somehow the gesture felt empty after Skywalker's gentle rebuke. He refused to meet her gaze.

At the sound of the door closing behind his twin, the Jedi master settled back into his seat, interlocking his fingers beneath his chin once more and scrutinizing his nephew momentarily. "Explain."

Ben let out a slow breath. He had known this interrogation was coming from the moment Skywalker had asked him to join them in the study. He simply hadn't expected such a frontal approach. His master was usually more subtle than this.

Painfully aware of the lingering presence of Snoke in his mind, Ben did his best to tamp down on his emotions. He shrugged noncommittally. "What is there to explain? I felt her reach out to me through the Force. Surely you heard it, too?"

Skywalker's eyes scanned Ben's face slowly for the telltale signs of a lie. Finding nothing, he shifted his posture, laying both hands on the armrests of his chair. "I heard nothing," he admitted. "I could feel them coming of course—Leia, Han, Chewie, and a fourth presence. I knew the moment that they stepped into the courtyard. But aside from the girl's unusual affinity for the Force…nothing. I heard nothing."

Ben's eyebrows shot up. "Nothing? That can't be possible." The only being he had ever met who could speak into a single mind at will was Snoke—surely a tiny child who lacked all knowledge of the Force could not have replicated such a feat. Surely her silent plea hadn't just been meant for him.

"What am I supposed to have heard?" Skywalker asked, a look of grim humor lifting the edges of his mouth.

"She—she showed me something. One of my own memories," Ben said, choosing to keep her desperate call to himself, for now. "When I reached out to her. She showed me the vision that I had—the one about the Millennium Falcon, that I shared with you."

"Fascinating," Ben's master whispered quietly, leaning forward. "You are sure it was your memory, not hers?"

"How could it have been her memory?" Ben asked. "It was my vision."

"You heard what Han said," Skywalker countered. "That girl has been living on the Falcon in the middle of the desert on Jakku. Perhaps she was the source of the vision to begin with."

"That's ridiculous," Ben cut in, feeling Snoke's sleepy interest growing in the back corners of his mind. "Jakku is in the Western Reaches. Are you suggesting that an untrained child sent me a Force-vision from the other side of the galaxy?"

Skywalker rose from his seat abruptly and began to pace. "That is exactly what I am suggesting," he said. "You can feign ignorance all you like, Ben, but I know you can feel what I do. That child—she is not ordinary. I haven't seen raw power like that since—"

He broke off abruptly, looking at Ben strangely.

"It doesn't matter," Ben snapped, a migraine beginning to build behind his eyes. He felt shaky and scared. He wanted desperately to return to the medical bay and wait until the child woke, but a sick feeling was taking over his gut the more Skywalker spoke. He wanted desperately to hear the words, to take them in and beg for more, but with his unwelcome guest still watchfully poised in the background, he was struck with the sudden terror that his uncle was about to reveal something devastating.

Ben's sudden mistrust of Snoke was not without precedent—he knew his companion well enough to perceive that no piece of information would be left unused, no stone unturned, if Snoke thought it could be used as leverage. Ben didn't understand the strange turmoil of emotions that the girl evoked in him, and until he did, he wanted to keep her to himself. Furthermore, he was convinced that Snoke knew something about the child—about Rey—that he was refusing to share. Although his companion was currently affecting an air of innocence with regards to the small girl who had stumbled into Skywalker's temple, Ben knew the truth. As he had cradled the child against his chest, feeling her Force signature stream through him like a soothing wave, Snoke had arrived in a chilling rush, and he had felt it: a sudden burn of recognition, a flare of desperate desire. As much as the girl fascinated him, those emotions hadn't been his own.

They had been Snoke's.

His companion had disguised them quickly, replaced them with a front of confusion and curiosity, but Ben knew. Even now he could hear Snoke's whispering beginning, telling him how foolish he was being, how he, Snoke, knew nothing of the girl, and was just as curious as Ben to learn more about her. The whispering grew into a hissing roar, and Ben realized with surprise that he was on his feet, pacing opposite his uncle, who had grown still.

