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Rey’s in her makeshift tent of a room when it happens. It’s been a while since that feeling has flooded her senses. It tingles through her veins as all sound is sucked from the space around her. She knows that when she turns around he’ll be there, but honestly she’s too tired for it tonight.
So she stands there silently raking her fingers through her hair as she readies for bed. Wherever he is he’s silent too. It’s become a new normal for them since Crait. They just dance around each other like ghosts, not saying a word until the bond closes.
But tonight’s a different kind of silent. The bond feels hazy, and she’s becoming lightheaded. She very gently prods the mental link and erratic feelings of anger, jealousy, and a deep sadness surge across at a stifling rate. It’s enough to make her rip away from his mind so she doesn’t drown in them.
She doesn’t know what to do or say so she just continues with her hair. Then suddenly he speaks, his voice deep and quiet but it pierces her soul.
“We received intel that the last Jedi has a new master. Tell me, Rey… how does it feel to be Leia’s golden child?” he taunts, but she can hear the pain in his words.
Rey lowers her hands, but doesn’t turn to face him. Letting out a sigh of resignation she replies, “What are you talking about?” She speaks so softly she vaguely worries if he can even hear it.
“She decided to teach you. You,” he sneers. “Must be nice not to be deemed unworthy and then discarded.”
Oh she knows everything about being discarded. Knows it all too well. And she knows he knows she does. But she doesn’t rise to take the bait. “Well somebody had to. Luke’s gone. No thanks to you.” In her anger she can’t resist but throw it in his face.
There’s a moment of silence before he softly replies, “I could’ve. I would’ve taught you everything.”
Rey lets out a heavier sigh. “Ben, we’re not doing this again. Not now.”
She finally turns around to find him sitting on the floor, his back against the wall of rock in her room, with an almost empty bottle of Corellian wine in his fist. His hair is limp and messy, not its usually clean and well coiffed style. There’s dark purple bags underneath his eyes like he hasn’t slept in days. He’s not even looking at her, just glaring at a spot on the ground. The sight makes her pause, and she can’t help the quiet gasp that leaves her lips.
She’s never seen the man look so pitiful before. She’s watched him murder his own father. He has cried in front of her and pleaded for companionship. And yet this is the lowest she’s ever seen him.
Kylo lifts his head and glares at her with unfocused eyes. “And why not?” he sneers. “We never talk about it. We’ve ignored each other for months.”
“Because it’s late. And I’m tired. And you’re drunk,” she answers without any heat. “So let’s just go to bed.” She crawls onto her tiny cot and lays down. Her eyes fixate on the dingy canopy above her to distract her from the man on the ground.
They sit there in silence once more and wait for the bond to realize that they have nothing more to say to one another and close. But after a few minutes it’s still wide open.
All Rey hears is the occasional swallow and the clinking of the bottle against the floor.
Kylo finally breaks the silence yet again. “Why didn’t you choose me?” he grunts, his words slurring together. Then quieter, he whispers, “Why doesn’t anyone ever choose me?”
As much as she wishes they didn’t, that everything would be easier if they didn’t, the words break her heart. She can’t help the tear that rolls down her cheek onto her pillow.
“You didn’t choose me either,” she whispers back.
She hears him shuffle to what she assumes is turning to look at her. The bottle clinks heavily against the stone floor.
“I did choose you,” he snaps at her. “I chose you and you rejected me. Just like everyone else in my life has.”
Rey turns on her side to look at him. Her anger and hurt are beginning to get the better of her. “You chose power. Not me,” she spits back.
“You could’ve had everything. Enough food and water for ten lifetimes. Lavish bedding to rest your head upon. The finest silken wraps. The entire galaxy at your fingertips. You would’ve wanted for nothing. I would’ve given you everything you ever desired.”
He looks at her with crazed eyes. She just looks back at him and shakes her head. “Are you really that daft?” she asks. “I never wanted any of that.”
“Then what did you want?” he demands like he can’t fathom her wishing for anything else.
