Chapter Text
“Join me. Please.”
We’re here again, him and I. The throne room aboard Supremacy. The fleeing Resistance ships dying one by one outside the viewport. His former master’s body a bisected, forgotten heap at the foot of his throne. Ben had done that for me. Ben Solo with his pleading brown eyes and full, trembling lips. Gloved hand outstretched. Acting for all the galaxy like it’s within my power to make or break him—me. The scavenger. Nothing.
You come from nothing. You’re nothing. But not to me.
I’m so desperate for belonging, for acceptance, that I yearn to reach for him, to say yes to his offer that he—clearly a narcissistic megalomaniac—might intend to be flattering. Yet my heart is breaking because while he stares at me so soulfully, like my acceptance is everything—after he killed his master for me and subsequently fought at my side—he’s now casually abandoning my friends to die. His own mother, for kriff’s sake. He could save her, but he’s thinking only of himself.
Not surprising; he killed Han, I remind myself sharply. The fact that I even require reminding is sobering; had I not believed him to be a monster mere weeks ago? And then I ran to him, trusting him to suddenly denounce the Dark Side…why? Because of a few fireside chats, moments of girlish weakness where I let my guard down? Because of a vision of the future in which I’d wholeheartedly desired to believe?
Master Skywalker was right. The truth of my own naivety settles over me in a stifling cloud, and I’m left trembling with humiliation and rage. The vision had been so beautiful, so real; but how had I thought it would play out in actuality? That if I came to him, he would give up everything and join the Resistance? And even if he had, did I honestly believe that anyone besides his mother would accept him? The general might only have delayed his execution.
I had always believed myself clever and street smart, but I’ve never felt more like a little girl playing pretend. The scavenger from a backwater planet who wanted to be a Jedi, who thought she could convince the villain to see the error of his ways.
Ben visibly swallows as he watches me, Adam’s apple bobbing; if it weren’t for the fact that I’ve ensured my thoughts are guarded, airtight, I’d have the sneaking suspicion he’s listening in on my silent ramblings. He awaits my answer, still breathing heavily from our fight with the guards. His outstretched fist slowly closes and lowers, and I watch his eyes sweep me from head to toe as if taking me in for the first time. Something gradually changes in his gaze: His expression transforms from pleading to almost…possessive. Predatory. On Jakku, I had observed many species stalking their prey, and the look in his eyes is strikingly similar.
The precious heirloom lightsaber slides from his opposite grasp with a clatter and drops to the deck, forgotten.
The adrenaline from our recent battle still sings in my blood—I can’t deny how right it felt to fight at his side—as he closes the space between us in two long strides—
Wait, this didn’t happen before, why is this happening now?—
He’s now towering over me. One large hand fists my hair; the other slides around my waist, pressing me hard against him. I’m too stunned to react as he grinds his pelvis against my belly—I’m a bit shocked to discover that he’s aroused—and tightens his fingers in my hair. I was aware on a certain level that his interest in me had...evolved, an awareness I’d planned to exploit to persuade him to my side. Still, his aggression surprises me, given that aside from the innocent press of fingers on Ach’To he’s never attempted to touch me.
Just before he swoops down and seals his mouth to mine, I see that his pupils are blown wide, dark eyes almost obsidian. He kisses as aggressively as he fights. It’s not eloquence or skill; it’s passion and fire. It’s lips, tongues, and the clanging of teeth. It’s wet and sloppy. His substantial nose is in the way, but it doesn’t matter as he tries to devour me, like he’s starving. And I kiss him back instinctively, knowing that I shouldn’t, that I should push him away, but it feels so good, so natural, as natural as fighting at his side.
I’m hyperaware of my body, of the way my smaller form is snugly cocooned by his broad shoulders and muscular arms. I’m aware of my body’s reaction, how it awakens at his proximity, to the slide of his tongue against mine, the scrape of his facial stubble on my cheeks. The softness of his full lips, directly contradicting the aggressiveness of the encounter. He nips and sucks, edging away from my mouth and down my jaw. Heat blooms in my lower abdomen and between my legs, in tangent to the insistent hardness against my belly. Letting out a groan against my throat, he rotates his hips and grinds against me.
Natural. It would be natural to lie down on the deck and let him claim me. Fuck me. The mating instinct is pervasive in all species, including humans, and the Force is thrumming in my blood, vibrating the very air around us, edging us toward the inevitable conclusion. The Force wants this. I want this.
His smell is everywhere, invading my senses and rendering me dizzy. The scent of his soap is sterile and practical, presumably standard-issue like mine, but beneath it something distinctly male and him: the not-unpleasant musk of his skin and sweat, which I’d first detected on Starkiller when he leaned into my space during the interrogation. It was only weeks ago, yet it felt like a lifetime. Although hard-pressed to admit it, I was terrified of him then—the masked, lightsaber-yielding monster stalking me in a forest.
