A/N: Holy CRAP! I am absolutely blown away by the reception this story has had so far! Thank you SO MUCH to everyone who is reading, following, etc. Sorry about the length of time between chapters, but what can I say except CHRISTMAS. I'm hoping the next chapter won't take a week, but I've got a lot going on over the next few days, so we'll just have to wait and see. But be assured, more chapters will be coming soon!
Big ol' thanks goes out to kylo-rey-kenobi, my beta-extraordinaire! Seriously, folks, she bullies me into being a better writer and I love it!
It is easy, when he's in front of her, to forget why indulging their connection is a bad idea. Talking to him is natural, like breathing. Even when they are snapping and snarling at one another, she feels...comfortable, in a way that she can't even begin to explain.
In a way that she doesn't want to try to explain, to be honest.
But then, the conversation - the connection - ends. Life settles back into its normal shape and form around her and suddenly, the remembrance of who and what he is hits her like a fist - like a lightsaber through the heart - and she is suddenly furious. Every time.
Furious with him. Furious with fate for seeing fit to tie her to him.
Furious with herself for letting him in again when she has sworn that she won't. For allowing herself to forget where they stand for even a moment. For the tiny flame of hope for him that she just cannot extinguish.
For the way she can't seem to figure out how to hate him the way she knows that she is supposed to.
This time is no different.
Rey sits in the dirt, broken stone rough against her back as the world expands back into full focus around her, staring at the empty space in front of her where he had just been. Frustration - at him for leaving so quickly; at herself for caring that he had - bubbles, molten beneath her skin and she tips her head back with a huff, tearing her eyes away from the Ben-shaped void that seems burnt into the air itself.
It doesn't help. She doesn't see the leaves and branches of the canopy that arches overhead; is blind to the brilliant sunlight that trickles down through it, painting mottled shapes and shadows on the ground below. Instead, all she can see is him, exploding across their bond - a dark, wild thing with eyes only for her. She sees the intensity of his focus while he healed her; the fear buried beneath the anger he spit at her, after.
The aching tenderness in him as he once more stepped out from behind the mask that is Kylo Ren and showed her the man - damaged and broken and so, so lonely - that yet lives within the monster.
We have so much power, you and I…
His voice whispers the words into her memory, soft and beguiling - the truest glimpse of Ben that she has had in months, if not ever. Ben Solo cares about her; she has known that for some time now. But it has never been so blatantly on display as it was today and she finds that a much larger part of her than she is comfortable with likes that far more than it should.
She doesn't want him to care about her. It makes it very difficult to convince herself that she doesn't give a damn about him.
"Idiot," she growls, smacking a tightly fisted hand down against the ground beside her. "Foolish, stupid idiot."
She isn't sure whether she's talking about him...or herself.
Either way, it cannot happen again. She knows that. She cannot give into this thing between them. For months, she has held him beyond arm's length, showing him nothing but the sharpest edge of her temper and tongue. Today had been a mistake; a loss of focus on her part.
One she doesn't intend to make again.
She plans to utterly ignore the fact that she hadn't intended to make it this time either.
In the meantime, she has things to do - a path to uncover and a purpose to understand - and for right now, Ben Solo is just going to have to wait.
Slowly, she pushes herself to her feet, grits her teeth. Her leg hurts, but the pain is manageable now; nothing like it was before and quite frankly, she welcomes the focus it brings. She puts all her weight on it, bounces a little. Once she is satisfied that it will not hinder her, she turns back toward the main entrance to the temple - specifically to the base of the steps that lead up to it.
There, at the foot of them, lies a large, bulbous mass that has finally stopped twitching.
Rey moves toward it, limping slightly and bends down to collect her staff from where it lays amongst the leaves. She stops near - but not too near - to the heaping blob of flesh, extending her bo toward it, jabbing at it.
She has no idea what it is, beyond some subterranean lifeform that had not taken kindly to her intrusion into its home, but she makes a note to do a bit of research on it later. It had put up a hell of a fight, as the now throbbing wound in her thigh could testify to, and she wants to be able to put a name to it.
Worthy opponents do not, after all, only come in all black.
Satisfied now that the beast will be posing no further threat, she lowers her staff. A breeze rustles through the trees, as warm and humid-heavy as the air around her and Rey wipes a dirty arm across her brow with a grimace.
She is accustomed to heat, but not heat like this, heavy and wet and stifling.
Turning away from the corpse of her fallen foe, she hobbles the few feet to the temple, braces one hand on one of the column remnants and lowers herself gingerly to sit on one of the more-intact steps. She is tired, from so much more than just the physical exertion, and she can think of few things she wants to do less than travel all the way back the way she'd come.
