Chapter Text
These are the softest lips Rey has ever known.
Not that she’s known many. Just spiteful, stolen kisses with a fellow Resistance member or two, nothing more. Quick pecks, innocent presses.
But these lips…
Ben’s lips, chapped and bloody as they are, surpass all the others.
Rey pulls away, not needing a breath quite yet, but simply wanting to see the Light in his eyes that had so scarcely been there before. Ben’s eyes, too, she decides, are the softest she’s ever known.
She smiles.
He blinks at her, laboriously, eyelashes seeming to glisten in the stark, blue light of Exogol.
Worry pricks at the back of her brain. They need to leave this wretched place yesterday. But then…
But then…
Ben smiles back at her, all dimples and crooked teeth and crinkling eyes as a breathy, perfect little laugh escapes him. Rey feels her cheeks warm, and a hand traces itself up to his face without her permission, tangling in his soft, soiled hair.
He’s so soft. Everything about him, now. Ironic.
But just as swiftly as his smile had appeared, setting her heart and stomach aflutter, it falls away with a longing, regretful pinch of his brow. Then he’s slipping from her fingers, too, his skin suddenly cold, his body crumbling to the floor.
Rey pitches forward with him, confused, a pit forming in her stomach because… Because…
…he’s gone.
As surely as his Light had been there, it has vanished with his warmth, with his life.
The bond writhes at the severing between them, it thrashes and protests, hollowing her out with violent, raging pulses. But there’s nothing she can do for it, so Rey sits calmly, weathering the storm within her stoically, silently.
She holds his head aloft, still, kept safe from cracking against the stone beneath them. It’s the least she can do for him, now.
And she doesn’t even have it in herself to be disappointed, of all things. She should have seen this coming. She did, in the darkest, most solemn corner of her mind.
Alone. She’s always alone, even in a room full of people, even with a cause to fight for.
And that had been well and fine for her until the bond, until him. But it seems, now, she’ll have to remember her loneliness all over again.
Tears won’t come. She can’t bring herself to cry when this is the only constant life has ever offered her. Yet, despite it all, she manages a worthless, measly, “Don’t go…”
A whisper into the abyss.
There is no answer, not that she had expected one. Only the groaning of the Citadel around her, clattering rock and creaking rusted machinery.
Lightning strikes every now and again, outside, while she studies the slackness of Ben’s face. He does not look peaceful like she’s heard other Resistance members say to soothe the broken hearts of their companions. He looks sad. He looks young.
Too young to die.
But that’s war, Rey supposes. Casualty is never picky.
Trailing a finger over the place where his scar had once been, she shudders at the coldness of his skin, then does what she had intended to do next, after kissing him so soundly.
Rey hugs Ben— or, at least, the body that used to belong to him. She tucks her chin over his shoulder and heaves his chest against hers.
His sweater still holds a modicum of his body heat. She buries her nose in the collar of it.
Time loses meaning to her in that moment, where she mourns and moves on all at once.
She hadn’t even gotten the chance to talk to him, to know him— Ben Solo. She knew he had been brave and she knew he had been soft, unchained from the looming Darkness of Kylo Ren. But what else will she never have the chance to learn? How much more can she withstand having torn away from her?
A dangerous flash of hatred rips through her. Hatred for the Jedi and the life she’s committed herself to, hatred that she had been used to destroy the Sith, then left for dead.
Dead like Ben…
He’d given everything to her, yet all she’s left with, now, is a gaping wound where their bond used to be. One half of a whole. A broken dyad.
It’s unfair.
All her life has been, but this…
She wants to scream in the face of it, but all she can do is hold Ben tighter in the hopes of leaving her pain here to die with him. Anything to soothe the ache of having to carry on.
Anything so she can live again.
It’s in her resignation, though, and her despair, that time truly does seem to bend. The air grows warmer and the Darkness of Exogol gives way to a familiar Light that bleeds solace and guidance and love into Rey’s very bones.
She pinches her eyes against it, wanting just a moment more to wallow, to mourn.
“Look at me, Rey…” the Light finally calls.
And it’s only at the sound of that time-graveled, nebulous voice that she throws her head up, her grip on Ben loosening just a touch in her awe. It can’t be.
It can’t be...
