A/N: Ok, so...I suck. Believe me, I know I do. I won't make any promises about the frequency of chapters, but I can say that I am going to do my level best to update more often. Thanks, as always, to my beta - Xaraphis. If it weren't for her pestering, this chapter still wouldn't be finished!


For several very long moments, there is nothing but silence in the small alcove that Rey has made her own over the past weeks.

General Organa - Rey doubts she still has the right to call her anything less formal - stands rigid, her dark eyes riveted to the empty space where Ben had been. Rey does not move, her stomach churning and a lump of dread sitting heavy in her chest.

The exact thing that she had never, ever wanted to happen, has happened. And it has happened in perhaps the worst way possible. Of all the people who could have found them out, it would have to be the General…

"I've felt him, you know," Leia says, her voice low and strained. "For a long time now, I've felt his presence. I thought," she stops, blows out a tremulous breath, "I thought it was just my imagination. I never dreamt..."

Her words trail off, but Rey can feel the emotions pouring off the other woman in roiling waves. Heartbreak and anger; longing and misery. So many conflicting feelings and the dizzying force of them, all at once, is nearly overwhelming. She has no idea what to say - wonders if there is anything that she can say.

She has enough trouble making sense of her own emotions where Ben is concerned; she knows she is entirely unequipped to deal with Leia's.

After several extraordinarily long moments, the silence grows stifling, the heaviness of the air pressing in on her, and Rey takes a tiny step toward the older woman, determined to at least try to salvage the situation. "General Organa," she says, forcing the words out, "please...let me explain."

"Explain." The word is rough - low and rasped and almost vibrating with restrained anger. The General turns her head sharply, expression piercing in its intensity. "Yes. You're going to explain. You were holding hands with the Supreme Leader of the First Order in your bedroom, Rey. Not only are you going to explain why, you're also going to explain how it is even possible in the first place, and you're going to do it now."

She was right - there is nothing of Leia in the woman standing before her now. This is the General, through and through. Rey swallows hard, clenches her hands to hide their shaking.

"We're connected," she says simply, offering a helpless shrug and a shake of her head. "Our thoughts...our feelings. We...we talk to one another. Understand one another. I...it's...honestly I don't know how to explain it beyond that. The Force…"

The General scoffs at that, rolling her eyes, expression tightening. "That's going to be your excuse? The Force made me do it? Rey...he is our enemy and you just admitted to me that you talk to him and that he can sense your thoughts. Do you have any idea how dangerous that is for us?"

"I know how it must sound to you, but I have never revealed anything related to the Resistance to him," Rey assures, as calmly as she can. "You have to understand, General...there is so much more to it…"

"I don't care how much more there is to it, Rey!" General Organa takes a step toward her, fury turning her dark eyes nearly black. "You are putting us all at risk! No...you're putting the entire Resistance at risk and you're doing it not only knowingly, but willingly."

The words themselves sting - but it is the disappointment and hostility behind them that truly gut her. At the same time, she can feel the first, faint stirring of indignation.

"I understand your anger, General," she says quietly. "But if you would only listen…"

"Listen to what?" Leia snaps out. "What do you think you could possibly say to make this ok, Rey? He is our enemy - he wants nothing more than to wipe me and you and all of this," she makes a sharp, sweeping gesture with one arm, "out of existence!"

The flicker of indignation flares, but Rey quashes it ruthlessly. She needs to make the General understand and she cannot allow her own anger to get in the way; not when Leia already has more than enough of it for both of them, at present.

"That isn't true," she corrects, tone somewhere between insistence and pleading. "At least, not entirely. He's not the monster you think he is - not really. There is goodness in him - I've seen it. I've felt it. If you could only see Ben the way I've been able to…"

"Ben," the General cuts in, voice flat, "is gone. There is only Kylo Ren now, and if he has tried to convince you otherwise, he is lying, Rey. He is using you. Manipulating you for his own purposes."