With great difficulty, he shoved down his incriminating thoughts into the tiny, dark corner of his mind that was his alone, and projected an air of placating agreement to his companion. The effort required to maintain this kind of focus caused Ben to physically tremble with exertion.

Snoke wanted something from the girl. It was a selfish desire, the power-hungry and possessive kind of need that destroyed things. Ben knew it—he had seen it before, felt it in the way that his companion commanded his actions and played with his thoughts. It was simple—what Snoke wanted, he got. Ben had come to terms rather early in his life with the fact that he was somehow inherently flawed. His mother could see it, his father could see it—even Master Skywalker could see it. So rather than foreboding, he felt only gratitude that a being as powerful as Snoke would desire his loyalty with such ferocity. But the child—Rey—she was different. She was clean in a way that Ben never had been, and a part of him—the part that harbored a silent guilt over the being crouched in his own head—wanted her to stay that way.

The young Solo had spent much of his life being uncertain—about himself, about his family, about his gifts—but he was totally certain of one thing: he would die before he let Snoke lay a finger on that child. He was as bewildered by this realization as he was by the strength of its clarity, and yet his turmoil did not cause him to waver in his conviction. For the first time, he felt more than a passing resentment for his companion. He hid this too, mind whirling as he tried to maintain two trains of thought at once—the plotting one, and the innocent one, which was visible to Snoke's watching presence.

The solution came to him slowly and then all at once. He hesitated for a moment, loathing the idea, hating it with every fiber of his being. But it was the only way. It was necessary, especially if he planned to regain any semblance of equilibrium.

"Send her away," he said tonelessly. "Let her go back with Han. Surely he can find a use for her. She may be strong in the Force, but she is rebellious—I feel it in her. You don't want to train that girl."

Skywalker froze, looking curiously up at his nephew, who towered over him by a good six inches.

"I've already told Leia that the child can stay," he said slowly.

"Please!" Ben snapped, breaking his facade.

No, he told himself. You must control it. You must not allow Snoke to suspect your intentions.

"She is nothing but a scavenger girl! There are a hundred others like her—perhaps a thousand." He struggled desperately to calm himself. "Send her away with Han—at least then she'll have some sort of a childhood."

Skywalker's face softened on these words, as if he finally understood Ben's motivation. You wish, old man.

"Ben, no one will force the child to become a Jedi," his uncle said soothingly. "I know that you have always struggled to see the Force in the way that I do—it's part of who you are to see things differently, and that is not a crime. But don't project your own unhappiness with my training onto Rey. Let her decide her own fate."

An angry sort of nausea gripped Ben, and he drew it up, pressing it into all of the spaces in his mind for Snoke to see. Skywalker's response was not ideal, but at least it gave him an excuse for his behavior. Swallowing once, he ground his hands into fists and faced his uncle directly.

"Send the girl away," he said, channeling all of his anger into the words. "Or you will live to regret it."

And he spun on his heel and left the room.

A/N: Oh my GOSH I'm sorry. I had this chapter written almost a week ago, but I was super not-happy with it and just couldn't find the time to sit down and edit it. I'm still not 100% pleased with it, so I hope it's okay! Big thank you again to kittystargen3 for betaing and catching my one million typos! I hope you're not all mad at me for the ending-it has become apparent that I'm incapable of writing chapters without cliff-hanger endings.

Also-the people have spoken and it seems that long chapters are preferred by most. I realize that this chapter is shorter than the others, but don't expect this to be a trend. I initially planned for Ben's interlude to be only a page or two, but then he JUST KEPT TALKING so here it is. Most of this story will be Rey POV (I think) so this chapter is sort of just included for future clarity's sake. I also added the year to the beginning of this chapter (and updated previous chapters similarly). There is going to be a bit of time-skipping in the future and I don't want anyone to get too confused. For the reviewer who asked: Rey is currently 8 and Ben is 18!

Your reviews have been so incredibly kind-thank you from the very bottom of my heart. How lucky am I to have such amazing readers!? Unfortunately my semester just started today, so my time is going to be rather more limited than it has been. I am going to try to stick to one update per week, but I apologize in advance if I am sometimes late-my school is one of those places where people grind super hard so life is kind of busy when classes are on.

-Aspen