Luckily for her, she doesn't have to.
She pulls the satchel on her back around to her front and reaches into one of the outer pouches, drawing out her comm.
"Chewie?"
The ululating roar she receives in immediate response is pointed and brief, it's meaning clear.
Where the hell have you been?
She cannot stop the grin that bends her lips then, warmed by his concern. "I've been longer than I expected and I'm sorry," she says around her smile. "And I promise you can yell at me all you like once I'm back on board, but right now, I need your help."
It doesn't take much to convince Chewie to bring the Falcon to her - and Rey is thankful beyond words that it is even an option. She'll still have to walk a bit to get to a clearing large enough for the Falcon to land, but she can well manage a quarter mile.
Once that is settled, she stows her comm again and is just about to shift her satchel back into place behind her when she feels it again. The same pull that had led her deep into the maze of tunnels beyond the temple entrance that gapes wide behind her.
It is closer now, though, and Rey cannot fight the way it draws her in. She reaches into the main compartment of her bag, drawing out the thing that is still calling to her, even as it rests in the palm of her hand.
She looks down at it, eyes narrowed contemplatively as she studies it closely.
She had found it in an alcove, set inside a hole that had been bored into the rock wall itself. It is cylindrical, as wide as her palm and perhaps 6 inches tall...and she has absolutely no idea what it is.
There is a power to it - emanating from it. Old power, that feels so very unlike the other artifacts she has scavenged from similarly crumbling temples across the galaxy.
It is neither Jedi in origin, nor Sith. She knows the feel of them exceedingly well at this point - has never had the nerve to admit to anyone that they feel oddly similar to one another; two sides of one coin.
But this...this is something else entirely.
She runs her finger over the top of it, thumb brushing away some of the encrusted dirt that has accumulated after untold years - stops, eyes narrowing. She lifts it closer to her face, using the tip of her index finger now to brush away more of the dirt.
There is a symbol, she can now see, etched into the top of it and Rey glances up at its twin emblazoned across the temple fascia. Twin forms, light and dark, twined together.
Balance…
The word whispers through her mind, body and even - perhaps - the soul that connects the two; an echo that reverberates through synapse and sinew alike.
Her fingers tighten on it, suddenly knowing that it should open. That there is something inside of it. She turns it over in her hands, slowly; searches for a mechanism, a latch...but finds absolutely nothing.
The familiar sound of the Falcon's engines roars overhead and Rey glances up instinctively to see the ship - her home - soar past. Pulling a face, she glances down at the thing in her hand, frustrated. "I'll see to you later," she promises, then tucks it away.
Right now, she has a ride to catch.
He has known for months now that Hux plans to overthrow him.
It certainly wasn't a surprise either - the two of them have hated one another from nearly the first moment that they met. Hux finds him dangerous, undisciplined; an erratic, volatile liability that causes more problems than he solves.
If he is being entirely honest with himself, he cannot blame the General for feeling that way. Hux is the epitome of a military man - ordered, regimented; two things that Ren decidedly is not.
Hux is also - and most frustratingly - the most singular unimaginative man that he has ever met. His grandest visions are the stuff of purest cliche; his idea of ruling the Galaxy simply a rehashed version of the old Empire.
He wonders sometimes if Hux recalls just how spectacularly that had failed…
His own vision for the galaxy is hazy, yet - though he does know that he would finally see the galaxy at peace, as it has not been for generations. He has no desire to see a new Empire built upon the rotting remains of the old, but neither would he see another Republic rise from the ashes either.
He recalls only too well from his youth the utter chaos and gross inefficiencies that had been the New Republic; the endless hassles and headaches and crises that had virtually consumed his mother's entire life for the better part of his childhood.
When neither Empire nor Republic had succeeded...what, then, was the alternative?
He still is not certain and it is infuriating, though he would not change what he had done, even if he could.
Killing Snoke had not been a new concept to him. It had always been there, hidden away in the very deepest recesses of his mind, the idea that one day he would overthrow Snoke - but it was a fantasy that he had indulged in only rarely and never in any great detail. Self-preservation alone had kept the majority of his most treasonous imaginings at bay - he had tasted the lash of his Master's punishment often enough and for far less.
When he had finally done it, he wishes that he could say that it had been with a plan in mind. But the simple - and infinitely irritating - truth is that he hadn't. In the moment he decided what he would do, he hadn't been thinking about what might come after.
He couldn't, when she was staring up at him, so perfectly and unabashedly resolved. He could feel the strength in her - towering and titanic - and it kindled something in him. Lit a fire that he had believed long extinguished, if it had ever burnt at all and suddenly, he had known what he had to do.