Ben’s hair is absurdly silky when I slide my fingers through it, encouraging his downward trail. It’s damp with sweat, but I don’t care. I’m sweaty. We’re both sweaty and dirty and—
I shouldn’t be doing this. People are dying. My friends are dying.
The thought hits me suddenly, the reality of where I am and what I’m doing jarring. My fingers still in his hair.
Monster. I’m making out with a monster.
Abruptly, I’m aware of an alarm resounding throughout the throne room. Likewise, I’m aware of the presence of others nearby, trying to muscle their way inside the room, and that’s when I realize that Ben must be sealing them out.
Sobered, I attempt to disentangle myself, but Ben reasserts himself, tightening me against his body as he finds my mouth again and sucks my lower lip between his teeth, biting—not too hard, but hard enough. The hand braced against my lower back lowers further until he’s grasping a handful of my rear. I gasp against his mouth and halfheartedly attempt to shove him away, but his hand slides lower still. Grabbing my thigh, he tries to shove my leg up over his hip; I’m not tall enough, and we topple over as a result. Bracing his forearms on either side of my head to prevent himself from crushing me with his weight, he doesn’t miss a beat. Immediately, he leans down to lick a trail down the side of my neck.
I shiver. I know I taste like dirt and sweat.
“Don’t care,” he whispers, sucking at my clavicle, and I realize suddenly that the Bond is blown wide open. It’s apparent by the vacuous void that sucks out the background noises and the way Ren’s Force signature is suddenly amplified, as if it’s reflecting itself.
Snoke is dead, his body feet away, and we’re still connected. What he’d said about bridging our minds had to be a lie, then.
“Ben?”
“Mm?” He’s brought one hand up to trace the V of my tunic, and slowly he uses two fingers to pull one side down, baring my shoulder.
I’m panting, trying not to buck against him as my right breast is slowly revealed in its diminutive but perky, rose-tipped glory. My face is hot as he lifts his head to look at me properly; his heavy-lidded gaze is black with lust. Dark, sweaty locks curtain his face as he takes in my disheveled appearance. It takes everything in me not to cover myself reflexively. The last thing I want, after all, is to appear girlish and inexperienced—even if I am exactly that.
When he stares at my pebbled nub, I know I need to end this now. If he puts that mouth of his on my flesh—I can see the thought forming in his mind—I will be lost.
“Get off me,” I choke out, my body contradicting the statement. I know that he knows that I’m just as turned on as he is.
Almost curiously, Ben tears his gaze from my tit to look at my face. He thrusts idly between my splayed legs, and I bite my lip, consciously refusing to buck against him, to seek the release for which my body so desperately screams.
“Get off, Ben,” I repeat, voice stronger.
The corners of his lips twitch. “And what, precisely, is it you think I’m trying to do?”
I blink. Did he just make a joke?
Before I can begin to process this turn of events, he sighs, rolls off me, and climbs to his feet. When he straightens his uniform, I pretend not to notice the prominent bulge in his otherwise pristine First Order trousers. He offers me his hand, a reflection of the gesture he’d made just minutes prior, but I deny him a second time. Brushing his hand aside, I clamor gracelessly to my feet and turn to tuck my tit back in my tunic where it belongs. Necessity handled, I cast my eyes about the deck, searching for Anakin Skywalker’s lightsaber.
I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I can’t believe that just happened. What would everyone think? What would they say if they knew I nearly fucked Kylo kriffin’ Ren on the floor next to a corpse in a burning room? I’m supposed to a Jedi, for kriff’s sake—or at least a Jedi in training. I’m supposed to be dignified.
“We belong together, Rey.”
I whip around to face him. He’s staring at me intently, the lightsaber I’d been searching for clutched in his gloved fist once more. His cheeks are flushed, hair wild, full mouth stained red from our kisses. The scar that bisects his face, the one I’d marked him with, somehow seems more prominent, and I have the most ridiculous urge to trace it with my tongue.
“The way we fight, the way we kiss,” he continues. He’s not pleading anymore; he’s simply matter-of-fact. He takes a half-step toward me. “The way we’ll fuck, Rey. I’ve seen it.”
My belly clenches at his words.
He licks his lips. Swallows. “You will choose me. I’ve seen it.”
All I can do is smile sadly. “You’re the one doing the choosing here, and badly, I might add. Goodbye, Ben.”
Reaching out through the Force, I take his grandfather’s lightsaber. This time, he lets me.
oOo
I awaken, my sweat-drenched tunic clinging to my heated skin. The heaviness in my heart correlates with the heaviness in my lower belly, not to mention the throbbing between my legs. My pulse is racing, and as the dream dissipates, it takes several moments to catch up with my reality.
I’m not on the Supremacy, and I certainly did not grind pelvises—even fully clothed pelvises—with Kylo Ren on the throne room floor while he shoved his tongue down my throat. The very idea is absurd.
