A/N: Another chapter down, however many more to go! Thank you, as ever, to those who have taken the time to read, review, follow and favorite this story. And thank you to my beta, kylo-rey-kenobi!


He has always known that Hux despises him every bit as much as he despises Hux. What he hadn't fully understood was just how intensely stupid Hux believes him to be.

Sitting once more at the head of a very long table lined with Generals - the latest in a long line of increasingly frustrating meetings detailing just how quickly the Resistance is strengthening - he flicks through the latest intel reports on his datapad, glower deepening just a little bit more with every side notation that Hux has added 'for the Supreme Leader's benefit'. Apparently, Hux not only believes him utterly ignorant of Galactic history, but of his own family history as well.

The latest reports, received just the day before, are that an alliance has been struck between the Resistance and the planet of Naboo. Hux and the rest of High Command have been in something of a panic ever since, thus the urgency of this meeting. He scans quickly through the paragraph detailing the 'direct connections that exist between Leia Organa and the planet of Naboo' and fights the urge to throw the datapad at Hux's head.

The fact that he was born Ben Solo, son of notorious rebels Leia Organa and Han Solo, is not officially known. It is, in fact, the worst kept secret in the First Order, thanks in no small part to the former Supreme Leader's habit of rattling on about the blood-heir of Darth Vader and his impeccable pedigree - often in front of Hux, no less.

Hux, who had put the pieces together all too quickly. Hux, who had been programmed to play the game of First Order politics since birth and thus, understood the power of information only too well. Hux, who had known just which ears to whisper in to disseminate the information as quickly and quietly as possible. The subsequent doubts about where his true loyalties lay had followed him like an ever present shadow at first and he had, perhaps, gone a little too out of his way to prove them wrong - to make them all forget that he had ever been anyone but Kylo Ren.

He wonders if this little display is Hux's not-so-subtle reminder that his past is not nearly as secret as it had been meant to be. If so - if it is, in fact, some convoluted power play in which Hux intends to use the truth of his lineage against him - then he is about to throw a very large wrench into the General's surprisingly clumsy plans.

Taking a moment to gather himself, he ignores the anxiety that claws at his insides - the fear that this plan of his will fail spectacularly and leave him looking like the galaxy's greatest fool. It is, he tells himself firmly one last time, a good plan. More than that, it is the right plan. Of this, he has never been more certain.

He has known for a very long time that the First Order needs to change its tactics, if it has any hope of succeeding. Now, he has finally figured out how to make a start of it.

"General Hux."

He speaks the red menace's name sharply - a whiplash that cuts through Hux's rambling with ease. The room goes quiet, Hux slowly turning to look at him, clearly attempting to put on a good show of loyalty. They know one another too well for that though, and he can see the way Hux struggles not to let his disdain show.

"Supreme Leader?"

He has the full attention of the room now, and much as he hates it - uncomfortable as it makes him - he holds his head high, keeping his expression cool and utterly controlled. He sets the datapad down on the table before leaning back in his seat, arms crossing over his chest. "While I agree that the situation on Naboo needs to be dealt with, I would prefer to attempt a diplomatic intervention before simply bombing the government into submission."

The silence that follows is almost - almost - humorous; he doubts he could have shocked them more if he'd tried.

Good, he thinks. Let them begin to understand. Let them begin to see…

It had occurred to him, as he sat, reading about how the Resistance has begun to reach out to the government of Naboo for aide and assistance. Despite the years that separated them, he knew his mother. Leia Organa was brilliant and, in her own way, utterly ruthless in her pursuit of her goals. She would not hesitate to use her mother's legend to her advantage...in which case, why should he not do the same?

"A...diplomatic intervention, my lord?"

He turned his head, focusing on the speaker. "Yes, General Haspyn - a diplomatic intervention. I have no desire to lend support to the rebel cause, which is precisely what an unprovoked attack on Naboo would do."