That rankles more than anything else that's been said. She is not the too-trusting and woefully inexperienced girl that Leia had met on D'Qar. Nor is she the overconfident fool who rushed away from Ach-To and straight into Snoke's clutches. She has grown since then - far more than she is being given credit for, and she refuses to pretend otherwise. "No, he isn't," she states, chin coming up proudly. "You may not believe it, but it's the truth."

The General's eyes narrow, and she shakes her head with that same air of vicious disappointment. "You're right - I don't believe it and I never will. You don't know him the way I do, Rey."

"No, I don't," Rey admits, her temper flaring. "I know him better than you do."

Bristling, the General's eyes are nearly glowing with fury now. "He is my son…"

"You knew Ben Solo, the child," Rey cuts in, knowing that the words are harsh, but also knowing that they need to be said. "I know Ben Solo, the man. There is an enormous difference between the two."

The General recoils at that, and Rey can see a flash of raw, reeling pain cut through her anger, but it is gone almost at once, locked away behind impenetrable walls built of experience and necessity. Leia Organa, Rey knows, has suffered more anguish in her lifetime than any one person should ever have to - and she long ago learned how to shoulder it with dignity. Even now, despite the situation, Rey finds herself nearly overcome with admiration for the older woman and it dampens her anger.

"I was there, you know," she rushes to say, cutting off any response the General might have made. "On the Supremacy. I was with him when he killed Snoke."

The walls in those dark eyes hold fast, revealing nothing and concealing everything. The General narrows her eyes, fixing Rey with a fierce glare. "I do know - you reported as much at the time. You were there when he killed his Master and usurped his throne - I'm not sure how you think that will change my mind about anything."

Rey remembers that report. It had all been so new - her entire world turned upside down. She had been thrust into the middle of a large group of people she didn't know and told to give a briefing on everything that had happened on the Supremacy. Needless to say, she had not, in fact, told them everything at the time. She hadn't known how to word it to herself, let alone to anyone else.

Now, she will have to find the words. Find them and make them count.

"That isn't why he killed Snoke."

The General shakes her head; scoffs. "Oh, yes, I'm sure he had a perfectly noble reason…"

Rey takes a step forward, eyes blazing. "He saved my life, Leia," her voice is hard, the words strong and sure. "Snoke ordered him to kill me - he killed Snoke instead. Ben - your son - is not lost. Not yet."

She can see it - the tiniest crack in the General's armor. There is the faintest, most delicate spark of hope in her eyes, and it makes Rey's heart soar to see it. Even a spark that tiny can be fanned into a flame, given the right encouragement. It disappears all too quickly though, pushed away, out of sight behind the walls that have come crashing down once more.

"Maybe you're right," the General says after a moment, and her voice is calm but stern - her command voice, "but that isn't a risk I'm willing to take, Rey. I can't have someone within my ranks fraternizing with the enemy right under our very noses. So I need to ask you and you need to tell me the truth - can the connection be broken?"

It is a question that Rey has asked herself many times before, and one that she thinks she knows the answer to. "I don't think it can be broken," she says, "but it can be closed. I've done it before. Just after Crait...I shut him out for quite some time."

"Good," Leia cuts in, nodding sharply. "Do it again. Now, if possible. I'm not leaving this room until I have every assurance that there will be no further contact between yourself and the Supreme Leader."

She did not phrase it as an ultimatum, but Rey recognizes it as one all the same. The unspoken or else is fairly obvious, really. A month ago, it would not have even been a question - she would have shut the bond immediately. Even then, it would have pained her, but she would have done it.

But now…

She imagines it - shutting him out entirely. Never again feeling the rush of their connection. Never again seeing the way his eyes - always so dark and grim - brighten at the first sight of her. Never again feeling the brush of his mind against hers; that feeling of such perfect rightness

Rey isn't a fool - she knows what her refusal will mean. The life that she has created for herself here will be lost to her. Her friends - Finn, Rose, Poe, Chewie, Leia - they will all be lost to her. But she knows she is right about this. Knows that she is right about him.

She won't abandon him. Not now. Not ever.

"I can't do that." She swallows, squares her shoulders, meets Leia's eyes. "I won't do that. To either of us."