It’s not the first time I’ve had similarly inappropriate dreams about the newly self-appointed Supreme Leader of the First Order, but this one felt real. As real as the Force vision that propelled me to turn myself over to him that day.
I run through a mental checklist to ground myself, as I always do after awakening from another reminder of my inexplicable attraction to a deranged murderer. I know who I am; I know what I’m fighting for. I am Rey of Jakku, Jedi Knight, Resistance fighter. And I will kill Kylo Ren, the head of the First Order, to bring about the demise of a cruel dictatorship and restore peace to the galaxy.
Sitting up on my thin mattress, I reach for the canteen on the rickety nightstand. It’s a muggy night, and I’m utterly parched. Gulping down the precious liquid, I savor every drop. On Jakku, freshwater was a rarity. Here on Ajan Kloss, the very trees seem to bleed it. While a blessing, the humidity here is a killer.
Rising from bed, I move to the small window to draw open the shades and fling up the pane; I wonder offhandedly if the atmosphere regulator in my room had malfunctioned. Inhaling, I breathe in the scents of the forest as a blessed breeze cools the sweat on my neck and forehead. When my eyes sweep out across the darkened forest, I can’t see the guard in the Eastern Watch Tower through the cloud cover, but I know he’s there.
Dimly, I contemplate my gratefulness for the privacy to do as I wish, to move about in my underthings. While the old Clone Wars-era barracks situated in the heart of the Emerald Forest aren’t exactly the lap of luxury, they’re an upgrade from the last several places we’ve stayed. Before settling here three months ago, on the run after the Battle of Crait, we huddled down together wherever we could, sleeping practically on top of each other at times. I’ve heard people expelling gas, masturbating, and even copulating. And I’ve had the misfortune of catching several couples—and sometimes throuples—in the act. Since Crait, I’ve learned more about my fellow Resistance members than I honestly cared to know.
Crait. I haven’t spoken to him since that day. I haven’t seen him since I shut the Falcon on him and sealed the Bond. But I can feel him sometimes, in my less guarded moments. When I awake, sometimes I know he was just there. The very air thrums with his presence, and I can smell him—his sweat and the metallic tang of what I take to be his mask and saber. And he’s angry; I can feel that, too. I wonder if he would kill me while I’m asleep and vulnerable or if he’ll save it for the battlefield. I have a feeling it’s the latter; my rejection undoubtedly wounded his ego. Since then, his humiliation has morphed into something so tangible, he’ll want to make my death…memorable.
I press my eyes shut tightly, willing my breathing to slow. I seek peace through the Force’s calming familiarity. I draw it to myself, reaching out and brushing the lives I sense all around me, millions of tiny pinpricks creating the tapestry that comprises the Force; they’re slumbering in the barracks, prowling in the forest.
There is no emotion. There is peace.
Yet the throbbing between my legs remains annoyingly persistent, and my heart clenches again when I recall Ben Solo’s pleading eyes.
Join me. Please.
The scent of my arousal is pungent in the room. The logical course of action would be to deal with it in a perfunctory manner—Jedi or not, I’m human, with human downfalls and needs—but I’ll end up thinking of him. His large hands and broad chest. Full, red mouth, which I’d girlishly imagined pressing my lips to one lonely night on Ach’To. I recall wondering if his lips are as soft as they look.
My hands tighten on the windowsill as I try to make sense of the…dream? Force vision? Force visions are definitely a thing, but I’m uncertain about visions of an altered past. I make a mental note to ask General Organa—while keeping the details to a minimum, of course. I’ll die before hinting at the thoughts I’ve been having about her husband’s murderer.
Not for the first time, I long to speak to Master Skywalker. My formal Jedi training was practically a crash course, and there are so many things about the Force I still don’t understand. The general fills in for her brother as best she can, but she never completed her training, and her knowledge is limited.
Yet Master Skywalker remains stubbornly silent since departing the fleshly realm and becoming one with the Force. I haven’t felt a whisper of him, despite the many times I’ve called to him during meditation. I often wonder if ghosts hold grudges. Perhaps he’s angry with the way we left things, disappointed in me for going to Ren. Maybe he can sense my attraction to his nephew. Maybe he can see my dreams, a thought that makes me squirm.
Suddenly, the sounds of the forest are muffled, drowned by the telltale ringing in my ears. It’s the only warning I get before I realize, too late, that the unsettling nature of the dream had effectively formed a fissure in my defenses. A fissure large enough to allow him in.
And then his presence is everywhere; it’s overwhelming. His emotions are conflicting and devastating. Hate and passion, obsession and relief, anger and triumph, lust and lo—
No, I can’t process that particular emotion from him. It’s too confusing. I try to push him back to his side of the Bond so I can seal it shut once more, but it’s too late. Once it’s happening, I can’t stop it. I clench my eyes closed, mentally bracing myself before slowly turning to face him.