“I wanted my friends to be safe. I wanted the fighting to stop. For the war to end.” She hesitates slightly before continuing. “I wanted to not be alone anymore,” she says softly.
It’s as if she’s shocked him into silence because he doesn’t respond. His eyes just drift to the floor whether ashamed or deep in thought. She stays looking at him for what feels like hours but in reality is mere minutes. Then without a word he leaves the now empty bottle on the ground and crawls his way over to her. He sits down and leans his shoulder against what to her is her cot.
Hesitantly he lifts his eyes to meet hers. Their faces are half a foot away. He’s so close she can smell the slightly sweet wine that stains his lips.
“You’re never alone.” It comes out nearly a whisper, but it hits her as if he yelled. Just like that night in her hut.
“I thought I wasn’t. And for a moment I thought I never would have to be again.” His eyes seem to soften as she agrees with him. “But then you proved me wrong.” And his face falls. “So now I’m stuck here alone, with your mother, as my friends go off trying to save the galaxy. All because you told everyone that I killed Snoke.” Fresh tears fill her eyes. “You put a bounty on my head,” she says, her voice full of betrayal.
Kylo still has the wherewithal to look at least a little ashamed. He lifts his hand and teethes off his glove. It falls to the floor beside him. His fingers come to rest on the edge of her cot next to her hand. He fiddles with the thin sheet almost as if he’s holding back from taking her hand in his. “I know. But I promise you nothing would happen to you if you were found. I told you… I did choose you. I still believe that you will stand by my side.”
Her fingers inch closer to his, her pinky just lightly grazing his. “Then come home. Your mother misses you.”
His face hardens and his hand pulls away slightly. “You mean the same woman who’s training you to kill me?” he slurs.
She shoves his arm away and abruptly sits up. She swings her legs over the edge of her cot so her feet touch the floor. The sudden movement makes Kylo lose his balance and he falls backwards.
“How dare you?” she whisper yells so no one outside her tent can hear her. “Don’t you ever assume what your mother is teaching me. Do you really think she would be encouraging me to murder her own son?”
Kylo doesn’t look up at her. He just moves his gaze to focus on her bare feet. “Leia has been known to sacrifice what she needs to for the good of the galaxy.”
It makes Rey pause. With one sentence her anger melts away. His face might be stoic but she hears the deep pain underneath every word. “And you? Were you something she sacrificed?” she prompts softly.
His answer is blunt. “I know I was.”
“How?”
His eyes drift up to meet hers with that piercing gaze that makes her feel uneasy. Like he can read her every thought. He shifts to his knees and shuffles closer. Almost too close as her legs have to spread apart to make room for his torso. Even on his knees he still has to look down slightly at her sitting form.
“I know… because only one of us was shipped off to Skywalker at the age of ten.”
Suddenly the closeness doesn’t bother her anymore; the pain in his words does. Her brow furrows as she lets the weight of what he’s saying settle over her. She knew he was quite young when he started his Jedi training, but she never imagined he was that young.
“She was just doing what she thought was right,” she tries to justify Leia’s actions. Rey reaches out and hesitantly brushes her hand along his arm. He flinches under her touch, but then his hand comes up and rests on her knee in return. “She was worried for you and thought Luke would be the best to help you.”
“What would’ve been best was if my family was there for me,” he effectively silences her. “I needed my parents and uncle, and instead was forced to become an apprentice before I was even finished with primary school.”
He looks down at her lap as he rubs circles on her knee. “I told you once that Han Solo would’ve disappointed you. I know that Skywalker wasn’t the grand Jedi Master you were expecting.” He brings his gaze back up and stares her dead in the eyes. “Don’t put all your faith in her. She’ll just end up being another person who lets you down.” His hand reaches up with his ungloved hand and freezes just over her cheek like if he touches her, he’ll break her. “We don’t need another one of us disappointing you.”
Us.