Leis rears back at that, clearly shocked. "You won't…"

"He is trying, Leia. So hard. If I walk away from him now…" she stops, shakes her head. "I won't do it. I won't give up on him." She turns away, moves to her bed and pulls her knapsack out from beneath it. "I'll leave today. You won't have to worry about me giving anything away if I'm not here anymore."

She begins moving around the room, collecting her things and shoving them into the bag and very purposely not looking at the General while she does it. She is not waiting to be stopped, because she knows that she won't be - Leia is far too practical and pragmatic to do anything so stupid. Rey is going to have to leave, as she has always known she would if the bond was discovered. She wishes things could be different...but she has made her choice.

The only choice she can make.

As she is loading the last of her meagre belongings into the bag, Leia steps forward, puts out a hand and lays it atop Rey's, stopping her mid-motion.

"There is so much good in you, Rey," she says carefully, offering a brittle smile. "I know that it's only natural that you want to believe the same thing about others, as well. But this...don't throw your life away for him, Rey. You have a family here; people who care about you. He...Kylo Ren isn't worth this kind of a sacrifice."

"Kylo Ren might not be," she says, meeting Leia's eyes squarely. "But Ben Solo is. I hope you'll see that one day."

She pulls her hand away and turns back to her packing, but she can feel the General's temper flare at her words; can feel the surge of anger through the Force - and it feels so familiar that Rey almost laughs. They are so very much alike...

"How can you say that? How can you defend him after everything he's done? He killed his own father. He killed Han," her voice breaks on the name and Rey turn to face her just as she closes her eyes, gathers herself. When she opens them again, her expression has gone cold and distant. "And what he did to Luke…"

"No." Rey whips around, eyes blazing. "I'll say nothing about Han, because there is nothing to say. I won't defend the indefensible. But Luke...you have no idea what really happened that night, Leia."

The General straightens, chin lifting - the picture of icy disdain. "Luke told me…"

"I'm quite certain I know what Luke told you," Rey snaps. "I'm also quite certain that I know what he didn't tell you. At least, I assume his version left out the part where Ben woke to find himself staring down the blade of his uncles lightsaber."

"What?"

The word is short and sharp and cracks through the room like a blaster bolt. Rey's lips press together, her abandoned fury for the old Jedi Master reasserting itself with a vengeance at the confirmation that he had, in fact, failed to tell his sister the truth. "Yeah. Thought it might have," she says simply, then turns away again and keeps packing. "He left that bit out the first time he told me the story as well. Apparently, Ben didn't take it terribly well. Can't imagine why not..."

"Even if…" Leia's voice breaks slightly on the words, and Rey hates to hear it - hates that she has to be the one to deliver this blow. "Even if what you say is true, it hardly excuses what he did after that."

"No, it doesn't," Rey agrees - and wholeheartedly so. She shuts her pack, lifts it and slings it onto her shoulder. "But the whole truth matters, Leia. Your son didn't just turn to the Dark Side...he was pushed. He spent his entire life believing the worst of himself. Luke's actions that night proved to him that he was right to."

Crossing the room to her small table, she grabs up the bag that holds all of the books, scrolls, holocrons and artifacts that she has collected and tosses it over her other shoulder. Last but not least, she lifts her new lightsaber from where it lays beside a half-drunk cup of caf and clips it to her belt.

Turning around, Rey falters slightly, her righteous anger on Ben's behalf softening at the sight that greets her eyes. General Leia Organa - the strongest woman she has ever known - is sitting on the edge of Rey's narrow cot, elegant hands balled into fists in her lap and tears dripping down her cheeks as she stares off into nothing.

"I didn't know," Leia says softly, the words choked. "Luke told me what happened…"

"...and you believed him without question," Rey finishes, not liking to be cruel, but unable to keep the thoughts in check anymore. "You believed the worst of your son and never, ever questioned it." She moves past Leia then, flinching as she hears a quiet sob from behind her. Stopping just at the door, Rey turns back one last time, her expression pained but determined. "His entire life, everyone he has ever loved has given up on him. But I won't. He believes himself to be a monster, just as much as you do. Someday, he'll see himself clearly. I'll make sure of it."