It’s been months since I’ve lain eyes on him, and he somehow seems exactly the same yet completely different. Older, the circles under his eyes and the lines on his brow more pronounced, as if the stress of being the Supreme Leader has aged him. He’s shirtless, and I can’t help but note that his broad chest and torso are more defined than I recall. His breathing is labored, pale skin gleaming with perspiration as if he was training. Yet his lightsaber isn’t in his grip or on his belt. Even still, I glance toward my nightstand to assure myself that my own weapon is accessible. I don’t think he’d attack me, not here, not now—although I’m quite certain his father thought the same in the minutes leading up to his murder.
I’m not even sure we can harm each other through the Bond; I’d blasted him once, after all, and it hadn’t left a mark. But there’s no sense in taking unnecessary chances.
His dark gaze follows my line of sight, even though I know he can’t see my surroundings. The lines on his brow deepen. “You intend to kill me, Rey,” he finally says, just when I’m beginning to wonder if he’s not alone. It’s not a question, and I note that while he feigns aloofness, the ever-present anger bubbles just below the surface of his calm facade.
As if the arrogant, selfish nerf-herder has the right to be angry with me.
“Yes,” I admit, crossing my arms over my chest. “Eventually. It’s necessary.” I feel naked in my loose tunic that barely covers the sliver of fabric that passes as underwear in the Resistance. My legs are completely bare before his perusal, and I don’t miss the pass his eyes make over my body before landing on my face once more. “Though one might argue self-defense. How high is the price on my head now, Supreme Leader?”
His face remains impassive, but I know him too well to miss the flinch in his eyes at my use of his title. He liked it when I called him “Ben.” He liked that I’d seen goodness in him. That I’d humanized him, where he wanted others to see only the one-dimensional villain.
Well, I won’t call him by his given name again. Not until he earns it.
“It’s respectable,” he concedes. “You’ll be happy to know, however, that the price to bring you to me alive is marginally higher.”
“How thoughtful. Unfortunately, I’m not in the position to offer the same courtesy.”
“No? Just as well. Better dead than in a cage—assuming I’m capable of being detained.” He stalks toward me, and I resist the urge to call Anakin Skywalker’s newly repaired lightsaber.
He stops in front of me, less than a foot separating us, and his gaze flickers down my body once more. “I don’t desire you dead, Rey,” he says, his low voice pure silk.
“I don’t care what you desire.” I swallow hard. Attempt to will my body to stop trembling at his nearness. It had been so long since I’d stood this close to him, and it’s as if my body craves him—craves his very presence.
“Liar.” He grips my chin between his thumb and forefinger, and I let out an involuntary gasp. He tilts my neck to the right, and I watch his eyes narrow curiously at the exposed column of my throat before forcing me to meet his gaze. “You called me here. Even now, I feel what you won’t admit. I feel your…desire.”
“Don’t be absurd.” I shake my head, forcing him to relinquish his grip on my chin as I clamp down tightly on my thoughts and emotions. Damn him. “The only thing I desire is you gone. Leave. Or I might just run you through with my saber for the fun of it.”
His hand falls to his side, but he doesn’t move out of my space. The façade slips and rage alights in his eyes, if only briefly. “My saber, you mean.” He bends his head toward me. “And if that’s how you truly feel, Jedi,”—his breath whispers across the shell of my ear—“then why are you trembling? Why can I smell your wet little cunt?”
Unthinkingly, I backhand him across the face, putting the Force behind it. His head whips back, his lip bursting open in a spray of blood; there’s a flash of surprise in his eyes, followed by a hint of admiration. Yet it’s gone so suddenly I might have imagined it.
Almost thoughtfully, Ren raises a hand to his lip. He studies the blood on his fingertips before meeting my eyes once more. “Hate me. That’s good; there’s passion in hate, and passion suits you, Rey. Although, it’s not very becoming of a Jedi. Skywalker would be displeased.”
“Go kriff yourself. Monster.” Not my most mature response, admittedly, but the man is an incorrigible prick.
I can’t believe I ever trusted him. What a foolish little girl I must have seemed. How easily manipulated.
He raises a brow. Licks his lips. Leans into my space once more. “Such venom. And yet—” he presses his thumb to my lip, staining it with his blood, before tucking my hair behind my ear— “you’re drawn to me. You feel it, too. Our…connection. You wanted to take my hand that day. Be honest with yourself.”
“I’m not—I don’t—You’re delusional if you think—”
“My offer stands, Rey,” he interrupts as he begins to back away, putting space between us once more. “My appointment to Supreme Leader doesn’t change that. I’d rather have you ruling at my side as my empress than dead at my feet as my enemy.”