“Leia…” Rey gasps, gazing up at her mentor, shrouded in ethereal blue and wisdom alike, coming to crouch beside her. “Leia, I—”
But her Master’s specter only shakes her head, solemn and fond all at once. She reaches up with an airy hand and wipes away a tear Rey hadn’t even noticed she’d shed— her skin prickles with a power not unlike a sun from the contact.
“Rey,” Leia hums proudly, her wisp-like fingers reaching down to clutch Rey’s. “Go live, my dear,” she whispers, unclasping their hands, gently prompting Rey to set Ben’s body back down. But Rey doesn’t budge, clinging fast to him with childlike vigor, suddenly defensive. Leia’s eyes grow pleading, asking in silence for something Rey isn’t sure she can give up just yet. “Let me help you, please. Let me help my son…”
Breath rattles in Rey’s lungs, raw and unprepared for this particular kind of torment.
“You— You can’t help him, now,” she stutters, eyes suspiciously wet again. “He’s gone.”
Her Master smiles sadly. “So am I, dear…”
And with that, all of Rey’s reservations and all her cares in the galaxy crumble in the face of her fear and her hope. There is too much within her to hold out any longer, so she lets Ben go, watching as he pools into his mother’s phantom grasp. Leia brushes the sweat-soaked hair from his face, a mournful gleam in her eyes despite her determination.
Rey swallows a sob.
Leia places a hand over Ben’s heart.
And it occurs to Rey, then, that she doesn’t know what is about to transpire before her. Will Ben disappear from her sight, forever removed from the turmoil of this galaxy? Will he become like Leia? And Luke, too? Will he…
Can he...
“Leia, wait!” Rey rushes, tumbling over his body again, holding his face in trepidation. “What are you— What’s going to ha—”
Her Master raises a polite, commanding hand, cutting her ramblings short. “Trust me, Rey. I—” She hesitates, her eyes flitting about with a strange emotion Rey can’t place. Her hand at Ben’s heart flexes, then the one raised reaches over him to brush Rey’s cheek a second time. It feels like farewell…
“I want you to tell my boy I’m sorry,” Leia finally murmurs, the hazy edges of her form flickering as an age-old surge in the Force pours out of her, foreign and familiar all at once, stealing the breath from Rey’s lungs. “Give him my love…”
There’s another pulse, and Leia fades a bit more, the smile she offers Rey both watery and purposeful.
“Leia?” Rey cries, angry and confused and overflowing with longing all at once. “Leia!”
The Citadel rattles with the flood of power rippling off of her Master’s ghost, the walls vibrating and the stone floor cracking. Leia’s Light penetrates every crevice of the cursed temple, it brings heat to Rey’s chilled skin, it pumps new blood through a cold, stagnant body. It gives life.
There is a final push, a last goodbye written into the fabric of the air with a warmth that runs deeper than any Force connection could ever dream. And then…Leia is gone.
But in her wake, a heart beats again.
In her wake, Rey sighs as the bond within her opens once more, no longer ruined and threadbare, but knitting itself back together stronger than before. It pulls her lungs tight, makes her stomach flip with excitement, makes her hands tremble.
She reaches out, palms finding the slab of Ben’s chest and clinging for dear life.
He’s breathing. He’s breathing...
“Ben? Ben!” she sobs, holding his face between her hands roughly, — only just noticing that his fresh wounds have been stitched together seamlessly — yet caring none for courtesy or politeness. He’s alive and she needs to see his eyes.
He groans, shoulders rolling in obvious distaste for the ruckus she’s making, but she doesn’t let up. She careens into him, tears and snot and all, burying her face in his shoulder and pulling him to her, rocking him back and forth like he’s the one in need of soothing.
She babbles his name, babbles apologies and nonsense until…
“Rey?” he whispers, finally wrapping his arms around her in return, his warmth overpowering her own.
“Yes. Yes, yes, yes.” She nods against his neck, sniffling and smiling, letting her relief flow openly through the mended bond between them. The feeling is heady, not holding anything back from him. It’s a release she never knew she needed.
“Ben!” she gasps, pulling back, taking his face in her hands yet again. Severity rushes through her. Tears sting her eyes. “Ben. Leia… She loved you so much. She— She wanted me to…”
His eyebrows raise, the bond growing tremulous with the information she’s forcing him to take in. She’s frightening him.