That’s the word he used, and that’s the word she holds onto. It’s an admission and almost an apology in one. She’ll later tell herself it’s because she was overtired and delirious, but her hand comes up and cups his cheek. Her thumb strokes the scar that she made. Her own apology. He must understand because his eyes flutter closed, and his cheek presses further into her hand.
The wine must still be affecting him because he teeters backwards a bit, and he’s forced to reopen his eyes to regain his balance. His eyes slide up her body, stopping on her lips for a bit too long before meeting her gaze again. He finally gets the courage to touch her. His fingers graze along her cheek, moving past it to brush a piece of hair behind her ear. He trails down the loose lock, and he twirls it around his pointer finger.
The entire time Rey stays frozen still. She doesn’t know if she’s even still breathing.
Kylo gulps loudly. “I like your hair down like this. It’s like that night but longer. Long enough to braid…” he murmurs so quietly she barely hears it. “It’s pretty.”
Heat rushes to her face. It’s like the oxygen has been sucked out of the room. No one in her entire life has ever called her pretty before. She’s especially never been called pretty by someone who’s supposed to be her enemy.
“You— you don’t know what you’re saying. You’re just drunk,” she stutters.
“Maybe…” he trails off, not fully agreeing with her explanation.
He lets go of the lock of hair and moves his hand to her cheek. His fingers trail down her cheek… down her neck… along her collarbone. His touch is like ice and fire at the same time.
Later she’ll tell herself she must’ve been possessed, that he must’ve had some hold over her with the Force, but right now she sits there and lets him caress her very touch starved skin.
His eyes follow his hand as it moves further down her body, stroking along the scars that decorate her bare arm. “Pretty Rey of light,” he mumbles. The corner of his lips raises barely enough to be perceptible at the play on words. “You, sweetheart, are going to be my ruin.”
Whether in a good way or a bad way, she’ll never know. She doesn’t ask him to clarify and he doesn’t elaborate. He just continues kneeling there with his hips pressing into her inner thighs, and stares at her arms. She knows she should be self conscious about them. She normally is self conscious about them. That’s why she still covers them up all the time. Before, her wraps were to protect her from Jakku’s harsh elements. She knows she no longer needs them, but she’s embarrassed about it. Nobody else here has marks from climbing in and out of rusted, old destroyers all day for years. Most of their skin is still pristine.
Her friends haven't even seen her without them. But weirdly his eyes gazing upon the scars doesn’t bother her. Maybe it’s because she knows he has enough of his own. Or maybe it’s because she knows he won’t judge.
She can see the wheels trying to turn through all the wine flooding his brain. Trying to figure out where she got each of them. Trying to figure out how in the stars she survived some of the deeper ones.
He narrows in on the one that encircles her forearm. His fingers gently trace along it. The faint touch tickles, and she tries to not jerk her arm away from him because it’s also strangely comforting.
Rey finally gets the courage to break the intense silence. “I fell,” she starts. She watches as his brows furrow down over his dark eyes, expecting him to look up at her questioningly, but he doesn’t. He stays focused on the dark pink scar. “I was probably around thirteen at the time. It started out as any normal day; scavenging by myself.”
She pauses briefly, thinking about her old life and how much everything has changed. Kylo leans forward a bit to show he’s listening intently to her tale. “Umm… yeah. I was climbing inside one of the larger destroyers, higher than most scavengers usually go, but that’s where all the best pickings were.”
Another super faint smile graces his face. She can feel his amusement at her immense knowledge of scavenging.
“It was very strange. This intense wave of sadness and anger came over me, and then it was almost as if I felt a presence in front of me but nothing was there. It spooked me so much I took a step back. Unfortunately the ledge I was on was fairly narrow. As I fell my rappel rope got wrapped around my arm. It eventually caught, but when it did my shoulder yanked out of the socket.”
Rey watches as he winces at the image she’s painting. He still keeps caressing the scar, almost softer now like his touch would hurt it. Hurt her.