What he finally could do.
He may not have killed Snoke for her, but he had most certainly done it because of her.
Now, he is determined to figure out the rest on his own. After having lived far too long under the thumb of others, he has spent the past year trying very hard to learn how to make decisions for himself without being beholden to anyone or anything.
It is, admittedly, a slow and painful process, but he likes to think that he is at least moving in the right direction.
Unfortunately, his direction quite regularly runs in direct opposition to Hux's; a fact which only further fuels the malcontent that simmers beneath the other man's thin veneer of obedience.
He knows that it cannot - will not - last, this stalemate between them. Eventually, there will come a time when he will have to deal with the issue head on, but for now, he will let the red menace carry on believing him a simpleton, unfit for command.
The General's hubris will be his downfall.
Of course, there is a fine line between allowing the bastard to underestimate him...and proving to him that he should.
His connection with Rey continues to make the former far more difficult than the latter. He has lost count of the times when Hux has come upon him unexpectedly, only to see him seemingly speaking to thin air.
And then, of course, today…
As he stalks through the corridors of the Finalizer, everything about his encounter with Rey firmly put away for the time being, he knows that his carelessness has given Hux far more ammunition than he had ever planned to. He can imagine what was said in his absence, the 'concerns' that Hux would inevitably have shared with his fellow Generals.
He sighs, annoyed.
The situation will require damage control...and he has never been terribly good at damage control.
As he rounds the last corner and activates the door to let himself back into the meeting room, he stops short at the emptiness that greets him.
They are gone. All of them.
Gone.
There had been decisions to be made, orders to be given. And in this empty room before him, he could see that they had been made and given in his absence.
By Hux.
All those Generals...the entirety of the First Order command...they would see him as unfit now. Incompetent.
Weak.
It doesn't take long for his anger to rise up and swamp the anxiety that pours like ice-cold acid down the back of his throat and into his stomach.
He whips around, bolting from the room in a fog of fury. From somewhere far below, his better sense attempts to fight its way to the surface, clawing through the jagged remnants of his shattered self control. It calls to him to think; to consider. To not act imprudently.
Damage control, it cries, desperately.
But in his head, louder than reason, he hears their disdain - their laughter - and it deafens him to anything else. He reaches for his lightsaber, ignites it, fingers gripping the hilt so tightly that the leather of his gloves creaks in protest.
Hux is - as ever - on the bridge of the ship, arms folded behind his back as he barks out orders.
Supreme Leader Ren flings out his hand as he approaches, fingers crooked, and suddenly, the General is on his knees, gasping for breath and clawing at his neck. The bridge around them has gone silent, save for the hissing and spitting of his lightsaber.
So much for damage control...
"Who," he demands, his voice nearly cracking from the force of his shout, "gave you permission to dismiss my Generals?"
Hux stares up at him from his knees, hatred in his eyes even as he struggles to breath. "For...give...me...Sup...Supreme...Leader. I...I...merely...thought…"
"That was your first mistake," he snaps, yanking his hand to the side and sending Hux skidding along the floor to crash into the control console to his right. He moves forward silently, a predator approaching prey "They...you...all of you...are mine to dismiss. Mine to summon."
He has released Hux's throat, but the other man still cowers away from him - away from the blade of the lightsaber now casting an eerie, red glow across skin that is paler than normal. "Supreme...Leader…"
He stops, towering over Hux's trembling form. He lowers the blade until it is nearly brushing the Generals cheek. "You would be wise," he growls, pretending Hux hadn't spoken, "to remember your place, General Hux. I will not, I promise you, be as forgiving the next time you overstep your authority and encroach upon my own, is that understood?"
Hux nods his head jerkily, trying to answer without inadvertently coming into contact with the blade. "Yes...my lord. Forgive me."
It is, he recognizes, as close to an honest apology as he's going to get. He holds his position for another full minute, content to let the ginger bastard squirm for a little while longer. Then, in a whirl of red blade and black cloak, he spins away.
"I want a report detailing every decision that was made in my absence," he shouts as he moves away, "and I want it in my hand by no later than tomorrow morning, General."
He does not wait for a response, charging back through the doors of the bridge and out into the corridor beyond.
The confrontation with Hux has done absolutely nothing to assuage his fury, which still runs molten through his veins. Once, he would have simply vented his frustrations on the nearest convenient inanimate object, but now more than ever, he knows that he cannot. He is no longer merely Kylo Ren - he is the Supreme Leader of the First Order, and he cannot be constantly carving up his own ships.
