It had been months since his climactic moment, almost nearing a year now. While he still almost always wore black, the volatile commander of legions that once dramatically pounded his way through corridors of the StarKiller Base was not completely present any longer. That is not to say that he was a wholly different person – he would never be that – but it was obvious that a healing was taking place, one that I was personally overseeing.
The task of working with him through the transitions, through the nightmares, through the fits of rage, through the nuances of being reborn into the life that he should have lived all along was one that I voluntarily took on. I had applied for it the instant I caressed his lips, feeling the rage of our connection. If anyone was going to be able to aid him, I knew it was going to be me.
As much as I wanted to fight with the Rebellion, and as much as he did as well, the risk of he being too close to the action was far too great. If Snoke had caught onto him again, the result could mean his death or his ruin once more. So leaving the action behind us, we began a journey across the galaxy, careful to move frequently, avoiding detection, and kept him safe.
Such measures were exasperating to Ben, arrogance being a quality that would most likely never ebb - it being key within both the Skywalker and Solo lines. He would tell his mother, hesitantly, unsure of how to address her still, that it was unnecessary and that the use of his power in the hands of the Resistance would be unimaginable, but she would only smirk. Sad, but adoring, chocolate eyes, would roam every corner of Ben's face, a mirror image of Han, and would reply with a simple "no". But, it was apparent so much more was being said within that grey-bunned head of hers.
Stifling a laugh, I'd take Ben's hand in mine while he stood stationary, shocked by his mother's causal bluntness, and would attempt to drag him from the futile argument. Immediately, as I tore him away, General Organa's eyes snapped to our conjoined hands only to meet my eyes with a cocked eyebrow. Where I had expected to find chiding disapproval, I only found knowing warmth.
It was easy to forget that Leia Organa, the very practical, by-the-book General, was indeed a Skywalker. One who was Force-sensitive and could practically see the bond humming between Ben and I, even when the two of us were not in close proximity to each other.
This bond is something that I admittedly took to my advantage, never playing entirely by the rules, when getting Ben to acquiesce to my first choice of destination: Jakku. As many harsh memories as the sandy planet had for me, I could not deny the odd desire I had to visit it, even if for one last time. A part of me recognized that some of the odd desire that I felt stemmed from wanting him to see it too - not the Alderaan refugee village that I had heard tale of, but my life, the fragments of my story that I wanted him to experience.
Eventually he relented, and days later we entered into Jakku's atmosphere, just missing a small sandstorm. I had let him pilot, I was content to be his co-pilot this time since it provided me the luxury of soaking in all my old home as I rode shotgun. We had to be careful to land the Falcon away from Niima outpost, not wanting an ex-admirer, such as Unkar Plutt, to spot my return, and so he placed us down near the edge of one of my favorite old scavenging yards, knowing we were in for quite a trek. The target of our interest was the AT-AT I had called home for nearly nineteen years.
The trip was sweltering and strenuous, and I was thankful that Ben had listened to me and decided not to wear all black, instead opting for a simple white shirt and navy trousers, even though the ensemble made he look very much like his father. I knew that he was aware that that was something he could never escape; no matter how redeemed he became, evidence of what had been done would always linger, even in the mirror.
But not too many thoughts, even those of Han, crossed our minds as we trudged through the sand dunes together, sun at our backs. Eventually, sweat dripping, we reached the belly of my old home, much to his surprised amusement. Having most likely expected a small hut or something similar, approaching a half-buried AT-AT was a twist to my story that he was amazed to find.
I jiggled the latch, sticky from a year of neglect, and broke open the hatch, relishing in the rush of cool air still locked inside the container. I easily slid in, a habit bred from muscle memory, but he struggled to shape his tall frame in and though the hole. Laughing at his useless attempts, I told him to give up, stay still, and wait for me. His hand in mine, I pulled him forward slowly, making sure to use my other hand to guide his head into the room without banging it upside the edge of the metal frame.
Once in, stooped slightly to accommodate his height, he looked down at me with teasing eyes I was very familiar with by then. They held a look that said he was apologetic and yet endlessly mischievous, now perpetually the boy that he wasn't allowed to be until now. It prompted a smirk on my face when he leaned in closer, but was swiftly washed away when his eyes shifted from mine, distracted by something behind me. All evidence of his boyish fun was gone from his visage, and instead wonderment stood as its replacement. I turned to see the object of his fascination only to find the relics of my past: dusty water canteens, my scratchboard where the marks numbered into infinity, the vase holding a long withered desert flower, and other random trinkets that I had hoarded to make life seem a little more cozy.
He moved past me, leaving me to stand by the entrance and watch his broad shoulders maneuver through the tight quarters. Only watching his movements, I saw him move past each shelf and corner, never touching a thing, only drinking in the view. I could not understand what captivated him in his travels within the confines of my home, but it struck a cord within me, more so when he eventually stopped at my scratchboard to stare up at the multitude of fine, white lines etched into its face.
A fragment of me was annoyed that that object in particular was what caught his interest, an object that communicated the pathetic hope I had once clung to like an infant. I could not help as my eyebrows bunched together and I attempted to control my rising tears, throat constricting dryly. He was transfixed there, perhaps endeavoring to make a count of just how many days I had tallied, when I stepped up to stand by him. Glaring at the marks, I suddenly regretted ever coming to Jakku, not just with him, but in general. The new life that I had with the Resistance and with Ben erased the pain that memories of my old life brimmed with, and returning here, to the source of such agony, ripped open my wounds again.
I was lost in my thoughts, blind to the wet paths gently soaking my cheeks, and was too dull to realize that Ben had ceased his inspection of the wall. Instead, he was concerned with me, studying my stressed features.
Not able to turn my face, muscles too tight with either pain or pride I did not know, I shifted my eyes to peak at him from the very corner of my vision. An earthquake was occurring within me, tendons and muscles twitching everywhere, desperate to keep composure as I was so used to doing. That was what I always had to do – what desert-dwellers did on Jakku – you had to keep going in order to survive. But, I was losing the battle this time, never before had I had an audience to my weakness, especially not one who matched me in so many ways.
When I finally crumbled, the dam broken, I was free of the pain I had kept only to myself.
He stepped forward, not touching me, and waited for me to choose how, and if, I wanted to seek comfort. Grateful for the choice, I placed my head and hands upon his chest and let myself be enveloped by his arms, soothed by the presence of another person.
A passing thought, quickly stamped out for its triviality, contained my amusement over who was providing me security in that moment. Despite the easy flowing link between us presently, Ben had once been a rival and opponent of mine. Now, the man was holding me together, letting me break apart.
With the pressure of his jaw resting atop of my skull, his shoulders hunched to shield me, and his breathing even, a thought much more frightening than the ones that had incited my tears drifted into my head.
No not a thought. A revelation.
All of the evidence was present - it always had been. But, the inexplicable energy, the perfect sense of belonging and understanding I had now only just made it that much more pronounced.