“I was still so high up and I couldn’t get the rope off… so I managed to get my knife and had to cut myself free. I don’t remember much after that. I’m pretty sure I passed out from the pain. I fell probably a hundred feet… I should be dead from a fall like that.”
“The Force,” Kylo finally speaks.
“What?”
His eyes leave the scar and come up to her face. “The dormant Force inside you saved you that day. It’s also probably why you were so good at scavenging. You had an extra sense to tell you where to find the best parts.”
Rey bites her lip. She’s never thought about it much before. Not even after she learned that she had the Force. She just always thought she was lucky. But now she guesses it makes sense. Like something has always had her back.
“If only the Force had connected us earlier. I would’ve come for you,” he asserts. “I would’ve protected you from a life like that.”
Rey freezes at the profession. He looks her straight in the eye and she sees not an ounce of a lie, and she’s not quite sure what to make of it. It’s scary and overwhelming, but also terrifyingly sweet to think that if he could’ve saved her from her life on Jakku he would’ve. That he would’ve taken her away from that barren wasteland.
It’s such a deep confession that she gets the urge to change the topic. She coughs awkwardly. “Speaking of… the bond has been open for quite a while now, hasn’t it? Longer than normal.”
If he’s phased by her completely ignoring what he said, he doesn’t show it. “The Force is probably happier when we’re both not fighting,” he says, a slight smirk gracing his face.
It’s a smirk she’s seen on a different man in a different time. But maybe not so different. It’s in the quiet moments like these where she’s able to see the similarities between the two.
The corners of her lips can’t help but raise a little too. “Maybe,” she agrees. “Did you ever braid your mother’s hair?” she asks, totally blindsiding him with the question.
He flinches back and stumbles up onto his feet. “What?” he grunts as he looks down at her.
“Did you braid your mother’s hair? It’s just you said my hair was long enough to braid and I thought maybe…” she trails off. She briefly worries if she’s stepped over a line. Worries that she’s broken the brief bit of peace between them.
“Leia taught many Alderaanian customs,” he answers tactfully. “Hair braiding just happened to be one of them.”
“So you know how?”
“I know how and what each plait means,” he answers, still more stilted than he was minutes ago.
“The braids mean something?” she can’t help but ask.
He sighs. He’s not exactly keen to talk about this subject, but the bond still hasn’t closed, and he’s not quite ready for it to end just yet. Not while she’s tolerating his presence. So he humors her sudden curiosity. But first he needs something to distract himself to keep his emotions at bay.
“Turn around,” he instructs.
Her brow furrows and she scrunches her nose in confusion. “What?” She eyes him wearily. While they might not be fighting at this exact moment, he’s still her enemy.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he replies, already reading her mind. “Just… turn around, Rey. Please.”
He keeps using that word. Please. The word that keeps confusing her. He’s the Supreme Leader, he can take whatever he wants, yet he only ever asks of things from her. Never demands.
With a tiny nod she slowly picks her feet up from the floor and crosses them underneath her thighs. The same thighs he was settled quite comfortably between just minutes before. Then she turns around on her cot so that her back is facing him. It’s a huge feat of trust. The only other time she had offered her back was when they were fighting side by side.
She feels him take a step closer to her. Can feel him looming over her shoulder. It’s then she feels his bare hands stroking down her hair, his long fingers raking through the last of her knots. It feels strangely good. So good that her eyes begin to drift shut.
His fingers move clumsily at first, making parting her hair into the separate sections difficult. Whether it’s from the wine or lack of practice or both, he’ll never know. Kylo starts plaiting her hair as he continues talking.
“In Alderaanian culture the braids woven into your hair made a statement about who you were. Oftentimes they would communicate one’s status in life. If you were royalty or not. They could show attributes you might have.” He hesitates slightly, swallowing thickly as he looks down at her. He can feel across the link in their minds that she’s listening with rapt attention. “There were even braids to show if you belonged to someone or not.”
Rey doesn’t know why, but her cheeks heat up at the newfound fact.