But he still needs an outlet and so he turns his feet toward his personal training room, desperate for privacy in which to roar out his rage. He needs to do violence, to destroy something - and better a few easily replaced droids than a weapons control panel. If he passes anyone on his trek, he cannot see them, his focus entirely upon keeping himself in check for just a few minutes longer...
When the door finally closes behind him, shutting him away in one of the few places that truly belong to him, it is a relief all its own. He reaches up and tears at his cloak, letting it fall to the ground as he moves to activate one of his personally programed training routines. His gloves, tunic and boots follow, forming a trail of discarded armor in his wake.
Five minutes later, he has his lightsaber in hand once more - no practice swords today - as he faces down every single training droid in the room. They attack as one and he throws himself into the fray with a savage cry.
He uses it all as he spins and thrusts, hacks and stabs, his furious howls blending with the crackle and hum of his weapon in a symphony of destruction. His frustration, his humiliation, his fear - he focuses on them as he has been taught, channels the swirling miasma of his darkest emotions into the rage that has fueled him for the better part of a decade.
In his mind, he sees Hux - sneering at him, dismissing him, laughing at him - as he cuts the nearest droid cleanly in two.
Snoke comes next, the insidious, inescapable whisper that lives still in the back of his mind (you're just a child in a mask), reminding him of the weakness - the conflict - that he has never managed to root out. This one is impaled before being crushed into scrap with a thought.
After that, Skywalker - the Living Legend. His first master (his uncle…). So powerful. So knowledgeable. The embodiment of everything that Ben Solo had dreamt of one day becoming...but then had come the fear. The doubt. Hidden away at first, but growing more and more obvious every day, until finally, it had all come, quite literally, crashing down around their heads. This droid, he strikes down with a vicious, double-handed stroke.
Han Solo's face sends a lance of pain through him, but it is nothing compared to the memory of a much older pain. They were passionate, his parents - passionate lovers and even more passionate fighters. He can still hear the echoes of their arguments, can still feel the sinking, clawing dread of knowing what would come next. A packed bag. A ruffle of his unruly hair. A door closing. Then...nothing. For months at a time. And when he did come back, it would be with a pat on the back and a smile that never quite reached his eyes for the son that was nothing like the one that he had wanted…
He strikes them all down, crushes them beneath blade and fist alike with an abandon that is freeing in its intensity. He runs out of faces before he runs out of droids, but that does not stop him. One after one, the droids fall until finally, with one last roar and a lethally graceful spin and thrust of his lightsaber, he runs the last remaining droid clean through.
But when he looks down at this one, expecting to see nothing but a mass of sparking wires and melted metal, he sees a form...a face...
And this one, is hers…
Her eyes widen and he can hear the gasp of shock as it passes her lips. Her body folds forward, collapses.
He sees the light in her eyes - that brilliant, captivating light - go dark. Cold.
Dead.
He deactivates his lightsaber, chest heaving as he fights for breath that he cannot seem to find. His stomach rolls and he swallows against it, the image of her - so much clearer than the rest that he has painted, blurred by the tears that well up in his eyes.
She looks so real, lying there and he waits, desperately, for the image to fade back into the droid that he knows it really is. But still, she lingers and the stillness of her - the emptiness where there should be so much life - is an agony beyond compare.
A horrifying thought occurs to him, when she still does not fade away.
She had once tried to shoot him across the span of their bond, and failed. But it has grown so much stronger since then - they have touched. He knows the softness of her skin; has felt her warmth. What if…
Could it be...
Terror, raw and crippling, guts him. With a strangled sound of denial, he falls to his knees, saber dropping from his grip as he reaches out toward her. His fingers tremble as they brush against her hand to find it solid and still warm.
"No," he cries, voice cracking on the word. "Rey…"
What has he done?
"Oh, yeah. You're gonna destroy her alright."
The voice comes from behind him and for a moment, it barely registers that someone has spoken. Then - finally - the image of her fades away, leaving nothing but the broken remains of a training droid in her place. He is frozen still; paralyzed by the possibility that had been laid out before him in such painstaking detail.
"I would apologize for that, because I know it was a low blow," the voice continues blithely, "but I think it was something we both needed to see."
He knows that voice. Too well. Slowly, he turns his head...and there, leaning casually against the wall with his arms crossed, is the ghostly form of Luke Skywalker.
"Hey, kid," Luke acknowledges, smiling ever so slightly. "Told you I'd see you around."
If there's one thing I look forward to in Episode IX (beyond what should be some delicious Reylo goodness), it's SassyForceGhostLuke!
Ooh, also, if you're on tumblr, come say hi! You can find me under username all-about-the-balance. :)