“I’m sorry,” Rey mutters, dropping her hands from his cheeks, letting them rest dumbly on her lap. “You— You’re alive…” she tries again, stating the obvious, that’s always safe.
“I...am,” he replies, just as awkward as her, thankfully.
She smiles tepidly, then chuckles in finding her fists suddenly bunched in the fabric of his sweater. He chuckles, too, and Rey’s face warms.
“We should—” she starts, not quite knowing where her sentence is going. Then, she realizes, “We need to get out of here!”
Ben’s eyes flit up to the cavernous opening in the Citadel’s roof, watching the Sith Fleet drop like flies through greel-wood syrup, slowly, the majority of their spare, artificial gravity generators having since kicked into gear, dragging out their collisions. Smaller explosions litter the sky above them, as well, raining down in vaporized debris.
“I second that,” Ben says agreeably after a beat, a hint of fear in his voice. A hint of teasing, too.
So they rise together, plucking Luke and Leia’s sabers from the floor with a careful sort of reverence. Ben favors his leg for a moment, blinks like he’s missed something, — which is an understatement — then resettles his weight evenly on both feet. He stares at her, a hand coming up to feel at his ribs, the other at his face. All the while he seems...dumbfounded.
A charge of concern ripples through the bond and Rey realizes immediately he hasn’t an inkling about what Leia had just done to bring him back. And in truth, Rey isn’t sure she understands it completely, either, but it won’t do for him to be left without answers.
“What happened to me?” he asks, taking a meandering step forward but going nowhere.
Rey closes the distance between them, wrapping her hand around his with a reassuring squeeze and sending the lingering Light of his mother across the bridge of their minds before saying, “I’ll tell you everything on the way…”
—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—
Luke’s dilapidated, old X-wing is a tight squeeze between the two of them, but hell if it hadn’t been uncomfortable with just Rey manning the throttle, anyway.
Even after she’s dismantled the soggy back of the pilot’s seat to give Ben enough space to lean precariously against the rear controls, his leg room is diminutive, spread as he is at her back.
The TIE fighter he’d arrived in had harbored, arguably, more space for two, if the passenger elected to stand bent in half behind the pilot’s chair for the entirety of the flight. But with where they’re going, a cramped X-wing is the preferred mode of transport should they not wish to be blown from the sky.
Ajan Kloss…
Ajan Kloss where likely everyone will have a blaster aimed at Ben’s head before he can even step foot on Resistance ground. But also…
Ajan Kloss where her friends should — will — be safe and sound, celebrating, in all likelihood.
And she has to let them know she’s alive, Finn especially. Leaving them in the dark to her well-being and whereabouts would be...cruel, even if she has to risk bringing Ben under their scrutiny.
He sniffs behind her, shifting his weight cautiously and running a reassuring hand down the length of her arm.
They’ve since left Exogol’s atmosphere and all its cruelties behind, she’s charted through the Red Nebula with Ben at her back oozing silent encouragement, and now all that’s left is the jump to the Cademimu sector.
He knows where they’re headed, agreed peaceably to her logic in taking them back there even if she’d sensed a ribbon of apprehension cut through him at the negative prospects of their arrival.
He also knows, now, the lengths his mother had gone to give him this second chance he’s living, the extent of her love, and her sorrow.
“She asked you to apologize for her?” he’d questioned, dubiousness sneaking into his melancholy.
And Rey’d only had one answer to that. “Ben, she...she missed you every day. She wanted you back so badly, but she was afraid she’d pushed you too far away…” Whether that was true or not was for Ben to decide, now, and certainly none of Rey’s business.
He’d fallen quiet after that, — and she doesn’t particularly blame him — seemingly content to sit at her back and watch her fly.
And she has no complaints in that regard.
“I knew you could pilot,” he whispers after a while, long since they’ve jumped into hyperspace, surrounded by the creaks of the ancient ship and whirling blue. “But you’re very good.”
Rey grins, then turns her head to find he’s grinning back, pink staining his cheeks. It’s a sobering sight despite the butterflies in her stomach. “You’re alive,” she observes somewhat dumbly, but mostly in awe. She’s never known him to blush, never known him to be anything other than a torrent of emotion on the other side of their bond, yet here he sits, regardless. Rosy-cheeked and content.