With that, she turns away for the last time and heads for the hangar, taking care to steer clear of anyone that she hears coming. Leia hadn't said anything, but Rey knows that it would be best to leave quietly. Not only for herself, but for the Resistance in general. To lose her...it will be a blow to morale, she knows.

But it will be infinitely worse if they know why she is leaving.

And so, she goes quietly - slips aboard a small transport ship, stows her gear, and makes for the stars. She doesn't know where she's going until the course is set, allowing instinct to guide her fingers as she plugs in the coordinates.

It isn't until the ship makes the jump to hyperspace that she allows herself to break down. The tears come swiftly after that, and they don't stop for a very long time.


It is deep into the night and the bustling metropolis of Theed has gone still and quiet, save for the ever present rumble of the waterfalls that pour from the cliffs beneath the palace.

As a child, he had been fascinated by those waterfalls - can, in fact, recall getting into a great deal of trouble for attempting to climb down the cliffs to get a closer look at them. He can still hear his mother's frantic shouts...feel the pressure of her surprisingly strong grip on his arm as she yanked him away from the edge…

She had torn into him with a fierceness that had surprised him, for once not caring in the least where they were or who was watching. And he - sad and solitary and greedy for attention - had learned a powerful lesson that day. Being good earned him little, being bad earned him less...but being reckless?

Being reckless earned him his mother's full and undivided attention.

At least, for a time. Ultimately, it was that very recklessness, coupled with his seemingly bottomless well of power, that saw him shipped off to his Uncle's temple for good.

And it all started right here, on Naboo...and he is far from the first of the Skywalker bloodline to be able to say as much.

He stands now upon the wide balcony that spills out from the large, sumptuous apartment appointed to him; eyes focused high above the towering turrets and domed rooftops of the city. The breeze is sweet and cool and slightly damp with the spray of the waterfalls below.

Enjoying the feel of it on his face, he traces the invisible lines of the constellations he had learned as a child, trying to make his insides match the serenity of the night that has fallen around him. So far, it isn't working terribly well.

He is restless. Frustrated and anxious to the point that he feels as if he is once more walking the razor's edge of those treacherous cliffs below.

Because it has been over a week now since the last time he saw or heard from Rey. Over a week since they were discovered by his mother. Over a week since her pale, terrified face disappeared from his sight.

Their connection has neither triggered on its own, nor been initiated by her...and he is far too much of a coward to reach out himself, terrified of what he might find.

He doesn't know what has happened to her. Doesn't know if she is ok. Doesn't know if she has, once again, sealed herself off from him - for good, this time.

And the not knowing is like a vice around his heart, squeezing at his insides and leaving him raw and ragged and terrified at precisely the worst possible time.

Luckily, he has spent the better part of his life learning how to bury his anxieties deep and it is a skill that he has exercised with impunity since his arrival on Naboo. So far, he has managed to hide his fears during the day, allowing none of it to affect the time spent at the bargaining table.

But at night...at night, he can barely breathe.

He closes his eyes, feeling the lump of dread expand in the center of his chest and run like ice water through his veins. Taking several long, deep breaths, he tries to tame the terror. To center himself.

He knows from long, painful experience that he is incapable of pushing his thoughts of Rey away entirely. She is far too stubborn - even in his head - to allow such a thing. But he can, he has found, nudge her aside for a time.

So, he focuses his thoughts elsewhere, mulling over the thing that has brought him to Naboo in the first place...and the pressure in his chest eases ever so slightly.

He has done well, he thinks.

The atmosphere of defiant suspicion that had hung, thick and heavy, over the first day of negotiations, has settled now into a sort of wary bemusement. He has surprised them all, and in a good way, no less. The proceedings have become more open and productive with each session that passes and it seems as if they might just be creeping slowly toward common ground.

He opens his eyes, breaths coming easier now, and resumes his perusal of the stars above, even as his mind replays the events of the past three days.

There is, he has found, something truly satisfying in engaging in frank, honest discussion with a group of intelligent, reasonable people.