"Unprovoked?" Hux lurches forward a few steps, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "Supreme Leader, we have incontrovertible evidence that the Naboo government is actively aiding the Resistance. That alone is provocation enough…"

"And what alternatives have they been presented with?" He leans forward, gloved hands coming to rest on the table before him, deciding that the time for concealment has passed. "Allow me to make myself very clear - I have no desire to repeat the mistakes of the past. The Empire, for all its power, made a grave miscalculation in equating fear with loyalty. It was that error that allowed for the birth and ultimate success of the rebellion, and it is one that I do not plan to repeat."

It is the first time that he has ever spoken thus, and he can see the effect immediately. Some of the faces along the table are thoughtful, some taken aback and others still visibly affronted. He takes careful note of each and every name and reaction, filing it away for future reference. If he is to change the character of the Beast, he must be intimately acquainted with the sharpness of each and every tooth and claw.

Unsurprisingly, it is Hux whose reaction is the least controlled.

"With all due respect, Supreme Leader," the disdain is no longer hidden, but instead on display for all to see and hear, "we are the First Order. We are in the business of war, not diplomacy."

He only just manages not to roll his eyes. "War might win us the Galaxy, General Hux, but it is diplomacy that will see that we keep it." A memory springs up, old and dusty but still surprisingly clear. "The war of words is what will ultimately decide the fate of the Galaxy," he says, quiet but determined, "and that is not a battle that can be won with weapons."

There is something terribly upside down about using Leia Organa's words in this room, to these men, but he ignores the tiny stab of guilt easily. He wants the same thing for the Galaxy that she always did - a real, lasting peace - even if he is taking a far different route to achieve it than she did.

"Who, precisely, do you recommend we send to Naboo for this diplomatic intervention? You forget, Supreme Leader, that Organa has a particular claim to their loyalty that none of our Command can hope to supercede. Queen Amidala is hailed, to this day, as an icon of their people and she was..."

"My grandmother," he cuts in, ignoring the shock that permeates the room. He is, he has decided, tired of running from his past. Tilting his head to the side and regarding Hux coolly. "Which is why I will go to Naboo myself. If Leia Organa has no qualm in calling upon her bloodline to forge this alliance, I will not hesitate to do the same."

Hux is so angry that he's practically vibrating with it. "And if this...effort...fails?"

He shrugs, turning back to look up and down the line of faces turned toward him. "Then they will be dealt with accordingly. Either way, we will deal yet another blow to the Resistance and make our position clear to the rest of the Galaxy. The First Order will rule - with strength, always, but with fairness where at all possible."

Standing then, he crosses his arms behind his back, chin lifting. "Now, return to your posts. There are preparations to be made." The room began to clear; those attending via holo disappearing, while those physically present began to file out, talking lowly amongst themselves.

He watches them go in silence, noting in his peripheral vision that Hux has not moved. After a moment, he turns his head and can practically see the steam pouring out of Hux's ears. Immediately, his pleasure at advancing his agenda magnifies exponentially. "Is there something I can do for you, General Hux?"

Hux says nothing until the room has cleared, then he stalks over to the door, sealing it shut with a sharp stab of his finger. He whirls back around, pale skin flushed with fury. "What do you think you are doing?"

Jaw clenching, he tightens his hands into fists behind his back. The temper that he has kept in remarkable check for the past hour flares up at the blatant challenge. "Careful, Armitage," he warns. "You sound dangerously close to forgetting your place."

Moving forward, Hux plants both hands on the table, leaning forward. "My place," he spits, "is High Commander of the First Order. As such, it is for me to decide…"

"Your decision-making powers," he cuts in viciously, "extend only so far as I see fit, Hux. Or have you forgotten that I am the Supreme Leader?"

"As if I could," Hux grinds out. "I wonder though - have you forgotten? Supreme Leader Snoke would have ordered Naboo turned to dust without a second thought."