“I am,” he says back, repeating himself from Exogol, only with a tad more surety. “And so are you…” A careful hand comes up to run along her jaw, trembling and warm.
Rey swallows a gasp, leaning into his touch but keeping her face and voice even as she replies, “Thanks to you.” She squints sternly at him. “Don’t do that again, by the way. I was alone after...after you—”
“I know,” Ben mutters, dropping his hand ruefully. “But I don’t regret it. I— I would die for you again if I needed to.” Rey’s brow furrows and she opens her mouth to dispute, but he continues before she gets the chance. “You mean more to people than I do. You’d be missed…”
Rey huffs, turning back in her seat and glaring out into the swirl of space. He’s still stubborn, she thinks sourly, walling off the thought from him, then saying with no small amount of bluntness, “You mean something to me.”
And I missed you without even knowing you…
Hot, stupid tears prick behind her eyes but she holds them back, tightening her knuckles at the throttle’s handles without needing to; they’re cruising on autopilot, as it is, however shotty the programming might be in this hunk of junk.
Ben leans forward, slowly at first like he’s not sure he wants to commit to the motion until, all of a sudden, he’s enveloping her entirely from behind, thick arms wrapping around her middle and tugging her against him. His forehead falls to her shoulder gracelessly, hesitant, if the turn she can feel echoes of in his stomach is anything to go off of. “I know,” he repeats into the fabric of her tunic, but it could almost pass for an apology the way it rolls off his tongue shamefully. “And that’s why I’d do it again…”
If Rey’s heart rate hadn’t already picked up at his closeness, it certainly kicks into gear at his words. She feels she could suffocate from the swell of both affection and annoyance he’s cultivating within her.
How dare he break her heart and mend it all at once...how dare she let him…
“You— You are going to be difficult for me,” she tells him factually, longingly, bringing up an unpracticed, trembling hand to play with the ends of his sweat-dried hair. It’s an intimate gesture, surely, but he’s burying his nose into the crook of her neck now, so she doesn’t suppose he’ll mind all that much.
When he chuckles self-deprecatingly against her skin, it’s all Rey can do not to shiver.
Very difficult, indeed…
—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—
The Resistance base is swarming with embracing bodies when they touch down, whether out of elation or mourning is difficult for Rey to decipher, but she figures it doesn’t matter in the end. The war is over, for all intents and purposes, and no celebration will be without its fair share of sorrow and stinging absence.
She feels an ungrateful pang of guilt at having Ben returned to her in a way her fellow Rebels will never know for their loved ones. But it passes without much fanfare as his hand finds her hip in a delicate, nervous gesture.
A few stragglers not too caught up in their own affairs have begun swarming the X-wing, knowing full well she’s in it by the coordinates she’d sent for Exogol what seems a lifetime ago, now, with all her life has changed.
“They’ll recognize me,” Ben states matter-of-factly, staring wide-eyed out past the cockpit, attempting to shrink against the rear controls with so little success it’s almost comical.
“They will,” Rey agrees. “But you saved me, and I’m not going to let them lay a finger on you.” She punctuates the statement by pressing the hatch release and rising with it, exuding confidence she doesn’t quite feel in full.
A smattering of cheers sounds through the air for her and Rey smiles a bit awkwardly as she lowers the boarding ladder; it’s still foreign to her, being acknowledged, being appreciated. She swings a leg cautiously over the lip of the cockpit, straddling it and turning to Ben with an expression she hopes is reassuring.
His brows pinch warily.
“Just stay close to me,” she says low enough that only he can hear, and extends a steady hand out to him. “I’ll keep you safe…”
Rey feels his heart flutter endearingly through the bond at the gesture, or perhaps it’s her own, perhaps both.
He takes her hand.
And the spark that passes through their fingertips is so similar to the touch they’d shared on Ahch-To all those months ago it makes Rey’s lungs constrict. Only now, the promises of far-off futures out of their reach don’t seem so out of reach anymore. There’s freedom in this touch, freedom to chart their own courses. Together.
Rey tugs Ben up with an assuredness she hopes he can glean from the bond, — ignoring the growing silence that falls over the surrounding crowd at the sight of him — and prompts him down the boarding ladder behind her. She clasps their hands once more when his feet touch solid ground.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, pink blossoming on his cheeks again.
“Anytime,” she says, a promise in her voice.