I open my mouth to tell him where he can shove his offer, but the Force chooses that moment to sever the connection, the timing leaving me to wonder if Ren hasn’t wrangled some control over the Bond just as I have. The idea is problematic; I’d have to reinforce my defenses—and figure out a way to keep him out while I’m sleeping.
Maybe I just won’t sleep. Sleep is overrated, right?
Darting my tongue out, I sate my curiosity. Salty and metallic. It’s only blood, but the fact that it’s his gives me an undeniable thrill.
Crawling back into bed, I peel off my underwear and bring myself to three shuddering climaxes. I don’t even bother trying to avoid thinking of him; there’s no point. I bury my face in my pillow and my hand between my legs and gasp his given name—the name I won’t again call him to his face—“Ben—Ben—Beennnn”—until I’m boneless and can’t see straight.
Afterward, I feel guilty and dirty for my increasing physical attraction to a monster I’m meant to kill and my yearning for a man who—I can admit it now—doesn’t exist. Ben Solo died when he was barely more than a boy.
I crawl out of bed once more and spend a good twenty minutes in the ‘fresher that conjoins my room to Kaydel’s. There are actual water showers here, and I can’t get clean enough.
Standing naked in front of the mirror afterward, I’m shocked by the sight of the angry purplish marks marring the side of my throat.
They match the trail Ren’s mouth had made in my dream.
oOo
“Kriffing sonuvamoof-milker,” I curse as I wrench my hand away from the exposed circuitry of the X-Wing’ underbelly. I’d forgotten to ground myself before lifting the hydrospanner to work on this segment and had consequently received a rather intense shock.
And to add insult to injury, I promptly dropped the tool on my face.
I curse again as I slide out from under the X-Wing while clutching my nose. Every insult I’d ever picked up from the viler citizens of Jakku and even viler passers-through—and some of the more creative curses I’ve learned since joining the Resistance—spews unthinkingly from my lips.
I’ve been careless lately. Distracted. Ren hasn’t made another appearance in the past two days, but I’m reminded of the stupid dream and our subsequent encounter every time I look in the mirror.
Have there been other cases of Force visions leaving physical manifestations? If that’s even what it was. Maybe Ren did something to me as I slept. Maybe he’s found a way to manipulate my dreams through the Bond and…leave physical markings? I somehow doubt it. In any case, in the dream…vision…whatever…I still denied him. If it was Ren manipulating my dreams, why not make the vision about me taking his hand? Show me what I’m missing out on; how kriffing fantastic it would’ve been to burn everything to the ground and rule by his side.
“I can see why Han liked you. He harbored a deep respect for those with the capacity for creative cursing.”
Dropping my hand from my face—and redirecting it to adjust the high-necked undershirt I’d found in the laundry—I look up, startled that I hadn’t noticed the general’s approach. I should have. Her Force signature is as distinguished as she is. Today she’s wearing brown coveralls, and her graying hair is pulled back in a no-fuss bun. Her assistant, Winter, often braids it, but more often lately, Leia seems just as weary as the rest of us. Maybe more so, judging by her increasingly haggard appearance. Even still. There’s a good-humored sparkle in her eyes—eyes the same shade of brown as her son’s. Although I’d never seen Ren’s eyes sparkle with good humor. It’s simply not in his repertoire.
“That’s good to hear.” I try not to sound embarrassed that I’d been caught by Leia of all people giving Corellian pirates a run for their money. “I liked him, too. I miss him. How are you, General?”
I climb to my feet, wiping my greasy hands on my jumpsuit. Even though I’m almost an entire foot taller than the older woman, I feel small when she cocks an eyebrow at me. Her sharp eyes land on my neck, and I fight the urge to readjust the shirt. It’s pointless. The highest mark is just below my ear, clear as day. I’ve been wearing my hair down, but Leia doesn’t miss a thing.
I’ve already endured hell from Rose, who hounded me about my suitor’s identity, as she put it. It’s embarrassing. Everyone thinks the resident Jedi is…getting it on.
“How many times do I have to tell you it’s just ‘Leia’?” A smile quirks the corners of her lips. “And I think I should be asking you that. I can’t help but notice you’ve been…distracted lately, Rey. Are you sleeping well?” Her tone is teasing as her eyes land on my neck again, but there’s an undercurrent of concern.
I swallow, unaccountably touched by her concern even as I feel self-conscious that we’re in a public space. I glance around the hangar. Chewie isn’t far away, working on the Falcon with Finn’s help. I catch sight of Poe Dameron and Kaydel Ko Connix near the back of the hangar talking to a group of pilots. Poe nods my way when I catch his eye.
“I’m fine,” I say quickly, looking to the general once more. “Really. Just…some bad dreams.” I clear my throat as Leia stares at me like she can see right through me. I’m uncomfortable, suddenly afraid that she somehow knows about my Force Bond with her son. Maybe she can somehow sense it.