He is actually beginning to believe that this grand gambit of his might succeed after all. That it might truly be possible to truly unite the Galaxy beneath a banner of communion, rather than simply grinding it to dust beneath his boot.

The thought carries with it a warmth that feels vaguely - if distantly - familiar. He hesitates to call it pride, and yet, there is something of pride in it. But it is of a different quality than the sort that he's become accustomed to.

This feeling is smaller. Simpler.

Better.

A shadow moves in his peripheral vision and a soft, gray form materializes beside him. He does not have to look - he knows what it is. Who it is.

"The phrase you're looking for is self-respect," Skywalker murmurs, his own eyes lifted to the heavens. "Feels pretty good, doesn't it?"

He waits for the anger to come - for the fury to well up within him - and cannot help but be surprised when it doesn't. His mind is absorbed in the tentative hope of success, his heart is consumed by his fears for Rey and the rest of him is caught firmly between the two. As such, he finds that he simply doesn't have the energy to hate Luke Skywalker.

At least, not tonight.

Sighing, he shuts his eyes, breathes deep - considers. "It does," he says at last. "Very good, actually. I think…" he stops, the words catching in his throat. Opening his eyes, he casts a quick, furtive glance at the solemn figure standing beside him. "I think," he begins again, quietly, "that I'd like to feel it more often."

He isn't sure who is more surprised by his frankness.

Certainly, he can feel the shock fairly radiating from the ghostly figure at his side and he knows that his uncle is staring at him now, rather than the stars. "You mean that."

It isn't a question, but he finds himself nodding anyway. "I do."

Silence falls between them then and he knows that his uncle is reading him - body and spirit - with eyes that he suspects can see far clearer in death than they ever had in life. He allows it; curious, despite himself, about what the old man can discern. Eventually though, he begins to chafe beneath the weight of all that focus and takes a few steps forward, large hands falling to wrap tightly around the balustrade.

A moment later, Luke steps up beside him, though he drops his elbows onto the railing, leaning heavily against the hewn stone. "Be mindful of your motivations," he says at last. "Change for someone else's benefit rarely lasts."

He snorts at that, turns and meets his uncle's eyes, noting the genuine concern he can see in them. "You think I don't know that? You think that wasn't made abundantly clear to me over the course of my childhood?"

The unspoken name of his father hung between them then; that quicksilver, smuggler's grin a knife that cut both ways.

Luke sighed, shook his head - sadness settling heavy across his shoulders. "He always loved you, Ben. Even when…"

"Even when he was climbing aboard the Falcon and leaving me behind," he cut in sharply, though for the first time in a very long time, the thought left him feeling more tired than angry. "He may have loved me, but he loved his freedom more."

"Which is precisely my point." Luke leaned in, expression deadly serious. "Han never should have been a father, and the only reason he even tried was for Leia's sake. Don't repeat your father's mistakes, Ben. I know how you feel about Rey…"

"I'm not doing this for her."

"Ben," Luke shook his head, "you can't tell me that all of this isn't because of her!"

"Of course it's because of her," he agrees, snapping the words like whipcracks. "Before her, I didn't even know that there was a choice. I was what I was - I was what everyone had always known me to be. But she…"

He stops, the words dying on his lips. He may feel the need to make his uncle understand this, but that desire hardly extends to making his uncle understand everything. "The changes I am attempting to make may have begun because of her, but I can assure you, they aren't for her."

There must be something in his voice, some tone of truth, because he can see the tension drain out of Luke's face. "Then who, Ben? Whose benefit are you changing for?"

Their eyes remain locked for a long, seemingly endless moment. He knows what his uncle wants to hear. For the first time ever, he does not fear disapproval of his own, honest answer. Because, for once, he thinks that he and Skywalker might actually be on the same page.

He draws himself up to his full height, staring down at his uncle with a fierce, unyielding pride - the kind that he never even knew he had it within himself to feel.

He had spent a lifetime being shaped by others. It was past time that he shaped his own destiny.

Whose benefit are you changing for?

"Mine," he says, firmly. Simply.

And it might just be the truest thing he has ever said.