Then the whispers start.
They’re drowned out mostly by the cacophonous celebration ruling over the majority of the Resistance base, but Rey’s ears are particularly attuned to them, searching for the beginnings of anger, feeling for any murderous, just intent. But, much to her delight, Ben’s presence brings confusion and awe more than anything because, whether Force-sensitive or not, there is a palpable change in him she suspects anyone could realize.
He is rigid behind her as she steps into the crowd, parting it with her body and the aura of protection she adopts around them. She has a certain level of control over the Resistance with her abilities, — they think her above reproach, above human — and she’s never been more thankful for that than she is now.
They emerge from the other side of the impromptu welcoming committee unscathed, in fact, no one even dares follow them as they set off deep into the throng of jubilating bodies. If anyone takes note of their presence, they make no comment, until…
“REY!” a familiar voice calls through the sea of Rebels. “Rey! You made it! You—”
Finn erupts from behind a weeping couple, skidding to a halt on his heels, the relief in his eyes, in his very being giving way to bone-deep fear and betrayal. “Rey?” he mutters again, gaze shifting frantically between her and Ben.
“Hey, Finn,” she mutters, waving dimly with her free hand.
Her friend squints, the surprise falling from his face in record time. “Poe!” he shouts sternly over his shoulder. “Get over here!”
Ben’s palm begins to sweat in Rey’s. She squeezes it to mask her own shaking.
Poe shuffles out from behind the same couple Finn had, his graying curls matted with sweat but his body loose with victory. He stops abruptly at the sight of them, a strange reminiscence in his eyes as he takes Ben in slowly, almost disbelieving.
He’s speechless until— in true Dameron form…
“You’ve gotta be shitting me!”
—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—
Poe drums his fingers against the dusty tabletop separating the two parties from one another, he and Finn opposite Rey and Ben, imitating one of Leia’s many tells whether he means to or not in his new position as Co-General. A vein pulses in his forehead.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” he starts bluntly, unbothered by the echo of his voice throughout the empty communications bay. He’d kicked the fair sprinkling of Rebels taking leave from the celebrations out when the four of them had arrived. They’re alone.
“A lot of things,” Rey snaps. “But none of them involved how this would affect you…”
Poe groans, resting his forehead on the backs of his hands. Finn’s scowl seems to have become permanent.
“Rey, I’ve had search parties out for him,” Dameron raises his head, pointing coldly at Ben who sits stiffly beside her, “since we left Kef Bir. And now you’ve brought him back here as a guest and expect me to pretend any of this doesn’t affect me or, consequently, the Resistance as a whole…”
“I came back here so you’d know I wasn’t another casualty,” she explains through tight lips. “I was being courteous.”
Finn scoffs.
Ben shifts awkwardly in his seat.
“How the hell did you even capture him?” Poe waves a dramatic hand through the air, avoiding eye contact with Ben like he’s been doing since Finn discovered them.
Rey growls under her breath. “I told you… He came to Exogol to help me. He saved me.” He gave his life to me, she doesn’t say, trying to keep the heat from rising in her cheeks.
“Yeah, that’s all well and fine, Rey,” Poe says. “But it’s no secret he’s had it out for you over the past year. I mean…” He sits back speculatively, finally granting Ben the pleasure of his side-eye. “What if this is just an elaborate plan to infiltrate what’s left of us?”
“I’m not that patient,” Ben states frankly, speaking for the first time in either Poe or Finn’s presence. “Or that smart.” He earns a dropped jaw and an even deeper scowl, respectively. Rey stifles a chuckle.
“Right,” Dameron drawls, scooting closer to the table to address Ben. “So what was your reason, then? Why’d you help Rey?”
He ponders the question for a beat. Then...
“She helped me…”
It’s a simple sentence, a common one, but Rey’s heart flutters at the sound of it, her fingers curling around nothing against the tabletop.
There’s a murky silence afterward, pressing down on the four of them, until…
“He’s telling the truth,” Finn says through bitterly clenched teeth.
Three pairs of eyes widen at the confidence of his claim, all in surprise, but perhaps not all in relief like Rey’s.
“Finn,” she begins, more than a little touched by his admission.