"And what did he accomplish?" He hisses out the words, finally able to say what he really thought of Snoke. "In all the years that he sat upon that ridiculous throne of his, what real progress did he make in retaking the Galaxy? It was because of him that the Resistance was born in the first place."

"How dare you?" Hux straightens again, glaring. "How dare you stand there, in his place, and insult his legacy?"

His hand shoots out before he can stop himself, fingers clenching and immediately Hux's face goes white with strain. "His legacy will be forgotten." He is shouting now, tenuous hold on his temper finally giving way. "The First Order will be remade in my image, not his. I will see the Galaxy wiped clean of even the memory of him."

He releases his hold and Hux drops to the floor, gasping for breath. Walking around the table, he moves to stand beside the hunched form of his greatest irritant, staring down at him with wicked intent. "And if you continue to stand against me, I will take the greatest pleasure in doing the same to you. Is that clear?"

"Yes," Hux croaks, looking up at him, equal parts fear and hatred in his gaze. "Supreme Leader."

He turns away, fingers itching to finish the job that they had begun. "Get out," he orders, walking over to stare out of the viewport behind his seat. Once Hux has left the room, he flicks his fingers, closing the door behind the man.

Once it is shut and he is alone, he breathes out a sigh, bringing one hand up to pinch at the bridge of his nose. It is a chore, this business of leading - one that he is still not sure he likes, though he is determined to see it done. Better him, than Hux, at the very least. He wonders, fleetingly, if the Resistance knows just how lucky they are that it is he who has taken the reigns of the First Order.

Hux, he knows, would have happily reduced the entire Galaxy to ash and scrap just to root them out. Hate him though they may - and ridiculous though it sounds, even to him - he is by far, the lesser of their two particular evils.

He laughs then, reaching out to brace one hand against the viewport as his shoulders slump.

The past weeks have been...trying. And he is tired.

It pains him to admit it, but ever since his visit from Skywalker, his mind has been in constant turmoil. Too much had been dragged to the surface, too many memories stirred and now, he too often feels as if he is drowning in them. During the day, he is busy enough to keep most of them at bay. But at night…alone and quiet in his chambers…

That is when they come for him - the memories, the thoughts.

Of his mother, his father...of her. Of the path he has chosen. Of the decisions he has made.

Of Skywalker's final, awful question.

Has it ever occured to you that you won't have to?

He leans forward, pressing his forehead to the the cool transparisteel, fighting to banish the ever encroaching weight of his thoughts. "This is my path," he whispers, almost desperately. "This is what I choose. This is what I am." He pauses, an image of her stealing into his head, her face streaked with tears as she shakes her head at him. "This is all I can be."

It happens then. For the first time in nearly three weeks, he can feel the pull of the bond and the world around him contracts and widens at the same time. He presses back from the window with a low gasp, hating the eagerness - the yearning - that fills him, but powerless against it.

Spinning around, his eyes find her immediately. She is sitting cross-legged on the floor, head lowered and eyes focused intently on something in her hands. Her hair is tied back into a loose knot, loose tendrils falling softly around her face...and he has never seen anything more beautiful than she is in that very moment.

Rey…

He takes a step toward her, focusing in the way he has found works best to solidify the connection between them, and suddenly, her surroundings come into sharp focus and he lets out a bark of miserable laughter.

She - and therefore he - is in the lounge, aboard the Millenium Falcon.

"You know," he says to her - to the universe at large, "I really do hate this ship."


She understands now why the construction of a lightsaber was considered the crowning achievement for a Jedi Padawan.

Sitting on the floor in the lounge of the Falcon - having given strict orders to her friends that she not be disturbed - she is surrounded by a carefully cultivated collection of parts. One that she has spent the better part of a year hunting down.

She has tried to scavenge as much as she can from Master Luke's broken saber, but only the pommel cap and power insulator were really left in any kind of working order. They sit beside her, along with two diatium power cells, a handful of focusing lenses and energizers, several different activator mechanisms and adjustment knobs, as well as a blade emitter and emitter matrix.