“Okay, Rey.” Her tone indicates that she’s not fooled in the least. “Just keep in mind that I’m here for you if you need me. We can talk somewhere a little more private. Also,”—she indicates my throat with her eyes—“your next lesson is going to be on Force healing. I know I’ve neglected your training in favor of my other duties, but clearly, I’ve done you a disservice.”
My face heats up, and this time I don’t restrain myself from raising a hand to cover my throat. “Oh—well, it’s not what you—”
“No need to be embarrassed, child,” Leia says with a laugh. “I was young once, too. Believe it or not.”
I merely nod and smile stiffly, relieved, at least, to have it confirmed that she doesn’t know anything about the Bond. “Leia, I was wondering—” I stop, casting my eyes about once more. Finn is watching us curiously. He’s my best friend, and he’ll demand to know what the general and I are speaking about the first chance he gets. “Nothing. Later. And—and you can teach me about Force healing.”
oOo
Three more days pass, and no Kylo Ren.
I’ve barely slept. I find myself falling asleep on my watch rotation, awakening minutes later with a jerk. Caff has become my best friend. I use Jedi techniques to prolong my wakefulness and to keep sleep at bay.
I scour the Jedi texts, even though I’d already studied them extensively in the long weeks after Crait. When I could no longer stomach communal sleeping arrangements, I would steal away to the Falcon with an armful of books. Chewie never minded. He says that as far as he’s concerned, I’m Han and Leia’s adopted daughter. And that meant that the life debt he first owed Han and then extended to Leia and Luke now applies to me as well.
I try not to think about the fact that that would make me Ren’s sister, a disturbing thought for more than one reason.
“Just what are you looking for in those things?” Rose asks offhandedly. She’s on watch in the communications tower, and I’m definitely not hiding from Leia. I’m not afraid that she’ll pry the truth from me with her maternal voice and gentle words.
“Some stuff about the Force,” I reply vaguely, carefully turning another page of the ancient text. I’m not an expert, but I would guess that the volume is five hundred years old. Maybe older. It’s adorned with beautiful but fading calligraphy and the occasional drawing. The book is intricately crafted and beautiful, actually.
“No kidding.” Rose glances up from the comm she’d been fiddling with. “That’s obnoxiously vague. ‘Some stuff about the Force.’ All those books are about the Force, aren’t they?”
I look up. “Sorry… I just…” I don’t want to tell Rose more than I have to, but suddenly I yearn for a confidante. I’d gotten to know her well in the last few months, and I like her a great deal. She’s funny, loyal, and trustworthy. But I’m scared of the way she’ll look at me if she knows I share a mind with Kylo Ren. That I dream about him. Well, sort of. It’s Ben Solo that I want, but Ben Solo has decided to check out. “I’m looking for information on Force visions.” I take a breath and decide to go for it. Despite what Rose has lost to the First Order, she’s the least likely to judge first and ask questions later of all my friends. “And…Force Bonds.”
“Force Bonds?” Rose frowns at me, whatever she’d been tinkering with forgotten.
“Yes, well, that’s what I’m calling it. It’s when two Force-users are…connected.”
The lines between her eyes deepen. “Connected…how? Emotionally? Psychically? Physically?”
I huff out a laugh. “Yes…and no. Two Force users who are bound to each other by the Force. Specifically, the Force, well, forces them to appear before one another until…well, until an emotional connection is forged, I suppose.”
“And a physical one?” Rose guesses. “Is this the part where I find out who gave you those hickies?”
I bite my lip.
“Please tell me there’s another Force user out there we don’t know about,” Rose says slowly, “and that we’re not talking about who I think we’re talking about.”
I close my eyes and shake my hand. “No, there’s no one else that I know of.” And here comes the judgment that I expect—but probably deserve.
The room is quiet. Too quiet. I can hear the old clock ticking on the bulkhead above me. My ass is numb from sitting on the hard, cold floor, but I barely register it as I await Rose’s response.
“You and…and Kylo Ren?” Rose finally asks quietly.
I open my eyes to meet her verdict. I’m surprised to find concern on her face, not the anger or accusation I had expected.
I nod.
Rose curses under her breath. “Does the general know?”
“No,” I say quickly. The fact that Ren is the previously believed deceased son of the general came out sometime after the Battle of Crait. A select few already knew, but once he was unmasked on the battlefield, someone recognized him as Ben Solo. Rumors spread like wildfire in the Resistance. This one just happened to be true, and Leia didn’t deny it. Instead, she made a formal announcement and gave people the chance to ask questions.
“You should tell her.” Rose’s voice is gently prodding, not assertive as she has the tendency to be.
I shake my head. “I can’t. I would be deemed a security risk and put under house arrest. Leia’s hands would be tied; she has the Resistance to think about.”
“Maybe that’s why you should tell.” Again, her voice is gentle. She’s treating me like I’m made of glass, and I don’t like it. “For the Resistance.”