“That doesn’t mean he’s a saint,” Finn growls, cutting her off. “He’s just not a liar…”
“Heartening,” Poe cracks off snidely. “And considering his previously un-saintly behavior, Rey,” he eyes her with all the severity of General Organa, “he shouldn’t even be here. He has to stand trial…”
“No.” Rey shakes her head, shoulders tensing. “You can’t. He—”
“I agree,” Ben chimes in dourly.
Rey’s skin prickles at the very notion, betrayal running cold through her blood as she faces him. “No, no I’m not going to le—”
“It’s the honorable course of action,” Ben interrupts again, turning a bit in his seat to face her. He looks resigned. She hates it. “I— I need to face the consequences of my actions…”
Rey stands, her chair toppling behind her with the sudden motion. “Since when have you cared about honor?” she shouts, challenging him, and Poe, and everyone. “No, no! Leia didn’t bring you back just for you to get locked up! Just for you to…”
A sob catches in her throat, her mind racing faster than her words can catch up with. Ben’s eyes glisten suspiciously.
“You’re not leaving me alone again,” she declares with watery finality. Then, turning brusquely to Poe, “If you take him away, you take me with him…”
“Come on, Rey,” Finn bleats in distaste and disbelief alike.
“No, no, Ben died for me, and Leia saw fit to bring him back. To bring him back! I can’t—”
Dameron’s face goes pale as if he’s finally comprehending the words leaving her mouth. “What do you mean Leia brought him back?” he questions, the start of tears forming in his eyes, too.
“I mean, he was dead, Poe!” Rey screams, screams like she’d wanted to do back in the Citadel, screams like her life depends on it. And perhaps, in a way, it does. “He was dead and Leia came to me and brought him back! She gave him his life back! I don’t know how else you want me to explain it! But now you want to put him on trial just for somebody else to kill him!” Her chest heaves and her hands shake, but Ben’s fingers find hers through the rage and sorrow clouding her senses and hold tight. She releases a long-overdue breath. “I can’t let you take him away…”
Poe’s lashes flutter dewily, fighting back emotion she’s only seen him express to Finn or Snap; Leia is a sharp nerve for him and she’s not afraid to exploit it for this.
“Please,” she whispers, squeezing Ben’s hand tighter but keeping her eyes trained on Poe.
He tucks his chin, a rare display of submission for him, then leans closer to Finn like he can’t hold himself up any longer. “Is she lying to me?” he whispers wearily, his fists clenching and unclenching.
Finn glares at her, a ripple in the Force passing between their minds, unpracticed and subtle, but determined. Rey squares her shoulders, masking her pride in her friend’s ability with bull-headed belligerence.
“No,” Finn answers after a moment, clearly disgruntled by his findings. “No, she’s not.”
Poe sighs, perturbed, as well. “Fine, fine…” He raises his hands in somewhat unwilling surrender. “You can keep your Sith Lord…”
Ben leans forward, stuttering, “I— I’m not a—”
“Can it,” Dameron grunts, snapping his fingers and leveling Ben with a disapproving stare. “My search parties were instructed to rendezvous back here at the end of two weeks, Supreme Leader or no. So that gives the two of you ten days to get your affairs in order and figure out how to pull off a vanishing act. You’re not welcome here after that.”
“Poe,” Rey starts gruffly, prepared to argue.
“No, no, I’ve given you all the grace I can afford at the moment. The rest of the shots are mine and Finn’s to call, I don’t care if you don’t like our terms.” Dameron squints, running a hand over his scruff. “You’re gone in ten days. If you need to make contact with us after that, you will do it through code and with false names. After ten days, you two don’t exist anymore. Especially him…”
Rey grinds her teeth, willing her temper to a simmer. “Anything else?” she questions, letting Ben’s hand go after realizing the Force-buoyed pressure of her grasp. He sighs through his nose in relief beside her.
“He’s not allowed anywhere on base without an official escort,” Finn decides curtly. “It’s either that or a cell…”
“I can be his escort,” Rey agrees as amiably as she can manage. “I— I don’t trust anyone else not to hurt him…”
“Smart,” Poe scoffs with forced humor. “He’s not allowed near the comm systems or the landing platforms, either.”
“How are we going to vanish if we’re not allowed to inspect the ships?”
“I’ll assign you one before you leave, don’t worry,” Dameron explains condescendingly. “I want you gone just as much as you do…”
Rey rolls her eyes and waves a hand as if to say keep going, but Finn and Poe only glance at one another, then shrug.