Then, of course, there is the small box that sits in pride of place in the very center of all the rest of the supplies. Leia had presented it to her just the night before, a wide, proud smile on her face.

'I found it in with the rest of Luke's things that you brought back from Ahch-To,' she said, only the faintest trace of sadness in her voice.

Rey opened the box, gasping aloud at the sight that meets her eyes. She reached in, drawing out one of the three deep, icy blue crystals resting inside. 'Are these…'

'Kyber crystals,' Leia confirmed. 'I'm sorry I didn't find them sooner. You could have gotten started on your new lightsaber months ago…'

Rey glances up from where she is fiddling with the wiring of the power insulator, attempting to rework one of the loose connections, eyes settling on the carved, wooden box. Three perfectly matched, natural crystals. She had never anticipated being able to find any at all, let alone a matching set.

As soon as she had sufficiently thanked Leia for the gift, she had run straight back to her chambers and spent the rest of the evening doing as much research as she could on the crystals. She was fairly certain they were Permafrost crystals, mined from the ice planet of Hoth, but without anyone to ask, she couldn't be certain.

Ultimately, it didn't matter though. Whatever sort of crystals they were, they were hers.

She'd barely been able to sleep the night before, so eager was she to begin working on the construction of her new lightsaber.

Now, she is just trying not to get overwhelmed by how much work it is going to require. Particularly when she has only a rudimentary knowledge of what must be done.

It would be so much easier, she thinks as she lowers her eyes back to her work, if she could just bring herself to ask…

"No," she says, quashing that traitorous little voice. "That's not happening, so stop thinking it."

She tells herself it is getting easier to believe that. She also tells herself that she hasn't missed him over the past weeks.

Someday, she hopes she might actually start to believe the things she tells herself.

"You know, I really do hate this ship."

Her head snaps up and she nearly drops the power insulator, so focused inward that she had missed the telltale signs of the bond initiating.

He is facing her, but he is not looking at her - his eyes too busy surveying her surroundings, his expression hovering somewhere between amused and pained. She watches him in silence for a moment, taking in every detail - drinking him in, though she will never admit as much in words.

He is on the Finalizer - that much is immediately obvious. The room around him is not one that she recognizes, but she knows First Order sterility when she sees it. She squints and the detail comes into sharper focus - a long table, chairs...a meeting room of some sort?

There is an impressively large viewport behind him and she takes a moment to admire the starscape before shifting her eyes back to him. The first thought that occurs to her is that he looks tired.

His clothing is slightly rumpled, his face pale beneath the livid line of his - her - scar. His hair hangs longer than the last time she had seen him and it falls in his eyes even more stubbornly than it did then. Her fingers, now holding the power insulator in a white-knuckled grip, almost twitch with the desire to sweep it back and away from his face.

She presses her lips together, annoyed with herself for the concern that bubbles up inside of her, and drops her eyes back to her work. "Good," she says at last, the word sharp and staccato. "Because I quite like it. I'd hate to have to fight you for it."

He is facing away from her now, gloved hands hanging loosely at his sides. At her words, he turns just enough to give her a wry grin that pulls at the corner of his mouth, his dark eyes brightening. "You have nothing to worry about there - you're more than welcome to this hunk of scrap."

She bristles at that, feeling a surge of protectiveness for the ship that has become more of a home to her than any that she has ever known. "It's hardly that," she snaps back, glaring at him now with open hostility. "Hate it all you want, but you can at least be fair about it."

He turns more fully toward her then, one brow arching. "It's an antique, Rey."

Lips pursing doggedly, she lifts her chin. "It's not. It's just...a bit outdated."