He shakes his head and continues. “You could learn a lot about a person depending on what braids were in their hair.” He coughs to clear his throat, his fingers still deftly working through her hair. The practice is quickly coming back to him. “Take Leia for instance. For most of her adolescence she would’ve worn braids signifying her royal connection through the Organa line. Royal houses especially have their own plaits, almost like a signet. Then later during the war she would’ve adopted braids symbolizing her leadership.”
“After becoming engaged to my—” he cuts himself off to fix his words, “to Han Solo she would’ve worn a braid for her betrothal. Then a bridal crown.”
He goes silent for a moment. If it wasn’t for his fingers in her hair, Rey would’ve guessed the bond had closed and he had disappeared. She opens her eyes and is close to turning her head to look at him when he speak again.
“I can only assume that she’s added a new braid to whatever style she’s chosen.”
“What kind of braid?” Rey asks.
Kylo focuses on his fingers. He fights hard to keep a light touch on her hair when all he wants is to hold on tight as an anchor to the ground. “She would’ve added a mourn— a mourning braid.”
Rey has nothing to say. And even if she did, she wouldn’t. There’s nothing she can say to that that would be helpful at all. If anything, it would just wreck the tentative truce they’re having. So she keeps her mouth shut and just lets it lie.
Kylo finishes doing her hair in silence. He’s thankful she didn’t say anything. There’s nothing to say. They both know the reason why Leia would be wearing a mourning braid. It’s the bantha that’s always in the room whenever they talk, and he’s all too fine with ignoring it. And for once, Rey seems like she is too.
He tucks the bottom strands into the braid, finishing out the crown. “There,” he say softly once he’s done. He then takes a step back from the cot.
Rey hands immediately going to her hair. She very gently caresses along the design in order to not mess it up. She would hate to instantly destroy it after he was nice enough to do it. While she doesn’t have a mirror, she can tell it’s quite intricate, the way the three braids all weave together around her head. A small smile graces her face.
“What does it mean? There’s probably not a braid for lowly scavenger,” she jokes weakly.
He looks at her back with that intense gaze of his. He brings his hand back up and strokes along the main strand. “Umm… the biggest one represents strength or power. Then this little one is for warriors. The Jedi had their own, but I refuse to give you a padawan braid.” The corner of his lip raises when he hears a breathy laugh, but then he hesitates a moment. “And this other one… is meant for royalty.”
Rey sits up a little straighter. “But I’m not—”
“You could be,” he whispers. He hears her gasp and her back stiffens. “If you came to me. You could rule by my side as my empress.” Ok maybe the wine is still impairing his impulse control.
“Ben, we talked about this,” she sighs as she begins to turn around. “I’m not going to fight about it with you agai—”. Her voice falls away because when she turns to fully face him, all that’s left is air. Around her the base has come back to noisy life. She can hear the whirring of machines, the sounds of bugs and animals outside her tent.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe the Force dislikes when they argue and closes the connection on them. Rey lets out a large sigh and looks around. Something on the floor catches her eye. She leans down and grabs the black item. It’s the leather glove he teethed off his hand. But that’s strange. The bottle that was sitting on the ground earlier has disappeared, and his other glove is nowhere to be found. So why did this get left behind?
She strokes it gently in her palm. The leather isn’t as soft as it looks. Or worn down from use. It’s like it’s intentionally new, stiff, and uncomfortable. Still, she caresses it anyway, though she’s not fully sure why. Then she places it underneath her pillow where no one will find it. She doesn’t need anyone asking why there’s a man’s leather glove in her tent. How the gossip would fly through the base.
Rey very carefully lays back down on her cot not wanting to mess up her delicately done hair despite knowing she’ll have to take them out in the morning. She turns the lamp off and lays there in silence. It’s absurd. The Supreme Leader of the First Order braided her hair. The woman meant to be his enemy. But deep down she knows she’s not. That he’ll never see her that way. That he sees her as so much more.
And that thought is as overwhelming as it is terrifying.