It’s Dameron who eventually stands with a conversation ending finality, crossing his arms and frowning. “I’ll inform the base that the former Supreme Leader is under our resident Jedi’s protection. You just keep him out of our way. Think you can handle that?”
Rey hisses under her breath, turning on her heel and tugging Ben’s arm into her side as she stomps away from the table. She throws an unsavory gesture over her shoulder at her Generals, relishing the offended noises it garners.
Ben stumbles behind her, — finding his footing — then says with so much sincerity it nearly breaks her heart, “Thank you…”
Whether it’s meant for Finn and Poe, or herself, she isn’t certain.
—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—
“Did you really mean that?” Ben asks, his boots scuffing over the cutback jungle floor as they wander the Resistance base without much of a destination in mind, just to keep away from the apparent leadership at all costs. “What you said about me?”
Rey twines her fingers with his between their locked hands, pulling herself further into his side. “I said a lot of things about you,” she murmurs, prompting him to continue.
“When you said you’d go with me...if they took me away,” he explains stiltedly, voice low.
She chuckles to herself to belay the longing in her chest. “I’ve been trying to get into the habit of not saying things I don’t mean. So, yes. I meant that. I meant all of it…”
Ben hums; it’s a warm sound.
They fall into silence, wandering, pretending every passing glare isn’t trained speculatively on them. It’s not as difficult as she’d assumed, but she supposes they’re both well-practiced enough in the art of denial. What’s a little more?
“Where are we going?” Ben whispers eventually, leaning into her comfortably.
“No idea,” Rey snickers. “What do you want to do?”
He pulls away from her by an inch or two, looking down to inspect himself, mildly disgusted. “I’m filthy,” he says like it’s a question. “But I think I’m tired, more than anything.”
“Mmh, me too…” Rey peers at her dust-stained skin and her soiled, white garb. The clothes she’d died in. “We have extra stores of clothing if you’d like,” she offers. “But I also have a cot if you really want to, uh, sleep...”
She feels Ben’s cheeks heat at her suggestion and smiles a little embarrassedly to herself.
“I haven’t had a nap since before I can remember. But I wouldn’t be opposed to you escorting me to one,” he teases, and it’s a bit wooden, a bit awkward, but she laughs anyway.
“I think I may be required to,” she teases back, squeezing his hand. “Generals’ orders…”
He smiles, wide and toothy like he had when she’d kissed him on Exogol, and Rey’s stomach flips with violent affection. “I’d like that a lot,” he mutters after a beat, enthusiasm dripping from his voice.
So she turns them around and heads for her quarters out on the edge of the communal area, bordering the landing platforms— a jolt of mischief cuts through her at almost disobeying Finn and Poe’s terms.
Her room, if it can even be called that, isn’t all that much, it’s perimeter hastily formed by empty foodstuff and weaponry cases. It’s more private than other Rebels’ sleeping conditions, and intentionally so for her often late-night meditations and studies, but even still, much of her belongings are out for the ‘public’ eye to see. She has ample shelving for books and repair kits, scrap parchment and trinkets she’s picked up from off-moon missions here and there. What it lacks in seclusion, it makes up for in character, she tells herself.
But having seen Ben’s quarters on the Steadfast, she surmises he may be a significant bit tidier than she, so she truly can’t help the self-conscious blush that stains her cheeks when he steps past the imaginary line of her ‘domain’.
He spins about on his heel slowly, taking everything in and eyeing the precarious canopy above them with something like distrust. But then his gaze turns soft when it lands upon her scattered drawings and half-finished ship designs. She blushes more.
“You have quite a collection in here,” he says with reverence and surprise alike. He picks up a set of stitching needles Commander D’Acy had given her and their pin-cushion, then sets them back down with a smile.
“I like collecting things,” Rey admits. “Especially useful things…”
“Hmm,” Ben rumbles, fingers playing absently with the curled corners of a portrait she’d drawn of Kaydel. He turns cautiously to face her, looking quite calm despite the way he worries his bottom lip. “Am I useful?” he asks with sudden and troubled intrigue.
The air seizes in Rey’s throat and it’s all she can do not to cough. She feels her jaw hang.