Huffing out a disbelieving laugh, he moves to the room's environmental controls, reaching out to lift a hastily repaired splice of wires from where it dangles beneath the control panel. Tilting his head, he meets her eyes with a deliberately bland look. "It's a relic," he insists, dropping the wires and straightening again. "And a wreck of one, at that."

She grits her teeth, turns her eyes back down to her work. "If this is all you've come for, you can go away immediately. I'm quite busy at the moment."

"I didn't come for anything," he corrects, and from the corner of her eye, she watches as he drops down into the chair nearest to him, slouching down into it with none of his usual grace. "Not this time." He tips his head back against the headrest, closing his eyes. "I don't suppose it was your doing?"

"Afraid not," she says, frowning. Face on, she can see that tired doesn't even begin to cover it - he looks utterly exhausted. "I don't suppose you've managed to work out what triggers the connection when we don't?"

His lips curl up into a ghost of a grin, though he does not open his eyes. "Afraid not," he parrots back to her, lifting a hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose, black gloves a stark contrast to the pallor of his skin.

"You look terrible."

The words are out before she can stop them and they earn her a huff of laughter that sounds far more brittle than amused. "There's that refreshing honesty I admire so much." He drops his hand, lifts his head, dark eyes meeting hers squarely. "You, on the other hand, look lovely."

She freezes, eyes going wide and lips parting in surprise. The burn of a flush sweeps over her cheeks and she lowers her eyes once more, flustered at such a bold-faced compliment. "I...I'm not sure what to say to that."

"You don't need to say anything," he says, shrugging - there is a negligence to him that she has never seen before; the fierceness of his presence dimmed to a pale shadow of its usual intensity. She isn't entirely sure that she likes it. "Just take it as the compliment that it is and leave it at that."

There is something wrong. Something...off. She is hardly an expert, but she knows him well enough to see that something has happened in the time since their bond last went dark. Shaking off her discomfiture, she leans forward, searching eyes back on his face and tracing the bruise-dark skin beneath his eyes.

"What's the matter?"

It's his turn to look away now - he drops his gaze, gives a small nod of his head toward where her forearms rest on her legs. "How's your leg?"

It takes her a moment - Alvorine feels like a lifetime ago, rather than just a few weeks - but then she remembers and brings her hand up to rub lightly at the scar hidden beneath her trousers. "Healed," she says simply, then goes back to tinkering with the power insulator in her hands.

If he doesn't want to answer her questions, she decides she'll just ignore him until he goes away. She certainly isn't going to push for answers he doesn't want to give.

Even if her insides are currently twisting themselves into the most irritating knots at the thought that there is something wrong with him.

In the silence that follows, she finally manages to connect the last of the loose wire couplings and sets the power insulator aside. Scanning the other parts that lay before her, she scoops up the emitter matrix and turns her attention to it instead.

"What are you working on?"

The question is soft - disarmingly honest. It is the way she likes him least, because it is the hardest to ignore. He doesn't sound like Kylo Ren; in this moment - and those like it - he is entirely Ben Solo.

And Ben Solo is far more dangerous to her peace of mind than his darker, crueler counterpart.

"Not much, at the moment," she says finally, aiming for sharp and discouraging and annoyed when the words come out just as soft and honest as his own. "Just checking power couplings"

She hears his chair creak, glances up from beneath her lashes to see that he is leaning forward in his chair now, elbows braced on his knees and eyes on the array of parts splayed out around her. His eyebrows go up in surprise and she knows immediately that he has realized exactly what she's doing.

"You're building a lightsaber."

It isn't a question, so she doesn't treat it as such.

"Attempting," she corrects. "I'm attempting to build a lightsaber. Whether I can actually manage it or not is another thing entirely."

He waves the words away dismissively. "The mechanics of it are fairly simple - especially for someone with your experience. If I could manage it, so can you."

It is said simply - straightforward and so breathtakingly certain, without even a trace of false flattery. His faith in her ability strikes her square in the heart, sending shockwaves of tingling warmth through her entire body.