“I’d be no good to anyone on house arrest. Besides, the Bond is private. Even though we occupy the same physical space, he can’t see my surroundings, and I can’t see his. At any rate, it’s only happened once since we left Crait. I’ve learned to control it…to an extent.”
“Okay. Did you happen to have sex with him that one occasion?”
I look at her sharply, shocked by the question. “Of course not. Why would you think—?” Oh. The hickies. Right. “That wasn’t him,” I say quickly.
Rose’s eyebrows shoot to her hairline. “Oh, really? When we’re done with all this serious shit, you owe me some details. You’ve been holding out.”
My face burns with mortification. “I mean, it was, but not like you’re thinking. I had a dream—it’s complicated.”
“Okay, take your time.”
I close the book and set it aside before stretching out my legs in front of myself. I take a breath and swallow. “I told everyone the story of how I was captured by the First Order,” I begin, “about how Ren killed Snoke rather than kill me as ordered.”
Rose nods.
“The first part was a lie. I wasn’t captured. I went to him.” I watch Rose as she processes this.
“Because of this Force Bond thingie,” she finally says. “You’d been talking to him.”
I nod and lick my lips. “On Ach’To. We talked. A lot. Then I had a vision of Ben Solo turning back to the Light. A vision that turned out to be false, but I believed in it at the time. Master Skywalker didn’t. He tried to tell me I was being stupid. I told him he’s a coward who shirks responsibility.” When Rose cocks her brows at me, I shrug. “Well, not in those exact words, but he got the gist. As it turns out, we were both right.”
“You’re stupid and he’s a coward?”
I wince. “Not a coward,” I concede. “But he was hiding from the mess he made.”
“Fair enough. So…have you ever considered that the vision wasn’t wrong? Maybe it’s just…later in the future.”
“I can’t allow myself that sort of hope, Rose. I can’t handle more disappointment.”
“Because you care about Ren,” she concludes.
I look at her sharply. “No. It’s Ben Solo I care about. Not Ren.”
She sighs. “I hate to tell you this, Rey, but they’re the same person. That guy you were chatting with on Ach’To? Kylo Ren. He might have a…a”—she waves her hands in the air—“softer side no one else knows about—the side you call ‘Ben,’ but it’s all Kylo Ren. You can’t care only about a single facet of his personality.”
I bury my face in my hands. “It doesn’t matter anyway,” I say through my hands. “I’m going to kill him. It’s what I’ve been training for.”
Rose is quiet for several heartbeats. “So,” she finally says, clearing her throat. “How does all of this lead up to hickies that your lover-slash-nemesis didn’t leave?”
My hands slide from my face. I glare at her. “He is not my lover.”
“Whatever you say.”
“I had another vision.” I choose to ignore her comment. “I was back on the Supremacy. Right after he killed Snoke and we fought the guards.” I wouldn’t tell her about his proposition. I hadn’t told anyone, and I don’t plan to. “Instead of just leaving, like what really happened, we…” My face heats up. I can’t look at her.
“You did the dirty with Kylo Ren next to his dead master’s corpse to thank him for not killing you?” she supplies unhelpfully.
“No, Rose. Why do you jump straight to sex?”
She shrugs. “Sorry. Spend a lot of time around…worldly people. Virgin Jedi are still new to me.”
If possible, my face flushes even hotter. “I’m…worldly.” I try to make it believable, but the words are weak to my own ears. On Jakku, my life had revolved around survival. It hadn’t left much room for anything else. I’d known girls and boys who used their bodies to buy themselves food and other necessities, but even when I was starving the idea repulsed me. “But, no. We kissed. He might have gotten…carried away.” I clear my throat. “When I awoke, the marks were still there.”
Rose stares at me. “Kriff .”
“Exactly. I don’t know what to make of it. Master Skywalker never mentioned visions of altered pasts—or-or physical manifestations.”
“You should talk to the general.”
“She usually knows when I’m lying—and what am I supposed to tell her, exactly? That I’m having wildly inappropriate dreams about shoving my tongue down the throat of her husband’s murderer—who just happens to be her son?”
Rose snorts. “Well, I wouldn’t put it quite like that, but…have you thought about searching the holonet? Most of the stuff out there is trash—porn and the like. But the Old Republic database is still accessible. Not even the First Order’s splicers could take it down.”
It’s my turn to frown. “Access to the holonet is restricted for security reasons.”
The corners of Rose’s mouth slowly rise upward. “Not if you know someone who happens to have clearance. And if you know someone who’s a decent splicer who can encrypt the signal so we can’t be traced.”
“And I suppose you just happen to know someone.”
Rose shrugs. “I’m a fair splicer, but there’s someone in my department who has the clearance and owes me a favor.”
“Someone you trust?” I don’t bother hiding my skepticism.
