Warnings: there are some descriptions of body trauma in this chapter. Heads up.


Four: Tortured


Armor didn't breathe. It encased and concealed, protected the vital organs, not caring about whether the person inside was going to sweat to death. At least, those were the observations Rey made as she moved along the gleaming, spotless walkways of the First Order's latest flagship in her stolen disguise.

Finn's knowledge of the cooling vents and storage rooms had proven invaluable, though he hadn't been happy to share the information when Rey had explained her plan; she'd chipped away at his reluctance, first with camaraderie, then with guilt, and finally with tears. He'd called her plan suicidal even as he'd sketched a map of the rooms typically used to house prisoners.

Because of his loyalty to Leia, Poe had been more receptive to the idea of creating a distraction while she snuck on board to find and rescue the only living member of the Skywalker bloodline. Acting as his copilot, Chewie had already started booting up the Falcon's controls during the discussion; Rey had placed her hand on his shoulder in a silent expression of gratitude.

It had been almost too easy to slip undetected onto the ship; whether Poe's flying maneuvers had worked or if the First Order had expected and permitted her arrival, Rey couldn't say for certain.

She'd proceeded to follow Finn's directions, quickly locating the armory's supply closet. After removing her free-flowing garments—not relishing the idea of a hot, tangled mess inside the stormtrooper armor—Rey had donned a spare suit and helmet. She'd grabbed a standard-issue blaster too, since she no longer possessed a functioning saber.

In her disguise, Rey moved about the ship unobstructed. As she neared Finn's third possible point for a holding cell, vibrations in the Force increased, practically shaking her. She'd finally found the right place. The lack of a posted guard puzzled her because she knew Ben waited on the other side of the durasteel doors. Shouldn't a powerful Force user be monitored at all times?

Rey decided not to question her luck, even if good fortune had no hand in her discovery.

The doors to the chamber retracted and disappeared into the wall. Rey ducked inside, releasing the breath she'd been holding after the doors slid shut again. Motion sensors for the overhead lights didn't seem to be operational, creating a claustrophobic atmosphere in the cavernous space. Shining at the center of the inky darkness were two red circles of electric energy; they crackled and fizzled continuously, reminding Rey of Kylo Ren's lightsaber—Force-dampeners as volatile as the man they held.

The glow of the twin beams illuminated the face and chest of their manacled captive: Ben.

Her boots clipped across the hard floor, echoing faintly in the chamber as she approached him. Propped against a flat surface, he'd been secured in much the same way she'd been strapped to the interrogation table during her time as a prisoner of the First Order. His feet were held in place by a metal bar while his hands were restrained by the flashing currents.

Ben didn't stir until she stood next to him. He glanced up just in time to see her gloved hand lifting toward his face. The armor startled him, and he flinched, shifting his head—the only thing he could move—to the side.

Her hand froze halfway between them. Why couldn't he sense that she was here? Surely her stormtrooper disguise couldn't hide her true identity from someone sensitive in the Force even with the restraints?

Rey pushed the thought aside and moved to take off the helmet. She fumbled with the locking mechanism, then tossed the white and black mask to the ground while shaking out her hair. She dropped the gloves as well, needing to feel his skin against hers.

"Ben. . ." she tried again, "It's me."

He groaned and lifted his head slightly; even the small movement seemed like a struggle. Light from the red bindings highlighted the black, swollen areas around his eyes. Dark streaks ran down the bridge of his nose and in sinister rivulets along his right cheek. The scar she'd drawn across his face had been deliberately reopened, the cut so meticulous it seemed surgically executed.

Rey gasped at the sight of him, taking in each abuse and cursing every day, every hour, which had kept her from pursuing him. Seeing what he'd had to endure made her muscles grow rigid, tense.

Beneath the bruises, his eyes were disoriented and unable to focus. He strained forward to bring their faces closer. "R-Rey?"

The war going on around them rooted into her chest at the broken sound of his voice. All at once she trembled from the internal conflict. Relief coupled with fear, anger with hope. Only brushing her fingertips against his jaw kept her in the moment.

"I'm here," she assured him.

His eyes squinted shut as tight as they would go, contorting his upper lip into a grimace. Rey watched as he concentrated, unsure what he was trying to accomplish. It reminded her of a child banishing a monster by willing what frightened him out of existence.

Or by closing a door.