Fighting against it, she hunches further over, trying harder than she ever has before to harden herself to him.

If he is offended by her silence, he doesn't show it. Instead, she hears him rise and walk toward her; feels the warmth of him as he kneels down beside her. He reaches out, a long-fingered, black gloved hand moving into her peripheral vision as it brushes the lightest of touches across the carved box that holds the crystals.

"I remember this," he says quietly, and it is there, in his voice - the same weariness she has read in his face. "Lu…" he stops just before the name rolls off his tongue and she flicks her eyes up in time to see him swallow them down, the muscles around his eyes and jaw tightening against them. "Skywalker's Permafrost crystals. He spent years gathering these, went on and on about how rare and powerful they were. He had intended to build a new lightsaber with them." He pulls his hand away. "Clearly he never did."

"I can't imagine why," she snips meanly, hating herself for feeling guilty for it.

He merely hums, the sound something like agreement. Leaning further forward, he scoops up the pile of focusing lenses, eyes narrowing as he studies them. "This one is warped," he offers, taking one of them from his open palm and tossing it unceremoniously to the side. "If you're going to build a saberstaff, you're going to want convex lenses, not concave." He lifts another one up, holds it out to her between his finger and thumb. "This one should work well."

Utterly thrown now, she sets down the emitter matrix and reaches out toward him, plucking the lens from his fingers as swiftly as she can, doing her best to keep the contact between them at an absolute minimum. "A saberstaff," she repeats, setting the lens in the center of her palm, running her thumb over the smooth curve of it. "I've read about them, but I hadn't…" she stops, frowns - considering. "You think I should build a saberstaff?"

"You don't?" He drops another lens into her open palm and it lands next to the other one with a small clink. "I would have thought it was the obvious choice for you." He looks up, hair falling in his eyes. "That's just my opinion, though." He smiles then, and it is small but real. "Far be it from me to tell a Jedi what to do with her lightsaber."

It all comes crashing down in that moment - her anger at him, her determination to shut him out. With that smile - the first true one that she has ever seen on him - her resolve shatters. She lets the lenses fall into her lap, and finally gives in to the urge she has been fighting from the moment he looked up.

Reaching out toward him, she skims her fingers across his forehead, gently brushing that unruly shock of black hair off of his face and tucking it behind his ear, revealing the entirety of his fine-boned countenance. He is frozen beneath her touch, his dark eyes gone wide and generous lips falling slack.

For a long...long...moment, they simply stare at one another - neither moving except to breathe, their chests rising and falling in perfect tandem as the world around them falls away.

Finally - and with a positively colossal effort - she pulls away, dropping her hand away from his face. "You need a haircut," she says around the lump that has formed in her throat, somehow feeling both unsettled and invigorated at the same time. "Or a hair clip. It's hard to have a conversation when I can't see you."

"But you can see me." The words are spoken in a hushed, almost awed tone that cuts straight through to her heart.

She lowers her eyes, willing away the bite of tears. "Ben…"

And then it is his hand on her face, his glove having been discarded when she wasn't looking. He sweeps the pads of his fingers down the curve of her cheek, sliding them beneath her chin and tipping her face gently up toward his once again. His eyes meet hers, burning once more with all the dark intensity that is him, his weariness gone as if it had never been there. "Just as I can see you."

His thumb - warm and far softer than it has any right to be - strokes along the line of her jaw, feather-light, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in its wake.

And then, as suddenly as it had contracted, the world expands again and he is gone, their connection broken once more.

Still feeling the phantom of his touch on her skin, Rey presses a trembling hand to her face and shuts her eyes tight.

When the tears come this time, she doesn't even try to stop them.


A/N: So I'm hoping to have another chapter up sometime next week (maaaaaaaybe sooner? Please do NOT quote me on that, depends on kids and schedules and such). For right now, I hope you enjoyed and I hope you continue to enjoy!