“He’ll get me in. He won’t know what we’re looking for. But yes, he can be trusted. He knows I’ll chop his man parts off otherwise.”
“Rose, you’re scary sometimes, you know that? It’s no wonder Lieutenant Tillman runs in the other direction every time he sees you coming.”
She shrugs and mimes flipping her hair, even though it’s tied into a low ponytail. “What can I say? I’m more woman than he can handle.”
“Right, that or he hasn’t forgotten the prank you and Finn pulled on him.”
“What? I can’t help it if the man’s wound so tight you’d need a jackhammer to loosen ‘im up. And a shit-load of lube.”
I gawk at her. “Rose, you stole all his clothes and replaced them with…frilly ladies’ underthings. Where did you even get those? Some of that stuff was literally string. What’s even the point?”
Rose blinks at me. “Oh, you have much to learn, young Padawan. Stick with me and I’ll show you the way.”
I shake my head. “Rose, for a smart person you’re completely ridiculous.”
“Smart and ridiculous are mutually exclusive, are they?”
“In my experience, yes, but you’re clearly exceptional.”
She smiles coyly and presses her fingers to her lips. “Why, thank you, darling.”
“You still haven’t explained the prank. What did Tillman do to deserve the Wrath of Rose?”
“Okay, first of all, it was payback for being a total skeez and ogling my ass in a less than subtle way—”
“A bit extreme.”
“—and second of all, Poe put us up to it. I was only following orders.”
“Right.”
We laugh together, but when it dies down she clears her throat. “I’ll find out what I can about Force Bonds and visions, but, Rey, seriously, I’m worried about you. You need to have a plan for when the Bond thingie opens up again. Either kill him then and there—”
“I don’t think I can. It doesn’t work that way.”
“—or don’t engage him. Don’t talk to him. Go somewhere safe, around other people. You can always come to me, day or night. And Leia. I’m sure she’ll listen when you’re ready to talk.”
I bite my lip and nod, overwhelmed with gratitude at having found such a good friend in Rose.
“But whatever you do,” she adds, “do not tell Finn or Poe. Finn will lose his shit, and Poe will wanna…find a tactical advantage to the Bond. Have you…fish for information or something.”
I sigh and shake my head. “That’s probably what I should be doing anyway.”
“No, it isn’t. Your head isn’t in the right place to be playing spy. But Ren might take advantage of the Bond to do just that, especially if he knows about your…feelings.”
“It’s not one-sided, Rose. He cares about me, too.”
She purses her lips, her skepticism abundantly obvious. “All the more reason to be careful. Narcissists don’t know the difference between love and ownership.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” I ignore her implication that he thinks he loves me. “I know what I’m doing.”
Again, her face betrays her skepticism. Before she can voice any reservations, however, the door opens, and Finn stumbles in, arms laden with food. My stomach rumbles at the scent wafting from the parcels; I can’t remember the last time I ate.
“Brought gifts, ladies.” He drops the food on a nearby console as the door swooshes closed behind him. “Just in time, too.” He affords us a roguish grin. “Poe about ate everything in the galley himself—including that fruit the scouting team brought back.”
“My hero.” When Rose rises to inspect the bags, I don’t miss the meaningful glance they share when their arms brush. “But you don’t have to lie. We all know it’s you who really eats all the food.” She pats his arm fondly while leaning up to peck his lips.
I watch the exchange, an odd sense of jealousy spiking through me. Not of them, exactly, but of their easy interaction. I should be attracted to someone like Finn. He’s a good, selfless man—the best, actually. Sometimes I wonder if our friendship might have developed into something more had I not met Ren and he hadn’t met Rose. But the scary, shameful truth is that I can’t imagine wanting anyone else. While a part of me hates Ren for not choosing me and his own mother, for instead proposing an impossible offer, I know that anyone else would pale to the passion he stirs in me.
I also know I shouldn’t desire passion. It’s a slippery slope, and I should be revolted by him—and rightly so. He hurt Finn, Poe, and countless others. He murdered his own father in cold blood. But as much as it shames me, I can’t seem to help my feelings no matter how long or hard I meditate.
Finn shrugs, oblivious to my internal struggle. “Guilty as charged.” He bites into a round, juicy green fruit. Prior to joining the Resistance I’d never tasted fruit, but even here it’s a rare treat.
“Here.” Rose pulls out a wrapped sandwich and tosses it my way. “Eat, Rey. You look like shit.”
I don’t argue. I take a bite and almost groan; it’s loaded with fresh veggies from the garden—thank the Maker for the seeds we received in that last shipment—and some sort of tasty mystery sauce.
Rose laughs and makes a comment about how I’m supposed to eat the food, not make love to it. I don’t mind the teasing; it feels normal and good to be with Rose and Finn, to hear them laugh companionably as I tear unabashedly into my food. I can almost pretend that everything is normal. That I’m normal.
That I’m not pining after someone who died a long time ago.