Now realizing his intent, Rey placed a hand against his chest. The fabric of his vest and shirt had been torn open, and her fingers touched the flesh beneath; she cringed when they encountered blistered, open wounds.

"You can't blink me away," her words started out harsh, then softened. "I'm really here. Flesh and blood." Worried over his apparent doubt, she touched his left cheek. "Can't you feel me?"

His eyes cracked open, a fresh wave of anguish pouring out of them. "You are here."

Rey's smile of relief was smothered by the horror that overtook his expression.

"Leave," he said.

Rey's head tilted down, unable to meet the urgent command in his eyes. How could he think she would depart without him, that she would leave him alone to die at the hands of Hux and the other generals? Many years ago, she'd made a vow to herself: never leave someone behind. She didn't plan to break that promise just because the odds seemed impossible.

"Once I have you out of these restraints, we'll go together," she declared, reaching out to one of the red dampeners. Even without coming into contact with the beam of light directly, Rey felt a violent, singeing pain flash across her fingers and palm when they got too close.

She swore, drawing her hand back toward her chest, shaking away the smart. The fact that she hadn't even touched the beam and had been stung while both of his wrists were strapped down made her face pale. Maybe this explained why she hadn't been able to feel him through their bond since he'd healed her at the Rebel base: these Force-dampeners were altogether different from the ones he'd used on her in their shared elevator ride. These emitted powerful bolts of energy; the continuous pain radiating through him would certainly undermine the concentration necessary to use the Force.

"Go!" He half-shouted the order.

Rey's hand clamped down over his mouth. Her eyes went wide, wondering if he'd lost all sense of rational thought. "Are you trying to get us both killed?"

Beneath her cupped fingers, Ben mumbled something. Rey lifted her hand just slightly so he could repeat himself. "It's a trap."

Her hands danced across the tops of his shoulders, skimmed the edges of the fabric hanging open over his chest. Tugging gently on the torn garment, her mouth worked to contain the barbed words that wished to skewer such an obvious point; what would be the use in yelling at him now?

"Of course it's a trap," she stated at last. Tears stung the corners of her eyes as one hand moved up to fret over a lock of hair that had fallen across his face. "Don't you think I knew the risks in coming here?"

"You understood the danger," he whispered, "yet you came."

Ben made it sound like she'd done something noble. He was wrong. Fear had pushed her to seek him out; selfishness had asked her friends to endanger their lives to help in her pursuit; need had seduced her to cast aside caution and walk onto a ship full of people who clamored for the death of the "last" Jedi.

She had come for herself as much as she had for Ben.

Knowing that their window for escape shrunk with each passing moment, Rey redirected her attention to his restraints. The bar at his feet posed no issue; she simply waved a hand over it and willed it to open.

Turning her attention to the red dampeners, Rey tried the same method without success. Biting her lip in consternation, Rey applied more Force energy to the task. It drained her reserves in a similar capacity to when she had lifted tonnes of rocks on Crait. The electricity faded gradually, flickered as her will began to override the mechanism, and finally disappeared, releasing Ben.

He tipped forward, falling slowly. Rey's shoulder bore the brunt of his weight; however, the differences in their height made her tenuous hold unsustainable. She shifted them both, lowering their bodies to the floor of the room. Without the light from his restraints, they were engulfed in darkness.

Rey hadn't anticipated how weak Ben would be when she found him. While she believed she could haul him out of the room by pulling him like a sack of scrap metal, it wouldn't make for the most inconspicuous exit. He had to recover some of his strength—quickly—if they had any hope of getting out of this alive.

There was a trade-off, of course: using the Force to heal Ben would strengthen him but weaken her.

Ben groaned as she used her hands to explore his arms and chest, going as gently as possible. She started with his wrists, healing the abrasions and irritation caused by the electricity, surprised that the damage to his skin hadn't been more substantial.

"I asked you not to come," he said quietly as she moved to focus on the burns scattered across his chest.

Rey frowned. "The bond between us gave out. I couldn't feel you anymore." Only the darkness could give her the courage to reveal how that loss had affected her. "You'd been cut away from me, and it left this. . .void where you were supposed to be."

With the wounds on his chest patched up through her speedy handiwork, Rey rested her forehead against it in order to catch her breath and regroup. Healing in person rather than via their bond allowed her to do more, but it still exhausted her energy.