“I…You— You’re—” she sputters, feet shuffling closer of their own volition. Ben winces at her reaction. “That’s not, um— You’re not a thing, though,” she finally settles on. “You’re Ben…”
The corner of his mouth ticks up wistfully. “I know,” he whispers, dipping his forehead nearer to hers and cupping the hands Rey hadn’t realized she’d bunched into his shirtfront. She releases him with both abashment and reluctance. “But am I useful?” he asks again.
Rey shakes her head out of confusion rather than in answer, eyes wide. “Why does it matter? You shouldn’t have to be…”
Ben takes her limp hands again, thumbs running over her knuckles idly. “I have information...about the First Order,” he mutters, avoiding her gaze, jaw working. “Maybe your friends would trust me, then?”
“I don’t care about that,” she says, mouth pinched. “If they want to seek you out and demand answers, they can do that on their own. You shouldn’t have to cater to their doubts.” She turns her palms up, taking hold of his wrists and pressing a kiss to the backs of his hands. His skin smells faintly of iron. “I trust you…”
His pulse quickens beneath her fingertips and it only encourages her to trail her lips higher, scrunching the soft fabric of his sleeves up his forearms so her paths are unobstructed. He shudders when she reaches the crook of his right elbow, spine curling in as he stumbles back a pace or two, dragging Rey along with him.
She pushes him through the last couple of steps until his legs bump into one of the many crates lining her room, she pushes him until he leans against it, until he lets his weight rest. The gap between his thighs spreads and she steps into it, meeting the wide expanse of his chest with the narrowness of her own. He simpers when she wraps her arms around him and tugs, the warmth of his silent laugh puffing over her ear.
“I trust you,” she repeats, and this time she can feel his heart stutter against her ear.
He buries his nose into her topmost bun, and Rey nearly laughs picturing it, but then he sighs and whispers, “You might be the first.” A warm, calloused hand strokes up and down her bare arm. “I— I always wondered what it would feel like…”
Rey swallows, tipping her head up to peek at him; he peeks back. And how had she never noticed the green in his eyes until this moment, how had she missed the freckles on his nose?
He smiles tightly, but Rey wants more. So she raises up on her toes and kisses his chin, his lips, the end of his nose, too, caring little if anyone outside sees. His face tints pink as he makes a sound she can only categorize as a giggle, endearingly imperfect teeth on full display.
She feels her own cheeks burn pleasantly.
“We came here for something,” Rey prods with mock innocence after a moment, squeezing him tighter. “I can’t remember what it was…”
“Ah,” Ben huffs, pretending to think for a beat— she grins at the humanness of it all. “I believe you were going to escort me to a nap. It’s sorely needed, I’m afraid.” He yawns showily, curling into her and tucking his face into her neck.
Rey snickers, pulling back from him to motion toward the supremely unimpressive sight of her tattered cot. Just the same, Ben’s eyes brighten as they land on it, and he shuffles forward excitedly when she plops down onto the foot, patting the space beside her.
“I mean this with complete sincerity,” he mutters once he’s settled in next to her and has absently fluffed her pillow. “This looks heavenly…”
She laughs out loud, kicking off her boots and unclasping the belt leaden with her Masters’ sabers, then she sprawls out against the wall. “You really must be exhausted,” she observes, leaving the outside edge of her ‘bed’ open for him. It’s a silent invitation as much as an opportunity for him to leave whenever he pleases. The last thing she wants is for him to feel more trapped than he already is here.
He seems to comprehend her intention, eyes soft with realization as he follows her lead, shucking off his boots and folding himself into and under her ratty covers. “I am,” he confirms hushedly, scooting closer, bringing his warmth with him. “But you also tend to make everything around you better…”
Rey sucks in a breath but still finds it in herself to manage a scoff. “I can’t tell if you’re trying to flirt or be genuine,” she whispers, his forehead suddenly pressed to hers. And, to be fair, she doesn’t have much grounds to accurately assess what flirting might be, but she thinks, maybe, he doesn’t, either.
Ben makes a noise that’s quite like a snort, self-deprecating and brief. “Neither am I,” he admits, and Rey grins so wide her dimples ache.
“Good to know,” she says drowsily, drawing him just the slightest bit nearer, as close as she can get. And it’s not long before the warmth and the weight of him pulls her under the much-needed blanket of sleep.