Ben placed his hand on top of her head, stroking her hair as he digested her words. After a moment of quiet, he tried to explain himself, "I wanted you safe."

For a moment, confusion clouded her mind. How could he have ensured her safety unless he had predicted her rescue attempt? Even then, he would have had to try to stop it, and Rey didn't see how that would be possible. The only protection he could offer were secrets—not revealing her location or the plan she'd tried to communicate many times to him through their severed bond.

Then she realized: the bond. He'd purposefully done something to manipulate it.

"You tried to close yourself off from the Force," she said, her voice a mixture of shock and awe. "Like Luke."

His hand stilled against her head, though his fingers pressed into her scalp. Disappointment underscored his words: "With all the success of an apprentice."

Rey's breathing quickened as her throat constricted with emotion. Her last memory of him still flashed within her mind: Ben, drained from healing her shoulder, turning to face the approaching footsteps wearing an expression of trepidation and resignation. Just sensing the imminent danger she couldn't see behind him had been enough to send Rey into a tailspin. After their bond had broken off—leaving her with nothing but his cloak—she'd become desperate to find him, to save him.

How could he believe his choices were justified? Had he even considered what it would put her through?

Her hand fisted into the fabric of his torn vest. She wanted to hit him, to pummel his chest with the ferocity of the outrage and hurt boiling inside of her until she could make it clear to him that he had no right to make that choice.

She channeled her feelings into words instead.

"You left me!" It came out as an accusation wrapped in a choked sob. The tears she'd been holding back since finding him alive finally burst forth. She couldn't attach a specific emotion to them; they were a release of all the things she couldn't express.

Rey tried again. "Don't you da—"

She swallowed the rest of her thought, unable to finish. So many of the people she'd cared for in her life had left her for one reason or another. Would demanding he stay make any difference? Or would it just make her heartbreak that much worse when the inevitable happened?

"Rey—" he tried to interject.

Her hands ached from gripping his vest so tightly. "I thought you were dead."

This mission had been an exercise in hope from the start. The fact that he was here, breathing and warm—his heartbeat faintly pulsing against her forehead—still hadn't fully sunk in as reality.

One of Ben's arms moved to her back as he pushed himself into a seated position with the other. Touching the wrist plates of her armor, he coaxed her up. Rey folded her arms around his shoulders, pressing her face against his neck as she tried to compose herself. They didn't have time for tears or confessions.

He held her, whispering, "I'm sorry, Rey."

She pulled back from him, wiping at the water trails on her cheeks with the backs of her hands. Her eyes had adjusted somewhat to the darkness around them, allowing her to see the outline of his face as he reached out to frame either side of hers. His gaze focused in on her, making sure she heard and understood every last word of his next sentence.

"You will never be alone again."

Without warning, the overhead lights of the chamber came alive, burning across her vision. The soft woosh of the sliding doors was followed by the steady, punctuated clicks of many boots. Rey drew the blaster across her lap, finger on the trigger. She inclined her head over her shoulder, hazarding a look against the brilliant lights to see what new danger had arrived.

Twelve stormtroopers advanced into the room walking six abreast and two rows deep. They halted their march two yards away. Every blaster trained on their opponents.

Rey's finger itched to clench around the trigger. Ben's grip on her arm tightened almost imperceptibly, wordlessly cautioning her to keep her impulses under control. If she fired now, she would effectively sign away both of their lives.

With some difficulty, she stifled her instincts to fight and rose slowly while keeping the blaster lowered at her side. The troops parted as if on cue, revealing a First Order general who strode forward, hands clasped at the base of his spine and a proud sneer on his face. His crisp, black uniform refused to wrinkle even when he walked; no strand of his light red hair dared to fall out of place.

Polished malice, Rey thought as he came to stand in front of his escort. His expression made it seem like her rescue attempt left him completely unaffected—as if he'd planned it all and had predicted every move she would make. This must be General Hux.

Though he lacked the intimidating physicality and mysterious aura of Kylo Ren during their first encounter, Rey couldn't quash the disturbing feeling uncoiling in her stomach. Kylo had been an enigma; Hux wore his thoughts like badges on a lapel, each more concerning than the last. Reflecting back at her were flashes of pride, contempt, hatred, and vengeance.

"Ah, the infamous girl," he greeted. "We meet at last."